The Gun Ketch

by Dewey Lambdin

  And there was music and dancing, with fiddles, fifes and drums, stacks of spoons slapped upon knees if nothing else for meter,English morris dancing, Irish jigs and Scots reels, along with hornpipes or West Indian dancing.

  Sometimes, Midshipman Parham on fiddle, Bosun's Mate Odrado on a beribboned guitar of which he was especially proud, the carpenter's mate, a Swede named Bjornsen, on fife, and Caroline with her flute, would play concerts by the quarter-deck rails. The Reverend Townsley made hymn books available for those seamen who could read, and the crewmen would gather aft for a singalong, or stare rapt at drawing-room compositions they'd never heard before, their eyes alight to Bach, Purcell, Handel or other great composers. But then Caroline would insist on rollicking airs familiar from an hundred village greens or taverns, or plaintive ballads, sometimes tunes she'd grown up with among her North Carolina neighbors, and the hands would sing along lustily, all over the scales, but enjoying themselves greatly.

  The Townsleys disapproved of some songs—but then, they disapproved of a lot of things. Divine Services could not be conducted on a daily basis, but only on Sundays after Divisions, and after the first one, Lewrie had suggested shorter sermons and more hymns. And when the second droned on long as the first, he'd ordered the bosun to pipe "Clear Decks and Up-Spirits" to issue rum, ending services quite effectively!

  The Townsleys sniffed prudishly at breakfasts, when Alan and Caroline emerged from their tiny cabins, flushed with excitement from making love. Once over her seasickness, Caroline began to enjoy voyaging, and both hanging-cot and transom settee provided ecstatic pleasures. The Townsleys, far past their own first remembrances of passion, coyly hinted that too much laughing, giggling and "odd noises" in the night had disturbed their slumbers. Which hints only served to spur Lewrie and his enthusiastic young bride to even greater feats of passion, of an even noisier nature.

  And the Townsleys were upset that Lewrie did not wish to break his passage in Vigo, Lisbon, or the Madeiras, but, with Gat-acre and his own sailing master John Fellows to assist, determined upon taking a faster route for the Bahamas, edging more westing to each day's run so that Alacrity was well out to sea and beyond the normal "corner" at which most ships would turn west for the Indies off Cape St. Vincent.

  He did it admittedly to save his fast-dwindling supply of wine and brandy, for the good reverend made more than free with the bottle at meals, and raided the wine cabinet in the narrow passageway every night. At least he did until Cony placed a bottle of undiluted Navy rum mixed with sea-water in the brandy's squat decanter, and beyond a startled splutter or two, and a fit of retching, no more was heard of Reverend Townsley after Lights Out for the rest of the voyage.

  And so the weeks passed, from brisk Westerlies in the Bay of Biscay to tops'l breezes standing into spectacular tropic sunsets on the Atlantic crossing. From the gray green of the Channel to cobalt blue of Biscay, to bright blue waters of the Americas. From shivering with cold to the need for a hand fan in the daylight hours as Alacrity reeled off 200 miles from one noon to the next, until she rode a river of air, the Nor'east Trades, into the Providence Channel.

  Their last sunset together was a beauty, beginning just at the end of the second dog-watch. From the deepest rose to palest saffron, it flamed across the whole of the western horizon, heightened by the darker clouds. The sea glittered on the glade of sunset, turned gold and amber ahead of Alacrity's course, fading to a deep blue gray to either beam, and almost black astern. The first stars were out, and a gibbous moon, brushed more gold than silver, rode low on the evening's horizon. The wind was steady but gentle, pressing Alacrity forward with a starboard quarter-wind that filled her winged out gaff courses, and the reduced tops'Is. The heat of the day, which had not been particularly fierce that early in the year, had faded, and the evening air was fresh, clean, and most temperate.

  "Well, gentlemen, it is about time for Mister Gatacre to give you one last lesson in taking the height of the evening stars," Alan told the crowd of midshipmen. "And time for me to dine. Show heel-taps on your glasses, and be about your duties."

  With his cabins crowded so, it had been impossible to dine any of his officers and warrants in on the voyage, as a captain usually did to get to know them better, so he had been reduced to a nightly "court" on deck once the weather had moderated as they neared their tropical destination, with wine served out to be sociable.

