Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

"Well, now, young sir…" Grant frowned, ready to strangle on such a preposterous notion. "Me testify? Bless me soul, Captain! A long voyage to Nassau… weeks waiting for the court to convene, sir. Demurrages piling up and all… were I to be paid recompense, I might be able to. But, hurricane season's almost upon us, and me poor old Sarah and Jane…"

"Mister Lightbourne does assure me, Captain Grant, that a deposition would be sufficient," Lewrie interrupted. And was galled by the sarcastic humour from all present his suggestion elicited.

"My, ye are a young'un, ain't ye now?" Grant chuckled. "For me to depose in a British court… American master and all… wheww!"

"You would have to lay yourself open to a charge of violating the Navigation Acts, I know, sir," Lewrie said, reddening with anger at their laughter. "And their lawyer would make Puck's Fair of you. But, were you to state that you were on passage for Hispaniola…"

"Ahh!" Grant smiled as he was let off the hook. "And we said that you forced me to enter harbor here…"

"So your testimony could be written out by a Crown official,"Lewrie sketched on. "An unbiased magistrate appointed by the Governor-General of the Bahamas, who could provide additional testimony to the unimpeachable nature of your voyage, sir."

"Why, bless me soul, young sir, if ye ain't the knacky'un!" Grant hooted and leaned back on his rickety stool. "And whilst I was in port here, not o' me own free will, as it were, I do believe I did trade Hispaniola goods fer salt. Straight across the board, hey?"

Lewrie blushed once more, feeling sullied by what he was being forced to ignore. "Your, uhm… commercial endeavors following what testimony you render, sir, are none of my concern, Captain Grant, and surely are not required to be cited in the deposition."

Playing fast and loose with King George's official edicts was an unsettling experience for him, one he knew for certain he did not wish to repeat. Sins of a personal nature were one thing, but… the Law! And placing his personal honour in jeopardy, to boot!

"We understand each other, Captain Lewrie," Grant simpered.

"This once we do, sir," Lewrie insisted. "Yet I would pray you complete your trading and clear these waters with all haste. I might just be possessed of a deep-enough purse to defend myself were I of a mind to inspect your vessel the next time I see her. Do we understand each other now, Captain Grant?"

Grant laughed and gave him an elaborate seated bow. "I do stand admonished, Captain Lewrie," he allowed with a wry expression. "We'll not cross hawses again, more'n like. And if we do, I'll try to outrun ye 'stead o' bribing ye. Ye catch me, though, I just might try the depth o' that purse o' yer'n. Can't expect the fish to be hauled aboard without a fight, ye know."

"I know," Lewrie nodded.

"Still want that deposition, then?" Grant asked.

"I do, sir, if you're still of a mind."

"Then let's be about it," Grant agreed. "Faster I give me testament, the faster I'll be out o' yer hair."

"And out of port," Lewrie prodded.

"And out of yer jurisdiction," Grant beamed. "Fair enough."

"Galling, ain't it?" Mr. Lightbourne said as they walked back to the Commissioner's House together. "Now you begin to know what I face here in the Turks. No support from Nassau. No real authority. Threat of being lynched were I too effective. Or turned out by those bone-lazy worthies on New Providence for being incapable, were they to discover the true circumstances which obtain here. I've turned many a blind eye, long as there's revenues from salt quarterly. Yet I cannot blame the people hereabouts for wanting lumber and luxury. They'd go naked and starving without the illicit trade. There'd not be one decent shack to live in without it."

"Mmmm," Lewrie frowned, pacing into his advancing shadow, eyes downcast.

"I do not sell my office, Captain Lewrie," Lightbourne told him. "Nor do I think you would. Watch yourself, though."

"Sir?"

"There's enough would sell their honour, turn the blind eye, and pray not to be bothered. Some of our exalted, so to speak, superior to you and me. And some so venal they'd even countenance your pirates, long as it was foreign-flagged merchants they plundered. Have a care, Captain Lewrie, whom you arrest. They might turn out to have powerful allies."

"You caution me to ignore the Navigation Acts, sir?" Lewrie demanded, stopping his stroll and looking up sharply at Lightbourne.

"I caution you, do nothing rash, Captain Lewrie," Lightbourne shot back, his own honour touched. "Think deep before you commit yourself. Before you do what honour dictates. But don't trust to a single snare. Lay yourself a web maze-y as a spider's, so there is no way for your prey to wriggle out. And, like me, be thankful for a small victory now and then, 'stead of going crusading."

"I see," Lewrie softened, seeing what sense Lightbourne was endeavoring to give him. "Thankee, Mister Lightbourne, I'll take a round turn and two half hitches. Look before I leap, then. And that's a trial best tested later. For now, I'll be satisfied with running the rest of this gang to earth. No way I suppose those in custody'd talk to us? Tell us where the rest may be found?"

"This lot're practiced sinners, Captain Lewrie," Lightbourne shrugged resignedly. "Honour among thieves… some freebooters' code of silence… the black spot and all that. They'd rather swing game on the gallows and be infamous for a few days. No hope of that."

"Then it'll take combing these islands," Lewrie vowed. "But comb 'em I will. However long it takes."

"Make 'Captain Repair On Board,' Mister Mayhew," Lewrie ordered as Alacrity ranged up to within half a cable of the wayward Navy cutter Aemilia. They had spent a whole day and night seeking her, first in Hawk's Nest Harbour on Turks Island, Long Bay and Balfour Town on Salt Cay, and had finally discovered her cruising south of Big Sand Cay in the Lower Turks Passage.

The young officer who came through Alacrity's starboard entry port came most unwillingly, having dressed hurriedly and still had a blotch or two of shaving soap behind his ears, a fresh tea stain on his shirt front, and acted very put out and sulky.

"Courtney Coltrop," the officer said before Alan could open his mouth, his demeanor on the ragged edge of open insubordination. "I was not informed another ship was in my area, sir."

"Alan Lewrie, Mister Coltrop," Lewrie said, taking an intense dislike to him at once, and spurning the honorific of "captain" which he merited. "You're a hard man to find, sir."

"I do not maintain a set patrol, sir," Coltrop almost sneered, "so I may spread confusion among our King's enemies the better."

"Pirates and smugglers, aye," Lewrie glared. "Such as the Yankee trader in South Caicos harbor yesterday, which you did not find on your irregular patrol. Nor the pirates off West Caicos the other day. Ever patrol as far as that, do you?"

"The bulk of the trade is here in the Turks, sir," Coltrop said, waving an arm about the empty straits. "And I am one small cutter with a huge area to cover. Here now, what's the date of your commission?" he demanded, irked at the preemptory questions.

"February of '82," Lewrie snapped. "Yours? As if it matters."

"March of '83, sir," Coltrop reddened, realizing that he was junior at last, and should begin to show proper courtesy. Though it was a mystery to Lewrie that the lout would not automatically assume the deference due a captain of a warship larger than his tiny sixty-foot cutter. Alan put it down to insufferable, overweening pride, or impeccable connections and patronage; some powerful "sea daddy."

"Mister Coltrop, you were unaware that a substantial band of pirates were active in the Caicos? There was no rumour of an action off West Caicos three days ago, sir? No hint of past depredations?"