The Gun Ketch

by Dewey Lambdin

  "From Daniel,

  To his scamp of a brother Nathan. May this inspire you aboard Matilda on your next Voyage! & May her New 1st Mate have similar Joy of the swarthy Bahamian ladies!"

  Wonder if he did, Alan thought with amusement. And did he have to sell it to pay for the Mercury Cure to rid himself of the pox those Bahamian "ladies" gave him?

  He decided to buy it, and added it to the pile on the counter.

  "That should be all here," Alan said to the young clerk who was following him about, keeping a running total from store to store.

  "Might have a peek at this before you leave, Captain sir," the young man suggested. "The very latest scientific device to predict the tropic storm. Hang this on your bulkhead below-decks, and you'll have all the warning a sailing man would ever need."

  "How does it work?" Alan asked, looking at a bulbous glass flask with a tall, narrow, sealed neck. Inside the flask was a blue liquid of some kind. It was brass-bound to a wooden plaque.

  "The better the weather, the more of the liquid will gather at the bulb-end on the bottom, sir," the clerk told him. "But when there is a storm brewing, why 'twill soar up the neck. The worse the storm to-be, the higher will it go, sir. 'Tis said, sir," he confided with an air of secrecy, "that the Admiralty will be requiring every one of their ships to be equipped with one soon. We've shown one on display over t'the ships' chandlery all this past year, and 'tis been a wonder to all who've seen it for how accurately it reflected the weather, it has. And only twenty guineas, sir!"

  "Should the Admiralty require it, then let them buy it for me," Alan scoffed. "Let's go select some wines."

  "Very good, Captain sir."

  The spirits shop was set up much like a coffeehouse, or an inn's public room, with tables and chairs. The walls were lined with barrels and wooden cases of bottles, with a combination counter and bar at the rear.

  "Well, damme!" Alan was forced to exclaim as he espied an oil painting over the counter. It was his harem scene that Caroline had traded off, to the life! There were the same buxom darlings on the same draped couches, with a slender lass featured in the foreground standing to be toweled after her bath, the one who so-muchresembled his first whore in Covent Garden, the infamously handsome " 'Change Court Betty" in all her bare splendor.

  "Inspiring, ain't it, sir?" the clerk simpered. "Here, Davie, the captain would like to sample some wines this day."

  "Aye, sir," the vendor smiled, wiping his hands on his apron as he came from behind his counter. "Pray, have a seat, sir, and take yer ease. Tell us yer wants, sir, an' we'll trot 'em out for yer to select those as best suits yer palate."

  Lewrie took a seat and removed his cocked hat. "Let's begin on port. I'll need one case."

  "Going back t'sea, are we, sir?" the vendor clucked. "Got a fine 'Rain-Water' Madeira just in. Got a lovely nose, ain't it, sir? Try a sip of that, now."

  A door in the back that led to the storerooms opened, and Alan paused with a sample glass to his lips as John Finney emerged, intent on a loose sheaf of papers. He looked up, spotted Lewrie, and smiled hesitantly, then put a bold face on it and stepped forward.

  "Captain Lewrie, the top o' the mornin' t'ya, sir," he lilted in an Irish brogue. " Tis delighted I am t'see you again, sir, and in my ... establishment, at that," Finney stumbled, seeming to be trying to recall a lesson in elocution, to sound more English, though with a hard emphasis on those "break-teeth" words not common to his everyday speech.

  "Mister Finney, good morning," Lewrie nodded, willing to sound at least affable in reply. He even threw in a small grin.

  "I trust me... my clerk David is satisfactory, sir?" Finney continued, laying his papers down on the counter.

  "Most satisfactory, sir, thankee," Lewrie rejoined.

  God, but he's an imposin' bastard, Lewrie thought as he sipped the Madeira! Finney stood a full six feet tall, broad of shoulder and deep-chested as a yearling steer. He was sailor-dark in complexion, with a full head of bright blond hair drawn back into a queue as low as his shoulder blades. His face was angular and square, and in his chin there was a pronounced cleft. For someone who'd come up from a stew, he had remarkably good white teeth. And penetrating, sometimes mocking blue eyes. With that heft, he could have looked day-labourer common, but he was flat-stomached, lean in the hips and thighs, and showed a very shapely calf in his silk stockings. His hands and his feet betrayed his origins, though; huge, clumping-long feet and hands square and thick as a bricklayer's, roughened by a lifetime of hard work, no matter the heavy and expensive rings he now sported.

