Chapter 10
"Damme, what a rotten business," Lord Dunmore grunted after he had read the confessions. "All this happenin' right under my predecessor Maxwell's nose, and him ignorant as sheep, ha ha! That'll make int'restin' readin' in London! But, it's over now. We've bagged the miscreants, and they'll hang in tar and chains 'til their bones fall apart, damme if they won't."
"Finney did escape us, milord," Solicitor-General William Wylly informed him. Wylly had not known Lord Dunmore but a few months, but he had already developed a blazing dislike for the new governor, and had been heard to call him "obstinate and violent by nature," with a "capacity below mediocrity, little cultivated by education, ignorant of the constitution of-England... the lordly despot of a petty clan."
"Best rid of him, then," Lord Dunmore shrugged as he poured a round of brandy for them all; those he had to cultivate, at least Lewrie, Rodgers and some other minor officials were not included in that category, while Wylly, Garvey and Peyton Boudreau were. "Once he's proved guilty in court, all his goods'll be liable to seizure. Bound to be a pretty penny in all that, hey? Might even help defray the cost of me new fortifications I'd planned for the western side of the town. Fort Charlotte, I think to name it, for our Queen."
"There is the matter of the bank, milord," Chief Justice Matson put in. "Finney and several... ahum... of the finer and wealthier of the colony had formed a private merchant bank. There werehundreds of depositors, milord. It's been looted, I fear, and gone with Finney to God knows where. Many of your Privy Council had their accounts there, milord. I did, more to the point."
"Well, send a ship after him and get it back!" Lord Dunmore told them with an impatient arrogance. "That'd be easy enough, hey? What we have the Royal Navy for, if you can't go seize a ship when you wish to, what? How long's he been gone? Two hours, three? Garvey?"
"There is the problem of where he's gone, milord," the commodore muttered, looking most unwell since he'd seen Whippet and Alacrity come into port with Guineaman and Fortune as captures that morning. "I have three ships in harbour at the moment, but they'll not be enough. And Whippet, the sloop of war, is wormed and weeded. She would not be swift enough to catch him, even if we did know his direction."
"Excuse me, milord," Lewrie spoke up.
"Who the devil are you, sir?" Lord Dunmore scowled at him.
"Lieutenant Lewrie, of the Alacrity, milord. Finney did not use the Nor'east Providence Channel, else he'd of had to sail past us to get out to sea. He'd be going west or south, milord. South down Tongue of The Ocean to the east'rd of Andros, to Cuba. Or he went up the Nor'west Providence Channel to pick up the Gulf Stream and sail north. That would be the fastest escape, sir."
"Wherever those are," Lord Dunmore laughed, his round, fleshy moon of a face broken only by a huge overhanging beak of a nose wobbling with incomprehending humour.
"I'll send Lieutenant Coltrop and Aemilia north, then, milord," Garvey decided. "And Lewrie down Tongue of The Ocean."
"Excuse me again, milord, but if the swiftest, and most logical, course he'd steer would be north, then Alacrity has a longer hull, more sail area, and more and heavier guns," Lewrie countered. "I stand the better chance to catch him, and bring him to book."
"That make the slightest bit o' sense to you, Matson?" Dunmore japed at his chief justice. "Sounds like Greek to me. Tarpaulins!"
"And only if Lieutenant Lewrie is ordered to sea at once, milord," Rodgers added quickly. "And, with your permission, Commodore Garvey, I will turn Whippet over to my first officer so she may get her... long-delayed... docking and breaming." He could not resist the urge to put his own knife in. "And sail with Lewrie, sir."
"That sounds, and you will pardon the play on words, milord, I trust—like the best course, haw haw," Peyton Boudreau said with a lazy, aristocratic air, as if it were "just between you and me of the better sort" to Lord Dunmore, who was already under Boudreau's lofty spell. "Rodgers and Lewrie are, to my limited knowledge, two of the most energetic officers in the Bahamas Squadron, as I am certain that Commodore Garvey will agree. Damn my soul, have they not proved that today, milord? Best let 'em be in for the kill."
"Bless me, d'ya think so, Mister Boudreau?" Lord Dunmore asked with a wry cock of his head.
"Should they seize Finney and recover the funds, there's sure to be Finney's money as well, liable to condemnation as Droits of The Crown, I trust. More funds to support the construction of your Fort Charlotte. And to support the administration of the Bahamas Colony, milord," Boudreau concluded with a broad wink.
