Reefs and Shoals l-18

by Dewey Lambdin

  “Only if she’s full of solid coin, sir,” Westcott disparaged.

  * * *

  The enemy brig loomed up over the horizon after an hour or two of pursuit, with Lizard and Firefly visible to the East of her, and closing fast. Lt. Darling was getting a good turn of speed from his brigantine, too, and was several miles ahead of Reliant, standing out to the brig’s West, and within what looked to be two miles of her.

  “Deck there!” all the mast-head lookouts cried, almost in chorus. “Gunfire! Lizard and Firefly are engaged!”

  Lewrie was so fretful that he slung his telescope over his shoulder and scaled the shrouds of the mizen mast to see what he could see, which wasn’t all that revealing. By then, the enemy and his two smaller sloops were almost hull-up to him, merged together and almost impossible to demarcate one from the other. The sounds of their engagement could not reach his ears, but there was a growing pall of spent gunpowder smoke down yonder. He swung the lens to the West and there was Thorn, rapidly closing aslant, still with an eye towards closing the door to any escape towards open water and the inlets of far-off Florida. She had yet to commence fire.

  “Deck, there!” the main-mast lookout shouted down. “Chase is bein’ doubled! Bound Sou’west!”

  She was trying to get away, trying to get out to deep water, but Lizard and Firefly were now engaging her on either quarter, maybe on either beam, denying the brig a chance to flee. And, if she did turn away by then, she would lay her vulnerable stern open to a rake from one of the sloops, and a broadside from the other!

  “Deck, there!” the lookouts whooped. “Chase has struck!”

  “Ease helm a bit, Mister Westcott, and lay us about a mile to their lee, and once level with ’em, we’ll fetch to,” Lewrie ordered.

  “‘Twixt the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea,’ she was, by then,” Lt. Westtott cheered with a feral flash of his teeth.

  * * *

  Before the next hour was out, all of Reliant ’s squadron, and their prize, were fetched-to within rowing distance of each other. The frigate had been stood down from Quarters, the gun tools stowed below in the racks over the mess-tables, tompions re-inserted into the guns’ muzzles, and the arms lockers locked, and the keys returned to Lewrie’s care. Boats were coming to the frigate from Lizard and Firefly bearing the triumphant Lieutenants Lovett and Bury… with a few strangers, Lewrie noted with his telescope.

  It ain’t Mollien and his schooner, more’s the pity, Lewrie told himself; So who did we bag?

  BOOK IV

  “We’ll roll him high and we’ll roll him low

  ’Way down in Florida,

  We’ll heave him up and away we’ll go,

  And we’ll roll the woodpile down!

  Rolling, rolling rolling the whole world round

  That brown gal o’ mine’s down the Georgia Line

  And we’ll roll the woodpile down!”

  – SEA CHANTEY ANONYMOUS

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Once Lt. Lovett and Lt. Bury had been piped aboard, and congratulations had been bestowed, Bury motioned for one of the strangers to come forward.

  “Allow me to name to you, sir, the master of the prize,” Bury formally intoned, “Captain Charles Chaptal, of the Insolent. ”

  They ain’t makin’ Frogs like they used to, Lewrie thought as he eyed the short, slim, and almost reedy fellow who stood before him with his hat raised in salute over his carroty, frizzled hair. He looked no older than Reliant ’s junior lieutenants!

  “ M’sieur Capitaine, allow me to name to you Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, Baronet, of the Reliant frigate,” Lt. Bury went on. At that point, Chaptal performed a very graceful “leg” with a sweep of his hat across his breast. Lewrie touched the brim of his cocked hat. “He offers you his sword, sir, in light of his defeat.”

  “Put up a decent fight, did he, Mister Bury?” Lewrie asked.

  “A mos’ spirited resistance, M’sieur!” Chaptal boasted, “agains’ four-to-one odds. I regret, z’ough, z’at you ’ave ze best of me at ze end.”

  They may come weedier, these days, but just as boastful, Lewrie thought with a sigh; Exasperatin’ bastards!

  “In light of your honourable resistance, you may keep possession of your sword, Captain Chaptal,” Lewrie allowed. “Though, you were at only two-to-one odds, since my ship, and our brig did not engage. Your home port, sir?”

