The Gun Ketch (38 page)

"You're not the only one, my love," Alan grimaced as he packed his shore-going bags. "Damn, it's so unfair. Finney's guilty, we know it. Proving it's another matter. Now even the imps in the road are spitting at us. Got bones and horse dung flung at me before I got into a boat at the docks."

"I know, love," Caroline nodded, as near to tears as he was at this sudden separation. "I sponged your coat best I could."

He left off his packing to cross the room to her and hold her.

"Caroline love, I fear the mob's anger with me will happen to you," he told her. "Best let Wyonnie and Daniel do the shopping for a few weeks, 'til things quiet down." She nodded her agreement against his neck.

"And, from what little I saw this afternoon, there're sure to be some snubs from people we thought liked us," he confessed. "I fear your popularity in Society's to suffer. Sorry. My fault."

"Damn my social life, Alan!" she said fiercely. "And damn them who regard Finney above you, or me! We'll discover who are faithless and fickle, and who are our true friends. Then, no matter how high a body be, should they snub me now, then they couldn't have been worth much to begin with."

"God, how much I cherish you, Caroline," Alan muttered, lifting her off her feet to embrace her snugly. "You're so sensible, so good for me when I' m not. Which I fear is often. My treasure!"

"I won't have much need for Society, anyway, Alan," Caroline whispered in his ear. "Not for the next seven months, anyway."

"Why? Afraid of running into Finney?"

"I'd meant to tell you properly, darling," she whispered, and leaned back a little, took one of his hands and directed it down to her belly. "Now is my last chance, so ..." She wore an impish smile.

"Well, surely this'll all blow over by ... WHAT?"

"And you will be back in port for the birth of our first child," ; she said, and he could feel her smile against his shoulder, even if he could not see it. He let her down to her feet and stood back from her, his expression about as be-twattled as it'd ever been and saw the happy, and so-pleased-with-herself confirmation in her fond gaze. "You look
shot,
Alan! Does it not please you, darling?"

"Oh ... my ... God!" he yelped in cold confusion.

Sure, try humour on, why don't I, he thought! Try to imagine things getting worse, why don't you!
Now,
of all times, when I can't be here! Thankee, Jesus! Thankee very much! S'not like we haven't gone at it like stoats so much it hadn't happened earlier! Do, Jesus, a baby! Now!

"Alan?" she whispered, losing her confident smile. "You look so pale, you think you'd seen a spook! Do you not...
want..."

"Oh, God, no, Caroline, don't think that, don't ever think that!" he tried to reassure her. "Christ,
me
a father! Who'd a thought it?"

Not like I ain't been damn' fortunate so far, he told himself; and thank God for Mother Green's best condoms all these years!

"Surprised, more like, Caroline," he babbled on. "Damme, taken ail-aback! In-irons! Lord, God, me a father! I mean, you a mother! I adore it!"

Scares me so bad I wouldn't trust mine arse with a fart!

"You truly do, you do!" she grinned.

"God, leaving you anytime is hard enough, but now, Caroline!" he sighed, pulling her to him again to hold her safe for what little time he was allowed. "That's what nigh put my lights out.
Damn
the Navy! I should be here with you! I love you so much, and now there is so much to worry about. Write me daily! I love you so much, and I could lose you so easy. I do love it! I do! I'm that proud of you, m'girl. But, had they physicians on Long Island... hell's teeth, just
one,
I'd take you there so I could keep an eye on you 'til ... no, there're better physicians here in Nassau. Oh, Christ!"

"I'm healthy as a colt, Alan. My entire family is," Caroline assured him. "I'll look after myself. The Boudreaus have the finest physician in mind for me, and Betty will move in with me to share my confinement. Until August."

"That's good," he agreed. "For you, and her, consid'rin'."

"Wyonnie and her husband Daniel'll be here for my heavy chores, and I..." She planned, then broke off and began to weep. "God, I'm going to miss you so bad! I
do
want you here, but I know you can't. No idea when
...?"

"A few months, I think. When Commodore Garvey sends for me. Exile until then. Look, m'girl, he's that angry with me. Suggested I chuck my command and commission, and..."

