Chapter Text
October 1714
Primrose’s back was ablaze.
The scars that took up the expanse of her back had long since healed, but the skin was still sensitive enough that when Mr. Tennent’s nails dug in to undo her dress, it was as if she was being burned again.
She tried to elbow him away from her, kicked and screamed, but he just flipped her over, slamming her down onto the floor of the brig so that she was facing him. The wind was knocked out of her and she went limp. Without being able to hide her face, she was staring and an extremely angry man. Mr. Tennent’s face was screwed into a snarl, his hair a wet mop that draped along his cheeks.
“Be a good little whore and stay still,” he hissed, attempting to stuff a hand down the front of her dress. The other had found its place on her thigh, bunching up her skirt to try and get at the skin beneath.
Prim tried to catch her breath, tried to do anything to stop whatever was going to happen, but Mr. Tennent’s advantage of size had left her winded. She shut her eyes, hoping that what he planned to do would end quickly.
The sounds of shouting above on the Spartan’s deck broke through their scuffle. Mr. Tennent sat up on his haunches, still keeping most of his weight on her body so she couldn’t move. The shouts grew louder and there were sounds of ammunition fire above them. Prim flinched at the noise, making a feeble attempt to wiggle away from her captor.
Mr. Tennent refocused his attention back to her and grabbed her arms, pinning them above her head. Prim struggled against his grip as she got her wind back, her renewed struggle bolstered by the sounds of conflict on the upper deck.
“Don’t make this difficult,” he whispered, in a low pitched voice, “Take it and-”
The ship lurched sideways as the roar of cannonfire echoed through the brig. Prim felt Mr. Tennent’s full weight dropped on her and she lost her breath once more, her vision erupting with stars.
Prim was not going to die here. She needed to do something to get onto the deck.
The shouts above grew louder and she could hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down into the brig. She took a sharp gulp of air to get her bearings. Prim tried to push Mr. Tennent’s body off of her, but he didn’t move at all. Her hands were tacky with blood and she could see that there was a large chunk of Mr. Tennent’s torso was missing from his body. His eyes were still open wide, glassy and unfocused. She could feel bile rise in her throat as the stench of blood hit her nose, but she choked it down.
A voice floated through the air, close to the entrance to the brig, deep and unfamiliar.
“-the last of them. Nothing in the schedule showed the crew were transporting prisoners. I doubt there’ll be anything down here that we haven’t already found, but-”
Prim could see someone pass by the doorway, struggling to make herself noticeable under the bleeding body.
“Please,” she whispered, trying to get her voice back. The figure in the hallway didn’t stop. She tried moving again, digging her nails into the wood of the floor hoping to drag herself out from under the body that had her pinned.
“H-help!” she cried, “Please!! Help me!!”
The man in the doorway paused and turned towards her. She raised her hands up and waved at him, hoping it was enough to get his attention.
“Dear god,” the man whispered, eyes bright and wide beneath his bushy eyebrows, “HAROLD! I NEED YOU HERE!”
Another man joined him in the doorway, a dark beard obscuring everything below his nose. The first man moved to quickly shove Mr. Tennent’s body off of her, allowing her to catch her breath.
The last thing she saw before she passed out was the burlap of one of the hammocks covering her face.
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Prim blinked awake to someone rubbing something on her back.
For a moment, she expected to hear the sound of humming. Tula would always try to soothe her whenever she was treating her scarred back, the tunes of lullabies dancing through the room. But the room didn’t look familiar and she could feel the steady rocking of being on a ship.
Prim jolted up and turned to fully face the person touching her. It was one of the men from the brig, looking a bit more sooty than the last time she saw him. His beard was beginning to gray, the rest of his hair a deep brown that was nearly black. He wore round glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose.
“I mean you no harm,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, “All I was doing was applying a balm to your back.”
Prim pressed up against the wall of the room, trying to put space between her and the man, feeling that the back of her dress was opened just to the small of her back. The front was still laced, preserving her modesty, and she could feel that her stockings and bloomers were still on. If anyone had touched her, she wouldn't have been awake for it. She tried to calm her hammering heart, clenching her fists into her skirt to try and maintain her focus.
Her stomach lurched as she saw how stained her dress was, blood nearly dyeing it a dark brown.
The man before her remained silent, his hands still up as though he was trying to placate a wild animal. She could see his hands had a viscous liquid coating them, so he was telling the truth about her back. Prim remembered that the other man in the brig had called him Harold.
Regardless of the kindness she was being shown, she couldn’t help but stay wary of Harold.
“Where am I?” she asked, looking around the room.
It wasn’t large enough to be a captain’s cabin. There were two small cots set along the wall across from her. She could see a small shelf with books tucked away in the far left corner. On the right, she saw a door that most likely led onto the upper or lower deck of the ship. She was on top of another cot and could see that next to the man was a small leather pouch with its contents spilling out onto a wooden chair. There were jars filled with golden oil and a small pair of scissors. The man’s lap held the jar of balm he’d been using, along with a small sewing kit.
“You’re on the Apple, in the physician's cabin. I brought you up here when the Captain found you below deck on the Spartan.”
“Is this a pirate ship?”
The man gave her a sheepish grin, wiping his palms on his trousers. “The Captain prefers ‘privateer’ to ‘pirate’, but when it boils down to it, that’s what we are.”
