Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

"Cease fire, Mister Fowles! Drop it, she's a dead 'un!" Lewrie called out. "Mister Ballard, put us about, quick as you can, back out to sea. Fetch-to soon as Mister Fellows determines we're legally outside the Yankee gun-range. Mister Harkin? Ship's boats over the side. We will board the wreck. Mister Odrado and Warwick to lead the boarding party."

"Uhm, they both be dead, sir," Harkin had to report. "Christ," Lewrie spat. "Damme, we'll miss 'em. Select whom you will, then, Mister Harkin."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Well, we'll miss Odrado, him and his guitar, Alan thought; ship's corporals were never loved-feared, damn' right, but never loved, and Warwick was half a brute. Kept good order, though.

"Sir!" Parham called, pointing over the side. "Sir, there's a cutter putting out for us from shore. From Fort Moultrie, sir. Flag of truce in the stern-sheets."

"Uhm, Commander Rodgers, as senior officer present, perhaps ' you might be best in dealing with the Yankee officials, sir?" Alan hinted. "I'll go aboard the wreck and arrest the survivors."

"Thankee, Lieutenant Lewrie," Rodgers sneered heavily, fiddling at his uniform and sword. "Now we've created an international incident, why thankee most kindly! Let me know what evidence ya find. We'll be needin' a power of it, an' that soon. Fetch me Finney, if he lives. Least we can have somethin' t'show for it."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Ah go wit' ya, Cap'um, sah," John Canoe insisted, shoving his way into the boat at the last minute by Cony in the stern of the gig.

"Boat's full, Canoe," Lewrie snapped.

"Dot boat full o' Chawlst'n men, sah," Canoe pleaded. "Ah don' wanna see 'um, sah.!"

"Whyevernot?"

"Dis w'ar ah 'scape f um, Cap'um, sah. Mebbe one 'o dem 'spys me, dey take me bock, sah."

"You paddled from South Carolina?" Lewrie goggled.

"Down t'Flo'da, sah," Canoe grinned. "An' dem come lak a free mon wit' dot Colonel Deveaux. Oh, no, sah, even ah don't paddle canoe all de way t'de Bahamas, no sah!"

"You're a free black Ordinary Seaman in His Majesty's Royal Navy, Canoe," Lewrie promised. "No one's taking you anywhere. Oh, sit down. Cony, shove off!"

"Thankee, sah," Canoe grunted, taking a place on a midship seat between oarsmen. "Thankee."

Caroline was a total ruin. Rigging, sails, halyards and sheets lay in messy profusion on her decks, decks quilled with splinters and bulging upwards in star-shaped cavities where masts had spiraled out of the keel-wedges, where entering shot had ruptured her. Thin smoke rose from smouldering canvas where powder charges had burst or burned, where hot metal barrels had seared sails. Her artillery had been shot free to roll down to the starboard side, crushing gunners into pasty, broken mannequins splashed with gore so freely it looked as if some lunatic had run amok with bar-ricoes of red lead paint. Bodies lay sprawled on every hand; broken, quilled, dismembered, disemboweled.

Wounded cried piteously, dragging themselves over the decks and leaving slug-tracks of blood. Those hale were busy binding up those they could; or drinking with single-minded purpose from scuttled kegs of rum. Dozens of wine bottles rolled in the scuppers, already empty, and a buccaneer sat on the midships cargo hatchway gratings, shouting and weaving with a bottle in each hand, drunk as a lord, with the stump of his shattered leg sticking straight out in front of him.

"Where's Finney?" Lewrie asked.

"Woy, 'iz lordship's aft, Admiral," the wounded buccaneer cackled and hawked up phlegm to spit. "An' bad cess t'the brainless bugger, sez oy! Haw! Aft in 'iz great-cabins!"

"Tend to that man," Lewrie ordered. "Let's go, Cony… Canoe."He stepped down into the well which held the short ladder into the great-cabin hatchway. The door had been shot away by ball. Lewrie drew his sword, and Canoe and Cony backed him up with cutlasses and a pistol each.