  “Basse-Terre, on Guadeloupe, M’sieur, ” Chaptal freely admitted with a very Gallic shrug and moue, “z’ough, we do not spend much time z’ere. We find better prizes ’ere, of late,” he smugly hinted.

  Lewrie took note that Chaptal might have put up a good fight, after all, and was more nervous than his mien might admit. The fellow was smudged with gunpowder smoke, and his waist-coat and trousers were splattered with blood drops. And, despite his bold attitude, his hands were shaking.

  “That is a long way to go to find a Prize Court, sir,” Lewrie pointed out. “Perhaps your allies at Havana are more convenient?”

  Captain Chaptal opened his lips as if to reply, but then thought better of it and put an innocent smile on his face, licking his lips and saying “ Je regret, M’sieur ” with another shrug.

  “No matter, sir,” Lewrie told Chaptal with a grin, “for I do believe we have your ship’s papers, right, Mister Bury?”

  “Aye, sir,” Bury said with a cryptic ghost of a grin, “Letters of Marque, muster book, captain’s logs and accounts ledgers.”

  “Profit and loss, where and when he victualled,” Lewrie said, happily smirking, which took Chaptal’s mood down another peg. “You are fluent in written French, Mister Bury? Good. Pray do go through them quickly, and let me know what you discover of Captain Chaptal’s doings.

  “ M’sieur,” he said to the Frenchman, “while I will allow you to keep your sword, I regret that I cannot allow you to wear it or hold it sheathed in your hand. No worries, it will be returned to you when you have given your parole at Nassau, where you, your men, and your vessel will be taken tomorrow morning. In the meantime…”

  Lewrie looked out toward HMS Thorn, thinking that Lt. Darling’s brigantine had a crew large enough to spare a prize crew for Chaptal’s brig, and could spare hands to guard the prisoners aboard his ship and the prize. Besides, it’s Darling’s turn, Lewrie thought; howl about it though he may. And let him dine the Frog in for the night!

  “If you would be so good as to surrender it temporarily to my senior Midshipman, Mister Entwhistle, who will convey you to the care of the Thorn, which ship will carry your back to Nassau, hmm? Mister Entwhistle? Pass word for a boat crew to see Captain Chaptal over.”

  “Er, aye, sir,” the surprised Mid replied,

  “Upon arrival, inform Lieutenant Darling that he is to escort the prize and the prisoners to Nassau with all despatch, see them into the Prize Court, then rejoin the squadron which will be awaiting him Nor’west of Bimini.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Entwhistle said. “If I may have your sword for a brief time, sir? And if you will follow me?”

  “Full departure honours, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie added.

  “Aye, sir,” Westcott replied, then in a more casual way, said, “Darling will make bad weather of it, though.”

  “Captain Forrester won’t be there t’plague him, so it’ll be an easy duty, with a shot at a run ashore,” Lewrie reminded him.

  “In that, case, send me, sir!” Westcott exclaimed.

  “What sort o’ fight was it, Mister Lovett?” Lewrie said to the other victor who was looking anxious to boast of his deeds.

  “Sharp enough, sir, for a privateer,” Lt. Lovett glady related. “When she saw that there was no escape, Westward, she opened fire upon me, to which I replied. She had ten six-pounders, and they were well-manned and well-drilled, but not all that accurate, thank the Lord. I opened at about a cable’s range and scored some hits, then Bury and Lizard came up off her larboard quarter and served her a broadside.”

  At the mention of his name, Lt. Bury lo
oked up from the captured books he was rapidly scanning, and gave a little smile.

  “This Chaptal fellow couldn’t out-foot me, though he did try to put helm up and come down on me,” Lovett went on, “at which point Bury fell off the wind and gave her a stern-rake, the same time as I hardened up to keep aloof of him and gave him another broadside, which forced him to haul his wind, else Bury would rake him again. I hauled wind, and we ended up on either beam, blazing away like mad, and that was enough for them! With her sails in rags, she struck.”

  “Before the action began, sir,” Lt. Bury absently said, his attention still glued to the books and ledgers, “the Insolent bore sixty-eight hands, in all, and lost nine dead and fourteen wounded to some degree.” Bury looked up long enough to reward them with another of his shy grins, then returned to his delving. “We shot very well.”

  “Our Surgeon’s Mates are seeing to them, sir,” Lt. Lovett said. “Three or four are in a bad way, so, perhaps your Surgeon, Mister Mainwaring, might assist them?”