"Zounds! Damme if that don't sound right to me, Mister Boudreau!" the governor agreed heartily, his eyes piggish with greed. "Well, go be about it, you sea-dogs. Go get him! Sic 'im, boys, sic 'im, hey? I say, Commodore, you're lookin' a touch peaked. Not coming down with something... tropical, are you?"
"Got out on the first of the rising tide mis morning," Lewrie speculated as they left the Governor's mansion and began to trot down to the quays. "Four hours, just about. Damme, that's a hellish long lead. And that three-masted lugger of his is bound to be fast."
Lewrie could not bear to name Finney's ship, the Caroline.
"There's a chance," Rodgers puffed, trying to keep up with him. "He's no longer on the waterline than your Alacrity. And he couldn't have known we're only hours behind his sailin'. I'd wager he'll take deep water up the Nor'west Providence Channel. With your shoal depth, we might try cuttin' closer to the Berry Islands, and gain the current of the Gulf Stream afore him."
"Gentlemen, please!" Peyton Boudreau insisted, blowing with the effort to maintain their pace. The refined gentlemen or ladies never went faster than an idle strolling pace; the richer and more refined they were, the more languid! "This haste is unseemly! Lewrie, I must speak to you before you sail. About Caroline!"
"What about her?" Lewrie snapped, coming to an abrupt stop.
"I'll go on," Rodgers decided. "Join me soon as you're able."
"Aye, aye, sir," Lewrie responded perfunctorily before wheeling on Boudreau again. "Is anything wrong with her, or the baby?"
"They're fine," Boudreau assured him. "I meant but to show you this. Finney came to your home. He attempted to woo her with a tale of you abandoning her."
"So it was not Commodore Garvey interrupting my mails?"
"It was, but at Finney's behest," Boudreau said. "I believe he took your letters back and forth, so he might discover what would work best upon her insecurities when his time was right. Last week, before you arrived at Spanish Wells, I should think, he made his move."
"The bastard!" Lewrie screeched, clutching the hilt of his sword.
"This was the result, sir," Boudreau said proudly, producing a copy of the broadside sheet. "This was what 'Calico Jack' received as reward for his scheme."
"Well, damme!" Lewrie exulted as he took in the title and the engraved scene. "Good Lord, but she's got bottom!"
"I told you to trust her loyalty, and her good sense," Peyton praised her. "Enough to put a bumptious clown such as Finney to shame, even in what passes for Bahamian society, haw haw!"
"He went into our house, though?" Lewrie frowned suddenly.
"When he saw his plans had gone for nought, he did, and she..."
"He persisted?" Lewrie shouted. "He attempted force, after she spurned him? Force enough for her to shoot at him?"
"I fear he did. I ran him off at gun-point."
"I'll have his heart's blood, swear to God!" Lewrie said, with a sincerity that gave the pacific and elegant Peyton Boudreau chills. "Let's go, Mister Boudreau. I have to sail. There's not a single minute to waste, now!" he said, setting off at a faster trot once more.
But there was. For at the foot of the hill, at the landing quay on Bay Street by the Vendue House, sat a carriage which contained Mrs. Heloise Boudreau, and Caroline.
She alit from the equipage and ran to him, holding up her long skirts with one hand, hair flying behind her beneath a sunbonnet He turned his course and met her, shouting her
name as he lifted her into his arms and twirled her around as she collided with him, so fierce was her greeting. Snickering watchers bedamned, he kissed her in public; she returned his kisses just as ardently.
"Oh, God, at last!" she breathed against his cheek.
"Damned right!" he growled, laughing as he trembled with relief to see her well. Not only well, but as slim as he remembered her, just as lovely as before. And alive and hale! "Lord, you're beautiful! I missed you so much!"
"I love you so much," she echoed, "Alan, come see our son!"
He went to the carriage, where Heloise Boudreau held up a baby in swaddling clothes for him to see. Caroline took him and turned to show him off, cradled in her arms.
"Sewallis Alan Lewrie, this is your father," she said proudly.
Poor little bastard, Alan thought: what a horrid name! Well, he ain't rightly a bastard, is he? Not like I was. He has a father, and a mother. Godparents and grandparents, and all! Ugly, though, I must admit. S'pose all babies are.