  "Ahem," Midshipman Mayhew coughed, rising. "Uhm, sir... and Mrs. Lewrie? We ... uhm ... we should like to propose a toast to your lady, sir. I think I speak for all of us, for all the ship's people forrud as well..."

  "You'd better, Mayhew, we deputed you, remember?" Midshipman Parham teased and the boys laughed nervously.

  "Well, sir, and Mrs. Lewrie..." Mayhew began again, turning somewhat sunset-hued himself. "For those whose first voyage mis is among us, and for those of us who've sailed before, I have to state that we shall remember forever how pleasant this passage has been, because of our captain's lady. For her kind words, for her musical accomplishments. For her grace, and niceness of condescension to all hands. And for moderating a taut-handed captain's wrath upon us," he concluded with a jape. "To Mistress Lewrie, might it be possible for her to sail with Alacrity forever!"

  "Hear, hear!" the others chimed in, "To Mistress Lewrie!"

  "I thank you all, young gentlemen," Caroline blushed prettily. "May you have joy of your future careers. And my affection and gratitude for an exceedingly pleasant voyage to you, as well."

  "Thankee, ma'am," they shambled, "thankee," as they set down their empty glasses and wandered off forward to the sailing master.

  "That was so sweet of them!" Caroline sighed, touching an eye to control tears.

  "There's no one like you in their experience," Alan said as he took her hand. "Nor in mine." They sat down together on the signal-flag lockers by the taffrail in the very stern. "Nor any voyage like this for them again, most like. It ain't the usual Navy experience. The lads in the draft, God knows what sort of captain they'll have next, if they get a ship at all."

  "It was sweet, all the same," she insisted, dreaming on the horizon. "And a heavenly voyage for me. Our honeymoon. A lovely month at sea."

  "Seasickness notwithstanding?" he japed.

  "The Townsleys notwithstanding," Caroline whispered, leaning close to laugh with him. The cabin skylight was open to catch air, and their words could be heard below-decks by their "passengers" as they dressed for supper. "You will go easy on Parham and Mayhew, I trust, dearest? I know they're incorrigible imps, bad as my brothers when they were that age, but they're good lads at bottom."

  "When they deserve it, I assure you I will, love."

  "So much to do on the morrow," Caroline sighed, leaning close to him again, shoulder to shoulder. "Get ashore. Find lodgings and furnish them ... I shall miss this. God, to sleep without you will be dreadful!"

  "And I you, Caroline."

  "How long do you stay in port, do you think?"

  "A day to unload, another to replace firewood and water, some more rations... three days at the least, ten at the most, I suspect."

  He scowled, putting an arm about her shoulders. "Small ships spend less time at sea than most, and Alacrity's about as small as one may get in the Fleet. And it's not as if I have to perform war patrols, cruising until the salt-meat runs out. Half a month could be spent swinging at anchor in Nassau Harbor."

  "I'd care very much for that," she said, snuggling into him. "Oh, look. The last of the sunset. Let's watch, do! My last with you, for awhile." She sniffed a little.

  "But many more to come for us," he promised. "Many, many more!"

  They waited until the last spark had dropped into the sea before rising, and the world turned quickly dark, as the night usually fell in the tropics.

  "I love you, Alan!" she whispered, turning her face to him in the companionable and secluding darkness aft.

  "I love you, Caroline!"

  "A quick supper, and an early night," Caroline v
owed.

  "As that Pepys fellow said, my love," Alan joshed," 'And so to bed! "

  "Oh, then, let us hurry!"

  Part III

  "Look from your door, and tell me now the colour of the sea. Where can I buy that wondrous dye And take it home with me?"

  —Bliss Carman

  Chapter 1

  Nassau, and its snug protected harbor, had changed drastically since Alan Lewrie had last seen it in 1781. Where there had swum tall frigates, there were now only brigs, sloops and cutters to represent the might of the Crown. But the commercial shipping had increased an hundredfold, and the town itself now boasted attractive stone public buildings where once there had been only wood biscuit boxes with palmetto thatched rooves, and the once-sleepy streets were humming with commercial endeavor. There were hundreds more homes to be seen, and, of course, since Nassau had been a shoddy pirates' haven since the 1600s no matter the strenuous efforts of a string of royal governors since Woodes Rogers's days, it boasted more taverns, more ordinaries, more public inns of dubious repute, and more out-and-out brothels.

