Mr. Campbell's death

"Mr. Campbell will die," declared acting Captain Cable.

He had recently assumed the acting captaincy when the former captain died in a struggle in his own quarters. None of the crew, except a few really minded, because First Lieutenant Thomas Cable was a fair and just man. He certainly was ambitious, but he refrained from making the crew pay for his ambitions.

The former captain obliged the crew far too often into his excesses and indulgences. Certainly, until they got into port Lieutenant Cable would exercise them in running out the guns, mending the sails, and the perpetual swabbing of the decks. However, most of the crew didn't mind because, Lieutenant Cable understood the importance of rum.

Now Lieutenant Cable stood on the quarterdeck looking down at the assembled crew. All activity on the deck had ceased and all hands assembled on deck to observe the punishment and purging of a man caught not only in a seditious act, but in murder. The Articles of War declared that a man caught in such manner would be hung from the yard arm until dead. The crew was ready and ripe for a hanging since the long, cold days on the S.S. Calvacade had last been in port over 3 months past. This Mr. Campbell was inserted into the crew at their last port, when their roles were already full and no other seaman had been pressed into service. Most of the crew resented this man who did his job, but had little interaction with most of the crew. Infact, this was the same man who created an uproar below decks and had spent his most recent time locked in the brig. So, justice would be forthwith and they would return to their routine of patrolling the cold North Sea.

"Mr. Campbell is hereby sentenced to death by hanging," declared Lieutant Cable, his long overcoat pulled up to his ears as he shouted above the wind and cold spray of the ocean. A death on a ship is enteraining for a moment, but can upset the moral quickly.

"Hang the man," and with that, Cable dropped his hand and Corporal Watson pushed Mr. Campbell off the yard arm.

SNAP! All men on board heard the crack of Mr. Campbell's neck as his body fell with a jerk.
Most men looked away, some just stared. His eyes rolled back into his head and his tongue poked out the side of his mouth. Most had never seen a hanging and the excitement was fading fast.

"Return to your stations!" bellowed Cable to the crew. "Corporal Watson, move this lot! Lieutenants Marsh and Rider, cut the man down and move him to my quarters for sea burial prepartions."

Roping Cable

"I said OPEN!" shouted First Lieutenant Cable as he burst into the captain's quarters axe in hand. It had taken far too long for the crew to break down the captain's door.

Splinters of wood fell helter skelter on the floor of the cabin. There was an odd mix of lingering gun powder, dead flesh and blood bathing the room in a surreal shadow. The only light was from the lamp burning on the Captain's desk. It threw a wicked gleem on the clearly deceased Captain.

The shots, the scuffle, and then the silence. The silence was what convinced Capple that something was terribly wrong. He had banged and shouted for the Captain. At first he thought he was taking a terrible risk, since Captain Downy was not a man to intrude upon. Matter of fact, the Captain was not a man to communicate with. Cable loathed Captain Downy, but was the epitome of a good seaman. But, the light scuffling and occasional moans convinced Cable, he needed to find out what had happened behind that door.

Cable was offended that Captain Downy had excluded him from the disciplining of a seaman. If it had just been an interview to determine the facts, then Cable would have been within his duty to be present during such an interview. But, if was discipline then the Captain was required by the King's Law to "dispense all punishments in full view of al the crew" and "all officer's shall be present to observe at such time." The Captain had always made his own law, and these things greatly bothered the capable Cable.

Cable, the fourth son of the parson of Blakeny, had few to no prospect's of a career. So, when he was just 8 year's old, his father called in a favor from a retired parishner, and off little Tommy Cable went to join His Majesty's royal navy. He showed promise, but no more than anyone else his age. After 10 years, he was the fifth lieutenant on a pirate hunter in the sickness-infected Carribbean, luck struck. In a surprise attack by two pirate ships where the captain and all four of the other officers were killed in action, Tommy distinguished himself nobly, while in full view of the fortress and batteries of Barbados, but just out of cannon-shot. He sunk both pirate ships and limped into port. After finding out that he had captained the ship and displayed such noble heroics, he was on the fast track (as such tracks go) to a promising naval career.

"Lieutenant, look..." passed one of the crew that was following in the lieutenant's wake. "The Cap'n's..." not wanting to speak further.

"Dead...." Cutter let the words fall as he stepped out from behind the captain's wardrobe.

The marines from outside the door made a move towards Cutter with sabres drawn.

"Stop!" growled Lieutenant Cable.

"But, this man's a murderer," retorted the marine Corporal who had assumed command after seeing his dead seargant lying lifeless on the board's of oak in a now still pool of his own darkening blood.

"Do not assume you know the facts Corporal," shot Cable. "This man is not threatening now and I will need time to conduct an investigation.

"Mr. Campbell, would you kindly like to explain the situation, since you, obviously are the only one alive in a room with four dead men?" Cable not sure of what had transpired behind the doors had learned to fully investigate before jumping to conclusions. Especially, since this seemingly ordinary seaman had just killed four men in close quarters. With his future looking bright, Cable had no desire to risk his own life, when he did not perceive Campbell as an enemy.

A sly smile grew across Cutter's face. These men had no idea who he was or what he was doing here. He had bought himself a little time, by not opening the door for the lieutenant. However, it was clear that Cutter had been in the room with dead men and did not open the door. The picture to all standing in the room looked very convicting.

However, Cutter liked this young, ambitious First Lieutenant, who by far, was a promising naval officer with a bright career. It might be hard to win his trust, however, Cable could be a valuable ally.

"Mr. Cable, I surrender myself to you," said Cutter using the gentile manners that Cable, although far removed, would certainly be aware of.

