"Aye, sir?"
"We'll not have much time, I'm thinking, so be ready to haul our wind and come about to loo'rd."
"Six fathom!" the leadsman warned.
"Guns ready, sir!" Buckinger called out.
"Open fire, Mister Buckinger."
Alacrity rocked with recoil, and spent powder smoke rolled over the decks like a thick fog, only slowly wafting away. Shot moaned in the air, across the shoaling waters, across the sand and coral reefs which separated them from the foe. A second broadside; a third, and one of the two-masted luggers was at last hit. Two shots slammed home, rocking her at the extreme limit of Alacrity's range. Powder charges or a cask of powder aboard the lugger must have taken light, for there was a sudden ruddy mushroom cap of flame, followed by a squat, bulging hump of gray-black smoke shot through with whirling wreckage, then a hailstorm of splashing debris and she was gone! The sound of her ruin came to them as a twofold Crump-Fhwumph as the smoke-cloud turned to a sooty mist chased low across the shallow sea, and the white-roiled waters became a series of ripples.
"Out of range, sir," Buckinger informed them from the foot of the ladder to the waist."Three fathom!" a leadsman called mournfully. "Three fathom to this line, and shoal-waters ahead! Two cable, no more, sir!"
"Mister Ballard, haul our wind. Mister Buckinger, secure your guns for a gybe," Lewrie commanded.
"Run out unloaded! Bowse up to the bulwarks and belay!" the quarter-gunner told his hands. "Put those slow match out."
"Sheetmen, brace-tenders, stations for wearing ship! Off yer belays and haul taut!" Ballard instructed. "Ready about? Helm hard up to weather, quartermaster. Wear-ho!"
Once settled on her new course out toward safer, deeper water, and the guns secured with charges and shot drawn, vents covered and striker pans emptied, ports closed and the guns lashed securely hard up against the hull, Lewrie had all hands summoned. They thundered aft to mill about at the foot of the quarter-deck, grinning with delight and chattering their excitement.
"Lads, we did damned well!" he told them, putting a brave face on his embarrassment. "From powder monkeys to waisters to the guns. We shot like a crew three years in commission, and I'm well pleased with you this day! Mister Keyhoe? We will splice the main-brace!"
They cheered the announcement of a double rum ration, one free of accumulated debts among themselves of "sippers" and "gulpers."
"Then!" he continued, raising his hand to silence them, "then, lads, we pick up survivors and clap 'em in irons. We go back to get our boats and other mates in Clear Sand Road. And hunt the rest of this pack of murderers and cut-throats down and bring 'em to court to hang! Mister Harkin? Pipe 'Clear Decks And Up Spirits'!"
After the clamor died down, Lewrie paced aft to the taffrail on the windward side. He raised his telescope and glared at the surviving luggers as they receded from view two miles or more away now', hull-down, with their sails mirrored on the glassy waters inside the Caicos Bank.
He had hurt them. He'd sunk three out of five of them, saved a merchant ship… come to think on it, he gloomed, where had that bugger gone so quickly, without a word of thanks… he'd put the fear of King's Justice in the rest of them. But it wasn't enough. The fact remained that he had been outmaneuvered… fooled! He'd almost lost his ship on those razor-sharp reefs!
Somewhere out there was a very clever criminal, laughing fit to bust he was certain, at how he'd bested him! A criminal who had outsmarted him!
"A 'Brother Johnathon' ship," Lewrie chuckled wryly. "I saved a Yankee's ship. And now here he is, selling bold as brass!"
"That you did," the local magistrate Mr. Lightbourne said as they strolled past the open-air market of sheds just above the high-tide line. "I've no way of stopping him. No reliable bailiff, no real power to regulate for the Governor-General."
"But this is a violation of the Navigation Acts, sir," Lewrie insisted. "Is there no King's ship in these waters?"
"Nothing against your fellow officer, Captain Lewrie, but there is but the one tiny single-masted cutter, and she's off at the moment," the gloomy magistrate said, halting their stroll to make a point. "Sir, were it not for Yankee ships coming to the Salt Isles, we would have no imported food or goods! Not in the winter months after salt-raking season, to tide us over, certainly. When British ships put into port, their prices are dear. Dear, sir! With a half-battalion of troops, a fleet of revenue cutters, the full force of the King's Customs, even then I would have no hopes of enforcing steep prices, just to benefit fat London merchants, who got this Order In Council passed."
"So you have to tolerate this?" Alan said, trying not to sound too accusatory. To Mr. Lightbourne's reluctant nod, he went on. "May I take it, sir, that some revenue is gathered? Some import duty?"
"Uhm," Lightbourne shrugged eloquently, but meaning "no."
"The Navy cutter," Alan said. "Did she just happen to be away as an interloper is selling here in Cockburn Harbour? Or anchored here when Yankees enter Hawk's Nest Harbour over on Turks Island?"
