The first Ten Years
Sally Sparrow.
She came in often enough but I didn't mind. We weren't trying to put across any particular picture of respectability; the Sparrow's Inn housed prostitutes and thieves, pirates and murderers but as long as there was no violence under my roof I didn't mind. This one, Mary King, looked around fifteen. She had a soft, innocent look to her, not yet bitter and jaded like some of the older whores you would see glaring and drunk in the corner. I didn't probe, I'm not nosy, but from what I gathered she'd run away from a father who beat her. She had curls of dark brown hair and soft, thoughtful eyes. She was beautiful. She came most nights, we gave her a warm place to sleep if she had none and I began to feel responsible for her, like she was the daughter I never had. One night in September she came in looking worried, her eyes darting round the room. She hurried over to be. "Sally." She whispered urgently. "I'm pregnant." It wasn't a particular shock to me. I hadn't guessed as such, but most whores have a babe along the way. I felt sorry for her, though, she looked so surprised and unsure. "How many months gone?" I asked. She shrugged. "Maybe, four or five? What c'n I do?" Most of these girls who did have a child would abandon it to die or be picked up from the street but I could tell she wouldn't even consider that. "An orphanage?" She shook her head emphatically. "No. They're 'orrible places, really 'orrible." She clutched her stomach protectively. "No child o' mine's goin' t' one of them." I shrugged. "What other options you got, lass?" She cast her eyes down. "I was thinkin'... Well, since you can't 'ave none of your own, that maybe..."
"I could take the babe?" She nodded slowly. "Mary I would, I 'onestly would but, well..." Both our eyes turned to behind the bar where my husband was grumpily serving drinks. "You know what 'e's like." My husband, Amos, was not a violent man, not taken to drink like many I had seen but very controlling and could get very angry, especially if I did things without consulting him. After fifteen years of marriage he had never hit me, but I still lived in fear that he would, given the right provocation. I was outspoken in my own way, but never with him. Mary sat, hands clasped. I sighed. "I'll ask him later, sweeten 'im up a bit first, you never know." A faint smile appeared. "I jus'... I couldn' bear t' leave it somewhere it wouldn' be looked after an'... I know you'd be good t' it." I felt flattered. "I'll try 'n talk to him." She clasped my hand. "Thank you." "You look after yourself, now." She nodded and left.
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Tentatively I walked into the bedroom, waiting to see if he was in a good mood. He was lying on the bed but when he saw me he looked up and smiled. I was in luck. "Evening." He muttered. "Evening." I sat down on the end of the bed, smoothing the rumpled cotton. "Um, you know tha' Mary King?" He nodded. "Th' small one? Brown hair, looks young?" "Tha's the one. She... she's pregnant." He raised an eyebrow. "And?" I took a deep breath and continued. "Well, she wants us t' take the babe." He lifted his head and squinted at me. "She want's us to take her bastard?" I hesitated and went on. "Yes. She... uh, doesn't think the orphanage would be kind to the child and..." I trailed off. "No." He lay back down as if to finish the matter. "I... I think we should." He sat back up. "You think we should, do you?" I nodded, scared. "That is to say... We can' jus' let 'er leave it t' die. An'... Think about it, Amos. It, he... that is, if it is a boy, could be useful." "How?" "Well, when we're old, we'll need someone to 'elp us run the inn, you know? You'll be glad of a young set o' limbs when you're older." "I will, will I?" He pursed his lips. I looked down and fiddled with the bed cover nervously. "I'll take it." he said finally. "but only if it's a boy." I let a small smile escape.
"Yes, sir, thank you sir."
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February, Mary gave birth to a healthy son. She left without looking once at him, confident that we would look after him. I never saw her again. I don't know why she never returned, I expect guilt held her back and she was fearful she would have to take responsibility for him. I named him Jack. and looked after him as best I could. As he grew up he became a pretty boy and a favourite with the regulars. He was always to be found sitting on some lady's lap with a cheeky grin on his face or staggering under the weight of several pints of beer. He was good for business. Amos softened towards him but they never really bonded. Jack grew wise to the ways of the world, he talked to people who'd experienced everything. Old sea-dogs, too wrinkled to sail a ship, would sit at the counter and tell him tall tales of sea monsters and islands of treasure and the wonders of the ocean. Tortuga being a port he was never far from a ship and learnt the basics of sailing from the best, real captains who took a liking to him. By the time he was ten he was determined. He would be Captain of his own ship.
