Dewey Lambdin - Havoc`s Sword

"Amen, sir!" Lewrie declared, hoping it might cut him short. A sudden rapping on the great-cabin doors facing the gun-deck provided a better reason for pause, though.

"A Lootenant Adair, f om th' Proteus frigate, sir!" the Yankee Marine sentry called in, properly stiff-backed, but with a taint of a sly dubiousness to his voice, too.

"My pardons, gentlemen," Lewrie said with a frustrated frown on his phyz. Just when Goodell had sounded like he was haranguing himself into some sort of decision, and now thisl "Aye, Mister Adair?" he snapped, tromping forrud as if to say "this had better be good!"

"Beg pardon, Captain, but we've received an urgent query, sir,' 'the immaculate Mr. Adair said in a soft, shy voice, little louder than a confidential whisper, "from the Prize Court ashore, Captain, sir… rather embarassin', really. The prize we left at Dominica, d'ye see? It, uhm… seems to have gone missing, Captain. It isn't there any longer."

"What?" Lewrie all but shrieked. "Mine…! That's…! Hey?" he flummoxed, mindful of a righteous glare astern of where he stood. He crooked a finger to draw Lt. Adair even closer, a few more guarded steps nearer Capt. McGilliveray's chart-space. The revelation was too shameful for even the cockroaches to hear. "Whatthebloody- helld'yemean it's gone?" he hissed almost in Adair's shell-like ear.

"The Antigua Court sent word to the Dominica office at Roseau to fetch her off to English Harbour to be valuated, sir," Adair said, all but wringing his hands, no matter that it wasn't his fault. "But she'd already sailed, sir. The Roseau office thought she'd been sent-for two days ago. Their letter stated that Quartermaster's Mate Jugg came ashore, said that Midshipman Burns and the Bosun's Mate, Mister Towpenny, had got orders to sail here, so they let 'em clear harbour, sir, and…"

"Jugg!" Lewrie muttered, as if gut-punched. "That motherless damned ingrate! Why'd I ever trust him with a rope-end, I… Damn! Back aboard Proteus, Mister Adair, and tell Mister Langlie he's t'get her hove in to short stays. We're off, soon as I can return, myself. A wife and child on, where was it? Barbados! Sure as Fate, that'll be where he's bound. After that, who knows, now he's a'ship, with a rich cargo t'sell. Go, Mister Adair. Be off with you!"

"Aye aye, sir!"

Who else had been in the harbour watch he'd left behind to see to the prize, Lewrie asked himself, purpling with fury at the embarrassment, and dread of monetary loss, in equal measure. What loss to his reputation, well… that didn't bear thinking about without a bottle of brandy near to hand!

Willie Toffett, another hand he'd pressed off a Yankee smuggler in the Danish Virgins; he'd seemed innocent, harmless, and easy-going. Had Jugg led him by the nose into folly? Jugg, damn him! He'd trusted and promoted him, had let him have the guinea Joining Bounty so he could send it as a note-of-hand to his alleged wife and child on Barbados! With the ship, he'd lost Midshipman Burns, too, who was even duller and stupider than he looked, but… to lose an anchored ship in a friendly harbour? And Mister Towpenny, the wily and experienced Bosun's Mate. Surely he'd have stayed loyal, and awake, if Burns had not!

"Something the matter, Captain Lewrie?" McGilliveray enquired, sounding solicitous. "Bad news, is it, sir?"

"Hah?" Lewrie barked, startled from his sudden funk. "Why no, naught at all, Captain McGilliveray. News, of a certainy. For good or ill, well… hate to seem ungracious, but I must be off. Can't dine, as I wished. Captain Goodell, happy to have made your acquaintance. Sorry we could not have spoken further," he said, coming aft to fetch his hat. "Do consider all I said, though, pray. Perhaps when I come back, we may discuss our mutual interests, and discover a way to…" he hedged, wishing to flee before word of shameful foolishness came offshore to the Americans.

