"What pirates, Rodgers?" Garvey roared. "You let 'em escape! You did not arrest one person who should have been in the dock! You had no captives to interrogate to determine whether it was booty or not! And out of spite, out of frustration that you'd been bested, you saw what you wanted to see, learned only what you wished to hear, abused the master, mates and crew of Guineaman, brought scandal upon their good names, invented a circumstantial fairy tale, then laid a case against one of Nassau's most illustrious merchants, just so you had something to show for your swaggering antics!"
"Sir, I take deep, grievous exception to your characterization of my actions, sir," Rodgers said, almost strangling.
"You failed, sir! Hear me? You failed! Failed to capture a single pirate. Failed!" Garvey almost howled. "You could have left a guard over the goods, brought Guineaman back here, and discovered the truth quietly. Finney and the other merchants would be cheering you for saving his ship and his goods, but no! You demean honest men in a court of law, and…"
"Honest men," Lewrie muttered with scorn.
"What? Did you speak, sir?" Garvey ranted, turning on him. "A court says he's honest. A court just said he's completely innocent! He was shrewd enough to import extra and cache it until the price was high enough. Know who's cheering Finney, Lewrie? The same people he will skin when they buy his off-season imports. They call him knacky to be the only one with their fancy goods they cannot do without, and will pay his prices gladly. If he undercuts the other Bay Streeters, yet cheats them, that's just the nuts to them, the fools!"
"Being shrewd doesn't mean he isn't guilty, sir," Lewrie said. "The book, sir. How did he come by that, if…"
"Be quiet, you silly clown! 'Twas you and your first officer who brewed this case out of thin air, then laid it at this fool's feet and convinced him he was onto something. And all for jealousy, sir! Because you were jealous, I ask you!"
"Sir!" Lewrie goggled."The whole town knows Finney was spooning 'round your little 'batter-pudding,' Lewrie," Garvey scoffed. "And you didn't like it, did you?" Garvey accused, dropping into a nursery-room singsong. "You didn't have the nutmegs to warn him off as a man should, so you plotted a way to confound a rival in your wife's affections by naming him a confederate of pirates. Was he simply too handsome for your peace of mind, sir? Too fearsome an opponent to confront man to man, hey? Too fierce a foe to call out? Or would his hanging on false charges make you feel more sanguine about your wife while you were at sea, sir?"
"Damme, sir, that is patently unfair!" Alan exploded. "And you cast foul aspersions upon my wife's good name and morals for no good reason, sir! If you do have any allegations about her, I demand you say them straight out now, or never, sir! You may be my superior officer, but that doesn't give you the right to demean her, sir!"
"Oh, Christ," Alan heard Rodgers grunt under his breath. "I am your commanding officer, you insubordinate dog!" Garvey howled, jowls flapping. "You do not shout at me, sir, nor will you use foul language in any address to me! And I'll cast any aspersion I please! An officer junior as you has no business marrying in the first instance, nor in fetching his mort out to a foreign station for his comfort and pleasure in the second. She has affected your skills as a Sea Officer, prejudiced your administering of King's Justice, so unwitted you that you laid false charges against a man for revenge for some slight. Perhaps it might be best if you resign your command and commission, and take both her and you home. Failing that, put her on a ship, leaving you to concentrate on the salvation of what is left of your career."
"Sir, that goes beyond what a commanding officer may order any subordinate to do," Rodgers protested at once. "An officer's personal life does not fall under your regulation, sir. And I cannot believe that I have heard a superior officer use his office to slander a fine and blameless young lady in such a callous fashion."
Alan could not speak, and thanked God for Rodgers' courage. There was a humming in his ears, a red mist before his eyes, and the room swam about him. He had never been so angry, nor so impotent to act. Should he speak for himself, he would explode,' and damn every consequence. Should he even move, his first action would be to draw his hanger and run Garvey through!
"Believe what you will, Rodgers," Garvey barked. "What, Lewrie? No fine words? Cat got your tongue at last, hey?"