  But the transformation was stunning. With the arrival of thousands of dispossessed or disgruntled American Loyalists who had fled their spiteful Republican "cousins," the population had doubled and tripled. Humble Bay Street was now a good road and was fashioned "The Strand," while Shirley Street, named for a former governor, had become more sophisticated than a sandy lane lined with ramshackle, and could boast many fine residences, stores and shops. Though the official area of town was still bounded by Bay Street on the harbor, on the east by East Street, the west by West Street, and on the south by West Hill and East Hill Streets, more modest lanes had been laid out east and west of Government House. And "Over-The-Hill," the slumlike "stew" behind Bennett's Hill where the free blacks, poor whites and the criminal elements made their homes, had mushroomed.

  The morning was not particularly warm for the Bahamas, in Alan Lewrie's experience, no warmer than high summer in rural England, and the Trade Winds did much to moderate it, though late summer in these islands could be at times oppressively hot and humid. Alan was grateful to note that, despite the hundreds of draft animals on the streets, the swarms of flies and mosquitoes had diminished greatly, due perhaps to the marshy areas he could recall from previous visits, which were now drained and filled and claimed for small farm plots and houses. Even in his best blue wool broadcloth uniform coat, and kerseymere waistcoat and breeches, he was not unduly uncomfortable, even inside the local shore offices for the Royal Navy squadron.

  "Commodore Garvey will see you now, Captain Lewrie," the clerk at last announced and Alan rose, shot his cuffs and .tugged his uniform into order to enter his new commanding officer's presence.

  "Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, sir," the clerk said for their master's benefit. "Just come in from England in H.M. Sloop Alacrity, sir."

  "Saw you come to anchor," Garvey grunted from the tall windows where he stood in shadow, hands behind his back and head bowed by what seemed all the world's troubles. "No more than adequate work, that."

  "A new crew, sir, in commission two months," Alan checked, wary at once and hedging defensively. There had been little wrong with the approach down Hog Island, their reach across the wind between there and Silver Cay south and east, or their rounding up to windward and coming to anchor amid the disorderly swarm of shipping, just in line with Frederick Street. With tops'ls already brailed up, harbor gaskets on, and yards squared, they'd cruised in neatly with the after course and two jibs standing, fired their salute, and coasted to a stop without a flaw, and the best bower anchor was let slip the instant they lost way. Alan was away in his gig before the stern kedge anchor could be rowed out and set, but he'd seen that go well, too!

  "I'll brook no lame excuses from a newly wetted down junior, Lieutenant Lewrie," Garvey barked, though it was more an old dog's jowl-flapping petulance. "You may be one of those who deem a peacetime Fleet all 'claret and cruising,' but you'll find to your dismay I demand the utmost of my captains. Should you persist in whip-jack seamanship and slovenly navigation, our waters here in the Bahamas will lay you all aback quick enough."

  Garvey made his way from the tall double windows to his desk, out of the shadows into proximity enough so Lewrie could see his lord and master, no longer silhouetted against the glare.

  "I..." Lewrie began to rejoin.

  "Muddle through at your peril, sir," Garvey threatened. "Either you'll wreck that fine little armed ketch of yours, or you will answer to my exceeding wrath. Do I speak plain enough for you, Lieutenant Lewrie?"

  "Indeed, sir," Lewrie said, fighting to hide his resentment. As he once had as a midshipman when dealing with ship's officers, he gave Garvey a sweet smile of complete agreement, one which had always turned away wrath, as the Bible promised; or masked ironic amusement.

  "I have despatches and the latest post, sir," Lewrie offered, bringing a thick canvas-wrapped packet forward. "These are the official correspondence. These are your personal letters. Your clerk already has the squadron's mail, sir."

  "Sit," Garvey commanded, pointing in the general direction of a wing chair as he leaned forward and dragged the personal bundle towards his side of the desk. "Brandy, Lieutenant Lewrie? Claret, perhaps?" The man had turned uncommonly civil and benign in an instant.

  "I would admire coffee or tea, sir," Lewrie stated, settling on the front edge of the chair. "Bit early in the forenoon for me, sir."

  "Hmmph," Garvey frowned as if disappointed.

