Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

• Название: THE GUN KETCH
• Автор: Dewey Lambdin
• Жанр: Морские приключения

It's 1786 and Alan Lewrie has his own ship at last, the Alacrity. Small but deadly, the Alacrity prowls the waters of the Caribbean, protecting British merchants from pirates. But Lewrie is still the same old rakehell he always was. Scandal sets tongues wagging in the Bahamas as the young captain thumbs his nose at propriety and makes a few well-planned conquests on land before sailing off to take on Calico Jack Finney, the boldest pirate in the Caribbean.

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"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."

"Cony, fetch the devil his brandy," Lewrie frowned, pacing up the steep slant of the deck to larboard. He could feel the Caroline dying, could feel her shift and shamble as the morning tide and the current played with her, as waves made her pound on the Charleston Bar. Timbers groaned deep within, planks sprung with sharp cries, and now and again, something in her hold thumped and drummed, or gave way with a sharp crack.

Won't be long before she breaks up, Lewrie thought; we'll have to get all this stolen loot aboard Alacrity before then.

"John Canoe," he said. "Fetch Mister Woods, the gunner's mate, and a working party to pack up this loot and get it aboard our ship."

"Aye, aye, sah."

"Now tell me about Commodore Garvey, Finney," Lewrie demanded once Canoe was gone."Right tasty, this," Finney replied, leering back at him between deep gulps from the neck of the bottle. "One o' me… one of my finest imports, I do declare, sir."

"We don't have much time, Finney," Lewrie pressed, coming down to starboard again.

"You do, don't ye, now!" Finney snapped, then cried out with the vehemence of his accusation that had caused fresh waves of agony. "Ah, Jaysis, 'tis a hard life I've had. But a few good years, in the Bahamas, an' now ye've ruined that! Doesn't seem fair, it don't, you to go.on livin', with a wife handsome as yer Caroline,. a boy-baby an' all, an' I t'be dyin', mint an' broke."

"My God, you…!" Lewrie spluttered in amazement, thinking of all of Jack Finney's victims. "Seems damned fair, to me, after causing all that misery and murder. Now what about Commodore Garvey? I want to know for certain. Tell me how he helped you. And how much he cost you."

"Ye don't get it, do ye, Lewrie?" Finney laughed softly. "God, how much I hate ye, Lewrie! Iver since thet night in the inn, when ye turned yer nose up at me invitation… looked me over like a muddy pig an'… spite me, willya? Sneer at me, willya? Well, 'tis only fair I get a last chance t'spite ye back. Garvey's an English bastard, same as ye. Much as he deserves it… I'll give ye nothin' to make any more fortune on. Thet way, I goes t'me death with somethin' ye want, so in a way, I beat ye, after all, Lewrie. Now, why don't ye shit in yer fine hat there, clap it on yer head, an' call it a brown tie-wig?"

Woods' men arrived and began to fetch out the crates and chests, scooping up loose coins to cram back into the boxes, and, Lewrie knew, their own pockets if someone didn't look sharp after them. There would be no prize money, no head bounty, and all that they recovered would be Droits of The Crown instead of Droits of The Admiralty, so his men would have nothing to show for death or wounds. Lewrie decided to ignore the litde they could get away with this time; they'd earned it.

"Take all o' this, sir?" Woods inquired, waving about the cabin. "Aye, all of it. There may be some evidence hidden away in the odd chest or bag," Lewrie nodded. "Leave the bastard nothing."

"We be leavin' him, sir?" Woods asked. "Beg pardon for me to be suggestin', Captain, but the seas're gettin' up. We'd best be quick about it, sir. Mister Ballard's sent our other boats over."

"Aye, we will be," Lewrie nodded, scuffing about the cabins in frustration over Finney's hateful, mocking silence about Garvey.

"Uhm, you'll be wantin' us to take this, too, sir?" Woods said, gesturing to the shadowed forward bulkhead where the dining space had been. "This pitcher, sir?"