"I have no doubts at all concerning my wife, sir, and I bitterly resent your words about her, sir," Alan managed to drag out between clenched jaws. "Finney traffics in stolen goods, sir. We had a case. Not the tightest case, it turns out. But the truth was told, sir. 1 stand by my allegations. I stand by my wife, and I resent…"
"Truth! My God…" Garvey hooted, checking himself as he almost blasphemed himself. "You make me want to spew, the two of you! There'll be a Court of Inquiry into your actions, sirs. There'll be civil charges laid by Finney to recoup lost goods and incomes. Your truth is a pack of fabulist slanders, and he'll most likely sue you both for that, too! Until any or all of those courts convene, you're to make yourselves scarce as hen's teeth. Out of my sight so I am not tempted to relieve you of your commands and break you!"
"And will you schedule the Court of Inquiry preceding the civil suits, sir?" Rodgers demanded. "Would that not be prejudicial should I be found… ?"
"Should have considered the consequences before you acted, sir," Garvey almost snickered. "You serve, and you will now wait, pending my pleasure and convenience. Commander Rodgers, 'tis coming up on whale season, did you know that?"
"Sir?"
"And salt-raking will soon commence, with hotter sunshine down south. You will sail this evening, sir, making the best of your way, and relieve Aemilia as station-ship in the Turks."
"Sir, I draw two fathoms," Rodgers protested. "I couldn't sail a tenth of my patrol area down yonder!"
"Purchase a lugger or two from the fishermen, then, to act as tenders to Whippet" Garvey shrugged, sitting down at last in a fine leather desk chair. "Perhaps Lieutenant Coltrop has one already."
"Out of Admiralty funds, sir?" Rodgers asked, suspiciously.
"Your stupidity leaves me with no Admiralty funds, Rodgers. I leave it to you to deal with out of your own purse if you wish to perform your duties… 'as best you see it' "
"Aye, aye, sir."
"And you, Lewrie," Garvey simpered. "You're going south, too. Long Island, Cat, Rum Cay, Conception and Watling's will be your area. Should I even hear a rumour of your tops'Is being seen north of Flamingo Point on Cat Island until I send for you, I'll have you cashiered for mutiny and desertion, sir."
"Aye, aye, sir," Alan nodded, too numb to grasp.
"Now, my fine turd-barge captains," Garvey glowered, "get out of my sight. Get out of my harbor, and stay out! And, should I getword you've done something else so abysmally chuckleheaded again, I promise I will have no mercy upon you. Go. Go!" Garvey concluded, shooing them away with a languid wave of his hand as if flitting off flies.
"Mine arse on a bandbox!" Alan fumed once they had reached the streets. "How dare he!" he hissed, close to tears of impotent rage. "He had no right! No right at all!"
"No, he doesn't," Rodgers groaned as they plodded heavily downhill towards Bay Street. "And if Caroline sails, will his wife, his daughter, or his sister and her dominee husband sail with her, hey?"
"Can he force her to leave?" Alan asked fearfully.
"No, he cannot, and he knows it. Damme, what a bloody mess! Damn the court, damn the panel, damn our timid mouse of a prosecutor… damn the very law! We know Finney's guilty, but he's got clean away with it. And he'll keep on gettin' away with it, now. He ought to be swingin' in a noose, but he's a hero all over again, damn his blood!"
"And the next time, it'll be one of Garvey's anointed who lets him get away with murder. Damn the man! Damn him to hell! I never knew a senior officer so…!" Lewrie raged. "The bastard!"
"He was wrong, wasn't he?" Rodgers was forced to ask after a long minute or two of silence as they plodded along despondently. "What Garvey said about you dislikin' Finney so much you might have… about you bein' nettled by his attentions towards your wife?"
"He'd sent invitations to his functions. Acted overly familiar in public at -dos' they attended separately," Alan replied, as calmly as he could. "It was being handled, quietly. The man's dense, and a boor. But I was a long way from fronting him, or calling him out about it, sir," Lewrie lied.
"And your dislike didn't prejudice you when you… ?"