"Hullo, little man," Alan crooned, putting out a hand to touch the child on the cheek, to stroke the incredibly soft flesh with one tentative finger. By God, this was reality, and a damned awesome one! He stroked the back of one tiny hand, and felt wee fingers grasp his. "Well, I'm damned!" Alan breathed out with awe as little Sewallis gave him a grave going over with his tiny eyes. He chucked him under the chubby chin.
"Sewallis, I'm your father. What think you of that?"
Sewallis Alan Lewrie screwed up bis face and began to wail.
Damned right, Lewrie thought: I would, too!
"Early days," Lewrie shrugged helplessly.
"Let's go home, this instant," Caroline invited.
"Dearest, I can't. We're off after Finney."
"Oh, God!" she gasped. "Alan, must you? I thought...!"
"I care to be no other place but with you, love, but we've been ordered to hunt him down, if we can. I have to sail at once. But, I will be back, I swear. Soon, darling."
"I'll take him, Caroline," Heloise offered, holding out her arms to receive the child. Arm in arm, Caroline strolled with him down to the quay, where his gig rocked on the tide.
"Peyton showed me the broadside, dear," Alan tried to cajole her. "You're the bravest, stoutest girl I know! That took courage, and I'm that proud of you for fending off his vile advances."
"You'll have to fight him," she shuddered, head buried against his shoulder. "There'll be a battle, I know there will. God, Alan, I have this fear, of a sudden! You're barely back at all, and gone!"
"I'll be back, Caroline," he insisted. "I love you! Now we've a real family, now I've a son to raise, I'll not do anything stupid, I swear. Once I'm back, we'll have all the time in the world together."
"Promise me you'll do nothing too rash, Alan? Please?"
"I'll do my duty, Caroline," he vowed. "And nothing rash. And, he's a good head start on us. We may not catch him up at all."
"You will, though," she sighed on the verge of tears. "I know you will." She looked up at him intently, as if trying to memorizehis face for a final time to last her through the rest of a long life without him. "I love you, Alan. I will always love you."
"And I love you, Caroline," he replied, getting a fey feeling. He bent down and kissed her. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Be brave for me, dearest girl. I'll fetch Finney back in chains, and we may add attempted rape to his crimes. Though we've enough to hang him a dozen times over already. Goodbye, love. Just for a week or two, a month on the outside, I promise."
"I'll be waiting," she told him, attempting to smile, holding back her tears as he stepped away from her. He walked to the dock and stepped into the stern-sheets of the gig. The bowman shoved off, and Cony snapped out his orders to back-water away from the pier.
Caroline watched as Alan was rowed out to his ship, stayed rigid on the dock as he mounted to the entry port to take his salute, stayed to wave to him as he doffed his hat to her. And stayed unmovirig as Alacrity's crew began to draw her up to short-stays to up-anchor, drumming round the capstan, though the gun ketch swam in her watery vision.
She could hear the canvas rustle, the sheaves shriek as Alacrity made sail even before the anchor was catted, as fiddles and fifes played a hauling chantey, gay but insistent.
She stayed on the dock until Alacrity cleared the harbour, and receded to hull-down over the horizon. Only then did she go back to the carriage, to stand inside to keep the ship in sight for a little longer.
"We should get home, Caroline," Heloise Boudreau offered at last. "Little Sewallis needs his sup soon. She's almost out of sight."
"I know, ma'am," Caroline nodded, wiping her eyes.
"He'll be back, you know. He will!"
"I pray so."
"We will all pray for his quick return, then."
"Let me have him," Caroline requested, and Heloise handed her her baby, who at last was napping, shaded from the tropic sun by the parasol Heloise held. "Once we're home, I have to talk to Wyonnie," Caroline added after she'd settled Sewallis in her arms. "There is something she must do for me."
"Home, driver," Heloise ordered the coachee. "And what is that, my dear?"
"I wish to see the obeah-man," Caroline replied.
"Oh, Caroline!" Heloise gasped. "Those are but fancy stories! I know his herbs helped Sewallis's colic, but..."
"We're both from the Carolinas, ma'am," Caroline intoned. "And we know what our 'mammies' told us growing up, about hexes. I wish to lay a hex," she said, looking straight ahead at the road, determined and grave. "Two. One of protection for Alan. And one a curse."
