The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen by Christopher Newman Page A

atrocity. Leading her to the gap where the spar deck would allow the gangplank to be thrust out to adjoin either a dock or another ship, the maritime soldiers gleefully chatted and joked.
    “I suppose ye bastards are going to…,” she began, interrupted by a musket stroke to the middle of the back.
    The two-story fall ended abruptly with a splash. The hemp around Vixen’s middle yanked violently, and the ship’s momentum quickly dragged her along the ship’s side. Fighting upwards, she kicked her feet and rose to the surface, but the spray filled her mouth and nose with salt water. Gasping, coughing and choking, she tried to turn her head to take in quick gulps of air. The rope snapped taut, and her tormenters hauled her upwards until her feet came out of the water, but as unexpectedly as she’d risen they dunked her back into the briny deep. Vixen’s head slammed against the hull of the ship, and stars danced in her eyes. The jeering sounds of the crew’s cheering at her predicament sounded muted and warbled from her underwater position.
    Three more times they lifted her above the churning waves only to dash her back into the sea. Her arms and shoulders grew sore, her hands, softened by the water, tore and bled, and her strength was fading fast. When at last they hauled her out of the water, she dangled like a dead man at the end of the rope line. The men tugged her rudely onto the deck and dumped a bucket of water to bring her fully to her senses. Sputtering and coughing, she rolled weakly onto her back. A circle of smirking, hateful faces framed her view of the sky.
    “I think we can declare this wench clean enough for the captain,” the lieutenant chortled.
    Now before you start hating these young lads, recall this; many of their fellows were done to death by Vixen’s actions. Although I don’t condone such behavior, it isn’t out of the ordinary for the soldiers to take some small measure of revenge.
    Dripping wet and supported by rough hands, the pirate queen followed her captors to the captain’s cabin, her feet leaving a wet wake behind her. Two Marines snapped to attention and opened the door without a command to do so.
    “The prisoner you requested, Captain Cockrum,” the lieutenant sang out.
    “Very good—what, pray tell, did you do to her?” the well-mannered officer said quizzically.
    “You did order us to clean her up.”
    “Be specific, Lieutenant; I will know the truth of this!”
    “We gave her a bath.”
    “Indeed, I can see that. I was expecting a buccaneer of some infamous reputation, not a half-drowned bilge rat. Deposit her in yonder chair and leave us be.”
    “Aye, Cap’n!”
    Vixen sagged into the seat, and her head slumped between her knees. The plots she had woven to take this man hostage were quickly unraveling. She had little strength left.
    “I apologize for my men’s behavior,” Captain Cockrum stated with a clucking noise directed at his charges. “I perceive I wasn’t nearly accurate enough in my orders to permit you to refresh yourself.”
    “Aye, that you were not,” she wheezed out.
    “I will have the lieutenant reprimanded most severely. This goes beyond civility and the actions expected by a sailor in His Majesty’s Navy.”
    “I have suffered worse.”
    “There are some towels and a dress lying beyond that partition. Take your time, for dinner isn’t for another hour.”
    She followed his gesture to see a low, hinged wall of black wood and red velvet to the port side of the chamber. Heaving herself out of the chair, she stumbled toward it.
    “I will need my hands free,” she stated.
    “Of course, by all means.” The civilized officer smiled.
    Marching over to the door, he opened it, spoke some words and then shut the door. Minutes later, while Vixen swayed on her feet, the two guards came in after knocking with a set of keys. Unlocking her manacles, they stayed until she staggered behind the freestanding screen to strip and dry herself off.
    “I