“Mister Langlie,” Nicely bade, swivelling about. “I’d admire if you order yon… shalope, taken in tow, then get us back underway.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Lt. Langlie said, flicking a wary gaze betwixt Capt. Nicely and his own Capt. Lewrie for a moment. Now that Lewrie was back aboard, the request should have gone to Lewrie first, then to him. Lewrie cocked a brow at Langlie, as if to say that he would set things right once he and Nicely were below in his great-cabins.
“The course to steer, Mister Langlie, will be roughly Nor’west, a touch of Northing, for Barataria Bay,” Lewrie instructed. “Know that place, Mister Winwood?” he asked of his stolidly prim Sailing Master.
“Not personally, no, Captain,” that worthy slowly replied after seeming to give the matter a long, ponderous think. “Though I have in my possession a fairly trustworthy chart of the area in question.”
“An out o’ date, typical slap-dash French or Spanish chart, an hopeful fiction, most-like, but…” Lewrie genially scoffed. “Consult it, anyway, Mister Winwood, and give Mister Langlie the proper heading, then fetch it to my chart space, so we may all refer plans to it.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Mr. Winwood replied.
“Good Christ!” Lewrie said with a grimace once he was below in his private quarters, inhaling the stench of ram-cats. “Aspinall!” he started to accuse, “have you slacked off your scouring whilst I…”
“Beg pardon, sir, but…” the lad muttered, wringing his hands. “The little fellers seemed t’take to Cap’m Nicely well enough so long as you were still aboard, but oncet you set off for Louisiana, it got sorta… grim, sir. Spent half their time sulkin’ for lack o’ ya and t’other half prowlin’ th’ ship in search o’ ya, the poor little beasts did. I ‘spect they felt a bit put out with a stranger aft. Gave up their sandbox for ‘is clothes, the deck canvas … his shoes an’ hat, sir? Lurkin’ about, peein’ on his pillows an’ bed sheets… hissin’ an’ spittin’ whene’er they saw him, too, sir. I tried t’scour things fresh with vinegar, e’en smoked th’ cabins with tobacco, but the wee lads’re nothin’ but sneaky an’ clever, the little pranksters. Cap’m Nicely didn’t take t’them, I tell ya, too, sir.”
“And what of my clothing, Aspinall?” Lewrie dubiously said, as Aspinall bustled about, prating and fetching him fresh breeches, knee stockings, and shirt. Lewrie held the shirt up, sniffing it warily.
“Oh, no harm t’yours, sir!” Aspinall grinned. “When they were their lowest, they’d curl up t’gether on yer dressing robe. It seemed t’comfort ’em. But nary a whizz did they ever make on it. Though I did have t’brush off a couple pounds o’ hair, now an’ then, d’ye see. Now … here’s a fresh-pressed neck-stock, sir, and yer waist-coat. I got a pitcher o’ cold tea brewed, just th’ way ya like it, and…”
It was all Lewrie could do to walk from one end of his quarters to the other for his lovelorn cats, who twined round his ankles.
“Right, then,” Lewrie said with glad sigh of satisfaction once he was properly and comfortably garbed in complete uniform, less gilt-laced coat and cocked hat. “Do you pass word for Captain Nicely, the ship’s officers, and Marine Lieutenant Devereux to attend me.”
“Aye, sir,” Aspinall responded.
“And uhm… Quartermaster’s Mate Jugg, as well,” Lewrie added.
“Well, that should cover it,” Lewrie concluded, looking at his officers gathered round his desk and the pertinent chart spread atop it. HMS Proteus bowled along on a goodly slant of wind, her larboard shoulder firmly set to the sea, and heeled over about fifteen degrees. It felt good to flex his legs and balance again, good to hear the hissing, swooshing muffled roar of her hull parting the waters. “Two-pronged assault, not so very far apart that either party is dangerously isolated from the other, I trust.”
Grand Terre was about five miles long and perhaps a mile wide at best, a low-lying sandy barrier island. It, and its smaller eastern twin, Grand Isle, barred the southern end of Barataria Bay, leaving a poor choice of entrances to the bay. Between the two was the deepest, though Proteus, with her seventeen-and-a-half-foot draught, could not probe too deep between the isles. The borrowed shalope would lead the assault, armed with swivel-guns and 2-Pdr. boat-guns, whilst Proteus would stand in as close as she dared to support with her 12-Pdrs.