Damme if I'll worry her with that bastard's slanders; no!

"We could sail home to England, love," he concluded.

"We'll do no such thing, Alan," she decided firmly. "It's too late for that, and sea voyages aren't safe for pregnant women, I've been told, so I'm better off here. As for his sorry treatment of you, he'll come to regret it. Once this has settled, he'll see your merit again. Once the truth about Finney comes out, you'll be able to hold your head up high as anyone! You won't quit now, Alan. You've too much pride to slink away. Too stubborn, too, if the truth be known. Part of what I absolutely adore, darling. Part of the father of our child I cherish and respect. And wish for our children to possess."

It took everything he had not to weep with gratitude for her boundless confidence in him, or for the joy he felt, brief as it now could be, at being so unconditionally loved. This joy he was losing as the sun sank away his final hours ashore with her.

"Thank God for you, Caroline," he muttered, his eyes hot and moist, be-dewing her sweet-smelling hair. "Remember how much I love you! And God knows, as I'll remember whilst I'm gone!"

Slink away, he did, though, as
Alacrity
cupped the last of the twilight Trades, soft-parting slack harbour waters as she steered her way through the throng of shipping in the port at sunset.

The sun declined in almost gaudy grandeur, blood red as hothouse roses, as amber gold as dancing candle flames, with theclouds regular wavy mottles and swirls like angels' tresses. Lanterns were being lit ashore, on the docks, on the many moored vessels as twilight gathered, and
Alacrity's
fo'c's'le belfry, helm and taffrails glowed warm yellow as well.

"Put your helm down two points, Quartermaster," Lieutenant Ballard instructed softly. "Lay her head nor-nor'west for the main channel."

"Aye, aye, sir, nor-nor'west," Mr. Neill echoed. "Ready for the gun salute to the flag, Mister Ballard?" Lewrie asked, sunk deep in the "Blue Devils" and gazing astern to see if he could espy a light on the porch of a particular house above Potter's Cay, on the beach road. "Aye, sir."

"Wonder why yon ship is dressed all-over, sir?" Midshipman Parham said, pointing ahead to a fine three-masted lugger profuse with flags and bunting. Her decks were afire with lanterns in profligate array all down her gangways, and about her quarter-deck railings.

"Shut yer mouth, Mister Parham!" Lewrie heard Ballard whisper in a harsh tone as he recognized the house flag atop her mainmast.

"Sorry, sir," Parham grunted, blushing as he saw it, too. Lewrie came to the nettings over the waist and raised his spyglass to look her over. "She's a new 'un. Oh. One of Finney's. They seem to have something to
celebrate
yonder this evening." The faint sounds of a band could be heard tootling merry tunes as the many guests danced or sang with rowdy good cheer.

"Goddamme!" Lewrie shuddered as he read the name on the transom plate of the new ship. "Goddamn him!"

"What is it, sir?" Ballard asked.

"Here, see for yourself, Mister Ballard!" Alan said, shivering with dread, and strongly reconsidering an immediate resignation. "Why, the bastard!" Ballard yelped in outrage. There, in ornate, serifed letters, bright with gold leaf, was the new ship's name:
Caroline!

"How
dare
he presume, sir!" Ballard growled, repulsed by such a boorish, flaunting deed, his prim sense of decorum scandalized! "Put your helm aweather, Mister Neill," Lewrie decided quickly. "New course due west. Steer up yon lugger's transom, but be ready to come about again to due north for the channel when I call."

"Sir?" Ballard queried, coming to his side. "Helm's aweather, sir. Comin' about t'due west, sir."

"You'll be using the larboard battery for the salute, Mister Fowles?" Lewrie called down to his master gunner in the waist below.

"Aye, sir. Ready any time you want, sir."

"Oh, sir," Lieutenant Ballard objected, but not too forcefully, as he got his quizzical, bemused look. "Surely
not
!" he tried to pout.

On their new course, they would ram
Caroline
in her very stern, or pass down her starboard side at close pistol-shot at best!

"Open your ports, Mister Fowles. Ready with the salute."

At half a cable's distance from a collision, Lewrie turned to the quartermaster. "Helm alee, Mister Neill. Nor'west."

