A Man at Sea

1782, CHARLES TOWN, SOUTH CAROLINA

Night faded and the morning came, beginning my first day of freedom.

No more was I a slave to my husband. No more was I to be anchored at the shore, longing to be on the seas. No more was I a possession.

I was Anne. I was me.

Dressed in a pair of calico pants, a cutlass by my side and my red hair tied back low, I strolled out of the cabin I slept in and headed for the docks. The ships anchored there were beauties, though Jack’s stood out the most. Dark, mysterious; it was befitting.

There was only one issue. I’m a woman. A woman on a ship is scandalous, a cursed thing. So, a man I had to be; Anne was a man at sea.

They called me Tom the pirate lad and welcomed me aboard; only Jack knew who I truly was.

Mm. I remember them all. Thomas. George. Richard. John. Patrick. James. Noah. A few of these names were repeated in others. Hm. All are lost now; some died in raids, some died from illness and problematic wounds, some were hanged for their crimes of piracy. It matters not; they were all gone by the time I was done with being a pirate. Still, I remember them all the same.

Off I sailed with Jack and his men to live that pirate life. A nuisance it was to pretend I was like them. However, I couldn’t care less to be free of corsets and as a man, I felt like me.

I would hoist the ropes and down the rum as we ploughed the briny sea. I would fight and kill like any man, slashing throats and firing my pistol. I would say that, amongst the casualties, I caused the most; I needed to work harder than any man, too.

Many a moon passed by. Day after day, we did the same thing; sailed, raided, killed, drank. And every night in his cabin, Jack and I would meet ‘cause I still liked being a woman, his lover.

And the crew was aware of this. No, I don’t mean they learnt I was a woman; I speak of sharing Jack’s bed. There was no judgement; homosexuality was common in piracy. Many of the crew were having private entanglements between each other.

However, I must admit that, around the fifth month mark, I do believe they began to doubt and figure things out; you see, my belly started to grow…

APRIL 2025

In the darkness of the night, the patio’s lights shine bright. Sitting upon it are Nettie and Lainey; the former is smiling while the latter is squealing and squirming in her chair.

“She got pregnant?!” Lainey shrieks in delight. “Oh, my God! That’s awesome!” Her eyes start watering. “Shit, I’m going to cry again. From joy this time, though.”

Nettie quietly watches her, noting that Lainey’s initial shyness has faded entirely. This has been a very nice night, she thinks.

Unfortunately, she has to ruin the mood.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but those tears will become sorrowful soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The way the story is written doesn’t matter. Professional, simple, perfect, sloppy. What matters most is that the story is being retold again for those who may have never heard of her.

Plus, Karliene is a lovely singer who deserves some more subscribers. She didn’t/doesn’t just write/sing songs for/about Anne Bonny. She also has songs about witches, middle-earth, Anne Boleyn, and others.

If you haven’t caught on, lines are made bold (sometimes italic but hasn’t been the case since the first two chapters) because it’s a line from the song that’s linked; I’ve been doing this for every chapter and will continue doing it.

Bits and pieces of information about Anne Bonny come from the wikipedia page. It may be true; it may be exaggerated. That’s why I am calling this historical fiction.

And sorry that the lingo is a bit too modern; it’s very difficult to write how people once spoke when you don’t actually know much of how they spoke, even with some research.

Don't forget to read the previous parts of this series!

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, EVERYONE!