A King`s Trade

epaulet on his shoulder, too. Far down, though, there was Kenyon… damn his blood! That 'windward passage' bugger was now a Commander, too.

' 'Ere's your hot water, sir,' Aspinall announced as he and Seaman Bannister staggered into the great-cabins, each bearing two gallon buckets, and Lewrie's reveries ended for a time.

It was only after he was squeaky clean, his hair trimmed and still slightly damp, and clad in a fresh-smelling uniform, that Lewrie started in on his personal correspondence. There was a nice selection from which to choose; a thick letter from Theoni Kavares Connor, the mother of his bastard son in London; even one from his half-Cherokee bastard son, who was now a Midshipman in the fledging United States Navy. His actual offspring, Sewallis, Hugh, and Charlotte, had written him, too. There was one from the Trencher family he had met in London, one from his wife Caroline, wonder of wonders, one from Sir Malcolm Shockley, one of his patrons in the House of Commons, but… there was a very thick packet from Zachariah Twigg, and, despite his desire for news of his family… his real family… he felt himself drawn to it despite himself.

Lewrie undid the bindings, letting the travel-stained covering fall open to reveal a stack of newspapers bound in twine, with a folded letter atop it all. He opened the letter very carefully, using only the tips of his fingers, as if handling a dud exploding shell.

'Sir,' Twigg's letter began, 'our Cause advances most promisingly, though I must, in good Conscience, confess that the Enthusiasm of your Abolitionist Allies quite took me by surprise, and that I greatly under-estimated just how much Notice… favourable Notice, mind… that the Publick has taken of your Exploit. I daresay, as you may see from the enclosed papers, that Revd. Wilberforce and his associates have made of you quite the Nine-Day Wonder, and your freeing of slaves in the Caribbean the talk of the city. As the odious French might say, you and your Cause are become a cause celebre!'

'Oh… my… God!' Lewrie groaned aloud. 'Damn their…' 'It is possible that General Napoleon Bonaparte's recent escape from his failed Egyptian expedition and his most recent accession to power once back in Paris may be the greater news, at present, but, you do run him a close second,' Twigg went on.

'You are lauded, should that be the correct way to put it, by the sobriquet which I supplied them, of 'Ram-Cat' Lewrie, the Publick and the newspaper scribblers making the obvious mistake of imagining that 'Ram-Cat' represents your belligerent Nature when confronting our foes at sea, instead of what we both know as more representative of your Lascivious proclivities. You will find from the Abolitionists' tracts which I included, however, that you are now equally spoken of as 'Black Alan' Lewrie, or 'Emancipation' Lewrie, and the Hero of the hour!'

'Mine arse on a band-box if I am!' Lewrie shakily growled; he had no idea it would come to this! What happened to subtle defence?

'All this was prompted,' Twigg continued, 'by a letter which I received from Mister Peel on Jamaica. Peel continues to thrive, by the by, and expressed to me that I should convey to you his utmost respect and best wishes. It would seem that the Beauman family, from whom you stole those dozen slaves for seamen, had finally coerced, or beaten, enough evidence from the other Slaves remaining on their Plantation on Portland Bight to discover the Hows and Whens, and, most especially, the Identity of their Thief. Peel warned that the Beaumans intend to pursue the Matter in a Court of Law, and are not to be dissuaded from their Purpose by any means at Peel's disposal. He would stand ready to initiate extra-legal means to thwart them, though he fears any such action on his part might not redound to your Discredit should word of it reach England. They have engaged a prominent colonial Barrister in Kingston who is, I learn, soon to be despatched to London, where he is to lay charges on his own, or further engage lawyers who deal in King's Bench cases to either assist him, or take upon themselves the Matter, entire. By the time you are in receipt of this letter, he may already be there.'

'I'm ruined, I'm done for,' Lewrie felt like shrieking. 'I'm… hung!'

