Anne Bonny, Piratess

by : epiphanies

April 18th, 1720

Hullo. Me name's Anne Bonny and I'm right proud to tell yeh - I'm a pirate. That's right, a pirate. A piratess, as dear Jack calls me. A plunderin', thievin', blade-crossin', pistol-wielding pirate.

My life is just as hard as any others, I reckon. Havin' to deal with saucy dogs all day and night. Maybe not. Ne'er been one for house-wivery, y'know? I had to suffer through too much of the prim and proper in me childhood - the maids from South Carolina with their accents, always braidin' me red Irish hair and marvellin' at me white Irish complexion. It's bronze now, by the by. Nothin' fair bout me. No, ne'er one for bein' a lady. Don't you know I stabbed a servant girl when I was only twelve? Probably me first murder. Nice and clean, I remember she only cried a bit. Mighty good job. I ran as fast as I could away from home that day, away from the suitors and lollygagging ice-cream men that tried to kiss me hand. All rats.

Let's just say that since, I've had me hardships. But, ne'er have I lost a battle, nay. 'Specially against the menfolk.

That's the end of this journal today. I'm on scrubbing duty and the ship's a mess.

April 25th, 1720

I'm gonna talk 'bout me ship now, and me life as a piratess. What else have I to do except entertain the masses, and I'm too tired for that. Mary can do that.

I stepped foot on the Curlew - the most magnificent ship you ever will see - in the sturdy arms of "Calico Jack" Rackham, the most notorious, dirtiest blighter that ever sailed the seven seas the same time as me. He stole me from me husband, and for that I liked him surely.

He was a swaggering, scurvy bilge rat fool who didn't give a toss even for the state of his materials - probably one of the only pirates sailing in the seven seas who prefers cotton to silk.

Jack was a right nice looking fellow when we first met. Tis been a few years. He's getting handles, from the rum. I poke fun at him whenever I see him, poor idiot. Maybe if he worked instead of just standin' 'round, bein' useless.

Dunno why I'm usin' this... ne'er gonna do anythin' but scratch me peepers out the second me back's turned.

May 14th, 1720

Mary (the only other piratess I know) and I are gettin' fat. Handles. It don't make no sense. Imagine us, the only two who pull our fill in what we eat.

May 31st, 1720

Mary and I imagine that we're with child, the both of us. I have never, in me life, felt sick of the sea. Imagine. Bloody Jack.

June 27th, 1720

I told Jack about me condition. Nearly threw me overboard. He coulda had the decency to shoot me first. I told him it's his own bloody fault. Why do I write in this ruddy book? I got it from Jack, you know, he stole it and didn't know what to do with it. The fellow can't even read. At least he can't, though. I don't need him readin' me damn journal. Is this a journal? I reckon.

I hear noises on the upper deck.

July 1st, 1720

Never thought I'd be writin' this - not that I never knew it would happen, I knew. I smuggled this journal. It will see the life of a pirate and me child can have it, long as it lives. I'm writing this in prison, actually. I was matched to the gallows, don't you know. I plead for me belly, and now I'm here. Mary too.

I saw Jack get hanged yesterday. Dawn. Kicked off his shoes, cause he knew we said he'd die with his shoes on. He wanted to make liars out of us, the filthy dog.

Don't you know what happened? A privateer ship, a bloody sloop, wanted us to be taken, taken to Jamaica for hangin'! Jack and the boys were ruddy drunken messes so Mary and I fought. Mary had the axe, and I killed nearly a dozen of them straightlaces with me cutlass and another eight with me pistol that I keep tucked in me brasier. The cowardly beasts didn't make a peep even, just hid below deck! Needless to report we were overpowered. They brought the remainder of us here.

I nearly killed Jack when I found him hidin', nearly blowed his bloody brain out! Coward!

So, now we sit in Spanish Town, alone and expectin'. Nothin' much else to do but write in this journal.

August 1st, 1720

Mary's very quiet. She's lost the bronze as we've not been allowed out. Her eyes aren't sparklin'.

Doesn't help they've placed the Curlew right out front, her sails whippin' round and the sea beckoning. Where's the noose?

I miss my bloody pistol.

August 9th, 1720

Mary's died. Died of white fever tonight, and I don't want to die in here like her. I've already struck a deal with the guard outside. I'll be out of here in a week's time. I'm takin her, I'm takin' the Curlew and gettin' out o' this 'orrible spit.

And I'm leavin' this journal here. I don't ever, never want to remember what it feels to lose Mary. May she be restin' now.

And may Calico Jack the Coward be burnin'.

{Let it be known that the contents of this story ARE from the hard historical facts found in Nigel Cawthorne's "A History of Pirates." This story is a shortened tribute to the few ranks of female ilk of pirate.}

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