THE GUN KETCH - Dewey Lambdin

"What the devil?" Peyton Boudreau shouted, dashing inside with a smallsword in one hand, and a bell-mouthed coachman's shotgun in the other. His freedman black major-domo was behind him with a musket, and Daniel, Wyonnie's husband, backed them up with a cutlass. "You dog, sir! I'D have the bailiffs on you, damme'f I won't, sir!"

"For visiting a lady o' my acquaintance, Boudreau?" Finney attempted to bluster.

"For frightenin' a lady enough to have her shoot you," Peyton sneered in reply, something at which he was awfully good. "Trying to rape a married lady, were you, you scurrilous ill-bred scum? Damme, that'll make a merry tune for the town criers tomorrow! That'll be a fine topic for a broadside sheet to be handed about in every tavern! 'Calico Jack,' not only spurned, but nigh debollocked by a woman defending herself with a pistol, haw haw! Get out of here!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Finney shot back.

"I would," Caroline vowed. "I will, I promise you."

"Ephraim, take his sword. Pat him down for a knife or pistol," Boudreau instructed his major-domo, pressing the muzzle of the shotgun to Finney's breast. 'Tell your brute outside to let go Daniel's wife, or I'll have your heart's blood. Do it, or it's your life, sir, and worm no more to me than gnat's piss, at this moment, I most heartily assure you, haw! Come near my house again, come near Mistress Lewrie one more time, anywhere on New Providence, and you're a dead man. Do you even dare to ride past my property, I'll shoot you dead in the road as I would a rabid cur, sir! That all of it, Ephraim? Good. Now begone! Hear me?

"Begone, you son of a bitch, haw haw!"

With Finney disarmed, Caroline at last lowered the pistol and carefully rode the hammers forward one at a time, almost blind to the task through tears of relief, her hands now trembling like sparrows' wings. Now that the threat was ended, she was in horror of what she had almost done. She'd never aimed at anything but stationary gourds or bottles in her life, and here she'd almost taken a man's life!

She wanted to throw up, to scream, to fall to the floor and let her shuddering wails loose at last. But, now that Finney was being herded out the door and off the property, she went instead to her baby to pick him up and try to comfort him as he squalled in terror. She held him snug to her chest and shoulder, patting his back and stroking him, dandling him up and down as she paced the bedroom in a small circle, and commanding herself not to faint as long as he needed her, much as she wished for a ladylike spell of the vapors.

"There, there, little man," she wept, trying to smile for him. "There, there. It's all over. Bad man's gone, and won't be coming to hurt you. Momma's here, and she won't ever let anyone scare you ever again, Sewallis! Swear to God, baby, swear to God! And your daddy'll be home soon. Your daddy's coming, and he'll make everything better, you'll see!"

And pray God, make it soon, she thought as she paced.

Chapter 7

"It's Walker's Cay, sir," Lewrie said at last.

"Again?" Commander Rodgers scoffed. "They wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, they'd dare, sir," Lewrie replied grimly. "And think it a knacky jest. It's perfect as a hideout, as we already know. And why would anyone ever suspect them to return to it, after we scoured it so well before, sir? Added to that, mere's no Navy patrol stationed in the Abacos except for a visit now and then by a cutter, and never to the north of Pelican Harbour, Marsh Harbour, or Carleton Settlement."

"Finally, sir, there's that Portuguese captain we spoke to," Lieutenant Ballard stuck in, a hopeful note in his voice. "On his passage south past Walker's Cay, he reported seeing masts, and lights ashore as it grew dark. There should be no one there, sir."

"He wasn't chased," Rodgers muttered. "He saw no pirates." "They didn't see him at twilight, sir, to the east'rd of the island," Lewrie suggested. "He got lucky."

"God, I wish you'd never talked me into this," Commander Rodgers sighed heavily, rubbing his face in puzzlement "God Almighty, I've half a mind to…"

"Could be Finney's Guineaman, sir," Lewrie added. "Still caching undutied goods there, still smuggling. We could burn him out, hurt him sore as we did the last time, and then be off for Nassau, with evidence enough this time to prosecute him for smuggling, if nothing else."

Come on, you dithering twit, Lewrie thought; don't whiffle out on us now!

"There is that," Rodgers allowed, grudgingly. "Sarah and Jane's ready, sir," Alan pressed. "Do you transfer your Marines into her, Lieutenant Ballard can be off Walker's Cay by dawn to see what's what. If no pirates come out to pursue him, he could sail in, anyway, and how would they know he wasn't there to deliver goods, sir? I'll give up thirty hands to help, and take Captain Grant and his crew aboard Alacrity to guard 'em, whilst you keep Whippet fully manned."

And if it's Arthur doin' it, there's less involvement for you to fear, you hen-hearted dog, Alan thought; upon my head be it!

"Oh, very well, then," Rodgers said at last, permission to go wrung from him like a dishclout in a mangle.

"Right, sir!" Ballard said quickly. "I'll go aboard Sarah and Jane at once, with your leave, sir. With your Marines, we'll soon make hash of'em!"

"If you will excuse me, sir, I'll see Mister Ballard over the side, and transfer my spare hands over to the merchantman," Alan said, rising to gather his hat and sword. And they left the great-cabins before Commander Rodgers could change his mind.

"Christ, I thought he was going to back out," Lewrie complained in a soft voice as the sideparty mustered to see them off.

