Jacky Faber, rich from her exploits diving for Spanish gold, has purchased the Lorelei Lee to carry passengers across the Atlantic. Believing she has been absolved of past sins against the Crown, Jacky docks in London to take on her crew, but is instead arrested and sentenced to life in the newly formed penal colony in Australia. To add insult to injury, the Lorelei Lee is confiscated to carry female convicts to populate New South Wales. Not one to give in to self-pity, Jacky rallies her sisters to “better” their position— resulting in wild escapades, brushes with danger, and much hilarity. "[Jacky] uses her wit, beauty, charm, and numerous skills to wiggle herself out of yet another fine mess. . . . Easy to read and entertaining."— VOYA "Meyer knows how to spin an exciting yarn, particularly on the high seas. Fans will enjoy watching this irrepressible and decidedly uninhibited heroine make the best of yet another seemingly hopeless predicament."— Booklist L. A. Meyer (1942–2014) was the acclaimed writer of the Bloody Jack Adventure series, which follows the exploits of an impetuous heroine who has fought her way up from the squalid streets of London to become an adventurer of the highest order. Mr. Meyer was an art teacher, an illustrator, a designer, a naval officer, and a gallery owner. All of those experiences helped him in the writing of his curious tales of the beloved Jacky Faber. Visit www.jackyfaber.com for more information on the author and his books.   Chapter 1 April 1807 Boston, Massachusetts USA" Must you have your grubby hands on her chest, Davy? Must you? I swear you are just the dirtiest little monkey!" Davy Jones is leaning over the bow and has a grimy paw on each of the girl’s breasts. The rogue grins hugely, but does not change his grip. "Gotta hold on to somethin’, Jacky. We wouldn’t want to drop her in the drink now, would we?" "You drop her in, Mate, and you’re goin’ in after her. Tink, take a strain. John Thomas, swing her in and hold her. There. Good." "She’s in place, Skipper." "All right, pound ’er in." Jim Tanner swings the heavy mallet and drives in the thick pegs that will hold the girl in place on the bow, under the bowsprit. Then we all step back to admire the figurehead. My, my . . . Look at that, now . . . She is absolutely beautiful. I had hired a master woodcarver to carve her because my ship lacked such a figurehead, and I felt we needed one to guide us on our watery way; and a real master he turned out to be. She is carved of good solid oak and positively glows in her new paint—luminous pink skin with long amber tresses that wrap around her slim body. Her back is arched to match the curve of the ship’s stem; her breasts thrust proudly forward, peeking out through the thick strands of her hair. She smiles—her red lips slightly parted, as if her voice were lifted in song—and her hands hold a small golden harp, a lyre, actually, which conveniently, and modestly, covers her lower female part. When we’d discussed the sculpture, the carver, Mr. Simms, thought it would be just the thing if the piece looked like me, and I agreed. The Lorelei Lee is my ship, after all, and so I posed for him—in my natural state, as it were. All who know me know that I am not exactly shy in that regard. Plus Master Carver Simms is an old man, so what’s the harm? I must say Mr. Simms succeeded most admirably in capturing my particular features, and I am most pleased with the result. And, oh, I am so very pleased with all the other parts of my beautiful ship, as well. She is called a brigantine, having two sturdy masts, square-rigged on the foremast, with three fore-and-aft sails off the front and the mainmast rigged with a fore-and-aft spanker as mainsail. She is, in dimensions and sail rig, much like my first real command, HMS Wolverine, which was a brig; but in elegance and spirit, she is much more like my beautiful Emerald, who now sleeps beneath the sea. I like saying brigantine better than brig, as it sounds more elegant. And, oh, she is elegant. I fell in love with her at first sight, lying all sleek next to Ruffles Wharf, looking as if she wanted to shake off the lines that bound her to the land and go tearing off to sea. It was from there that we did take her directly for her sea trials, and she performed most admirably, running before the wind like a greyhound, dancing over the waves and pointing up into the weather like she wanted to charge directly into the teeth of the gale itself. Glory! I had purchased the Lorelei Lee from a Captain Ichabod Lee, who had named her after his daughter. I decided to keep the name, the mythic Lorelei being something like a mermaid who sat on a rock on the Rhine River in Germany and lured poor sailors to their doom with her singing. So it seems appropriate, somehow, my having been something of a mermaid myself in the near past, as well as my being a singer of songs, though I wish no doom on any poor sailor.