The Gun Ketch (53 page)

"About a week to ten days," Alan replied, taking his own wine in hand. "Little more than a year in Bahamian waters, and her bottom is foul as the Forest of Dean, copper or no! Least she wasn't eaten with teredo worms like
Whippet
was. 'Tis a miracle to me we made the speed we did, catching Finney, with that much growth on the bottom. Or him being foolish enough to break off his flight to fight us, just within sight of safety. Carrying too much sail. Loafing along..."

"Perhaps a higher power aided you, dear," Caroh'ne said with a secret smile. "A higher power with a strong sense of justice."

"I would suppose so," Alan allowed.

"So we have two blessed weeks to look forward to, then," she said. "You at home every evening." She scooted her chair over closer to his so they could lean together and put their arms about each other's shoulders companionably. "Sleep in the same bed each night..."

"Wake together so close and snug," Alan suggested.

"Alan," she said, after a meaningful purring noise. He looked for the tiny vertical line between her brows; and found it.

Oh, shit, he thought with trepidation; what now?

"When Finney was here that evening ..."

"The bastard!"

"Yes, but..." Caroline agreed, taking a sip of wine and gazing out towards Potter's Cay. "Among his blandishments to win me, he told me ... or he strongly
suggested,
that is ... that you were known in the Navy by a nickname. That you were awfully young to have gained one, but that in the Fleet, you were known as ... the 'Ram-Cat' He as much as said right out that it alluded to... faithless ... amorous ... Where did he come by that, dear?" she concluded, looking at him closely.

"Oh, God," Alan smiled, hiding his panic damned well, even if he did say so himself. He threw in a tiny chuckle. "Caroline, love. I suppose it came aboard the
Shrike
brig, under old Lieutenant Lilycrop. I ended up with William Pitt, and half a dozen other cats. He'd make me a present of one from every litter, and we had so many Utters we were ankle-deep in kittens! Fobbed 'em off on every passing ship we spoke, and it was me that had to make the offers, half the time. And, well... Navy blue coats and cat hair don't mix, don't ya know. Every time I reported somewhere, I was constantly brushing myself down. And having William Pitt in London with me. I believe Admiral Hood named me that in jest, before I went out to the Far East with Burgess. When I reported to him, Pitt had been at my coat. I expect that's where it comes from, darling."

"You went to Sir Samuel Hood's with cat hair on your coat?" she giggled.

"And the smell of his 'blessings' on me, too, most like," Alan tried to giggle back.

"Oh, God, what a picture! No wonder he called you 'Ram-Cat'! He could smell it on you! And see it! Darling, it's a wonder at all he gave you an active commission!" she laughed out loud.

"Better than herding swine on half-pay, and facing him in straw and pig shit!" Lewrie agreed. "Promise you'll never tell that on me."

"Oh, I'll not, ever!" she told him, leaning closer to hug and kiss him. "But I can't help thinking about it, just between us."

"It'll make a fine tele to tell Sewallis when he's older."

"Yes, it will," Caroline agreed. "And, it's not a bad sobriquet for you to have. You'll always go after your foe like William Pitt, like an angry 'Ram-Cat' "

"That I will," he said.

And thank bloody Christ she bought that, he thought gratefully.

John Murray, Fourth Earl of Dunmore, Royal Governor to the Bahamas from 1787 to 1796, was just about as bad as I portrayed him, and as the estimable William Wylly cited further writes, nor was "the immorality of his private life any less reprehensible than the defects of his public character." Fort Charlotte, familiar to all visitors to Nassau, was started at an estimate of £4,000, and ended up costing the government £32,267. He was more interested in his own mansion, and a magnificent estate and house at Harbour Island, which is officially named Dunmore Town, but never by the long-suffering inhabitants who ever had anything to do with him, or paid his exorbitant rents. His administration was as corrupt as they come, his appointments termed by another writer "bankrupts, beggars, blackguards and the husbands of his whores"; for one his Searcher of Customs, whose wife bore him a child during his tenure. For anyone interested in delving further into the history of the Bahamas, let me recommend
A History of the Bahamas
by Michael Craton.

Did Caroline's
obeah-man
cause Jack Finney's downfall? To get to him at long range after he sailed, she would have needed the power of an expensive witch, far beyond the powers of an average "white-magic"
obeah
practitioner. An
obeah
doctor would need a "snake-witch," an animal that could swim long distances to "fix" people far away. Witch in this instance is the curse itself, as in what an oldtimer in the islands would say when he or she threatens "to work witch on ya."

There's a good chapter on
obeah
in
Insight Guides: Bahamas,
3rd Edition, available in most tour-guide sections in your local bookstore, or Dr. Timothy McCartney's book
Ten Ten, The Bible Ten—Obeah In The Bahamas.
Should you visit Nassau, take a side-trip to Fox Hill, and ask around—respectfully.

Lastly, I hope the citizens of the Bahamas will forgive me for making John Canoe, even briefly, a seaman in the Royal Navy. He was reputed to be an escaped slave, a mythic figure of hope to those still in slavery, a strong, proud man who stole a boat and paddled away from chains and whips, still honoured every year in the Bahamas, whether he was a real man, or a hoped-for hero of cleverness and power who could surmount contemporary problems, like Anglo-Saxon "Jack" tales, or the stories about "Brer Rabbit" who always won indirectly by wits.

Besides, doesn't it make a better story than the Yoruba word of the Egungun cult
gensinconnu,
meaning "wearers of masks," to name the annual festival Junkanoo... for the man, John Canoe?

Finally, what further lies in store for Alan Lewrie? The peaceful end of an active commission in the Bahamas, of course, which takes him to 1789. But just a few years later, there was war with France, a naval war which dragged on until 1815, the highest fruition of sailing ships and square-rigger warfare—The Great Age of Sail.

Would the Admiralty not consider themselves fortunate to have the services of such a splendid (on paper, at least) sea-dog? Or, in this case, ram-cat?

Will he ever live that sobriquet down? Will Caroline ever suspect its true origin? Will Arthur Ballard influence Alan Lewrie, or, will Lewrie corrupt Ballard, when next they cross each other's hawse?

As we used to say down in Memphis to tease the 10 p.m. report on "Action News-5" ... stay tuned.