The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen (14 page)

“Halt where you are!” a rough voice commanded. “State your name and affiliation. Be ye friend or foe?”

“They look like pirates, sir!” one of the chubby soldiers commented.

“Don’t be daft, man! We’re twenty leagues inland—what would pirates be doing this far from the sea?”

“We’re just wanderers,” Tom called back, raising his hands in surrender. “Our village was destroyed, and we set out on the road to find food and shelter.”

“A likely story that one is!” the fat conscript muttered.

“Your voice,” the infantry officer remarked, “it sounds familiar. Where do you hail from?”

“I was born in Charlestown—in Effingham,” her mate stated.

“Well, you’re halfway across the kingdom now. You have a look about you that calls to mind someone I once knew.”

The squad, bayonets fixed, marched up the road while our two heroes stood stock still. Doffing his tall red-and-white-trimmed cap, the auburn-haired man neared. Vixen noted he was a tall, gangly soldier, probably twenty-two or so. His sideburns swept down his cheeks and connected with his bristly mustache but didn’t encompass his strong chin. His dancing blue eyes never left the face of the man beside her.

“Who are you?” Tom said in a slow tone.

“My name is Rhett Herring,” he answered. “Lieutenant with the First Battalion, Second Army of Effingham.”

“Rhett?! By my troth, do ye not recognize me?”

“Your face is seemingly familiar, yet I cannot place where I saw it.”

“It is I! Tom Herring!”

“T-Tom? My long lost brother? That cannot be—my family was told he was killed by pirates over twenty years ago!”

“I survived! Oh Lord, can it be? Are you really my little brother?”

“You would do best by confirming the rest of my siblings and the names of my parents.”

“Aye! You be the youngest of us; next up the anchor chain came Tessa, whom we called Little Tessie, and then Clifton. Father’s name was Sheldon, but every man-jack I knew called him Salty from his days as a chief petty officer on the
HRM Jack Benedict
. Our mother’s name was Penelope. Be that evidence enough for the likes of you?”

“Tom, can this be real?”

“Avast ye! Do tell, dear brother, how fares the rest of our kin?”

“Mother died of pneumonia last spring, but the rest fare well as far as I know. I haven’t had a letter from Tessie in several months. Clifton serves aboard the
HRM Stout Heart
, a frigate in His Majesty’s Navy. He took on a commission there to avenge your death.”

“Aye, he would—he would at that!” Tom cheered. “We were like two halves of the same whole—Cliff and I.”

“Come—I will vouch for you at the encampment. But ere I do, pray tell, who is this stunningly beautiful Negro lass who accompanies you?”

“I be Violet Cornwell,” Vixen stated haughtily. “And I be a shipmate of your brother’s.”

“Welcome all, then! Let us remove ourselves from this rude post and find you two something to eat. Hunger has stamped itself upon your faces. Sergeant Filibuster, you’ll hold this position until I get back. ”

“Yes, sir!” the enlisted man said.

As the squad turned to return to their assignment, Vixen’s heart fluttered with fear.

“Is this wise?” she whispered to her lover.

“I doubt anyone will recognize us,” Tom answered. “Lubbers take no note of those who sail upon the sea. In truth I’m shocked to see my youngest sibling in the army, for ever did the Herrings crave the open waters of the sea.”

Vixen felt something was amiss—as surely as dark clouds on the horizon. Much like her illustrious sire—not the Duke of Cornwell, mind you—she had debts to pay, and Providence had come calling.

Walking into the encampment, Vixen felt as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Every face that turned her way was just another chance for someone to recognize her as the infamous pirate notorious for attacking, looting and sinking the ships of their countrymen. Even the whistled catcalls as she strolled by didn’t ease her guilty conscience. She kept waiting for a shouted voice declaring outrage and labeling her for what she was. Were she of lesser mettle, she would’ve run away, but that just wasn’t Vixen’s style. Or maybe she was being stubborn, or worse, hoping to be caught to pay penance for her crimes. I really don’t know which one it was.

