Havoc`s Sword

horse's mouth, so t'speak?'

Lewrie had given that a good, long ponder, weighing how wroth, and loud, Pelham's howls would be, of how poor Jemmy Peel would whimper and beat his head against the mizen-mast trunk to have been frustrated by one of his wild-hair whims; again/ Whisky punch wouldn't avail a second time; they were onto that ploy, so the screeches and expostulations'd be horrid. Weighted against all that, though, was the chance of successfully ending 'their 'collegial' association when Choundas was at last conquered, and with a great deal of luck, he'd never have to deal with them ever again in this life.

That had taken about two ticks of his pocket watch!

'Don't see why you can't, no,' Lewrie had blithely assented.

'Well, then. Well, well, well! Prizes, and battle, my, my!' the estimable Capt. McGilliveray had said, beaming and rubbing his hands with relish. 'That'd take the trick, Cap'm Lewrie. Cap'm Goodell'd like nothin' better than t'beat you top-lofty Britons at your own game… with your own spies' intelligence.'

'So, you just possibly might bring him round to continuing our cooperation?' Lewrie had posed. 'Loathe us though he may?'

'There's a good chance of it, aye,' McGilliveray had said. 'It may be best, did we give 'Thunderation' a day'r two t'climb down from his high horse over th' riots, and let me get his ear. Then have him aboard my ship under some pretence or t'other, where you just happened along, with a pretence of yer own, and since both of ya are aboard, we dine t'gether, and…'

'I could call upon Desmond,' Lewrie had quickly suggested. 'In your brief fight with the French brig, by the way… the lad comported himself well? A credit to your ship and Navy?'

'Brave, cool-headed, and honourably, sir,' McGilliveray had said with great, though more-formal, pleasure. 'A credit to his blood; and, may God let me claim in all due modesty, a credit to his raisin', too.'

'I should like to hear his account of it,' Lewrie had replied, with a note to his voice that expressed his growing fondness. 'Though I worry that so much undue attention paid a 'younker,' ahem… from a total stranger, really, a. foreign Post-Captain, and from his own uncle and Captain, ehm… don't want his head turned, or account himself so grand or singled out that it spoils him. Others in his mess despisin' him for seeming cosseted, d'ye see… Cruelty of boys… all that?'

'Aye, children can be cruel,' McGilliveray had glumly agreed. 'Some thoughtless and repeatin' what their parents say, some spiteful and aware o' what they're doin', but had we truly cosseted him, tried t'keep him from all Shakespeare's 'slings and arrows,' we'd've done a greater harm.'

'Has to stand on his own bottom someday,' Lewrie had commented.

'Aye. Now, mostly he was in merry pin, dutiful, sweet and sly round his betters, but he could go cock-a-hoop wild, as all boys can, too. First to th' top of th' live oaks, a fearless horseman, a clever student… the sort o' lad'd make most parents pop their buttons t've raised,' Capt. McGilliveray had fondly recalled. 'But there was ever the slur of 'Injun,' 'half-breed,' or 'Red Nigrah,' and then he'd turn sombre and hawk-eyed… like a caged eagle, his gaze focussed out ten mile or better, like he was 'bout ready t'spread wings and go someplace finer. But you'd be delighted t'know, Cap'm Lewrie, your son Desmond gave as good, or better, than he got… though my dear Martha was put to Job's despair t'mend his clothin' whenever he came home all skinned and bloodied. But ya should've seen t'other lad he'd whipped, 'til they learned he'd take no sauce off 'em. They got older, it got more subtle, o' course. Had to, for we made certain he had th' very best trainin' with sword and pistol, as any young gentleman should, 'til he was known as a dead shot and able blade.'

'The code duello makes for careful, courteous gentlemen,' Lewrie had said with a knowing snicker, 'and circumspect behaviour.'

'Don't it just!' McGilliveray had beamed back. 'It never came to such, once he and his peers entered their 'tweens. No, 'twas more a matter o' snubbin', of few invitations to social occasions, unless it was the whole fam'ly invited. Young ladies were warned he wasn't a suitable match, no matter how gentlemanly he was, how well- educated and mannerly. Not t'brag, Cap'm Lewrie, but we're a clan o' substantial means, so never doubt that the boy had the best of ev'rything and stood second to none when it came time to 'gussy' up for church or grand occasions.

