The Captain`s Vengeance

t'make his peace with the Lord, so it could be counted a blessin', do ye look at it that way, sir, and…'

'Any left?' Lewrie dryly asked.

'Well, er… nossir,' Mr. Towpenny said, squirming on his rickety chair. 'Th' bonfire took a power of it, sir, Flames nigh as tall as a cro'jack yard, an' lots o' smoke t'draw that ship down t'us.'

'Um-humm,' Lewrie commented; though picturing his sailors being rescued with their pricks swaying in the wind, short coats over their heads like be-shawled Dago widows… and every last man-jack as drunk as an emperor! 'Twas a wonder their rescuers hadn't backed oars, gone about, and rowed away and left them as a bad bargain!

'And you've lost your kits, I take it,' Lewrie said further, as he paced back to the centre of the room. 'Aye, we must do something on that score. The hospital charge you for these new slops you wear? By God, the skinflints! I'll speak to Mister Coote, soon as I am back aboard, and suggest a whip-round… from forecastle, gun-deck, and the wardroom, all, to get you kitted out proper, again. So what pay you're owed won't vanish, and you won't have to sign away your prize money to shore jobbers for a quarter its future worth, either.

'As far as I'm concerned, you were on active duty all this time, so don't fear pay stoppage in your absence, as well,' he further promised. 'You did darned well, lads, to keep your discipline and your wits about you, simply to stay alive. Mister Towpenny, be sure that your keeping good charge will be noted, and rewarded.'

'Thankee, sir… thankee kindly,' Towpenny said, blushing anew.

'You'll all be back aboard in a few days,' Lewrie told them as he picked up his hat and took a step towards the door. 'In the meantime, I'd wish you to try to recall all you can about those so-called privateers who held you. Any scrap of information as to names, places, or gossip you heard… any clues as to where they were headed, as to who they really were. I'm sure Mister Jugg will prove helpful, since he can sort out French or Spanish words that might be confusing, right Jugg?' he prompted, giving that dubious rogue a damned chary glare.

'Aye, sir,' the fellow answered.

'By the way, Jugg… we sailed as far as Barbados in search of you, of word of you,' Lewrie slyly continued. 'We rode up to call on your acres in Welsh Hell Gully. You've gotten your mail since coming ashore? No? Rest assured, your wife is well… There's a good crop coming up, and… both your daughter and infant son are in the best of health.'

'Er… thankee, sir,' Jugg all but gasped, sitting up straight in spite of his guarded caution, even as he went cutty-eyed to imagine what else Lewrie had learned about him from his fellow Barbadians.

'And your girl Tess has herself a reddish, flop-eared puppy,' Lewrie added with a disarming grin. 'Almost house-broke, but it looks t'be early days… I expect you'll hear all about it, in your wife's next letter. Well, I'll see you all later, lads. Keep your chins up, and take no more guff from the hospital staff than you must.'

'Drunk as goats?' Lewrie asked Capt. Nicely, once they had met again in the hospital's cool, north-facing entrance hall.

'Staggering!' Nicely snorted with wry glee. 'Falling-down, jig-dancing, gravel-swimming, talking-in-tongues, raving drunk, they were! Commander Mortimer of the sloop Spritely, which picked them up, was of half a mind to give them two dozen lashes for 'Drunk on Duty,' as soon as he learned they were Navy men! Thankfully, your Bosun's Mate, that Towpenny, had enough of his wits about him to claim the pirates were to blame, for leaving all that rum as a fiendish torture, with nary a drop of water about. Quite a fellow, to keep good order among them so long, given our tars' penchant for running riot and drinkin' themselves blind. Apparently, he found a length of hollow cane washed up on the beach… which was in his care at all times, mind, sir. They scuttled the barrico's top, and each man got two sips off it, as much as he could suck up, three times a day… morning, noon, and night.' 'Aye, Mister Towpenny's a damned good man,' Lewrie agreed. 'Though, once they saw 'twas a Navy ship their salvation,' Capt. Nicely gaily went on, nigh chortling, 'one of the survivors told Commander Mortimer they drank it up quick as they could, before somebody could take it away from them! 'Waste not, want not' is the old adage, ha ha, Captain Lewrie. 'Twas a drunken spree, the likes of which they will most-like remember all the rest of their lives!'