"He can't surrender to you," bellowed the corporal, "he's a regular seaman. He's no gentleman, he's a trickster..."

"Corporal Marlow, please remove yourself from this room to the end of the hallway. Call Mr. Smith to come here and tell Mr. Watson to take the deck."

"Aye, aye sir..." mumbled Marlow as he slunk unconvincingly down the hall.

"The rest of you, please take the dead men to the surgeon's quarters and pass the word for the surgeon. Leave the Captain here."

As the bodies were drug out and the rest of the crew receeded down the hallway and out of earshot the smug Mr. Campbell took the Captain's pipe and lit it. This caused a small grin from Lieutenant Cable.

"Why the smile, Lieutenant?" quizzed Cutter.

"Because you have just made me a very wealthy man."

Bullet to the Downy

"Bugger..," thought Cutter. Here was one of the many thorns in his flesh back to haunt him from the proverbial mortician's table. If there is truly an Englishman who deserves a painful death, then it is Captain Elijah Downy. If misery had a mate, it would be Downy.

"Swack!" Captain Downy's rattan cane tasted the harded cheek of Cutter. The blow stung just as it was designed to do. Nothing more than that. Cutter straightened his head as Captain Downy's wicked, joyous smile spread stretchingly thin across his boney face.

The warm taste of iron crept across Cutter's taste buds as he glared at Captain Downy. If it weren't for these two marines and their seargant standing with the stocks of their muskets ready Cutter would unceremoniously throw this pompous and incompetent excuse for a King's man out of the window into the frigid waters below.

"Mister Campbell, it is so good to see you...again....", Captain Downy let the final word roll off his tongue with wicked, smug satisfaction. Here was a man that he finally had within his grasp to destroy, and even better, he would be within his rights as a Captain in the King's Navy.

"I do belive you were caught in the midst of a seditious act...is it so?"

Cutter steeled his resolve, he would bait Downy into his game. Downy certainly thought he had Cutter in an inescapeable condition. His confidence bolstered by the beaten and tattered condition of one Mr. Calais Campbell of His Majesty's Britannic Home Service. What kind of French name was Calais. Calais, the ladies in New Port had swooned when this handsome creature had disembarked from his ship in the colonies. The merchants had welcomed him like a man who had saved them from certain doom. All manner of people in the city had looked at him like he might have been the King himself...or at least his prince.

"Bam..." the rattan cane struck again.
"Bam.." and again. "There will be no mercy for you Mr. Cutter. You are a filthy flea who needs to be crushed. You are a stench in my nostrils!" screamed Captain Downy.

With each blow Cutter seemingly began to swoon. He allowed his legs to buckle and his eyes to roll. He let out low growls and moans of pain. The pain was real enough, sharp, but tolerable. Almost there he thought. The marines began to slacken their grasp on him. Blood was running down both cheeks now. The squeemish seargant began look at the rafters.

Now, Cutter pulled his right arm free, moved it forward then in one motion slammed it into the groin of the marine on his right. The marine on his left dropped his musket to get a better hold Cutter. The musket exploded in the cramped and tight Captain's room, temporarily deafing all in the room. Captain Downy was trying to pull out his sword, but Cutter used his momentum to swing the remain marine into Captain Downy. Just as Downy was pulling out his sword, it lodged in the marine and stuck.

Cutter ducked just in time to avoid a haymaker from the seargent. Swingly widely the seargent was off-balance. Cutter grabbed him by the belt as he passed by and rammed his head into the solid oak column that supported the room, effectively snapping his neck and dropping his body limp to the ground.

Captain Downy successfully untangled himself from the gurgling marine. The haze of musket smoke hung in the room. Footsteps were pounding outside the doorway. Cutter could take a few on at a time, but not the whole ship, not yet. He leaped to bar the doorway, just as Captain Downy yelled and swung a wild saber swing at Cutter. He missed badly and the curved blade flung from his hand. Cutter barred the door and turned back to Captain Downy. Downy, like a snake, slithered behind his desk and began to fumble with the top drawer.

A pistol firing was the last thing Cutter heard. It was also the last thing Captain Downy would hear as the musket ball sunk deep into his forehead. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped back into his chair. Oddly, Cutter thought, he looked at peace.

Well, what do we have here...

"Well, what do we have here..." smirked Captain Downy, the lines of wicked joy spreading across his face.

Captain had the desire that all captain's in the Royal Navy had...promotion. Born Elijah Daniel Downy, the third of three sons to the lesser earle of Williamshire, Captain Downy had little promise for prominence in the King's Court, unless he distinguished himself at sea.

His first assignment had been the captain of a little cutter that had been patroling the West Indies trades routes, when disaster struck.

For a time, Captain Downy had won the favor of the West Indian Fleet Admiral's confidence in halting pirating on his trade routes. If Captain Downy was excellent in ambition, he was pathetic in diligence. As often happens in hurricane season, a great squall blew in. Captain Downy was never one to ride a storm out and, therefore, carelessly he ran his cutter full-sail before the storm. He blamed his helmsman, he blamed his cutter, he blamed the a civilian envoy assigned to his ship, but the fault for crashing the King's cutter into the rocks of Point Yellow Feather, was placed as emphatically as the ephithets on his shoulders on Captain Elijah Daniel Downy.

Now, for the past 13 years he was the butt of many behind-the-back jokes among the fleet captains. It took five years of wrangling for his father to get his captaincy reinstated and another four years to find him a post. Finallly, after two years patroling the whaling lanes of the North Sea, miserable from constant cold and lack of sun-light, sweet revenge was within his grasp.