It was an uneasy conference, when all depended on Toby Jugg’s dim “recollections” of older sailors’ talk, with many a “so I heard” qualifier flung about; and Jugg shiftily avoiding how he’d gathered such knowledge… or under which flag he’d gained his “experience.”
Jugg sketched out three possible sites that the pirates might use. One was on Grand Isle’s Nor’west tip, on the right-hand side of the best channel; the other was on Grand Terre Island’s Nor’east tip, on the other side of the pass. The last, least likely “So I heard of, oncet, sors” was at the far West end of Grand Terre by the shallower inlet. A schooner could get in there, but not a deep-draught prize to be unloaded and stripped.
At both of the most likely sites there were freshwater springs and rills ashore, dense stands of timber for firewood or huts… off the ground like Indian chickees to deter the venomous snakes that the “auld sailormen” had mentioned. Indeed, there were reputed to be easily recognisable Indian mounds there—wide, tall, and slope-sided, erected God knew how long ago, and for unfathomed uses. There were mounds of oyster, clam, and mussel shells, too—garbage middens from centuries of native settlement, of fishing, raking, and cooking.
Proteus and the shalope would close the coast once it was full dark, launch a cutter and a spying-out party on the evening of their arrival to determine which spot the pirates might be using. If they were even there, of course; if Barataria was more convenient than any inlet farther west, like Atchafalaya Bay, or…
Were they present, all four of Proteus’s boats would be used to land a mixed party of seamen and Marines, who would march a short distance overland to take the shore encampment under fire. At the same time, the shalope would go for the pirates’ ship and any capture they might have made, curling round behind to block their escape.
If they’d come down Bayou Barataria or the Ouatchas River, like Mr. Pollock had supposed, it made sense to imagine that they would run back that way if overpowered, poling and paddling like mad in pirogues to escape, to lose their pursuers in the maze of coulées or bayous that they alone knew. The shalope’s light guns and swivels could slaughter the dugout log canoes and flat-bottomed boats.
“Now, as to who leads which,” Lewrie posed, gesturing for them to take seats and accept glasses of claret, now they were finished with the chart. And this was the sticky part.
As commanding officer of HMS Proteus, one who had already earned his captaincy, Lewrie customarily should have left the hard chores to his junior officers, for how else could they ever gain notice with Admiralty except by the successful doing of some brave deed, mentioned favourably in their captain’s report of the action. Of such things a successful career was made, promotion and advancement earned, command of their own warships someday “bought” with bloody, fatal risks.
Yet Lewrie wished to be in at the kill, to see firsthand, or cause firsthand, the deaths of the de Guilleris, Lanxade, and Balfa… that cousin of theirs, that Don Rubio Monaster who’d most likely taken the shots at him and was reputedly as tight as ticks with them all… do something with that lying slut Charité, though he did admittedly feel squeamish qualms should she be slain.
“Mister Devereux to take all his Marines for the landing party, it goes without saying,” Lewrie declared with a grin, knowing how his elegant and efficient Marine officer relished independent action. They lifted their glasses to each other, Devereux smiling wolfishly.
“Mister Langlie, as First Officer, to oversee our frigate’s approach inshore, sir,” Capt. Nicely said with a grunt, knowing that Lt. Langlie would be crestfallen. “If I, as temporary commander of this squadron, may deem best, hmm?”
“With Mister Adair to assist,” Lewri
e said. “Mister Catterall to lead the seamen of the shore landing and take charge of the boats’ progress to the beach.”
“Thankee, sir!” the burly Catterall hooted with glee, ready to elbow everyone within reach to gloat over his good fortune, even if he could be a bobbing corpse not two days hence.
“We do have Mister Darling handy,” Nicely posed.
“Your pardon, Captain Nicely,” Lewrie gently objected, “but he is not known to the ship’s people. Neither, for that fact, is Mister Gamble, tarry and efficient a Midshipman as he’s served in my absence. If I may, sir, as Proteus’s captain, I prefer her own people to participate. After what the pirates did to some of her people, they have a personal stake, if you will, in the—”
“Mister Darling and Mister Adair, with Lieutenant Langlie, will manage Proteus,” Captain Nicely decided, “whilst I shall take overall command of the boat party, and you, Captain Lewrie, shall command the shalope.”
