Witzenfeld had continued his tirade, “The captain has no choice. He’ll have to flog him. It’s time that young gentleman gets his comeuppance. I’ve promised him a flogging.”
“Gawd dammit man!” Buck was frustrated and about to lose his temper. “You don’t flog a midshipman, they’re caned. Now I’ve given you an order and you’ve not obeyed! You can be arrested, you know. Now go as I’ve instructed.”
Anthony entered his cabin as Witzenfeld fled, not even realizing he passed his captain. Upon his entrance into the cabin Buck approached Anthony. “Should of set him adrift, sir.”
“Pray tell, Rupert,” Anthony addressed his first lieutenant. “What’s the reason for Witzenfeld’s hostility toward Gabe? Is it a way to get to me? Surely, he knows I can only be pushed so far.”
“Aye, Cap’n, he knows. But he also knows, like it or not, that being the captain, you must act accordingly when it comes to regulations. There’s no room for family bias, so to speak.” Buck then excused himself to interview the gun crew.
Anthony turned to Bart, “Go talk with Dagan and see if you can discover the basis for Witzenfeld’s vendetta.”
As Bart left, Silas approached Anthony with a glass. “A little something to settle you, sir.”
Anthony took the glass gratefully.
Buck and Bart returned almost simultaneously. Buck returned from talking with the gun crew, and Bart from talking with Dagan. Buck related his findings first.
“Witz had given the order to fire the larboard gun. As the gun captain went to fire, Gabe shouted, ‘belay! hold your fire.’ It seems one of the gun crew had stumbled and fallen with his leg behind the carriage wheel. Had the gun been fired, Dawkins would have had his leg crushed. When the gun didn’t fire as ordered, Witz shouted, ‘I said fire!’ Gabe shouted ‘wait!’ By that time, the gun crew was helping Dawkins to his feet. Gabe was trying to explain to Witz about Dawkins’ falling, but Witz wouldn’t hear it. According to the gun crew he started ranting and raving like a madman. He kept cutting off Gabe’s attempt to explain the situation and further ignored the gun captain as he tried to reason with Witz-who in his raving called Gabe a spoiled whoreson. Every man in the gun crew heard it. They also heard Gabe say, ‘Witz if you were a man, I’d call you out and take pleasure in running you through. If only you were a man.’ That’s when the master-at-arms was summoned.”
Anthony looked at Bart who said, “I can explain the ‘if you were a man!’” According to Dagan, Mr. Witz and Gabe were both on the Revenue Cutter Raven. Mr. Witz, being the senior, and Gabe a supernumerary. Admiral Lord Anthony was a friend with Lt. Kent, who commanded Raven and got Gabe his billet. The smugglers were having a hey-day against the revenue men, and they were frustrated. Witz and Gabe went down to the local tavern for a wet. After a few, Witz started bragging in a loud voice about what he would do if he could just come face to face with the smuggler’s leader. The rum had loosened Witz’s tongue. He said the smugglers were a thieving bunch of whoreson cowards, who were making a mockery of the King’s taxes. Gabe noticed Dagan motioning to him at the tavern door. Dagan had with him a man who could possibly have information that would help put an end to some of the smuggling. The man was a relation on Gabe’s mother’s side. Gabe shushed Witz, then walked outside to talk with the informant. No sooner had Gabe stepped outside, than a man who had been sitting behind Witz, turned around and calmly jerked him to his feet and laid a sharp blade to his adam’s apple.
“So given the chance you’d gut a smuggler, same as a mackeral, would you?” the man taunted Witz, who was standing on his toes to keep the knifepoint from sticking him. He already had a trickle of blood where the smuggler had made his “point” as it were. About that time, the tavern wench bent double, slapping her knees and laughing.
“Bess lass, what’s got into you girl,” the smuggler asked. “Are you touched?”
The laughing girl replied, “Look at the brave ‘revenoor’ man. E’s pissed ‘is pants ‘e has!” Sure enough the entire front of Witz’s pants was wet and a puddle was forming at his feet. The entire tavern erupted in laughter. Hearing the commotion inside, Gabe and Dagan hurried hack in.
Gabe had taken his pistol out, “Turn him loose.” Quiet filled the tavern. “I said turn him loose.”
“Ah, Gabe,” the smuggler was speaking, “let’s not get into a killing over some ‘piss pot’ who can’t even hold his own water.”
Gabe gestured with the pistol, “Turn him loose, then out the back you go.”
“Your word?” questioned the smuggler.
“My word,” answered Gabe.
The smuggler released his grip on Witz and turned to go. No sooner had Witz been released than his hand flew to his sword. A metallic rasp filled the air as Witz’s sword cleared the scabbard and he cried, “I’ll kill you!”
The smuggler turned and spat in disgust, “Your word, huh!” Then he noticed Gabe was now pointing his pistol toward Witz.
“Let it go, Witz.”
“Damned if I will. He humiliated me-a King’s officer.”
“You’re alive, let it go!”
“No,” cried Witz. The sound of Gabe cocking his pistol instantly gained Witz’s attention.
“I said let it go. I gave my word.”
Witz bolted from the tavern and back to the cutter. Word spread quickly about Witz losing control of his bladder. Lt. Kent had no choice but to have Witz replaced as he had become the laughing stock of the town. It appeared Witz had had it in for Gabe since then.
“Yes, sir. That’s the way it were Cap’n. Had young Gabe, pardon sir, had Mr. Anthony not stopped it, I’d lost me timber ‘fer sure when the gun went off. I’ve seen it happen, sir, same as you I’m sure.”
“Thank you, Dawkins,” Anthony said, “I’ll weigh your comments heavily in my decision. You are dismissed.”
The old sailor was almost out the door when he turned and said, “t’wernt no use in Mr. Witz acting so, sir. I been to sea more ‘n thirty years, man and boy, and I ain’t see’d the like sir. Just wanted ye to know, sir.” Then the wizened old sailor continued on his way.
Anthony had just finished his formal inquiry into the incident. Dawkins had been the last witness. Gabe was guilty all right, but of trying to save an old man’s leg and maybe his life. A better, more experienced officer would have looked at the situation, tried to make something positive of Gabe’s initiative, and been glad they’d not crippled a good seaman. Witz was neither experienced nor mature enough to put his petty differences aside for the good of the ship and crew. Anthony looked at Buck, who had been standing quietly since Dawkins had left.
“Rupert, old friend, would you be so kind as to summon Lieutenant Witzenfeld?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Buck said and left the cabin. He couldn’t ever recall the captain calling him old friend. A sign of weakness? No. No one could ever call the captain weak. Friendship, he was the captain’s friend. Buck felt very privileged to be considered Anthony’s friend, especially when the captain was at his wit’s end.
Buck had sent Paul, the master-at-arms, to find Witz and inform him of the captain’s summons. Then he was to go to the cockpit for Mr. Anthony
“Allow Witz plenty of time with the cap’n before you bring Mr. Anthony aft,” Buck had whispered to Paul.
The salty old sea dog looked at the first lieutenant, “give ‘em time ta feel the heat for awhile, is ‘at what we’s after, sir?” Buck only nodded as Paul ambled of, amazed at how the old sailor always seemed to have a quid of “baccy” causing his tight cheek to bulge to gigantic proportions. A permanent brown stain seemed to fill the crease at the cornet of Paul’s mouth. Yet Buck could not remember ever having seen the man spit. Recalling his own youthful experiment with “chaw-baccy” Buck could only imagine what was happening to Paul’s innards.
Silas had poured Anthony another of his coffee brandy concoctions. “Ta steel yourself, sir,” he said by way of explanation. “His kind ain’t worth loosen ya temper over.”