  And Lewrie was left to stew and fidget for many long minutes as Garvey sorted through his personal mail, breaking the wax seal on the more interesting to read a snatch or two, then set them aside for closer perusal later. It was quite outside Lewrie's experience for a serving officer to ignore the official despatches so blithely. He'd "kissed the gunner's daughter" for being late in delivering orders aboard his first ship in favor of sorting through the personal missives for something from home first!

  Horace Garvey—another bloody "Horry"! Lewrie thought with wry humor—was slightly stoop-shouldered, and fond of his table, too, if the gotch-gutted appliance that bulged his waistcoat near to bursting was any clue. His face and hands were burned dark by tropic sun, finely wrinkled and splotched here and there from ancient searing. Or by drink. His forehead was high and narrow, the nose a prominent narrow beak, and his eyes were downward-turned at the outer corners, and slightly watery and gooseberry. At one time, Garvey had probably been a rather striking specimen, about Lewrie's height, and fashionably slim, but that heroic (and gentlemanly) frame had put on poundage in the trunk and face, though his limbs were still long and spare.

  "You departed which port, sir?" Garvey asked at last.

  "Portsmouth, sir," Lewrie piped up. "On the 16th last."

  "A fast passage," Garvey nodded."We had good westerlies in the Bay of Biscay, and a favorable slant of wind off Lisbon, sir, allowing us to 'cut the corner' without dropping as far south as Cape St. Vincent," Lewrie boasted just a trifle. "My sailing master, and my supercargo master James Gatacre assured me I'd find leading winds around thirty-eight degrees north and sixteen west, so we might reach to make enough sou'westing to pick up the Trades, sir."

  In Lewrie's last ship, Telesto, Captain Ayscough had sneered at the old way of navigating, where ships would fall far south to run across the Atlantic on a line of latitude for Dominica in the Leewards, even were they headed for the Bahamas, even were they bound for New York!

  "Did you, indeed," Garvey sniffed, sounding unimpressed. "And whilst in Portsmouth, did you by happenstance come to hear of passengers who were to be given government passage to the Bahamas, sir?"

  "Oh, do you mean the Reverend and Mrs. Townsley, your brother-in-law and your sister, sir?" Lewrie smiled as Garvey sat up with a show of interest at last. "They are arrived in my Alacrity, sir!"

  "With you!" Garvey barked. "In that cockleshell of a ketch?"

  "Aye, sir," Lewrie nodded.

  Damme, just what does ple
ase the bastard? he wondered.

  "Damme, I'll lay into the officials who entrusted them into a frail vessel such as yours!" Garvey ranted. "Was there no other ship available, no West Indiaman? Callous hounds! Mark my words, I will blister Whitehall with a letter expressing my displeasure. One does not treat relations of a senior officer so... so...!"

  "She is a converted bomb, sir. Quite sturdy," Lewrie offered.

  "Foul, miserable, cramped, bucketing about like a dory in all weathers. And you did not break your passage to ease the misery your passengers surely experienced, sir?" Garvey accused.

  "Sir, my orders said to 'make the best of my way,'" Alan replied evenly. "From long usage that is to say, just short of 'with all despatch,' as I am sure you are aware, sir."

  "Then you're a fool, a heartless fool, sir!" Garvey snarled.

  "My other passengers, sir..." Alan winced as he carried on.

  "What? More to be crammed in any-old-how?" Garvey sneered.

  "Mister Gatacre and his assistant, sir. Seconded from Trinity House to the Admiralty to conduct a hydrographic survey. And a draft of six midshipmen, sir. I assume they are mentioned in the official despatches, sir," he concluded with what he hoped was a suitably subtle reminder about the Navy correspondence.

  "As if I need more midshipmen!" Garvey scowled. "Newlies?"

  "Two rather young, sir, two middling... twelvish. And, uhm... the last two from the Royal Naval Academy at Portsmouth, sir."

  "Worse man King's Letter Boys!" Garvey sneered. "Sots and mountebanks! Latin, math, and not a single block in any of their rigging! Hah! Top-lofty cunny-thumbs and cack-hands, not an iota of wits in the lot! Foist 'em off on me, will they? Wellll... I'll put a flea in the Admiralty's ear about that, too! Boys cannot learn the sea in a bloody classroom, can't make the connections in the Fleet necessary for patronage and advancement Chasing and caterwauling is all they pick up at that damn-fool... Academy!"