“What happened to the Spartan?” she asked.
“Most likely resting at the bottom of the sea by now,” Harold said.
“Did anyone else survive?”
Harold shook his head. “I don’t know if anyone jumped ship before we sank it, but we were able to retrieve the slaves and servants from the hold. I do know for certain that the captain was killed, along with the man that had been with you in the brig.”
Relief spread through Prim so suddenly that she nearly lost her breath. She swayed against the wall, an invisible weight lifting off of her as she moved her hands to the cot, trying to keep herself upright.
Harold moved slowly towards her to place a hand on her arm to hold her steady. “Easy does it, lass. Take a few breaths.”
Prim closed her eyes and took in a few shuddering breaths. The Spartan was gone. Mr. Tennent was gone.
She was finally free.
Tears streamed down her cheeks at the thought and she curled in on herself as Harold moved his other hand to her other arm. He held her at arms length as she let out breathless sobs until she couldn’t shed another tear.
When Prim finally lifted her head, Harold was still holding her steady, but didn’t make a single move to encroach into her space. She was grateful, unsure of how she should even begin to feel if he’d tried to hug her or pull her close. There were things still too ingrained within her to enjoy that closeness.
Harold’s voice was soft, keeping his gaze on her face. “You’ve been through hell and back haven’t you? Take your time to rest here; I promise no harm will come to you while you’re in my care.”
Prim nodded and Harold released his grip, allowing her to settle back down onto the cot.
“I’ll let you take some time for yourself. Rest if you can. I want to let the Captain know that you’re awake and discuss a few things with him. When I get back, we’ll talk about what’ll happen next.”
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April 1715
The crew of the Apple started preparing to dock as soon as Nassau’s beach was in sight.
The ship was quick to head towards the shore, the members of the crew not needed for bringing down the sails or preparing the longboats leaning on the railings and watching as the beach got larger and larger. The sun was high in the sky, the tang of salt in the air, and it seemed like the perfect day to make port after nearly half a year at sea.
Prim was just as giddy as the rest of the crew, heading to the ship’s bow to look out at New Providence Island. The beach looked crowded with people, tents erected no matter where you looked. She could see smoke coming from a few of them, imagining the smell of spices and cooking meat they’d bring. Looking past the beach, she could see the buildings of Nassau proper, brightly colored against the blue sky. In her view, she could see the famous fort of New Providence, the stone walls looming over the far corner of the island.
This place would be her new home. Prim couldn’t wait to make it to shore.
“First time?” a gruff voice piped up behind her. Prim turned to see the Apple’s quartermaster, Mr. Groves, making his way to lean on the railing near her. She nodded excitedly, quickly reaching into her trouser pocket to pull out a notebook. She scrawled out a quick message and handed it to him.
“‘Never been out of the colonies, so yes. Have you come here often?’” Groves read from the paper, “Yep. Second time with the Apple, but I’ve been returning for nearly a decade with the other crews I’d been a part of over the years.”
He sighed, crossing his arms over the railing. “Strange to see just how much this place has changed in that many years. Just hope it’ll keep itself going for another ten.”
Prim gave him a questioning look. Groves made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “This is one of the few islands that isn’t controlled by England in the Bahamas. With the war going on with Spain, one has to wonder if troops will be on the beach to take it back someday.”
He was quiet afterward, seeming to be lost in thought, and Prim pondered on what to say. Moments like these made her wish she was able to speak, but her voice was too high to be anything but a woman’s. So, Harold had been the one to concoct the story that she was mute, which the rest of the crew seemed indifferent to question.
“So,” Groves said, “I hear you won’t be sailing with us again?”
Prim shook her head, then scrawled onto another page.
“‘I think I need to get my land legs back. Maybe stay long enough to make a place of my own here, ‘“ Groves said, nodding“Aye. Many a pirate and privateer have made their home here, so I’m sure you’ll find a place suitable for you.” He turned to face her, giving her a wide grin under his graying beard. “Hate to see a young man like yourself wasting away with the talent for patching people up.” His face turned somber.
“If Harold was still with us, I’m sure he’d tell you how proud he was of how far you’ve come.”
Harold had passed away the previous month. He’d taken a bullet for the Captain and was returned to the sea. Prim had never thought she’d be able to cry over someone she knew for a few months, but Harold had built up her nerve and her talents. He’d given her a purpose, had shown her that she could be a healer and help others. She was going to take advantage of those skills, regardless if she was at sea or land.
“Don’t be a stranger if we meet again, got it?” Groves said, interrupting her from her thoughts, holding out his hand.
Prim nodded and gave Groves a firm handshake. She liked him; he was a good man who told all sorts of stories about the places he’d visited while at sea. She had enjoyed listening to him during meals and he seemed more than happy that someone wasn’t interrupting his stories. He’d been the one to tell her about Nassau and what life was like on New Providence back when he’d first arrived there.
The entire crew of the Apple had been welcoming of her and she was sad that she’d never get to see them again in her male persona. They showed her that pirates weren’t always the cruel and bloodthirsty creatures that the newspapers of the colonies made them out to be. They were just men who were looking for a chance to make their own way in the world.
The life of a pirate or privateer wasn’t something that called to her. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to stay settled in one place, working to live for herself.
There was one place Prim had in mind for work. She hoped that Grove’s stories weren’t all tall tales about what Nassau had to offer.