"Return, good sir?" McGilliveray pressed, surprised. "You are to sea, Cap'm Lewrie?"

"Fear I am, sir," Lewrie told him, reddening. "Small chore… that sort o' thing. Salutations, and adieu, gentlemen, 'til next we meet." Lewrie sketched out an abbreviated bow in conge, with a hasty sweep of his hat, then turned his back on them and almost sprinted to Sumter?, starboard gangways, and entry-port, thanking God that Andrews his Cox'n had already been alerted, and was standing by, the oarsmen of his gig already drawn from their yarning with the American sailors and waiting for him over-side.

"Captain… Captain Lewrie, sir?" a tremulous voice froze him in his frenzied tracks, though. Desmond had been aft on the quarterdeck, and had scampered forward at the first sign of scurry. "You're going, before dinner, sir?" His new-found son sounded forlorn and abandoned, and for the life of him, Lewrie couldn't depart and disabuse him, was there a king's ransom in the offing.

"I fear duty calls, young sir," Lewrie sorrowfully said, hoping the lad wouldn't be too hurt by his haste, though Desmond's face was clouding up with the quick grief of a broken promise, a dashed hope. "My Mister Adair brought me urgent news, which I must act upon, quick as you can say Jack Ketch. I did hope we could dine together, but…"

"I understand, sir, really," Desmond swore, though his protestation sounded thin. "Time and tide…" he added with a brave smile, and a wise shrug.

"Old Navy sayin'… 'growl ye may, but go ye must,' " Lewrie told him, stepping closer. "Once I'm back, I promise I'll make up for it. A whole day ashore, the two of us, does your uncle, Captain McGilliveray allow. Swear. Cross my heart an' hope t'die."

And how many promises of that sort had he made to Sewallis and Hugh, to little Charlotte and Caroline, in his time? And how many had he broken when Admiralty called! How many vows had Desmond heard in his short time on Earth, too, from those he wished to trust.

"Can't leave without your present," Desmond muttered, playing up manful and game. He pushed forward a hat-box that had seen better days. "I hope you like it, fath-… sir. You will take it with you?"

"But of course!" Lewrie exclaimed, taking the battered hat-box from him, and feeling something inside shift its balance. "Now, what in the world do we have here, I wonder?" he teasingly cajoled, forced to kneel so he could remove the lid, with Desmond squatting down aside him and taking the lid for a moment. "My… word! Now ain't he the handsome one!" Lewrie congratulated, feeling anything but thankful.

Christ, what'll I do with this'un? Lewrie asked himself, aghast.

For inside the hat-box was a stripling kitten, white-furred in the main, with a grey tail and nose, two large dark grey smudges above his eyes and 'twixt his ears. Two huge, impish pale-green eyes peered up at him, goggling in wonder as its head bobbed and cocked, half from curiosity and half from catling-clumsy imbalance. The kitten uttered a wee, shrill but loud "meek!" and a shut-mouthed little trill.

Gawd, Toulon'll kill him! Lewrie sadly thought; he won't last a dog watch! All that white fur, too… there go my uniforms. Play up gladsome, fool. The poor lad meant well.

"Damned if he isn't almost Toulon's exact opposite, white where that little scamp's black, and all! What a thoughtful gift, Desmond, my boy. Most thoughtful, indeed!" he gushed, most insincerely, as he reached into the hat-box and lifted the kitten out.

"After we boarded the French brig o' war, I saw him, cowering and mewing on her boat-tier beams," Desmond happily babbled, "under a smashed-up cutter, and how he survived our broadsides, I can't rightly say, fa-… sir. I took one step in his direction, and he just dashed to me, and almost clawed his way up my boot and breeches, then started in to purring like he'd bust, soon as I took hold of him. Oh, he' s just as smart and clever as a lady's bonnet, he is, father! He took to bed in Midshipman Alston's hat-box, so I had to buy it off him…"