' 'Cept when he came home from play, or the hunt, lookin' as if he'd wallowed like the Prodigal Son with the pigs, that is!' Captain McGilliveray had chortled, slapping his knee in a 'daddy's' reverie; a sort of reverie that Lewrie, so much at sea but for a few rare years on half-pay 'tween the wars, could but dimly understand. He hadn't been there for the outrageous, exasperating, tom-foolery of his sons Hugh or Sewallis, had no parental tales to share about his precocious girl-child Charlotte, except for distant letters, or giggly remembrances he heard from Caroline (or Theoni, now!) months or years after the deeds were done, once he crossed his own doorsill.

'Life's hard on poor orphans,' Lewrie had said, squirming with embarrassment; embarrassed, too, to sound so conventionally… pious. 'First year or so of my life I thought / was one, I ought to know.'

'My dear sir, I'd no idea!'

'Long story,' Lewrie had said, wincing and squirming some more. 'Never knew my mother… father late to the ball, 'til he discovered me and took me in. Two wars past.' Lewrie had harumphed, embarrassed, like any proper English gentleman, to speak too openly of himself.

'Pray God, though, you had one parent who cared enough to take you in, and raise you right,' McGilliveray had rejoined; earnestly and piously, 'restore to you your proper birthright…'

McGilliveray never did quite fathom why the estimable Captain Alan Lewrie, RN, hoicked up such a snortful bark of amusement!

'So, the lad was more than happy to come away with you and take the sailor's life?' Lewrie had quickly asked in order to cover his droll musing on what a 'loving, and caring' father Sir Hugo had really been to lay public claim upon him, or the whys of his claiming.

'Somewhere on those far horizons o' his,' Capt. McGilliveray had agreed, 'cold-shouldered as he was, t'would've been that, or ride away cross the high mountains, among his mother's lands. Has an itchy foot, Desmond does. And though I doubt he gave it much consideration, some few years of honourable public service in the uniform of his country's Navy wouldn't go amiss, either, we reckoned. Send him to England for further schoolin'… where no one'd know him as half-Muskogee, right off, was another possibility. Where even did they learn of his birthright, bein' exotic might be a help, not a hindrance.'

'No, I'd suspect that Desmond did consider it,' Lewrie replied. 'To take his country's colours in her time of need… to wear uniform and face danger, even crave it!' he had exclaimed, rising to fill their glasses one more time, then pace. 'Even to dream of gaining his commission, of coming home one of a few, a rare breed… a Sea Officer with a sword on his hip, not a trainee's dirk, an officer and a gentleman, in an honourable, gentlemanly, and selfless, profession. I'd imagine that glorious return figured prominently in his fantasies, to tweak every tormentor's nose out of joint, put 'em all to shame, stop the wagging tongues… and make all those high-nosed young misses go green with regret they ever snubbed him. Perhaps even make one of 'em… the one he desired, forlorn and unrequited all his mis'rable 'tween years, see him in a sudden and diff rent light.'

'We never really thought…' Capt. McGilliveray had begun, but broke off, before bowing his head and beaming. 'I, now, strongly feel that you have the right of it, sir. And are possessed of keen insight into the hearts of young lads.'

'Might as well, Captain McGilliveray,' Lewrie had brushed off, with a twinkle to his 'top-lights' in thanks for the rare compliment. 'I once was one… and may still be, God knows. There's more'n a few who've chid me to grow up! So!' Lewrie had chuckled, seating himself near his guest. 'You do not think that my intrusive favouritism will do him lasting harm?'

'I do not, sir. You are, after all, his true father, and a man he should know, and learn from. He's starved for… repudiation, now that you state things as you have, and speak to his hopes and dreams. As his captain, I cannot dote on him, but you, sir, well… dote away!'

'And you will introduce me to your ominous Captain Goodell, as soon as you may discover to him the, ah… temptation which our mutual foe Choundas will soon put before him?'

'I shall indeed, sir,' McGilliveray had solemnly promised.

'More, I cannot, in good conscience, ask, sir,' Lewrie had said back, turning solemnly grandiose, as well, 'for