Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

"Aye, aye, sir," Alan nodded, too numb to grasp.

"Now, my fine turd-barge captains," Garvey glowered, "get out of my sight. Get out of my harbor, and stay out! And, should I getword you've done something else so abysmally chuckleheaded again, I promise I will have no mercy upon you. Go. Go!" Garvey concluded, shooing them away with a languid wave of his hand as if flitting off flies.

"Mine arse on a bandbox!" Alan fumed once they had reached the streets. "How dare he!" he hissed, close to tears of impotent rage. "He had no right! No right at all!"

"No, he doesn't," Rodgers groaned as they plodded heavily downhill towards Bay Street. "And if Caroline sails, will his wife, his daughter, or his sister and her dominee husband sail with her, hey?"

"Can he force her to leave?" Alan asked fearfully.

"No, he cannot, and he knows it. Damme, what a bloody mess! Damn the court, damn the panel, damn our timid mouse of a prosecutor… damn the very law! We know Finney's guilty, but he's got clean away with it. And he'll keep on gettin' away with it, now. He ought to be swingin' in a noose, but he's a hero all over again, damn his blood!"

"And the next time, it'll be one of Garvey's anointed who lets him get away with murder. Damn the man! Damn him to hell! I never knew a senior officer so…!" Lewrie raged. "The bastard!"

"He was wrong, wasn't he?" Rodgers was forced to ask after a long minute or two of silence as they plodded along despondently. "What Garvey said about you dislikin' Finney so much you might have… about you bein' nettled by his attentions towards your wife?"

"He'd sent invitations to his functions. Acted overly familiar in public at -dos' they attended separately," Alan replied, as calmly as he could. "It was being handled, quietly. The man's dense, and a boor. But I was a long way from fronting him, or calling him out about it, sir," Lewrie lied.

"And your dislike didn't prejudice you when you… ?"

"Not at all, sir. Oh, I admit to being most pleasantly surprised to see him implicated, but we had real evidence. I invented not one whit of it, sir. Arthur Ballard came up with most of it, and he's unaware of the situation, so he was as objective as anyone would wish. He's damned clever, sir, and would have dissuaded us if he didn't deem our case plausible. Look at the consequences, sir! I knew them going in, and the court warned us, too. No matter how much I might detest a man, I'd not risk all we face now to vent my spleen. Even I'm not that stupid, sir! I still don't understand it. If the prosecutor thought it was too weak to present, and he feared losing so much, then why did he end up taking it to court? Why are we not being sued right now for damages, instead? I mean to say… the charges against Finney should have been dropped, and then he'd have turned around and sued us over his losses, if he had a mind to."

"I don't know," Rodgers sighed. "And I wish to God I'd never heard of 'Calico Jack,' or Guineaman, or Walker's Cay. Damme, he'll have my last ha'penny 'fore he's through with me."

"Mine, too," Lewrie commiserated.

"No, you acted under my orders, Lewrie. It's my burden to bear from now on. At my Court of Inquiry they'll call you as a witness, no more. And thankfully, none of Commodore Garvey's vile assertions about our motives will see the light of day."

"Damn him, if he starts slandering her in society, I'll call him out, damme if I won't, the Articles of War bedamned!" Lewrie vowed.

They passed in front of a popular tavern as they turned the corner to Bay Street. Several boos and catcalls from within followed them, along with a few gnawed rib bones, as the patrons jeered them.

"Damme, I'm a King's Officer, how dare they?" Rodgers erupted.

"Captain Tom of the Mob, sir," Lewrie said, restraining him. "I fear we'll have to put up with it for awhile. Bad as any sauceboxes in London when it comes to putting down their betters when they're caught out. Best we ignore 'em before they summon a real mob and we end up 'de-Witted' like that Dutchman got torn apart in 1672."

"They wouldn't dare!" Rodgers huffed, but allowed himself to be put back in motion, and led at a slightly quicker pace away from their detractors.

"The mob, sir? They'd dare anything, until the garrison has to be called out and the Riot Act read. And we don't want that."

"S'pose not," Rodgers allowed. "Well, if I'm to sail this evening, I'd best go aboard ship now."

"You will not dine with me and Caroline, sir? Bring Betty along for a last supper?"

"Uhm, Betty… hmm," Rodgers blushed. "Tell ya the truth now, Lewrie, I'm not the marryin' sort, like yourself. And your Caroline's corrupted Betty Mustin somethin' awful lately. Put ideas in her pate 'bout wedded buss an' vine-covered cottages such as yours, ah…"

"Should I give her your respects, at least, then, sir?"Hmm. Best not," Rodgers frowned. "I've sent her a note. Andi I'm off for the Turks for a long spell, it seems, so this might be the best thing, in the long run, don't ya know."

"I see, sir," Alan nodded sadly.

"Ah, Mister Chatsworth. Mistress Chatsworth," Rodgers said as he doffed his cocked hat to salute a couple of his acquaintance, and Alan did the same, recognizing them from several salons. "Delight…"

"Hmmph!" that worthy said as he turned his head away to deliver the "cut-direct." His wife, made of sterner stuff, actually turned her gaze heavenward and out to sea, the "cut-sublime," and nudged her man in the ribs to steer them to the opposite side of the street!

"Well, shit!" Rodgers spat in bruised wonder. "Only to be expected, sir," Lewrie sighed heavily. Damme, that irks, though, he thought! "Shopping at Finney's are you, Mister Chatsworth?" Lewrie could not help calling after them. "Mixing your wine with the blood of poor murdered sailormen, are you? They've a fine special on cutlasses and pistols. Just the thing for carving your Sunday roast, madam! Or for making Mister Chatsworth walk the plank!" "Lewrie, for God's sake!" Rodgers flushed, half outraged, yet more than half amused. "Does nothing repress you; sir?"

"I'm minded of your earlier statement, sir, about this being a funny world, but no one laughs about it. Thought I'd try humour on, just to see what happens, 'cause I can't imagine things getting worse. Shall I see you to the dock and into your boat, sir?"

"Thankee, Captain Lewrie, I'd admire that. Might consider you row out with me, then over to Alacrity. Then take your own gig t'land on that beach just b'fore your house, 'stead o' takin' the road home. Never know what our fine citizens hereabouts might think up."

"Aye, sir, I'll do that very thing," Lewrie agreed. "Share a bottle o' champagne with me, 'fore you go?"

"I'd best not, sir," Lewrie decided. "Caroline'll be worried."

"Pity, 'tis a damn' good year," Rodgers chuckled. "I've twenty dozen stored in my lazarette. Ought to hold me for four months, do I ration m'self close. An' they'll be an absolute delight t'drink, for they came from Finney's stash on Walker's Cay, don't ya know." "Damned good, sir. Take joy of them!" Alan brightened. "He is a pirate, Lewrie," Rodgers spat, sobering. "And someday we'll prove it, proper. Garvey's wrong, ya know. The Crown won't make good his losses. They were unbonded, undutied goods. Just the same as smuggled! The mob may think it was knacky, but the Court'll think it just shy o' criminal. And I surely can't. And won't! Should the judgment go against me, I'd abscond to Havana 'fore he gets a single' farthin'. We hurt him where it hurts him the most, Lewrie! Thousands and thousands o' pounds o' goods, gone up in smoke! Might stretch him sore. Make him desperate. And should one o' his ships cross my hawse, why then I'll hurt him all over again!"