King`s Captain

'Uhm… you called it…?' Lewrie made himself ask.

' 'Molloy's Favourite,' some name it, sir… 'My Sweetheart Jane' it is to others,' Desmond replied, tossing a worried look over his shoulder too.

'By, God, you perjurer!' someone roared a moment later, just as Desmond and the ship's fiddler could begin to play the old reel. 'No more heart for it, have ye? What's this, what's this, then? Pistol in yer pocket have ye? What for, ye damn' traitor?'

'Oh, Christ.' Lewrie sagged, feeling physically, spewing ill.

Corporal O'Neil and a sailor were manhandling Private Pope up from below, shaking him back and forth between them like a ragdoll in a hound's jaws, up from the midships hatchway!

'By God, I'll see ya flogged for it!' Morley was bleating as he scampered nearby. 'Seized up an' dunked from th' main-yard 'til yer lungs pop! Here, Brother Bales!'

Lewrie's party scrambled to their feet, Lewrie hissing at them and crooking a finger to draw them close about him. He drew a pistol and handed it to Desmond; Lt. Wyman gave up one of his to Cahill, and used his toe to open his violin case to extract the other pair.

'Keep 'em well out of sight, lads,' Lewrie cautioned. 'If we don't have a chance, hold onto 'em for later,' he said, walking forward to the quarterdeck nettings. He saw Andrews below, through the opened skylights, gave him a confirming nod to summon the others.

'Arming yourself against your shipmates, are you?' Bales asked loudly. 'Bosun, plait me a 'cat.' You'll flog him raw.'

'Douse him overside from th' main-yard!' Morley objected.

'I'll not do your flogging for you,' Pendarves countered, his arms folded cross his chest.

'By God, sir, I tell you you will!' Bales yelled. 'Or you'll be tied to the gratings, and we'll have ourselves a 'bloody' bosun in another minute. All hands! All hands on deck! Muster aft to witness punishment!'

Christ, it's over! Lewrie groaned, nigh to tears, with his face screwed Up- No, by God. What…?

Sally Blue had climbed to the top of the midship companionway, her hair undone and long down her back, her sack gown held up with one hand over her breasts for modesty as she came up to watch the show. A moment later, Miss Nancy, the blowsy blonde, came up to stand beside her, re-dressing herself hurriedly as well. But they were smiling/ Tipping him the wink too! And with the smile of a sweet-souled innocent, lissome little Sally Blue drew a finger cross her throat, dropped Lewrie a curtsy, and let go the top of her gown to hang 'round her waist, and stuck her tongue out at him impishly as that exposure took the interest of the hands already on the gun-deck!

Spec-tacular young bouncers! Lewrie exulted in spite of the circumstances and encouraged by that hussy-ish demonstration (about as much as he was going to be encouraged) cleared his throat and drew breath.

'You shall not/' he bellowed in his loudest quarterdeck voice, hands in the small of his back (close to his remaining pistol). 'You will flog no man aboard this ship! You do not have the authority or the right. You never had… and you never will! Not over my people!'

Political theatre to the end. He snickered as he went over near the larboard ladder to the gun-deck, looming over the upraised grating where O'Neil and the other mutineer were stripping Private Pope of his waistcoat and shirt, waiting to seize him up.

Bales glared up at him, disliking their respective positions.

'We shall, Captain Lewrie, for an example.' Bales sneered back.

'You've brought shame enough to this proud new ship, you shit,' Lewrie snapped, taking the steps one at a time, slowly, eyes ahead and seemingly paying no heed for his balance as he descended. 'Taken her into a mutiny, shunned a good settlement, as good as declared war upon your King and Country… beguiled good men to folly, ready to drag 'em all down to Hell with you, 'long as you don't go alone, you…!'

'Seize him, stop his gob!' Bales snarled. 'We've not time for his lies! By God, do it! By God, better we flog him!'