“Well, sir!” Lewrie gawped, trying to finesse his objection politely and squirming uneasily in his chair. “Dear as I’d wish to see things done to a proper turn, d’ye really think that—”
“Damme, I do, sir,” Capt. Nicely rejoined, all smiles and verve. “Privilege of my seniority, d’ye see. Oh, we’ll not get in the way of the younger lads who need to make their names, but! If those pirates are in there, and if they’ve been successful, I would no more be able t’sit by and fidget than I could abide t’watch another man eat my supper … then tell me how tasty it was, hah!
“Are we successful, I intend to write fulsomely of all participants in my report to Admiralty, so no one’ll suffer for want of credit. Call me an old war-horse if you must, Captain Lewrie, but I can’t turn down the chance for real action… and so I shan’t.”
Gold fever, more like, Lewrie uncharitably thought; in this case, silver night-sweats!
“Very well, sir,” he said, knowing that further quibbling could be deemed insubordination. “In that case, I’ll need Mister Adair and a midshipman with me… Mister Larkin’s an energetic laddy. And at least eighteen hands. Mister Darling and Midshipman Gamble may stay aboard Proteus to second the First Lieutenant.”
“We’ll have four more hands, at any rate, sir,” Lt. Adair glumly told them, still disappointed to not play a larger role. “The men Mister Pollock loaned you off his brig… once word got round that we could be in the way of substantial prize-money, those four asked to speak with me and ended up taking Ship’s Articles. Since they already had their chests and kits, their guinea Joining Bounties are all profit to them too, sir.”
“In at the kill, Lewrie!” Capt. Nicely cheered. “They desire to be in at the kill! As to your request for your own Lieutenant and Midshipman to accompany you aboard the shalope, I say ‘done, and done,’ ha ha!” Nicely slapped the desktop with his palm as if to seal the bargain. “And a full bumper with all of you, gentlemen, from my own stock of wines… a toast to our complete success!”
Which boisterous slap and cry elicited ominous hissing, moaning, and some spits from Toulon and Chalky, now well hidden ‘neath the starboard side settee.
They even despise the sound of him, by now, Lewrie sardonically thought as Aspinall produced a brace of claret bottles; Either that, or we’re in for a whole lot o’ trouble!
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
They’re there, sir,” Lt. Langlie told him once he’d gained the deck. “Two big schooners anchored off the tip of Grand Terre, on the West side of the channel. Mister Jugg recognised the black’un, that set him and our party on the Tortugas, but the other is even bigger, a tops’l schooner that we didn’t recognise, sir.”
Sop to his ego and career prospects, Lewrie told himself; The bold, unsupported probe, but not the lion’s share of any battle. Damn! They did take a prize. Just one, so it must be a rich’un. Talk about your silver fever! For I think I’ve caught it!
“How close did you get, sir?” Lewrie quickly asked, just about shaking himself to clear his mind of avaricious images. “Did you see any preparations dug? Batteries or watchtowers?”
“We grounded on the beach, sir,” Lt. Langlie proudly announced, glorying in his small but risky part of the endeavour boldy done. “On those flat-topped Indian mounds, we could see a few sentries. We got within about half a cable, I’d reckon it, before we feared their firelight might expose us, sir. They’re celebrating, sir! Three sheets to the wind, as drunk as lords… lots of caterwauling and fiddling, capering and dancing.” Lt. Langlie snickered, his teeth shining in the darkness as he broadly grinned. “Long as we observed ’em, the sentries atop the earth mounds came and went, spent half their time jawing with their shipmates down below, and sneaking swigs from crocks or bottles when they thought no one was looking. No batteries, sir, no entrenchments that we could spy, though Mister Jugg thought he saw springs set on the black-hulled schooner’s bower and kedge cables.”
“So, an hour ‘fore dawn, and they’ll most-like be falling-down drunk and insensible,” Lewrie surmised. “Better and better! A grand night’s work, Mister Langlie. Damned fine!”
“Thank you, sir!” Langlie gladly replied. “And thank you for the opportunity, to—”
“No one saw you and your party, d’ye think?” Lewrie fretted of a sudden.
“Don’t think so, sir, no.” Lt. Langlie told him, pensive for a moment. “No hue and cry, that’s for certain.”