Aft past the first mate's cabin, the chart-space, and into the master's cabins, pushing the door open with the tip of his blade, to peer inside, and gasp in awe.

Finney's cabins were lush beyond imagining; cream bulkheads all picked out with gold leaf, polished wooden deck almost completely covered with Turkey carpets, and the furnishings rich and gleaming. Or, they had been. Now the transom lay open to the wind and sea, and it had all been scattered like a rummage sale in a secondhand shop, the chairs, dining table and desk shattered and overturned in a sea of fine clothes, drapes and bedclothes.

Lewrie sucked in bis breath as he espied a corpse buried in a pile of clothing and spilt sea-chest items. He used his sword tip to lift the cloth aside.

"Well, damme," he shuddered with disgust. It was not Finney, but a woman! A tarted-up doxy with bright blonde hair, overdone with rouge and paints. One sightless blue eye was fixed on the rich carpet. The other, and half of the back of her skull, had been hacked away by grape-shot.

"I'm over here, ye bastard," Finney growled from the shadows by the starboard quarter-gallery, making Lewrie jump. "Thet wuz jus' Molly. Decent enough trull she wuz, fer a 'Over-The-Hill dram-shop whore."

"Dig him out," Lewrie ordered, and Cony and Canoe hefted a few crates and chests out of the way so he could face his foe at last. He could not help hissing in his breath again when Finney became visible, lumped up against the bulwarks like a broken doll, one arm shattered and bleeding, his silk shirt red from wrist to collarbone, and another gory stain in the lap of his fine ecru silk breeches. A trickle of blood oozed from Finney's lips, and from his nose, making him hawk and cough to clear his throat to breathe.

"An', thankee," Finney smiled through his certain pain. "Thet last broadside done fer me, Lewrie. An' fer poor Molly. Figgered I could use a woman's comforts, so I fetched her along. She'd niver seen Charleston, an' had a hankerin' t'come away with me. An' niver will, now, by Christ! Weren't fer yer meddlin' Peyton Boudreau keepin' sich a wary watch, coulda been yer Caroline alayin' there dead, now, an' by her own dear husband's hand!"

"What the devil are you talking about?" Lewrie growled.

"Woulda took her, if I'd had a mite more time t'spare fer me… for my escape," Finney grinned, still trying to play the gentleman in his speech, knowing it would be his last. "Woulda been a devilish fine thing, t'spite ye, an' her. Had ye known I had her, ye mighta held yer fire, an' I'd be strollin' flash on the Battery this minute."

"Let's get him on deck," Lewrie decided. "This ship's going to break up, the way she's pounding." John Canoe pushed his way along the outer bulkhead over wreckage and trash to put his arms under the pirate, though Finney begged him not to touch him.

"No, don't, Jaysis, no!" Finney howled as Canoe began to lift. He gave out a shrill scream as terrifying as a rabbit in a fox's jaws. "Put me down, Jaysis, Joseph an' Mary, love o' God, put me down, will ye? Leave me be, man! Think me back's shot plumb in half. I cain't feel nothin' below me waist, but atop, aye… Jaysis! Let me die in peace, willya now. Me arm's broke t'flinders, mink these chests o' mine stove in me ribs."

Lewrie's eyes lit up with pleasure as he saw that part of the cargo that had shifted and crushed Finney as Caroline ran aground were the chests of gold and silver coin looted from the bank, part of Jack Finney's personal hoard. Mixed among spilled coins were certificates of exchange and ledgers.

"Lookee here, Lewrie," Finney cajoled, once the worst of pain had subsided. "There's a bottle o' brandy yonder in my wine cabinet I see as hasn't been smashed. Been studyin' it somethin' fierce the last few minutes. Have a heart an' fetch it, willya, Lewrie? Let a sailin' man go to his Maker with a reason t'smile, hey? Lemme have one taste 'fore I pass over? Won't be long, fer either of us."