Just like McCann, he'd made a serious error, though Bales had wit enough to realise it. It was hard to miss, for most of the hands catcalled or booed Bales's order and his threat. No one rushed over to seize Lewrie either, and almost everyone studiously kept their hands in their pockets or peaceably at their sides, as he continued down to the foot of the gangway ladder to confront his enemies.

'What's in it for you, Bales? What makes you so dead set on the ruin of this ship and every man in her?' Lewrie scoffed, certain he'd have the upper hand, after that wink and smile, after Desmond's pledge of support. He took time for a slow scan about the deck and was glad to see that more than a few of the diehards were not present. 'French money? Treason? Revolutionary fervour? Hatred for me personally? Whatever it is, it clouds your judgment, leads you to violence. You men there, turn Private Pope loose! Mister Devereux'd be ashamed… was a man of his flogged for no good reason!' he bellowed, using Lt. Devereux's name like a magic talisman.

'Shut up, shut up, you…!' Bales cried, drawing his cutlass and raising it on high, taking a step forward as if he'd strike Lewrie down! 'You bastard!' he screeched, panting hard, his neck corded in emotion.

'Here, now!' Mr. Towpenny shouted, elbowing his way forward to take Bales's sword arm. 'Got no use for ya, Bales; but ya harm Cap'um Lewrie, an' ya lay ev'ry man-jack in a noose for murder!'

'Let go of me, you arse-kissing dog!' Bales whirled, shoving Tow-penny off him and lowering the cutlass's point as if to skewer him. Lewrie was jostled from behind, almost drew his pistol in fright, but it was Desmond and Furfy, Ahern, Cahill, and Kavanaugh coming down the ladder past him to take guard on his right-hand side… as they'd promised!

'Aye, show yer colours at last, Bales!' Twopenny taunted him, baring his chest to dare him to stick him. 'That's yer Floatin' Republic,' ain't it! All yer talk o' votin' an' debatin', an' it comes t' th' power o' yer sword. You ain't no man t'follow. D'ye hear, there!' he roared as if to summon all hands on deck. 'Ya want t'hang for this bastard's spite? Turn him out! 'Fore ya share his ruin!'

'You're a loyalist, Mister Towpenny. You got no right t'tell us how t'conduct ship bus'ness,' Haslip sneered, coming up with his clasp knife drawn to defend Bales. 'Do for 'em both, like ya said, man!'

'Vote, vote, vote!' Desmond began to chant, arm-swinging at his fellow Irish to get them to join in.

'Shut up, you witless Paddy!' Bales snapped, turning his sword on him. 'By Christ, we'll stick it to the end! I'll do for any hand who won't keep his oath. Now get back to your cabins, Lewrie, before I take my pleasure of you now, and be sure of it at last!'

'Nope… don't think so, Bales,' Lewrie said, with a shudder of commitment. He had at least ten loyal people close at hand, his whore platoon had kept several of Bales's hottest below, and the Marines on the gangways were fidgeting with their hanger or bayonet hilts, cutting their eyes at their foes. 'Or whoever you really are. You hate me … ! It's personal!' he shouted loud enough to carry. 'You don't give one wee damn for anyone else. To hell with you! Lads…!'

'Shut up, you monster, shut up!' Bales screeched, turning back to Lewrie with his cutlass raised again.

'Strike!' Lewrie howled, digging desperately under his coat to free his pistol, scared he'd get skewered before he could, or shoot his own arse off if the mechanism got hung up on his waist-coat belt. The cutlass tip came nearer as Bales began to lunge, his face constricted by fury, as he realised Lewrie had organised a rebellion, despite his watchful guard, his superior wit, his thought-out plans…

'I'm Rolston, you whoreson!' he howled, stumbling forward, off balance a bit from being jostled. Lewrie flicked up his left hand, parried that wicked blade off with his penny-whistle, and his foe goggled in stunned dis-belief!

Rolston? Jesus, o' course! Lewre goggled himself. Rolston?

Almost chest-to-chest, Bales-no, Rolston!-gaping that he'd been denied his long-sought vengeance by a tin