The sights and sounds of the temporary military base appeared to go on for miles. Tan tents, tall and peaked, were placed with precision. In front of each one were muskets stacked against one another, mimicking the sleeping quarters’ shape. Cooking fires were lit, and the smells of simmering potato soup and fresh coffee made her stomach growl loudly.

Something touched her backside unexpectedly. Refraining from running some leering-faced private through the gizzard, she slapped him across the face. The soldier fell to the ground with a crash amid the raucous laughter of his fellows. Vixen glared at the audacious bastard and administered a good swift kick in the pants as he stood up.

“Sorry, Violet,” Lieutenant Herring said. “I’d reprimand him, but you’ve done enough, I think, to remind him of his manners.”

“So, brother,” Tom began, “you’re an officer. How long have you been in the army?”

“Ten years,” Rhett retorted. “They’ve been long and bloody years at that. I started out as a recruit, but the war took its toll on the ranks of the commissioned officers, and I was eventually promoted to this rank.”

“If’n I might be so bold—you didn’t strike me as the military type when we were kids.”

“Let us just say I had little choice in the matter. A press gang came through Charlestown and snatched up every man who could hear thunder and see lightning—I was sitting in a pub when they waltzed in.”

“You were a conscript then?”

“Yes. Ah! Here we are—this is the major’s quarters.”

Looking up, Vixen saw this tent was bigger and directly in the center of the encampment. Flags stood before the entrance, flapping along with a guard beside each one, stiffly standing at attention.

“I’m Lieutenant Herring,” Tom’s sibling said formally. “I’m here to see the major.”

The sentries said nothing; the one on the left opened the tent’s door, and they walked past. Inside more surprises awaited.

“Major Minor?” Rhett inquired.

The man who turned around was scarred faced and favored his left leg. His saber slapped against his left hip, and his red jacket was stained and unkempt like he had slept in it. The jet-black hair upon his head was as wild and untamed as an ocean storm. Clean shaven and standing just over six feet tall, the hobbled officer regarded his visitors with a cold, calculating stare.

“Lieutenant, what can I do for you? I’m rather busy right now, so if you’re wasting my time, I’ll stick you and your platoon to cutting potatoes until the Second Coming,” the major growled in a deep voice. “You’re a good officer, and I’d hate to reprimand you for something as trivial as what this looks like.”

“Sorry, sir, for the interruption, but I wanted to let you know that the South Road is secure and we’ve had no sign of the Seventy-fifth Balzacian Calvary,” Rhett said after saluting.

“Humph! I didn’t think we gave them that much of a drubbing to send them packing. I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth—at least not too closely. Maintain your vigilance and report back any changes.”

“Yes sir.”

“Who are these people?”

“Oh! Permit me to introduce my brother, Tom Herring, and his companion Violet Cornwell. They served together on the same ship. Tom, Violet, this is Major Leonard Minor, my commanding officer.”

“You’re pretty far from the sea, Mr. Herring—and that goes for you too, Miss Cornwell.”

“Yes, sir, that be the case. However, our ship ran afoul of the
UBS Dreadful
and was sunk just offshore,” Tom said.

“Blast that vessel!” Major Minor snorted in disgust. “She’s sent too many a supply ship to the bottom of the sea. I hope you and your
friend
weren’t onboard the
HMS Piccadilly,
for I’m expecting to rendezvous with it in a few days. You’d be bringing me ill tidings if this is the case.”

“No sir, we’re served onboard a merchant ship, the
Sea Horse,
” Tom lied. “We were bound for the Emerald Isle when the
Dreadful
rounded the cape and pounced on us.”

“Well, as long as the
Piccadilly
is safe my boys will be fine. We’re running low on powder and shot, and I’d hate to engage the enemy with just bayonets and swords. Not even my brave men would obtain a victory with such weapons,” Major Minor said heartily.

“If that will be all, Major, I’ll report back to my men,” Rhett stated.

