Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

My dear sir;

Have you seen one of these? I was not aware your interest in interrupting Alacrity's mail had an Intimate Raison d'Etre. was the inscription penned in the left margin.

The enfolding, larger folio-sized sheet of paper had a hastily written note which quite took his mind from the curses he was about to hurl at the uppity cur, who'd sprinkle his notes with Latin, French or even Greek, just to (Finney swore) gall him over his lack of schooling.Lt. Coltrop' s Aemilia cutter is just returned from Spanish Wells in some haste. He informs me that Whippet put into port there four days past, inquired of Lt. Blair of the Barracouta sloop as to the nature of my patrol Assignments, and was last seen heading North towards Great Abaco! A ketch-rigged Warship and a merchant ship were seen to be in company with her by a fishing lugger who put into Spanish Wells.

Aware of my stringent Requirements for Whippet and Alacrity to stay far South, Lt. Coltrop came to me at once, sure that Rodgers and Lewrie may be staging some immense Mutiny against me, sir. The only cause for hope they may have to redeem themselves would be, as you know, a sudden Revelation about a certain Matter. Do what you think best, as shall I, from this moment forward.

"Jesus an' Mary," Finney shivered. "It's all up, ain't it?" "Sir?" his butler inquired distantly.

"Get out. I said, get out! Leave it!" Finney shouted as he got to his feet. He shoved the broadside sheet and the letter into one of his private ledgers, tucked them under his arm, and began to pace his palatial parlour and receiving rooms. He took inventory of his fineries as if seeing them for the first time, a visitor to his town house. The inventory took him through the dining room, into the large salon on the other side of the entrance hall, through still-rooms and butler's pantries, through wine cellar and library, up the stairs to peek into all four huge bedrooms, marveling again how well furnished they were. Sumptuous, some said. Bordello "Flash," others cruelly whispered behind his back- after they'd had his meats, wines and music, after they'd fawned to his face and simpered at his japes!

"It's all up," he told himself again, halfway between tears and rage. "Don't want me t'have nothin', won't let me have nothin', niver in this life, the bastards! Build all this, they find a way t'take it from me, they do. Wisht t'God I'da had time t'kill Boudreau… an' do fer that uppity bitch an' her rogue! Ah, well. Me curses on 'em, 'tis the best ye'll do, Jack, me lad. It's all up. Ye had a good run, did ya not?"

Not only would he lose the plantation, but he'd lose the slaves, his house and all its lovely "pretties," the best mat money could buy. His stores, his ships, his chandlery, his… "Ah, shame of it, now!"

But, there was money in the house, and money in his stores. And in the bank. Enough to start over somewhere else. And he still had a fine little ship in the harbour, ready to take him anywhere in the wide world he wished. He ripped open the chifforobe in his own bedroom, took out a leather traveling case, and set the ledgers inside it, then began to pack bom it and an ornate sea-chest, his mind already calculating the best of the tide.

"Damme, what a rotten business," Lord Dunmore grunted after he had read the confessions. "All this happenin' right under my predecessor Maxwell's nose, and him ignorant as sheep, ha ha! That'll make int'restin' readin' in London! But, it's over now. We've bagged the miscreants, and they'll hang in tar and chains 'til their bones fall apart, damme if they won't."

"Finney did escape us, milord," Solicitor-General William Wylly informed him. Wylly had not known Lord Dunmore but a few months, but he had already developed a blazing dislike for the new governor, and had been heard to call him "obstinate and violent by nature," with a "capacity below mediocrity, little cultivated by education, ignorant of the constitution of-England… the lordly despot of a petty clan."

"Best rid of him, then," Lord Dunmore shrugged as he poured a round of brandy for them all; those he had to cultivate, at least Lewrie, Rodgers and some other minor officials were not included in that category, while Wylly, Garvey and Peyton Boudreau were. "Once he's proved guilty in court, all his goods'll be liable to seizure. Bound to be a pretty penny in all that, hey? Might even help defray the cost of me new fortifications I'd planned for the western side of the town. Fort Charlotte, I think to name it, for our Queen."

"There is the matter of the bank, milord," Chief Justice Matson put in. "Finney and several… ahum… of the finer and wealthier of the colony had formed a private merchant bank. There werehundreds of depositors, milord. It's been looted, I fear, and gone with Finney to God knows where. Many of your Privy Council had their accounts there, milord. I did, more to the point."

"Well, send a ship after him and get it back!" Lord Dunmore told them with an impatient arrogance. "That'd be easy enough, hey? What we have the Royal Navy for, if you can't go seize a ship when you wish to, what? How long's he been gone? Two hours, three? Garvey?"

"There is the problem of where he's gone, milord," the commodore muttered, looking most unwell since he'd seen Whippet and Alacrity come into port with Guineaman and Fortune as captures that morning. "I have three ships in harbour at the moment, but they'll not be enough. And Whippet, the sloop of war, is wormed and weeded. She would not be swift enough to catch him, even if we did know his direction."

"Excuse me, milord," Lewrie spoke up.

"Who the devil are you, sir?" Lord Dunmore scowled at him.

"Lieutenant Lewrie, of the Alacrity, milord. Finney did not use the Nor'east Providence Channel, else he'd of had to sail past us to get out to sea. He'd be going west or south, milord. South down Tongue of The Ocean to the east'rd of Andros, to Cuba. Or he went up the Nor'west Providence Channel to pick up the Gulf Stream and sail north. That would be the fastest escape, sir."

"Wherever those are," Lord Dunmore laughed, his round, fleshy moon of a face broken only by a huge overhanging beak of a nose wobbling with incomprehending humour.

"I'll send Lieutenant Coltrop and Aemilia north, then, milord," Garvey decided. "And Lewrie down Tongue of The Ocean."

"Excuse me again, milord, but if the swiftest, and most logical, course he'd steer would be north, then Alacrity has a longer hull, more sail area, and more and heavier guns," Lewrie countered. "I stand the better chance to catch him, and bring him to book."

"That make the slightest bit o' sense to you, Matson?" Dunmore japed at his chief justice. "Sounds like Greek to me. Tarpaulins!" "And only if Lieutenant Lewrie is ordered to sea at once, milord," Rodgers added quickly. "And, with your permission, Commodore Garvey, I will turn Whippet over to my first officer so she may get her… long-delayed… docking and breaming." He could not resist the urge to put his own knife in. "And sail with Lewrie, sir."

"That sounds, and you will pardon the play on words, milord, I trust-like the best course, haw haw," Peyton Boudreau said with a lazy, aristocratic air, as if it were "just between you and me of the better sort" to Lord Dunmore, who was already under Boudreau's lofty spell. "Rodgers and Lewrie are, to my limited knowledge, two of the most energetic officers in the Bahamas Squadron, as I am certain that Commodore Garvey will agree. Damn my soul, have they not proved that today, milord? Best let 'em be in for the kill."

"Bless me, d'ya think so, Mister Boudreau?" Lord Dunmore asked with a wry cock of his head.