  “Pass word for my Cox’n and boat crew, and for the Surgeon,” Lewrie ordered. “He’s needed on the prize, tell him.”

  “There’s another matter, sir,” Lt. Lovett said, turning grim. “These two sailors were captured. They claim to be American, but one of them is as Irish as Paddy’s Pig, and the other might as well have been hauled up from a Welsh coal-mine.”

  “On a French privateer?” Lewrie said with a frown, rounding to look at the two men whom Lovett indicated.

  “Could be deemed treasonous, sir,” Lt. Lovett gravelled.

  “Indeed it could,” Lewrie said, pacing over toward them where they stood by the entry-port, tarred straw hats in their hands being nervously turned round and round, and trying to look inconspicuous, as if they took up little space, perhaps no one would notice them. Both were dressed in typical sailors’ garb of loose shirts, one in gingham check, the other in tar- and smoke-stained plain linen, tucked into the usual canvas slop-trousers which almost hid the toes of their buckled shoes.

  “And who are you, my lads?” Lewrie gravely demanded.

  “Michael Innis, so please ye, sor,” the taller and fairer of the pair nervously replied, “cutty-eyed” and unable to look Lewrie in the eyes. His accent was straight out of a peat bog.

  “And you?” Lewrie asked the other, who was shorter, wirier, and black haired, with almost a Cornish beak for a nose.

  “Dyfid Evans, sir,” the young fellow said, “David, t’at is, but some call me Dewey. T’is t’patron saint, d’ye see, and…” He withered under Lewrie’s stern glare, and shut his mouth.

  “Two British subjects, serving aboard an enemy privateer in time of war,” Lewrie accused. “That’s a foul business, my lads.”

  “But Oi’m not British, sor, arrah!” Innis protested in a sputter. “Nor Oirish neither! Swear by Christ, sor! Oi’ve me citizenship papers in me sea-chest t’prove it! Moy fam’ly an’ me, settled in Darien, South o’ Savannah, a whole ten year ago, sor!”

  “And I’m from Savannah, sir,” Evans insisted. “I’ve been American t’ree years, now! I got my certificate, too, sir, if you’d let us fetch ’em and show t’em to ya!”

  “American consuls hand ’em out by the thousands to whoever wants ’em,” Lewrie scoffed. “They print ’em up and sell them, and hand lots over to jobbers to sell for a cut! They aren’t worth the price of the ink!”

  “No, sir! No, sir!” Evans frantically rejoined, “Beggin! your pardon, sir, but mine isn’t from a consul, sir, but t’ Mayor o’ Savannah! When I first shipped aboard tradin’ ships, knowin’ t’at t’e war was on and all, me Da wouldn’t let me go ’less I had solid proof, so I wouldn’t be pressed!”

  “We come t’America ten year ago, sor, when I was but a wee lad,” Innis stuck in. “Oi been a Georgian since! Loik Davey here says, sor, when Oi thought t’leave the bargin’ trade and go t’sea, Oi went to a local magistrate at Sunbury for a certificate, for the same reason!”

  “Mister Caldwell,” Lewrie called over his shoulder to the Sailing Master. “Do you know of any places named Darien or Sunbury?”

  “Ehm, sir,” the ever-cautious Caldwell said, referring to one of his American-drawn charts. “I do see the names, which refer to river settlements of little importance. There is a notation that the region is referred to as the Midway settlements.”

  “Aye, sor, Midway’s closer t’Savannah, an’ Sunbury oncest was a rival t’Savannah,” Innis exclaimed with a hopeful note to his voice, as if proof of his town’s existence was proof of his innocence.

  “But, why the Devil would ye sign aboard a French privateer in time of war?” Lewrie pressed, shaking his head at the lunatick nature of such service. “Surely, ye’d know did you get taken, there’d be a good chance of hangin’.”

  “Well, sir,” Evans said with a sheepish, grin, “t’ere’s a power more money t’be earned t’an aboard a merchantman, and a chance t’see more o’ t’e world t’an Havana or Basse-Terre.”

  “Beats th’ bargin’ trade all hollow, too, sor,” Innis added.

  “ Only Havana or Basse-Terre?” Lewrie asked, perking up. “There and back again was all you did?”

  “Well, sir, we did see Fort-de-France on Martinique, once,” Evans offered, shrugging and almost smiling in remembrance of a good time, despite his circumstances.