Sally Sparrow.
She came in often enough but I didn't mind. We weren't trying to put across any particular picture of respectability; the Sparrow's Inn housed prostitutes and thieves, pirates and murderers but as long as there was no violence under my roof I didn't mind. This one, Mary King, looked around fifteen. She had a soft, innocent look to her, not yet bitter and jaded like some of the older whores you would see glaring and drunk in the corner. I didn't probe, I'm not nosy, but from what I gathered she'd run away from a father who beat her. She had curls of dark brown hair and soft, thoughtful eyes. She was beautiful. She came most nights, we gave her a warm place to sleep if she had none and I began to feel responsible for her, like she was the daughter I never had. One night in September she came in looking worried, her eyes darting round the room. She hurried over to be. "Sally." She whispered urgently. "I'm pregnant." It wasn't a particular shock to me. I hadn't guessed as such, but most whores have a babe along the way. I felt sorry for her, though, she looked so surprised and unsure. "How many months gone?" I asked. She shrugged. "Maybe, four or five? What c'n I do?" Most of these girls who did have a child would abandon it to die or be picked up from the street but I could tell she wouldn't even consider that. "An orphanage?" She shook her head emphatically. "No. They're 'orrible places, really 'orrible." She clutched her stomach protectively. "No child o' mine's goin' t' one of them." I shrugged. "What other options you got, lass?" She cast her eyes down. "I was thinkin'... Well, since you can't 'ave none of your own, that maybe..."
"I could take the babe?" She nodded slowly. "Mary I would, I 'onestly would but, well..." Both our eyes turned to behind the bar where my husband was grumpily serving drinks. "You know what 'e's like." My husband, Amos, was not a violent man, not taken to drink like many I had seen but very controlling and could get very angry, especially if I did things without consulting him. After fifteen years of marriage he had never hit me, but I still lived in fear that he would, given the right provocation. I was outspoken in my own way, but never with him. Mary sat, hands clasped. I sighed. "I'll ask him later, sweeten 'im up a bit first, you never know." A faint smile appeared. "I jus'... I couldn' bear t' leave it somewhere it wouldn' be looked after an'... I know you'd be good t' it." I felt flattered. "I'll try 'n talk to him." She clasped my hand. "Thank you." "You look after yourself, now." She nodded and left.
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Tentatively I walked into the bedroom, waiting to see if he was in a good mood. He was lying on the bed but when he saw me he looked up and smiled. I was in luck. "Evening." He muttered. "Evening." I sat down on the end of the bed, smoothing the rumpled cotton. "Um, you know tha' Mary King?" He nodded. "Th' small one? Brown hair, looks young?" "Tha's the one. She... she's pregnant." He raised an eyebrow. "And?" I took a deep breath and continued. "Well, she wants us t' take the babe." He lifted his head and squinted at me. "She want's us to take her bastard?" I hesitated and went on. "Yes. She... uh, doesn't think the orphanage would be kind to the child and..." I trailed off. "No." He lay back down as if to finish the matter. "I... I think we should." He sat back up. "You think we should, do you?" I nodded, scared. "That is to say... We can' jus' let 'er leave it t' die. An'... Think about it, Amos. It, he... that is, if it is a boy, could be useful." "How?" "Well, when we're old, we'll need someone to 'elp us run the inn, you know? You'll be glad of a young set o' limbs when you're older." "I will, will I?" He pursed his lips. I looked down and fiddled with the bed cover nervously. "I'll take it." he said finally. "but only if it's a boy." I let a small smile escape.
"Yes, sir, thank you sir."
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February, Mary gave birth to a healthy son. She left without looking once at him, confident that we would look after him. I never saw her again. I don't know why she never returned, I expect guilt held her back and she was fearful she would have to take responsibility for him. I named him Jack. and looked after him as best I could. As he grew up he became a pretty boy and a favourite with the regulars. He was always to be found sitting on some lady's lap with a cheeky grin on his face or staggering under the weight of several pints of beer. He was good for business. Amos softened towards him but they never really bonded. Jack grew wise to the ways of the world, he talked to people who'd experienced everything. Old sea-dogs, too wrinkled to sail a ship, would sit at the counter and tell him tall tales of sea monsters and islands of treasure and the wonders of the ocean. Tortuga being a port he was never far from a ship and learnt the basics of sailing from the best, real captains who took a liking to him. By the time he was ten he was determined. He would be Captain of his own ship.