Dewey Lambdin - Havoc`s Sword

"M'sieur," Choundas said, blatantly ignoring Lewrie to concentrate on Goodell, "you 'ave ze best of me, Capitaine, an' 'ave honourably defeated me. To you is ze victoire, an' I 'umbly offer to you my sword," he concluded, knackily shamming nobility, to play off Lewrie's churlishness. With Griot's help, Choundas freed his scabbard from his belt-frog and extended the costly and ornate blade hilt first. Oh no, don't…! Lewrie thought, in a panic, dreading what was coming. Sure enough, Le Hideux s good eye darted at Lewrie, with his lips curled in a tiny smirk of triumph.

"Ahem…!" Lewrie began, like a first attempt to call a waiter.

"Thy reputation precedes thee, Captain Choundas," Goodell said, looking down his raptor's beak at the man, and the temptation of that priceless smallsword that could grace Goodell's mantel for generations, "and I tell thee plain, monsoor, wert thou capable of offering an iota of resistance or deviltry, what I know of thee tempts me to clap thee in irons, regardless of thy rank and dignities…"

That's the way, man! Lewrie silently exulted; take that sword, and guard him close! Deep on your orlop, among the rats!

"Nonetheless, I feel it my duty as a Christian gentleman, and a fellow professional officer of my country's Navy, on which I will allow no slur concerning the proper treatment of prisoners that might sully its glorious name, to take thee as thou stands, an officer and a gentleman of thy navy, who may freely and honourably offer his parole, on thy personal bond of honour…"

"Bluck!" Lewrie objected, stupefied past real words!

"… strictly admitting that the betrayal of such personal word will redound to the greatest discredit upon thyself, thy navy, and thy Republic," Goodell concluded, casting a dubious look at Lewrie. "Wilt thou offer thy parole, or wilt thou surrender, sir?" he posed.

"To such generosity of ze spirit, ze Christian spirit, m'sieur, naturellement, I am mos' 'appy to accept your offer of parole, merci beaucoup bien!" Choundas rasped back, his cruel, scarred lips forming a creditable facsimile of a lamb-innocent, and grateful, smile.

"Mine arse on a band-box!" Lewrie said in a fretful whisper: "I fear I must protest, Captain Goodell! Christian charity aside, sir… most creditable to you… Choundas simply can't be trusted. He should be my prisoner. His Majesty's Government has the older, and greater, claim on him, and…!"

"Did thy ship vanquish his, Captain Lewrie?" Goodell cooed back, suddenly come over Arctic ice, his owl-eyes asquint as if focussed on prey. "Did he strike his colours to thee? He did not! Were he thine, he would languish in chains and filth aboard a prison-hulk at English Harbour for years, as I languished in British captivity, sir… just to satisfy thy animus, which is unbecoming in an officer and gentleman of thy repute, sir! Though his soul be sold to the Devil long ago, and his sins the vilest scarlet, yea, even so, I could never subject even him

to such cruelty. Captain Choundas is now mine, taken in honourable battle. Unless and until he does anything to violate his sacred honour I am honour-bound to take his parole at face value, or defame my country's trustworthiness. Captain Choundas is an American prisoner sir, the fruit of an American victory, and I will brook no further dispute of the matter."

"But France isn't at war with the United States, he'll be let go he'll…!" Lewrie spluttered, appalled.

"Thun-der- ation !" Goodell bellowed. "Did I not say the matter is closed, sir? Thou wouldst gainsay me on my own quarterdeck, sir?"

Lewrie withered under Goodell's fury, blushing furiously to be dressed-down before the American officers and sailors like an idiotic midshipman… before Choundas's sly scorn! "He's dangerous he…"

"No longer, Captain Lewrie," Goodell said, seeming to relent. "At limited liberty ashore in the United States, Choundas will work no more deviltry. And since no formal declaration of war exists, there will be no prisoner exchanges possible, Captain Lewrie. Neither do the French yet hold a single U.S. Navy officer of comparable rank to offer in exchange… dost thou see, sir?" Goodell concluded in much calmer voice, his beard-shrouded lips curling in the faintest of grins and his owl-eyes, for a brief moment, twinkling with glee.

Damme, did the old stickleback just wink at me? Lewrie gawped.

"Captain Choundas will be sent to an American seaport, with my report of his capture… and his nature… made public knowledge to one and all, Captain Lewrie. He will work no further havoc. Nor, return to France before the turn of the century, in my estimation. That is the most I may promise thee, sir, and thou must be satisfied with that."

Lewrie realised that the game was blocked at both ends; he had lost, and must put the best face he could on his defeat. He heaved a bitter sigh, then said, with passable good grace, "I s'pose I must, at that, sir. Please forgive my zeal to see such a dangerous foe placed where I'd know he could do no more mischief. Had I captured Choundas, I could do no less, did he offer his parole… no matter how galling! My congratulations to you, sir, and I wish you all the notice and fame that pertains to such a triumph. To yourself, your officers and tars… and to the glory of your Navy, and the United States of America."

/ nabbed him, though, Lewrie grimly told himself; I'd not have given him the chance to hand over his sword. Board his ship and shoot him down, run him through… not give Choundas time to strike colours/ Could I have… in the heat of the moment? Or lose my command and my honour, get court-martialed for murderin' a prisoner? God, please, he looks so old and sick, You could pluck him with a fever, or something! A bad batch of oysters… any cause! He has to die, else I'll never be able to rest easy! Hmmm… there must be a way…

"Zealousness in the pursuit of one's duty is ever forgivable, sir," Capt. Goodell was saying, stroking his whiskers in glee to have a Briton apologise to him for anything, "even though thy zeal might be adulterated by personal motives. Thank thy Maker, Captain Lewrie, that, in thy pursuit of just revenge upon such a monster, personal zeal did not overcome the professional, and that thine own hands, and immortal soul, remain unsullied. Great Jehovah's justice will grind Choundas, be sure of that, yea, even unto chaff and powdered, blighted seed, so "black and withered that his evil will be spurned even by the hungriest birds of the air or beasts of the field… and shalt never take root in the fertilest soil."

"Amen, sir," Lewrie replied with a fervor he could not really feel; what he felt was oily and unctuous to sham piety, but… needs must. "Well, then sir. I will take my leave. You will sail back to English Harbour, Captain Goodell? Good. Please allow me to request that you bear my despatches about today's action to my superiors."

"Thou will not enter harbour, sir?" Goodell asked.

"Fear I'm bound away on another matter, sir," Lewrie answered, tipping him a conspiratorial wink, as if a duty of even greater import awaited him, one of a secret nature. "I shall say my goodbyes to Captains McGilliveray and Randolph. My congratulations, again, and… do we have future occasion to work together, to the confusion of the French… or another mutual enemy, please recall that I owe you a duty, and a service, and would move Heaven and Earth to fulfill it."