“Well, that’s fine, then,” Lewrie decided, letting out a much-relieved sigh. “And thank you, Mister Langlie, for an arduous task, nobly done.”
“Er… aye, aye, sir.”
“If you will, sir, I’d admire the shalope fetched alongside, so I may go aboard her,” Lewrie ordered, turning stiffly formal. “I give you charge of Proteus ’til my return, or the completion of our little enterprise, sir. Get her as deep into the channel as you think practicable, Mister Langlie, and her guns well within range, even the carronades if that’s possible.”
“Directly, sir!” Langlie assured him.
“Damme, I like this frigate hellish-fine, Mister Langlie! Just as she is … paintwork included, hmm?” Lewrie declared, chuckling as he clapped his First Lieutenant on the shoulder.
“I’ll take good care of her, sir. No worries.”
“I have none, sir,” Lewrie replied. “Especially knowing that any scrapes and such’d be your sad task to repair, once back in port!”
Boudreaux Balfa and his son, Fusilier, toiled away on the dark bay side of the captured Spanish schooner, shifting kegs from her entry-port to the sole of a dowdy, paint-peeling, and flat-bottomed lugger, a single-masted boat that could go almost anywhere up the bayous or the coulées that a pirogue could go… if one knew the maze of waterways like the palm of one’s hand, as did Balfa, his son and several of his neighbours who’d come along on the raiding cruise. Kegs of silver were shifted from the lugger to their flat-bottomed boats and pirogues, their shares for participating… as well as “a little something extra” that Balfa and his neighbours would rather not have the others know a thing about.
Chère, mo lem-mé toi,
oui, mo lem-mé toi, avec tou mo coeur, mo lem-mé toi, chère,
comme tit cochon lem-mé la boul!
He sang softly, covertly, perhaps to hide the sly guffaw at the trick he was playing on all of them, else he would be roaring out loud.
Dear, I love you so, yes, I love you so.
With all my heart, I love you, dear,
like the little pig loves mud! Hee hee hee!
“Papa, the others,” Fusilier Balfa fretted in a whisper. “If we steal dem blind, dey come after us an’ kill us!”
“Naw, Fusilier. Come dawn, ever’body gonna shinny up dere own side, I tell ya,” Boudreaux softly snickered. “We just takin’ our own shares a little early, is all. For safekeepin’. Comprends, mon fils? “
“I don’ know,” Fusilier timidly objected, counting off a new keg as it was manhandled across their lugger to a waiting pirogue; that would make twenty kegs so far, he reckoned
. And more was coming.
Just in case a Spanish guarda costa or one of those perfidious British men-o’-war ran across them before they’d reached the safety of Barataria Bay, over eight hundred kegs had been put aboard Le Revenant, so if one ship was taken, the cruise wouldn’t be a total loss for the survivors. Fusilier’s papa had told him on the sly that the take was nowhere near what their buccaneers expected, but that he was to shut his mouth about that until the whole cargo was broken out and the truth revealed… in the morning, when their crew would be groggy and hungover, perhaps gullible enough to settle for what was in hand.
There was enough rum and arrack, enough barricos of rough Mexican wine, to keep the men pliable and “hot” enough to work the ships back to Grand Terre, but not sober enough to wonder where the rest of the money was. Dread of being taken by a passing warship had sped their labours in shifting some of the cargo, then breaking off suddenly and setting sail homeward, with the rest soon to be “discovered.”
Balfa and Lanxade would declare that they would take less than their customary shares, so the men would not be cheated. Just as soon as the de Guilleris and their arrogant compatriots were accused of supplying them with false information, a nebulous (but hopefully believable!) plot would emerge with the banker Maurepas, to skim off some of the silver as soon as it landed in New Orleans… Jérôme Lanxade would even suggest that Maurepas, Bistineau, and the de Guilleris might have conspired to steal some of the silver from the prize during the night!
Which would conveniently explain why Boudreaux Balfa was taking some tonight, and wouldn’t Jérôme be surprised! Balfa gleefully thought as he shouldered another heavy keg from one of his cousins aboard the prize and carefully set it by the others in the lugger’s amidships. He reckoned that he might be able to make off with about 40,000 silver dollars, which he might split with Jérôme… or he might not. Maybe even 50,000, if the water in the creeks, coulées, sloughs, and bayous was up, and they could float that much away.
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