"Christ!" Alan rasped in shock. On the bulkhead hung a portrait, now askew and gnawed in a lower corner by grape-shot in canvas and the frame. It was a copy of his own portrait of Caroline! Not an oval, as was his, but rectangular; copied closer about her face to eliminate the gardens and East Bay. Augustus Hed-ley had done it himself, for in the lower right corner was his florid signature.

"Wot a bastard," Woods grunted. "Namin' this lugger o' his after your good lady, sir, an' now this! Take it to the boat, sir?"

"Aye, Mister Woods. I'll not have her go down with him, or give him any comfort to look upon. Thankee, Mister Woods."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Finney, you miserable shit!" Lewrie shouted, wheeling about to walk back to the man, flexing his hand on his sword's hilt, pondering hard on whether to kill him that instant, or let him groan in agony and drown as the best, and most painful, death for him.

"Many's the nights I wuz inspired t'gaze upon her, Lewrie," Finney boasted. "Rattlin' a whore, an' lookin' at her, an' wishin'. Almost had her, damme'f I didn't, though."

"Don't, sir!" Cony said, stepping between to block Lewrie from drawing his sword." 'E's agoadin' ya, sir, so 'e kin die quick. God o' mercy, sir, let 'im drown! 'E's aspittin' up blood arready. Drown in gore'r sea-water, sir. Ev'ry rock o' this wreck's apainin' 'im good as the fires o' Hell, sir. 'Tis best 'e suffers so, Mister Lewrie!"

Lewrie panted hard, affronted to be held in check.

"And lookee this, sir," Cony whispered, pointing with his chin to a cylindrical traveling bag on the deck. From beneath a pile of hastily crammed in silk shirts and neck-stocks, peeked a stack of old ledgers. "Lookee this 'un, sir. In 'is own 'and, sir."

Lewrie fought down his rage and opened the ledger Cony offered him. It was in Finney's near-illegible scrawl; not so much an account of debits and credits, but a log such as a mate would keep, more like a diary. There were entries of ships taken, by whom, how many shares the crew got, who had died and would require settlements for wives or girls, expenditures of powder and shot, values of goods taken, of how much pirated ships sold for in Havana or Cartagena. Along with such dry accountings of mayhem and murder, Finney made his comments about his illegal business, wrote his screeds about the high cost of bribing government officials, listed…!"Oh, my God!" Lewrie smiled suddenly. "Bless you, Will Cony!"

"Thankee, sir," Cony grinned shyly.

"Ah, 'twas a lovely brandy," Finney groaned blissfully, tossing the empty bottle aside. "Given enough warnin', 'tis right a man gets a chance t'die dead drunk."

Lewrie took the ledger with him as he walked down the deck to Finney for the last time.

"Me curses 'pon ye, Lewrie," Finney beamed, coughing on blood in his mouth, trying to spit some at Lewrie, who stood just a little too far away to hit. "Bad cess t'ye, yer handsome bitch, yer brat, an' all yer kin! Bad cess fer the rest o' yer.lives!"

Lewrie held up the book. Opened it so Finney could see; and recognize his own hand, and know it for what it was.

"Ah, no!" Finney groaned, screwing up his ruggedly handsome face like a petulant child. Caroline was swept by a breaking wave, making her thump and pound on the Bar harder than before, and shift with the sound of sliding sands. Wood croaked and screamed.

"I'd tell you to go to the devil, 'Calico Jack,' but then, we both know that's where you're bound, don't we?" Lewrie chuckled as he put the ledger under his arm. "How did it go? 'Calico, calico, who will buy my calico? Tis Jack, Jack, the Calico Man'?"

"Oh, ye brute! Oh, ya bastard!" Finney raved, as water began to seep into the cabins, to froth in through loosened plankings.

"Know how to swim, 'Calico Jack'?" Lewrie taunted. "That might keep you alive a minute longer. It'll hurt like Hell, of course."

"Youuu!" Finney screamed.

"Let's go, Cony. We have what we came for."