  "That'd ... that is the 'Rain-Water' Madeira, David?" Finney inquired, coming to the table to pick up the bottle. "A pleasing and tasty selection, Captain Lewrie. Not as dry as some. Like it?"

  "Quite good, yes," Lewrie agreed. "Though a guinea the bottle is a trifle steep, Mister Finney."

  "We could arrange split-cases, sir," Finney assured him, pulling out a seat. "Allow me, sir? Thank you. Say, four bottles or so of the Rain-Water, and the rest made up from a lesser vintage, for guests who can't 'predate the best, ay? Why deprive y'self o' fine port just 'cause ya dine alone aft most o' the time. And is it sailin' soon y'll be, Captain Lewrie?" he asked, lapsing into brogue.

  There was a craftiness to the set of Finney's eyes, at least to Alan's suspicious imagination. And yet, there was almost a pathetic eagerness, too. The eagerness of a seller, he wondered? The pandering of the outsider towards a better, Lewrie took a moment to sneer? Or that of a basically lonely man risen out of his element and trying to fit in? To make contact with newcomers who didn't spurn him?

  "I have no orders at present, but..." Lewrie shrugged, giving Finney the same smile he'd bestow upon any acquaintance. "We've been so long at anchor, it's bound to be soon."

  "Davie ..." Finney said, whirling on his chair, "David, bring out last year's Oporto for Captain Lewrie to try. Four shilling the bottle, I'm that sorry t'say, but nigh as tasty, and a grand bargain. Now wot ya say t'that, sir?"

  "Mmm, rather nice," Lewrie had to agree. "Let us say eight of this Oporto, and only four of the better Madeira. And I'll simply have to treat myself less often."

  "Done!" Finney exulted, slapping the table top as if he had won a trick at ecarte. "Now, wot else will ya be desiring?"

  Lewrie spent almost an hour in the wine shop with Finney as bis eager-to-please host. Away from formal affairs, the salons and dance-floors where he most likely felt strangled and out of place, he proved a likable enough fellow, Alan had to admit, as they compared voyages, ports of call, and past storms, as sailors ever will.

  "An' wuz ya niver t'India, now!" Finney had exclaimed with joy. "An' Canton, too? Gawd, 'twas a time, a grand time, I had 'mongst the heathens meself! Topman, I wuz, then ... main topmast captain."

  Then Finney would catch his accent and affect his more genteel persona, striving for more civil speech. Until his next enthusiasm which put the lilt and Gaelic structure to his words again.

  "So, your reckoning, sir," Finney said at last, after Alan hadmade his final selection. "The split case of port, one cask of brandy, two of claret... le'ssee, one cask of Bordeaux... damn' good St. Emilion, thet is, an' tastes young f rever. Two cases Rhenish, one of hock, and the odd case of cordials, sherries, Holland gin and such..."

  Lewrie saw why Finney had such a scrawl for a handwriting— he was a cack-hand, a left-hander! Another unpopular trait to rise above!

  "Twenty-four pounds, six shillings, and... ah, the divil with it, let's say twenty pound even, an' be square, sir! Ain't that a handsome bargain for ya, now, Captain Lewrie?" Finney loudly decided at last.

  That statement, such an eldritch echo of Billy 'Bones' Doyle's own words from the cave at Conch Bar, nearly set Lewrie's nape hairs on end, bringing back his every nagging suspicion.

  "Twenty it is, though I fear 'tis at your loss, sir," Lewrie found wit to reply, without betraying the cold fear-trill that took him.

  "Don't go bruiting it about the town, though, Captain
Lewrie," Finney chuckled. "Or the rest'll think they've been cheated. We're to have this delivered aboard Alacrity t'day, then?"

  "If you could, that would be fine," Lewrie replied.

  "A final glass with ya, then, sir," Finney smiled, reaching for a sample bottle of brandy. "Wot yer hunters call a 'stirrup cup'?"

  "Topping," Lewrie allowed as Finney filled their glasses.

  "Fine little ship you have there, sir," Finney congratulated. "May I be so bold as t'offer a toast, now? To Alacrity. Long may she swim in safety on the King's business." They clinked glasses.

  "Thankee, Mister Finney."

  "Ah, call me John," Finney cajoled. "Or Jack. 'Tis how I'm known best in the islands."