"Better that than being sued, sir," Lightbourne told him. "Try to arrest a foreign vessel, impound its goods, and one ends up incourt months later, with damned little support from the Crown. Try to panel a court, I dare you! They vote for acquittal every time, and then the accusing officer is liable for damages. For slander, false arrest, for restraint of trade… lost incomes. For demurrages accrued while the suspect vessel was at anchor, and the crew's back wages, by Tophet!" the fellow spluttered. "Now you shew me the Navy officer able to defend himself against that, or the one with a purse fat enough to afford counsel and court costs. Oh, the Navigation Acts are a grand idea, but no thought was given to just how Crown officials were to enforce them, sir! 'Twould be better were we to accede to the inevitable, deal with the possible, and levy imposts to gain a little from each shipload. But to bar foreign traders and goods, to demand all British trade to and fro is done in British bottoms, well…"
"The only way possible would be if the foreign vessel resisted being stopped and inspected," Lewrie surmised aloud as they resumed a leisurely stroll past all the palmetto-roofed sheds, the canvas-topped pavilions heaped with goods of every description. "If they fired on a King's ship."
"Aye, and they're not that stupid, sir," the magistrate said with a wry chuckle. "Thumb their noses at you, bare their bums…"
"Introduce me, anyway, sir," Lewrie sighed in resignation. He was led to an open-sided pavilion where several civilians sat in the shade imbibing wine or ale. As Lewrie approached, dressed as a Crown officer, several of them found reason to finish their ales and make off, while the rest shifted uneasily.
"Mister Lightbourne," a gray-haired sea captain nodded to the magistrate. "A splendid good afternoon to ye, sir."
"Captain Grant. Allow me to name you Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, captain of His Majesty's Sloop Alacrity, sir."
"Captain Lewrie," Grant beamed, extending a calloused hand. "Captain Grant, your servant, sir," Lewrie rejoined, taking the hand. "Is that good ale you're enjoying there, sir?"
"Philadelphia beer, Captain Lewrie," Grant allowed. "It travels well, though. Do sit and enjoy a mug, if you've a mind."
"I would, sir," Alan replied, removing his cocked hat and taking a shaky seat in a sprung chair at the rickety table which rested on a shipping pallet over the sandy soil.
"Here on some official business, are ye, Captain Lewrie?"
Grant inquired with an innocent expression, and a deal of humour.
"To seek a small measure of gratitude, Captain Grant," Alan said as a wooden mug appeared, foaming and aromatic with hops. "You and I almost met two days ago, off West Caicos, sir."
"Aha! Your Alacrity was the brave little bulldog that saved me bacon from those pirates, was she?" Grant boomed. "Well now, 'tis 'deed happy I am to make your acquaintance, Captain Lewrie! Devilish it is, sir, the brass o' those cut-throats. 'Tis getting so an honest trader goes in fear o' his very life, engaged may he be 'pon his 'innocent' occasions! My undying thanks to ye, sir! Should have seen it, lads. Chased them buggers right to the razor's edge o' the reefs off French Cay, he did, within a whisker o' tearing the stout heart o' his fine little vessel out! Oh, ye've bottom, ye have, sir, no error! I saw ye sink one. Rest get away?"
"Sank three, sir," Lewrie replied as the others gave him cynical cheers. "And captured a dozen survivors. We have them in Mister Lightbourne's custody at the moment. Two boats escaped me."
"You'll get 'em," Grant prophesied. "Eager young feller like y'self, they got no chance, sir."
"I will, thankee, sir," Lewrie smiled, getting to the meat of the matter. "As for the ones now in custody, though… a case must be laid, sir. Not merely my word they were taken in arms. I need your testimony as the intended victim, Captain Grant. Else they'll be set free instead of swing. To continue their foul activities of preying upon… honest merchantmen, engaged upon their lawful and innocent occasions."
"Well, now, young sir…" Grant frowned, ready to strangle on such a preposterous notion. "Me testify? Bless me soul, Captain! A long voyage to Nassau… weeks waiting for the court to convene, sir. Demurrages piling up and all… were I to be paid recompense, I might be able to. But, hurricane season's almost upon us, and me poor old Sarah and Jane…"
"Mister Lightbourne does assure me, Captain Grant, that a deposition would be sufficient," Lewrie interrupted. And was galled by the sarcastic humour from all present his suggestion elicited.
"My, ye are a young'un, ain't ye now?" Grant chuckled. "For me to depose in a British court… American master and all… wheww!"
"You would have to lay yourself open to a charge of violating the Navigation Acts, I know, sir," Lewrie said, reddening with anger at their laughter. "And their lawyer would make Puck's Fair of you. But, were you to state that you were on passage for Hispaniola…"
"Ahh!" Grant smiled as he was let off the hook. "And we said that you forced me to enter harbor here…"
"So your testimony could be written out by a Crown official,"Lewrie sketched on. "An unbiased magistrate appointed by the Governor-General of the Bahamas, who could provide additional testimony to the unimpeachable nature of your voyage, sir."
"Why, bless me soul, young sir, if ye ain't the knacky'un!" Grant hooted and leaned back on his rickety stool. "And whilst I was in port here, not o' me own free will, as it were, I do believe I did trade Hispaniola goods fer salt. Straight across the board, hey?"
Lewrie blushed once more, feeling sullied by what he was being forced to ignore. "Your, uhm… commercial endeavors following what testimony you render, sir, are none of my concern, Captain Grant, and surely are not required to be cited in the deposition."
Playing fast and loose with King George's official edicts was an unsettling experience for him, one he knew for certain he did not wish to repeat. Sins of a personal nature were one thing, but… the Law! And placing his personal honour in jeopardy, to boot!