“See to your duty, then. Drop these two by the mess so they can eat, but you know the policy, Lieutenant. I expect you to find assignments for them.”

“J-join the army?” Tom sputtered.

“Didn’t your brother tell you?” The ranking officer smiled. “We’re short on men, so we’ve been actively
recruiting,
as we do our reconnaissance by force.”

“Ye can’t be serious!”

“Your shipmate, being a woman, can’t serve in the infantry, but I think Doctor Cutter would be happy to have an extra hand in the hospital. Welcome to the army, son—you too, lass. I know you’ll serve with honor and pride.”

This was how two pirates who had sunk many a ton of ships wound up enlisting in the Grand Old Army of Effingham. As Rhett led them out to the mess hall, the cruel jest wasn’t lost on either of them, despite the fact they were stunned into silence. Needless to say, both Tom and Vixen were thunderstruck.

Ye Be in the Army Now!

Sitting in the mess, Vixen watched as Tom stuffed his face like a man eating his last meal before a trip to the gallows. Pushing her potato soup around with her spoon, she couldn’t find the words to describe how ironic this all was. Her lover and first mate wasn’t speaking for reasons of his own.

“This is a fine mess,” she grumbled.

“Was that a joke?” he answered with a grin.

“Damnation, it wasn’t! How can you sit there so blasé about the matter? Ye be a conscript in the Effingham army, and I’m to tend the wounded! This be a cruel, cruel jest by Satan himself!”

“It is quite ironic, now that ye mention it.”

“So how can ye stand there and stuff your hole like it be nothing at all to worry over?”

“I’ve gotta keep me strength up, for I be drilling and fighting pretty soon. A man’s got to keep a sharp lookout for what’s important, Vix—er—Violet.”

“Stow that bilge! Don’t ye be letting anyone in on my true identity, or we’re both sunk as surely as the
Sea Fox.
”

“Recruit Herring?” a big, burly man said, stepping into the mess.

“Aye?” Tom answered.

“Finish up yer meal and follow me. We’ve got to whip you into shape ere the battle is joined.”

“Argh. I’d be figuring you’d be comin’ for me soon.”

Terror leaped into Vixen’s heart as she realized Tom could easily meet his death on the battlefield without her there to keep a sharp watch out on him. Cold chills rolled out of her stomach and encompassed her entire body like some fog upon the ocean.

“What of me?” she inquired.

“Nurse Prichard will be coming for you shortly,” the big sergeant said.

“I am here now,” a woman’s voice called out.

Standing on legs like tree trunks with a torso to match was a stern-looking older woman in a white uniform, with a red cross on the cap pinned to her steel gray tresses. Arms folded across her matronly bosom, she glared at Vixen. Within those dull brown orbs, Vixen felt sure the woman sizing her up possessed quite a bit of intelligence.

“You’ll be coming with me,” Nurse Pritchard grumbled. “I hope you can at least sew—seeing that you were once a sailor. Or so I’ve been informed.”

“I can sew,” she retorted back.

“Well, this time you’ll be mending flesh, not sail cloth. Come along now—we have no time for shenanigans.”

“Tom,” Vixen whispered.

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

Fighting back tears, she followed in the nurse’s wake, trying not to look back at her lover to ponder if this would be the last time she’d see him alive.

As she followed the nurse to a large tan tent with a big red cross on it, Vixen felt like life had played some sort of cruel joke upon her.

Somehow it be fitting I should be tending Effingham’s wounded, though, she mused. I pray Tom ne’er graces yonder tent, or I will go mad, I will.

“I hope you aren’t squeamish, ‘cause if you are, I’m not going to tolerate you discharging your belly’s contents every time you see a man bleeding,” the woman said. “I run a tight ship here, to put it in nautical terms for you to understand. Doc Cutter is too busy to be bothered with a weak-stomached ninny.”

“I’ve seen me share of blood,” she snapped back.

Nurse Prichard turned to stare her down. She’d thrust her beefy hands upon her ample hips, and she appeared to be daring the younger woman to speak in that tone again.