  "Jack. Thankee for the thought, then," Lewrie said, restless to leave as Finney became bolder. Damme, the next I know he'll name me "Alan, old son" and I'll have to be pleasant to him in public, or have him in for a home-cooked supper! Brrr!

  "Before you sail, Captain Lewrie," Finney suggested, "You and your wife must attend one o' my little gatherings. A pleasant meal. Some cards... a little dancing, should you be able to stay later."

  Aha! Lewrie thought! So that's your chummy game, is it?

  "I heard you weren't entertaining lately, Jack," Lewrie told him. "Nor do I recall you attending anything in the last week."

  "Well, life goes on, don' ... does it not, sir?" Finney said, eyeing Lewrie sharply, and the geniality leaving those blue eyes.

  "I'm told some of the men who were hung once worked with you," Lewrie was emboldened to say, with a sad and sober expression of shammed sympathy.

  "And so they did, sir," Finney told him, speaking slower, and choosing his words and their pronunciation more guardedly. "What my old Gran told me is true, y'know; you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink? There's some in this world will seize an opportunity to better themselves, and some as won't. For privateering, they were a grand crew, all tarry-handed and smart as paint, as willing to dare as any I'd ever seen, sir. When the war ended and I paid 'em off, I told 'em they'd have an honest berth with me whenever they needed it. Some signed on. Some went their own ways."

  "Like Doyle," Lewrie needled, sporting a commiserating smile.

  "Aye, like William," Finney sighed, looking wistful for what might have been. "Me ... my bosun at one time. Met him, Lord, thirteen year ago when we were topmen on a Liverpool 'Black-Birder' on the Middle Passage. I made third mate, he made bosun's mate. He was the grandest seaman of all. But not a thinker, God have mercy. You know sailors, Captain Lewrie. They live from shilling to shilling. What would you find of yer fellow men from one of yer old ships, were ya all to get t'gither? Who among 'em'd prospered, and who among 'em'd sunk? The Fleet can't afford t'be picky when it needs seamen, an' I couldn't turn me nose up at the lads as signed aboard with me. And, when ya get right down to it," Finney shrugged with a sad grin, "ya can't be yer brothers' keeper. A man'll go his own way, divil a try ya make t'redeem him."

  "Quite so," Lewrie had to agree with the sentiment, and the sense of what Finney said. "Well, I must take my leave, sir. Thank you for a most enjoyable morning, and a most pleasing reckoning."

  "Wotiver yer needs, think o' Finney's first," the man insisted as they rose from the table. "There's no finer selection, an' for you and your fine wife, Captain Lewrie, there'll always be some specials held back, at the same pleasin' prices, break me though they might!"

  "I shall keep that ever in mind, Mister Finney," Lewrie said.

  "You tell yer missus t'try us first, 'stead o' Misick's, or Frith's," Finney rattled on as he walked him toward the door. "Those stores on Shirley Street'd sell 'Ratty' his own pelt, charge extra for a good fit, an 'im niver knowin' 'twas skinned soon as he entered their doors!"

  "I shall tell her that, sir."

  " 'Dobe planters from Santo Domingo, lime fertilizers . .." Jack Finney rhapsodized about his merchandise. "The latestfashions, just about anything the new homemaker needs for a burgeoning house, for the ball, for . .."

  "Good day, sir," Lewrie beamed, offering his hand, which Jack Finney took and pumped vigorously. "And once again, thankee."

  "I've a drum planned for Saturday, sir," Finney announced of a sudden. "I would be honored should you and Mistress Lewrie be able to attend. Late afternoon's cool, stand-up buffet, champagne..."

  "Ah, I fear not," Lewrie replied, though they had no current plans for the weekend. "Should Alacrity still be in port, we will dine some guests in on Saturday," Alan lied easily. "There's a scheme afoot to introduce my first officer Lieutenant Ballard to a young lady of our acquaintance, and see how they progress over cards and music. A fearsome business! But, let a young wife see others unattached, and ..." he concluded, making a face and faking a shiver. "Some other time would be more convenient, perhaps?"

  "Some other time, then, sir," Finney replied with a shrug of his own, finally dropping Alan's hand. "And good day to you, sir, and thank you for your trade. Do come again, mind."

  Lewrie stepped out the door which David the wine clerk held for him, doffed his hat in farewell once more, and strode away towards his horse. He undid the reins from the hitch-rail and looked across the saddle towards Finney's store idly as he fumbled with a stirrup.