"Not at all, sir. Oh, I admit to being most pleasantly surprised to see him implicated, but we had real evidence. I invented not one whit of it, sir. Arthur Ballard came up with most of it, and he's unaware of the situation, so he was as objective as anyone would wish. He's damned clever, sir, and would have dissuaded us if he didn't deem our case plausible. Look at the consequences, sir! I knew them going in, and the court warned us, too. No matter how much I might detest a man, I'd not risk all we face now to vent my spleen. Even I'm not that stupid, sir! I still don't understand it. If the prosecutor thought it was too weak to present, and he feared losing so much, then why did he end up taking it to court? Why are we not being sued right now for damages, instead? I mean to say… the charges against Finney should have been dropped, and then he'd have turned around and sued us over his losses, if he had a mind to."
"I don't know," Rodgers sighed. "And I wish to God I'd never heard of 'Calico Jack,' or Guineaman, or Walker's Cay. Damme, he'll have my last ha'penny 'fore he's through with me."
"Mine, too," Lewrie commiserated.
"No, you acted under my orders, Lewrie. It's my burden to bear from now on. At my Court of Inquiry they'll call you as a witness, no more. And thankfully, none of Commodore Garvey's vile assertions about our motives will see the light of day."
"Damn him, if he starts slandering her in society, I'll call him out, damme if I won't, the Articles of War bedamned!" Lewrie vowed.
They passed in front of a popular tavern as they turned the corner to Bay Street. Several boos and catcalls from within followed them, along with a few gnawed rib bones, as the patrons jeered them.
"Damme, I'm a King's Officer, how dare they?" Rodgers erupted.
"Captain Tom of the Mob, sir," Lewrie said, restraining him. "I fear we'll have to put up with it for awhile. Bad as any sauceboxes in London when it comes to putting down their betters when they're caught out. Best we ignore 'em before they summon a real mob and we end up 'de-Witted' like that Dutchman got torn apart in 1672."
"They wouldn't dare!" Rodgers huffed, but allowed himself to be put back in motion, and led at a slightly quicker pace away from their detractors.
"The mob, sir? They'd dare anything, until the garrison has to be called out and the Riot Act read. And we don't want that."
"S'pose not," Rodgers allowed. "Well, if I'm to sail this evening, I'd best go aboard ship now."
"You will not dine with me and Caroline, sir? Bring Betty along for a last supper?"
"Uhm, Betty… hmm," Rodgers blushed. "Tell ya the truth now, Lewrie, I'm not the marryin' sort, like yourself. And your Caroline's corrupted Betty Mustin somethin' awful lately. Put ideas in her pate 'bout wedded buss an' vine-covered cottages such as yours, ah…"
"Should I give her your respects, at least, then, sir?"Hmm. Best not," Rodgers frowned. "I've sent her a note. Andi I'm off for the Turks for a long spell, it seems, so this might be the best thing, in the long run, don't ya know."
"I see, sir," Alan nodded sadly.
"Ah, Mister Chatsworth. Mistress Chatsworth," Rodgers said as he doffed his cocked hat to salute a couple of his acquaintance, and Alan did the same, recognizing them from several salons. "Delight…"
"Hmmph!" that worthy said as he turned his head away to deliver the "cut-direct." His wife, made of sterner stuff, actually turned her gaze heavenward and out to sea, the "cut-sublime," and nudged her man in the ribs to steer them to the opposite side of the street!
"Well, shit!" Rodgers spat in bruised wonder. "Only to be expected, sir," Lewrie sighed heavily. Damme, that irks, though, he thought! "Shopping at Finney's are you, Mister Chatsworth?" Lewrie could not help calling after them. "Mixing your wine with the blood of poor murdered sailormen, are you? They've a fine special on cutlasses and pistols. Just the thing for carving your Sunday roast, madam! Or for making Mister Chatsworth walk the plank!" "Lewrie, for God's sake!" Rodgers flushed, half outraged, yet more than half amused. "Does nothing repress you; sir?"
"I'm minded of your earlier statement, sir, about this being a funny world, but no one laughs about it. Thought I'd try humour on, just to see what happens, 'cause I can't imagine things getting worse. Shall I see you to the dock and into your boat, sir?"