Alacrity
bore away upwind of the anchored
Caroline,
crossing her starboard quarter at a forty-five degree angle at one hundred yards!

"Fire your salute, Mister Fowles," Lewrie grinned.

BOOM!
"If I weren't a gunner, I wouldn't be here. Number Two gun... fire!" Fowles paced out the stately measure, walking aft with the guns.
BOOM!
"I've left me wife, me home, and all that's dear. Number Three gun... fire!"
BOOM!

Guests aboard the
Caroline,
and her mates, had cringed when they saw
Alacrity
bearing down on them. They'd laughed at Finney's japes against the Navy as he celebrated his victory. Then, here was the Navy bearing down upon them as if to ram and board her! Civilians dashed about in sudden terror as the first cannon fired its reduced powder charge. Women screamed, and the band came to a sudden gurgling halt! Crewmen ran for weapons, sure they were being fired at, or took themselves below for safety, as their mates bellowed for order on the quarter-deck. Hot powder smoke, rank with rotten-egg and hell-fires' stench, wafted over them as
Alacrity
cruised slowly by across their quarter like vengeance.

"Ah, there's our host," Lewrie chuckled.

John Finney came clawing his way through his terrified, darting guests to the rails, to stand head-taller than the rest, gaudy in pale silks and satins, his white-powdered tie-wig askew on his head, as he shook his fist at them and mouthed curses lost in the shouting, the screams, and the deafening gunfire.

"Helm down, Mister Neill. North for the channel," Lewrie said as the last shot of the salute belched forth and echoed off
Caroline's
hull. "Haul taut, forrud! Brace up, sheet home! Give us a tune, you men!"

The ship's idlers who played fiddle and fifes lurched into life, playing a gay pulley-hauley chantey, "Portsmouth Lass," the onlyone allowed in the Fleet, as
Alacrity
turned her stern to
Caroline
and steered away for the sea, her flags flying and her commissioning pendant streaming as saucily as some teasing, taunting coquette.

"Salute's done, sir," Fowles said after carefully counting his shots.

"I should certainly say it is, Mister Fowles!" Alan laughed.

Finney could be seen tearing the tie-wig from his head to throw it after them, screaming imprecations that were only thin howls under the chantey-tune, the hull's creaking, and the wake's bustling swash.

"He may play the hoary seaman, but he's a shopkeeper, Mister Ballard," Lewrie said loud enough for the afterguard to hear. "Just a jumped-up purser, and a 'Nip-Cheese' 'un, at that! Take that, you bastard! We'll have you yet!"

For a final fillip, Alan raised his right hand and presented an upright middle finger to Finney, a
very
English gesture of long usage.

To Alan's amazement, Lieutenant Arthur Ballard stepped to his side at the rails and did the same, as did the midshipmen, and Mister Fellows the sailing master!

The last Finney saw of
Alacrity,
as all but her lights faded into the rosy dusk, was her entire crew standing to attention as taut as Sunday Divisions, hands raised in scornful "salute"!

"Damme, Mister Keyhoe, there
must
be some correspondence!" he barked at his round little purser.

"Only pay vouchers, I fear, Captain," Keyhoe sighed, shrinking into his dark blue coat to escape Lewrie's wrath. "The paperwork that comes with Admiralty stores shipped down from Nassau in the packet."

"Did they at least send money for the hands, then?" Alan asked.

"Uh ... nossir. The usual certificates, and those six months in arrears, as usual," Keyhoe had to confess.

"So the jobbers ashore'll buy 'em up, and the hands'll have a quarter to a half their true pay, aye," Lewrie almost kicked furniture in his anger.

"Hardly any pay, sir, once they settle their previous debts," Keyhoe muttered on. "Half of it pledged to me for slop-goods, tobacco and sundries. The rest with brothels and taverns ashore on every island hereabouts."

"Damme, this goes beyond punishment," Alan fussed. "This now begins to sound very much like vindictiveness! Bosun's stores?"

"None, sir," Keyhoe confessed.

"Powder and shot?"

"Again, none, sir. Just rum, wine, small beer, biscuit and salt-meat, Captain. Enough for another two months at full rations."