  Finney stood just inside the still-open door. In an unguarded moment, before he realized that Alan had glanced back at him, he was caught glaring at him from beneath blond brows beetled together with hate. And when caught, Finney put a shadowing palm over his eyes, as if the sun's glare had caused it, made his face bland with a smile of seeming sincerity, and used that shadowing hand to wave him goodbye.

  Chapter 4

  "You shopped at Finhey's?" Caroline goggled once he was home. "Whatever possessed you to enter that man's stores, Alan?"

  "Call it curiosity, my dear," he allowed, stripping off his coat and waistcoat, undoing his neck-stock and taking his ease in a chair on the front porch where it was cool. Caroline had a pitcher of sweetened limewater near at hand. "Damme if he didn't have good prices, too. And a wider selection. You do not?"

  "Only with Wyonnie to accompany me," she frowned. "I find good bargains along the docks, directly off the trading ships."

  "Uhm, Caroline, those that sell direct off the ships ..." Alan complained. "Those goods aren't landed or bonded. The imposts aren't paid. Those are Yankee traders!"

  "So I noticed," she grinned between sips of limewater.

  "They're violating the Navigation Acts, Caroline," he pressed. "Laws I'm sworn to enforce! Damme ... dash it all, how does it appear, for the wife of an officer holding the King's Commission, to ... to ... !"

  "Commodore Garvey's wife shops right alongside me, Alan," she told him. "As does the cook from the Governor's mansion, the butlers for every household that've ever invited us, the ..."

  "Well, I'm damned!"

  "Would you rather have my eight pounds gone in a twinkling at Bay Street or Shirley Street shops, then, Alan?" she queried without a qualm.

  "Do you need more money, then?" he asked.

  "Not a farthing!" she chuckled, leaning back into a chair and putting her feet up on a padded footstool. "Darling, I manage quite well, with more than enough left over at the end of each month. But I could not without seeking out bargains. Alan, I will not break you to support me. I am not spendthrift."

  "I know that, Caroline," he softened, reaching out to take her free hand. "And I'd not begrudge you our entire fortune, were you to need it."

  "I know that, too, love," she purred. "And that is why I will never ask of you until it is needful. I am quite content on my house allowance. And too much in love with you to ever wish to lose your regard by being extravagant. I don't think I'm much for extravagance, anyway," she chuckled. "I'm a country girl at heart."

  "I love you, too, dear, for so many reasons," he cooed back at her. "Every day I recognize a new'un."

  "I shall send Wyonnie and her husband to shop the docks for me in future, then, love," Caroline promised. "So we do not give
the impression that you condone anything illegal. Now it's cooler, I'll bake more at home, 'stead of buying bread from the baker's. Though summers, I will have to trade with the bakeshops. And local dishes are tasty and filling. I need no heavy imported dishes when fish, rice and all are just as nourishing, and the open-air markets are much cheaper. I love it here in the Bahamas! And Shirley Street stores are closer and just as economical, if one looks carefully at imported goods."

  "Misick's and Frith's," Alan nodded in agreement.

  "How did you know where I market, Alan? Have their bills at the end of the month bothered you?" she teased.

  "I heard they're a little higher than Finney's, but not so dear as to rival Bay Street," Alan stumbled, feeling a flush of color as he wondered just how Jack Finney had known the exact stores she favored.

  Damme, has the man been following her? he shuddered.

  "I have a surprise for you, dear," Caroline blushed. "Two, to be truthful. Sit right there and close your eyes."

  Hope 'tis a better surprise than the ones I've had this morning, Alan thought, going back over his long conversation with Finney.

  "I know Christmas is supposed to be a time of sober reflection, and in England, people spend it with their noses in the prayer book," she said as she came back to the front porch. "No, keep your eyes shut for a space longer!"

  She bent down to kiss him for a moment, giggling at his temporary helplessness, and mistaking his agitation for impatience.

  "But the Klausknitzers, that German couple, have the most wonderful traditions. That carpenter fellow who made these chairs? They exchange gifts such as the Magi brought the infant Jesus, Alan, and I thought it a grand idea. And the perfect season for mine to you."

  "May I look now?" he grinned.

  "Now."

  First he beheld a shiny tube that she held out to him.

  "A flageolet," she said proudly. "Made from tin. You always said you wished you could play a musical instrument, and I thought it the perfect one. There's a little chapbook of tunes and instructions in how to read musical notes."