Fly, Little Pelican

1782, CHARLES TOWN, SOUTH CAROLINA

Grew and grew, my belly did. Loose, baggy, my clothes got. Despite the suspicions that were never voiced, I continued hiding my womanness. I continued trying to hide my child.

It mattered not to me if my unborn infant was a son or a daughter; I just wanted to be a mother, to raise a child that would want for nothing. I would be nothing like my father; I would be exactly like my mother. I would make her proud.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, we were forced to dock. Giving birth on the sea would have been a death sentence for me, as Jack and I believed at the time. And it finally hit me that I could not have my dream; the sea is dangerous, too much for an infant child, and keeping the child onboard would only confirm any suspicions the crew may still have had.

We planned to give up our child to someone in the town we had docked in.

Within the first hours of being docked, my labor began. We found a cabin to occupy for the day, just Jack and I. He rushed to locate a physician afterwards. I was in pain throughout the hours, with only Jack and the physician at my side. Reginald. Yes, I remember his name, too; of course I do.

It was after midnight when our son was born.

...

The only love I ever trusted was the love between a mother and her child, and when she died, my shelter flooded; I had to learn to swim or die.

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I told myself I was a fighter. I taught myself to dream and never cry. All that changed the night of his birth, the night he never opened his eyes. All the tears I’d never cried fell that night.

I had not cried when my husband would use me and abuse me; I stood strong, I dealt with the pain of his actions. I would get mad and I would drink. I would do everything but cry to deal with the hurt he caused. He did not deserve my tears.

I had not cried when I would get injured during raids. I had not cried tears of joy for anything. I had not cried in the privacy of my own quarters. I always held it in and let it pass. The crew never showed weakness. Therefore, neither did I.

Losing our son was what finally broke me. Again.

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Jack and I held his hands so tight. Kissed his head goodnight. It was just goodnight.

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We watched him fly. Our little pelican. Joining my mother.

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APRIL 2025

Nettie and Lainey don’t express their feelings in words; instead, they cry together in each other’s arms, Nettie silent and Lainey loud.

Fly, little pelican, fly.

~~~~~~~~~~

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) 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.