"He is a damned good seaman, though," Ballard assayed with a wry expression. "If not…" he shrugged in conclusion.

"Well, here you are, then, Arthur," Lewrie said, clasping him by the shoulders at arm's length. "An independent action of your very own at last Take joy of it."

"Thank you for getting it for me, sir."

"Think he'd want his first lieutenant that involved?" Alan japed in a whisper. "If it all goes bust, then it's less risk for him. And, Lord, I owe you after Conch Bar, don't I? Should have given you charge of the landing, and I could have gone into Aemilia to put some bottom in 'fool' Coltrop. Hindsight's better than no sight at all, I guess! But I know you'll do us proud. Just take care of yourself, mind? As stiff as you are, me lad, I'd miss you should anything happen. Be your knacky self. But not too bold, Arthur."

"Coming from you, Alan, that's a wry 'un," Ballard snorted. "Do but listen to yourself, gainsaying 'bold.' Sir."

"God speed, then, Arthur," Lewrie smiled, stepping back to doff his hat to him. "Mister Ballard. Now go catch me some pirates for my breakfast!"

Sarah and Jane stood west-nor'west, loafing along under all plain sail, the striped flag of the United States flying from her mizzen-mast truck. Marine Lieutenant Pomeroy's thirty-five privates, one corporal and sergeant were sprawled on the deck in what shade they could find, dressed in their usual slop-clothing for workingparties, though with their Brown Bess muskets, hangers and bayonets close by.

Ballard was showing only ten seamen on deck or aloft, what would be expected of a skin-flint Yankee shipmaster, with the others napping below, or resting beside the great-guns. Sarah and Jane mounted only twelve six-pounders, little better than Alacrity's batteries, with two of those disposed in the mates' wardroom below facing aft, or up on the forecastle for chase guns. The rest were spaced out to either beam at every second gun port, so that Sarah and Jane, designed for a stronger armament, sailed en flute, like a piccolo with "open holes."

Huge bags of "white gold" had been hauled up from her holds to line either beam between the guns, piled up three deep to make breastworks on the gun deck, on the sail-tending gangways above, to absorb the expected musketry, and the impact of a pirate-ship's guns. There was a low breastwork around the quarter-deck and fo'c's'le as well, with a final redoubt of bagged salt around the double wheel and binnacle to shelter the helmsmen.

"Dawn for fair, sir," Midshipman Parham said, looking at his pocket watch. "And my watch is accurate for once, there's a wonder."

"Reefs an' breakers t'larboard!" the masthead lookout sang out "On the 'orizon, sir!"

"That should be about six miles to leeward," Ballard told mem, muttering half to himself. "Close enough to prance past Walker's Cay and see what comes out, but not so close that they think we're stupid. Mister Parham, go aloft. You've seen these isles before-from the sea. Tell me which we're closest to, Walker's Cay, Grand Cay or Romer's."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Schooner to loo'rd, sir!" the lookout called suddenly. "Hull down an' bows on! Two points off the larboard bows!"

"Belay, Mister Parham," Ballard said, with only a slight twitch of his mouth to indicate any excitement, or notice. "It no longer matters." He paced aft to the taffrails, savoring the windward side which was a captain's by right, then back to the railings overlooking Sarah and Jane's waist and gun deck. Hands clasped on his rump, fingers not even twining upon each other, as much as he wished to do so. Arthur Ballard had a firm grip on his emotions, as a man who aspired to the status of gentleman should, as a taciturn, self-controlied Navy man should. He envied Lewrie his boyish lack of control, his ability to enthuse or show anger, sorrow, or frustration so easily, and Lewrie's ability to command and keep the hands' respect even if he did "let go." But it was not his style; it was not for him.

So Ballard paced, and the sun rose in the sky as the schooner stood out from the islands, seeming as if to pass ahead of the trading ship in all innocence, and Sarah and Jane kept her course, and her somnolent lack of notice.

"Schooner's crossin' ahead, fine on the bows, an' two mile off!"

"He'll haul his wind, keeping the wind gauge, and fall down upon our starboard side," Ballard announced as he paused in his pacing near the wheel. "See, he tacks, as if he's cleared ahead of us."

"Soon, sir?" Parham inquired, all but wriggling like a puppy on his first hunt in excitement "Time for Quarters, sir?"

"Calmly, Mister Parham, calmly. You are never to show fear or excitement to the people," Ballard instructed. "They're steadier for your being steady."

"Aye, aye, sir," Parham grimaced, as if his bladder were full, and Ballard were detaining him from dashing forrud to the "head."

"Hmm," Arthur Ballard sighed, peering at the schooner, which was then a point or two off their starboard bows, sailing off sou'easterly, close-hauled. "I should think now, Mister Parham. Beat to Quarters. But keep them down and out of sight. Lieutenant Pomeroy? Your men To Arms, if you please! On the gun deck, still. Stay away from the gangways until they're close-aboard!"

"Bearin' up, sir!" the lookout announced. "He's tackin' 'cross the wind to the starboard tack!"

"About three-quarters of a mile off the starboard bows," Ballard muttered. "Very nicely done! Even better than wearing off the wind to fall down on us and round up alongside on the same course. Saves sparing hands on the sheets and braces to continually adjust on a rounding course to come close-aboard us, do you see, Mister Parham? That means more men free to serve his guns, and make up a boarding party."