  “Do either of you speak French?” Lewrie asked them, curious as to how the pair of them had fit in aboard a French raider.

  “We learned enough o’ their words for sail-tendin’ an’ such, sor,” Innis told him, “and, seein’ as how short they were o’ sailors, they made sure we picked up their palaver roight quick, but… they rated us Landsmen, sor, and niver paid us no mind off-watch.”

  “Butt o’ t’eir japes, more-like, sir,” Evans added. “I spent a year and a half a merchant mariner and got rated Ordinary, but not on t’e Insolent. She’s a poor ‘feeder’, t’boot.”

  “The merchant trade,” Lewrie slowly said, hands in the small of his back and his gaze averted to the horizon. “Out of Savannah, to French or Spanish ports… nowhere else? What sort o’ merchant work?”

  Innis and Evans shared a look, nigh-shrugged at the same time as if resigned, then announced, “T’e Prize-Court trade, d’ye see, sir? Seein’ what prizes t’at Insolent and t’e others took t’sell at Basse-Terre or Havana,” Evans told him.

  “Then ship aboard another bound back t’Savannah, sor,” Innis chimed in, “t’do it all over again. Got roight boresome, it did.”

  Lewrie whirled to gawp at them with as much delight as if the Christmas holidays had come early, just for him!

  “The others, you say?” Lewrie asked them. “ What others?”

  “Well, there’s the Otarie, what means t’e ‘Sea Lion’, for one,” Evans confessed. “T’en t’ere’s t’ Furieux, but her captain’s a real Tartar. Sea Lion ’s captain…”

  “Mollien,” Lewrie stuck in.

  “Aye, sir,” Evans said. “He’s good at it, but can’t hold a patch t’Captain Chaptal. T’at’s why we signed aboard her, sir, for he’s t’e most successful, young t’ough he be.”

  “There was a Spaniard, too, now and again, the Torbellino,” Innis told Lewrie. “Moighta been a Catholic-run ship, but there’s no way Oi’d ever take articles with a Don, sor!”

  “We nabbed her,” Lewrie boasted. “Here now, lads… how would you two like not to hang?”

  “Well, o’ course, sor!” Innis exclaimed.

  “Do anything, sir!” Evans swore. “A Bible-oath I would!”

  “Lieutenant Lovett?” Lewrie said. “I’d admire did you take these two prisoners back to the prize, so they can fetch their sea-chests and determine if they possess worthless Consular certificates, or genuine papers.”

  “Very good, sir,” Lovett replied, sounding as if he would have relished a hanging instead.

  “Then bring them right back here,” Lewrie went on, turning to face the pair once more. “I want you to tell me everything you kno
w about your so-called ‘Prize-Court’ trade, who arranges it, and where, and how it’s conducted. If your certificates are genuine, you could be imprisoned at Nassau like the rest of your crew.

  “But,” he insisted, raising a finger in warning, “if you tell me all, I’d be of a mind t’let you two volunteer into the brigantine yonder. Lieutenant Darling, her commander, told me he’s two hands short. Not pressed, but allowed the Joining Bounty. Think upon it. You’ve no hopes of even tuppence of what pay, or shares in captured ships, you were due. You have your kits and sea-chests already, so Thorn ’s Purser can’t charge you much if you volunteer.”

  That beats prison hulks, or a ‘Newgate Horn-pipe’, Lewrie told himself; but not by much, recalling what Dr. Samuel Johnson had said of sea-service-that it was like a prison, in which one has the chance to drown!

  “Why, t’at’d be more t’an fair, sir!” Evans exulted, whooshing with relief. “I’ll do it, and tell you all you wish!”

  “If Oi kin have some’un wroite me fam’ly an’ tell ’ em where Oi be, sor,” Innis quickly agreed.

  “Off ye go with Lieutenant Lovett, here, then,” Lewrie said. “And when you return, we’ll have a good, long talk, hey?”

  Good God above, they’re in in up to their necks ! Lewrie thought in joy; They’ve seen the whole scheme from the inside ! By sunset, we may be able to “smoak out” the entire enterprise, and put an end to it!

  He did feel a moment of trepidation, though. Those two might not really know all that much. Or, could he really get that lucky?

  He could almost hear Dame Fortune laughing in the wings.