Chapter 11
Nor-nor'west for the Berrys, then north of west through the shallows of the Great Bahama Bank to Great Isaac, Alacrity bowled along off the wind. Stuns'ls rode at either end of the tops'l yards, doubling her sail area aloft, and a stays'l flew in the space between her masts on a jury-rigged jumper stay. Eight-and-a-quarter knots she made, eight and a half toward evening, racing for the Gulf Stream and its relentless northward currents. By five a.m. of the next morning, they had found the darker waters of the Gulf Stream, and bent north, riding the mighty river that added another four-and-a-half knots made good to their forward progress.
"No sign of him," Rodgers gloomed as he ate Lewrie's food and took liberal sips of Lewrie's dwindling wine supply, and had slept in Lewrie's double hanging-cot in Lewrie's stead.
"He stayed in the middle of the Providence Channel," Alan said. "We may even be slightly ahead of him to the Gulf Stream, if he sailed more north'rd of us, closer to the west end of Grand Bahama. Perhaps tomorrow's dawn will tell, sir."
"We're drivin' hard, I'll give us that," Rodgers shrugged. "Do you think she rides a mite bows-low? That'll make her crank for close maneuverin', light as she is aft."
"We're shifting supplies aft into the stern, sir," Alan replied.
"And it might not hurt to shift the Number One cannon from each battery aft as well, sirs," Ballard suggested. "Alacrity used to mount sixteen side guns as a bomb ketch, in addition to her deck mortars."
"Aye, there's ring bolts, side-tackle bolts, and gun ports being wasted," Lewrie agreed. "Two guns all the way aft, into the great-cabin here. Just forrud of the quarter-galleries. That's over eighteen hundredweight each, or more. Just enough to lift her bows... six inches?"
While Lewrie was a dab-hand navigator, physics was beyond him.
"About that, sir," Ballard said solemnly, furrowing his brows as he calculated the proposition in his head. "Perhaps an inch less."
"Run out the starboard battery, too, and draw the larboard close to her centerline," Lewrie plotted on. "Chock the trucks with old shot-garland rope to keep them steady. Alacrity's flat-run on her bottom, and hard-chined aft. The more upright she sails, the faster she'll be."
"I'll attend to it, sir, soon as the forrud-most guns may be shifted," Ballard replied, jotting notes to himself about the order in which chores had best be performed.
"Four hours' lead, though, sirs,"
Rodgers sighed sadly. "Even if Finney took a longer northern route... more like five, if ya count the time it took us to up-anchor an' clear harbour. He could be over on Andros, laid up 'til any pursuit'd passed him by. Damn him, but he's a clever 'un."
"Next dawn may tell, sir," Ballard offered hopefully.
"Dawn will tell, dammit all," Lewrie insisted, slapping at the table top. "Dawn will tell!"
The sun rose next morning, blood-red and threatening, above a horizon of gun-metal gray. The Gulf Stream waters rolled and heaved to either beam, heaping high enough to smother Alacrity in the troughs between each long-set rolling wavecrest, and set her canvas luffing before she could rise up to clear air, and crack sails full of wind.
One hundred and sixty miles she'd made on her night passage up the American coast. Lewrie had not slept a single sea-mile of it, but had lain tossing in a chart-space berth, honing his anger.
Finney had violated his home, frightened his wife and son, and however he'd gotten word to flee—if he hadn't fled, Lewrie thought miserably, he'd have taken some revenge on Caroline for spurning him; he knew enough about the brute to not doubt that she might have been dead by then because of the broadside sheet, her and Peyton both!
He had taken the deck at eight bells of the mid-watch, at four of the clock in a chilly, dark morning, as the hands surged up to stow their hammocks in the nettings, wash down the decks, and stand to Dawn Quarters before their breakfast. To fret and pace as the stars paled from the gloomy skies, to see details in the clouds in the false-dawn, and watch the last of the moon sink below the horizon.
"Aloft, there!" he shouted to the lookouts.
"Notnin', sir! Clear 'orizons!"
"Damn!" he spat
"Sir, it's..." Ballard attempted to console.
"Oh, the devil take you, Mister Ballard!" Alan snarled. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and paced off his disappointment, back to the taffrails before returning. "Very well, secure from quarters, and release the people to breakfast."
The Gun Ketch Page 35