"Thankee, Captain Lewrie, I'd admire that. Might consider you row out with me, then over to Alacrity. Then take your own gig t'land on that beach just b'fore your house, 'stead o' takin' the road home. Never know what our fine citizens hereabouts might think up."
"Aye, sir, I'll do that very thing," Lewrie agreed. "Share a bottle o' champagne with me, 'fore you go?"
"I'd best not, sir," Lewrie decided. "Caroline'll be worried."
"Pity, 'tis a damn' good year," Rodgers chuckled. "I've twenty dozen stored in my lazarette. Ought to hold me for four months, do I ration m'self close. An' they'll be an absolute delight t'drink, for they came from Finney's stash on Walker's Cay, don't ya know." "Damned good, sir. Take joy of them!" Alan brightened. "He is a pirate, Lewrie," Rodgers spat, sobering. "And someday we'll prove it, proper. Garvey's wrong, ya know. The Crown won't make good his losses. They were unbonded, undutied goods. Just the same as smuggled! The mob may think it was knacky, but the Court'll think it just shy o' criminal. And I surely can't. And won't! Should the judgment go against me, I'd abscond to Havana 'fore he gets a single' farthin'. We hurt him where it hurts him the most, Lewrie! Thousands and thousands o' pounds o' goods, gone up in smoke! Might stretch him sore. Make him desperate. And should one o' his ships cross my hawse, why then I'll hurt him all over again!"
Chapter 2
"Darling, I'm so very sorry things turned out as they have," Caroline attempted to console him. For a final evening before sailing, it was a horrible occasion. Betty Mustin had gotten Rodgers' note which severed their relationship and ended his financial support, so she'd run to Caroline's for comfort, and was weeping disconsolately on one of their settees, a noisy, unlooked for intruder.
"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"!
Chapter 3
"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."
"And what about officers' pay, Mister Keyhoe?" Lieutenant Ballard inquired. "Certificates, too?"
"Aye, sir," Keyhoe huffed. "Had I a way to communicate with my agent in Nassau, I could offer two-thirds value on the certificates, so those vultures ashore don't skin 'em so bad, but I've no coin."
So you're the king-vulture and pocket it all when the ship pays off in 1789, Lewrie thought sourly. There was only one ship's purser he'd ever liked, Mr. Cheatham aboard the Desperate frigate during the war. And he'd kept a chary eye on him, too!
"Well, there'll be drink enough to keep our ship's people easy and groggy," Lewrie stated with a sadly bemused snort. "They'll not starve, but it's issue rations, and nothing fresh, 'less we continue to purchase for 'em when we buy wardroom stores. Damn Garvey!"
"Aye, sir," Ballard said. "But none of us…"
"I know, Mister Ballard, we're 'skint,' too!" Lewrie nodded in total frustration. "Very well. Working party, Mister Ballard. Warp the packet brig alongside and transfer cargo."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"And call away my gig. I'm going ashore," Lewrie decided of a sudden, feeling imprisoned on his own decks.
Alacrity had been in her new patrol area for six months. Long Island, Rum Cay, Conception and Watling's were sparsely settled, if at all, and the principal settlements were on Cat Island. In that remote corner of the southeast Bahamas, packet ships cameirregularly, most often quarterly. For Alacrity, they brought provisions and vouchers, but no mail, and no replies to Lewrie's letters to the Bahamas Squadron. As indolent and hand-to-mouth as life was in these islands, it sometimes felt as if the rest of the world had somehow ceased to be since they had attained them, as if all civilization had fallen. And hadn't bothered to tell them about it. There had been no summons to a Court of Inquiry into Walker's Cay. There had been no notice of a civil trial for damages laid by John Finney. And no answer to Lewrie's urgent requests for powder and shot, sailcloth, rope, tar, paint and nails with which to keep Alacrity in fighting trim and able to keep the sea. Live-firings to maintain the gunners' accuracy were a thing of the past, as was drill at small arms beyond swords and pikes, since dry-firing shattered the flints in their muskets and firelocks on the carriage guns.