'Publick Opinion in your Favour, though, has most likely prejudiced their Suit before the case may be laid,' Twigg further wrote to reassure him. 'A legal friend of mine, and old schoolmate, who sits on King's Bench cases, explained to me that you have the right under English Common Law to be confronted by your Accusers in the Flesh, and not by dry Affidavit, as well as by Witnesses, which will require the Beaumans, perhaps their whole odious Clan, to sail to England for the Proceedings, a requirement they should have been told by their legal representative on Jamaica in the first place, or shall soon learn, to their further distress. Equally, Witnesses to testify to your perfidy must include Slaves from that Plantation, and, what a cunning Defence Council may make of their living Conditions, Punishments, Victuals, and the Means the Beaumans applied to force Confessions from them will be the finest Grist for the Abolitionists' mill! Were I a Beauman bent upon Revenge against you, I should think twice before appearing such a despicable Ogre for all the world to see!'

Lewrie raised one eyebrow as he fantasised Hugh Beauman in the dock, squirming in anger and arrogance as a sharp barrister took him to task, whilst the gallery, perhaps the judges, too, openly wept over the slaves' testimonies, all England swayed to freeing every…

I've been had… again! Lewrie suddenly thought with a gasp.

The Abolitionists could have mounted a silent, subtle defence, but, had they really looked upon him, that morning he had walked into the Trenchers' parlour, as a test case, the very sort of cause celebre which would sway public opinion to demand emancipation for slaves in the British Empire?

Have I been their 'Bread Cast Upon The Waters?' he had to ask himself; Their sacrificial baa-lamb? It works, I'm a hero, not hung. If it fails, they'll weep a bit, then try again with someone else, and I'm a martyr to their cause! Christ, shit on a…!

And why, Lewrie suddenly wondered, feeling that such erudition on his part had come much too late; did Zachariah Twigg write to me so quickly? Am I his damned cat's-paw… again? He knew just exactly whom to approach, the conniving, devious old… secret Abolitionist! Why, he might've been one of 'em for years! In on it from the first!

Now glowing with anger, Lewrie returned to Twigg's letter. 'Conversely, you may not be tried in Absentia, which will require your presence, a Circumstance subject to the whim of Admiralty, and an advantage greatly in your Favour so long as the Navy needs you at sea in command of a frigate, delaying the Confrontation for years, during which your allies the Reformers and Abolitionists may continue to beat the drum and keep the matter of Emancipation in Publick notice.'

'I knew it!' Lewrie growled. 'I just knew… well, no, dammit. Not 'til now I didn't, but… damme!' he spat, sopping sweat off his forehead.

'This has, of course, required us to engage legal representation for you, and, with the aid of your Solicitor, Mister Matthew Mountjoy, and his good advice, succeeded in engaging one Mister Andrew MacDougall, Esquire, one of the finest up-and-coming legal minds in England. He is one of those canny Edinborough Scots, usually thought to be just too clever by half, but, in your Cause, such sharp and clever wit may prove to be vital,' Twigg continued. 'Do not dread the costs, for I am assured by Reverend Wilberforce, the Trenchers, and others, that a campaign will be launched to gather donations towards your defence, so this Necessity might not touch your purse too dearly.'

'Not too dear, for God's sake?' Lewrie bleakly croaked, with a cringe, imagining all his prize-money being shovelled down a rat-hole, of ending penniless, homeless, and on half-pay… and that was if he prevailed. The scandal would be too great, as if it already wasn't!, and the hour after his vindication, the Navy would chuck him out the servants' entrance like a drunk at closing time, and did they feel a keen vindictiveness, a Court-Martial for 'Conduct Unbecoming' would make even half-pay moot!

Unless…

For a mad moment, Lewrie contemplated Wigmore's circus. Three of his Black hands were now dead and gone, already, and two more now 'run.' He wondered what sort of deal he could strike with Wigmore to hire-on the rest, so when he sailed back to England, he could respond with ' What stolen slaves? You see any?'

Maybe he could learn to ride horses standing up on their backs, and jump through flaming hoops, juggle, or portray naval characters in dramas. No, comedies would be better. More apt!

There was more to come in Twigg's long letter, and he returned to it, though by now he dreaded what else the man might have arranged.