'And the 'heads' that required a stay in hospital!' Lewrie said, chuckling too. 'I'd like to think they learned a lesson, but let sailors get a whiff of alcohol, and it's Bedlam.'

'Speaking of, Captain Lewrie,' Nicely cooed as they arrived at his waiting coach. 'Once you've delivered your delightful tidings to your ship and crew about the fate of their mates, once the sun is well below the yardarm, it would be my pleasure to break out a bottle or two of capital 'cheer'… knowing that officers are as tempted by alcohol as the least foredeck hand. I'd admire did you dine with me ashore.'

'And I would delighted to accept, sir,' Lewrie gladly agreed. 'Shall we say… seven, sir?'

'So said, sir,' Lewrie replied, laying his hat on his chest. 'My, um… grand though it is to get your sailors back, I do wish to extend my condolences upon the loss of your Midshipman Burns,' Nicely sobered as they got seated facing each other, and a postillion boy raised the step and shut the door for them. 'A lad of connexion to you, was he?' he asked, expecting the usual kinship or 'interest.'

Most Midshipmen, 'gentlemen-in-training,' came aboard as wards to captains, suggested to them by kin or neighbours, direct kin, such as Lewrie's bastard son Desmond was to his uncle, Capt. McGilliveray. But it was a rare lad, and usually a poor'un, sent aboard by Admiralty, especially those from the Naval Academy, as King's Letter Boys.

'No. No, he was not,' Lewrie sombrely said, his sadness quickly returning. 'In point of fact, 'twas Sir Edward Charles, your predecessor, who foisted him on me. Culled the West Indies fleet for the worst he could find. Poor lad, he meant well, and he did try, but my God, what a witless goose! For those pirates, or privateers, or whatever they wish t'call themselves, to shoot him for sport, deliberately wing him so he'd take days to die, as if they'd rather stayed to watch his suffering! Like strangling kittens 'fore their poor eyes are even opened! By God, I'd give my right arm t'find the bastards who did that to him. I'd run 'em to earth, did it take a year and a day! And kill 'em slow… tooth for a tooth, eye for an eye, make them suffer! Swear to Christ, I-!

'Sorry, sir, to become so exercised, but…' Lewrie said as he came back to his senses, noting how speculatively Capt. Nicely eyed him; nose high and one quizzical brow raised. 'Do forgive me, but it seems such a bloody, murderous injustice.'

Nicely leaned forward, full of commiseration and true sympathy; of suppressed disgust for the crime, and what Lewrie took for a mutual desire to carve out Vengeance… or Justice. 'What little I read from Commander Mortimer's report, Captain Lewrie, I am utterly convinced we… someone!… must pursue those devils. They may have Letters of Marque, but they're nothing more than cut-throats, and pirates, and a scurrilous stain on the honest seaman's trade, even 'pon the dubious good 'name' of privateer! We're knights-errant, d'ye know, sir.'

'Knights-errant, sir?' Lewrie responded with a puzzled frown.

'There are rules for warfare, sir,' Capt. Nicely insistently avowed. 'There must be, else all is chaos and depravity. Someone must enforce those rules… We must! Standing armies came to be to replace barbarian gangs of land pirates, navies got formed to protect trade and poor seamen, innocent passengers, from the evil depredations of piracy. Oh, we also project power, fight our King's enemies, but mostly, we go about our lonely occasions, as nobly dedicated to the rule of Law, and the upkeep of Civilisation, as any of King Arthur's questing knights. To be the strong right arm for the helpless, the only enforcers of Justice that the seas know, Lewrie. Aye, we are just like the knights-errant of old, pure of heart!'

'Aye, sir?' Lewrie mildly rejoined, though stunned by the change in Nicely from being, well… 'Nice!'… to what could be taken for a drool-at-the-mouth Turk in a holy, hashish-stoked hallucination!

Knew he was too good t'be true! Lewrie thought, wondering whether he should get out and walk back; He's ravin' fit t'chew upholstery… like he's been got at by the Methodists or William Wither force!