Hostile Shores (7 page)

The brig-sloops
Delight
and
Fulmar
and their captains he could recommend, as well as the single-master cutter
Squirrel.
And of course, the three others of his original squadron he could praise highly. The rest of the vessels were simply names on a list.

“They stay quite busy, down-islands, sir,” Lewrie told Grierson. “I do not know if Captain Forrester put much effort into the enforcement of the Navigation Acts, since there are so many American merchant ships who come to trade. American goods are much prized here, and the town merchants’d be upset did the trade be curtailed. Their goods are just as well made as British, and cheaper, so…” That required one more puzzled shrug. “That will be up to your discretion, sir.”

“Quite right it is,” Grierson agreed, very sternly.

“And, one must keep an eye out for the wreckers and salvagers, too, sir,” Lewrie went on. “Perhaps, with at least two more of your brig-sloops and thirty-two-gun frigates on station, they might be able to back up the authority of your sloops and cutters, down-islands.”

“Wreckers and salvagers?” Grierson asked.

“The island soils, and the acreage available, don’t support the highest-paying crops, sir,” Lewrie further explained, warming to the subject. “There’s ‘red lands’ that
seem
fertile, the first season or two, but play out without fertiliser, and the Bahamas don’t have room for pastures, cattle and sheep, and their dung. The ‘white lands’ are sandy, and are in need of fertiliser, too, d’ye see. Now, some get by the Red Indian way, using small fish planted the same time as the seed, but again, that doesn’t support payin’ crops, mostly just subsistence farmin’, so the down-islanders need food imports, and the best way to pay for such is to … take advantage of the odd shipwreck. Many of ’em had kin in the old pirate days, and they
will
fall back upon the old ways, when needful.

“When I was here ’tween the wars in the old
Alacrity,
I’d put up beacons and range-marks, and as soon as I’d sailed away, down they came, the timbers got used t’build houses, and when I returned months later, there was no sign they’d ever been there, and no one’d give me the time o’ day as to which of ’em did it,” Lewrie said in sour reminiscence. “You’ll want t’keep a weather eye on that business, too, sir.”

“Good God!” Grierson exclaimed. “Perhaps I should hang one or two, to dissuade their criminal tendencies.”

“Good luck on that, sir,” Lewrie said, chuckling. “The courts hereabouts merely wink at cases like that … if ye can wake ’em up long enough t’present one. Then, there’s still the problem of French and Spanish privateers, and the coast of Spanish Florida. I’ve a mind to keep my squadron together and prowl over that way, t’keep the frogs and the Dons honest. And scare any more Americans from aidin’ them.”

“Well, now I…,” Grierson began, but the cabin servant had come with Lewrie’s tea, now that it had cooled sufficiently.

“Most refreshin’, thankee kindly,” Lewrie told the servant after he had taken a sip. He turned back to Grierson. “We destroyed a rather clever cabal, d’ye see. An American company, the Tybee Roads Trading Company, was supplyin’ the privateers out of Savannah, Georgia, providin’ false registries for their prizes and passage crews t’sail them under American colours to Havana or a French island port, after takin’ off a portion of the cargoes for sale in Savannah, or ship North as far as New York or Boston in their own bottoms, and bring back the profits in Tybee Roads ships to give to the privateers, less a substantial commission, of course.”

“I am not sure that my brief extends quite
that
far, Sir Alan,” Commodore Grierson said with a shake of his head. “You, as you said, held independent orders to conduct such operations, but mine are to defend and administer the Bahamas, what?”

“Well, you might at least send a frigate to prowl up the coast of Spanish Florida, now and again,” Lewrie suggested, wishing that he could cross the fingers of his right hand for luck that such searches and intimidation might continue. “Just t’keep ’em lookin’ over their shoulders, perhaps send someone to make a port call at Savannah, too, to see if the death of a Mister Edward Treadwell spelled the end of the Tybee Roads Company. Our Consul there, a Mister Hereford, is an ass, but he might know
something
of it.”

“The man’s dead, do you say?” Grierson asked, sounding bored.

“He was there in the Saint Mary’s River, the morning of our raid, sir,” Lewrie explained. “Caught red-handed, as it were. We were takin’ fire from both sides of the river, the Spanish, and the neutral American … musket-fire, mostly … and he was fleein’ up-river in one of his barges. He took a shot at us with a Pennsylvania rifle and had to stand up to load, and I shot him.”

“You … with a musket?” Grierson spluttered, un-believing. “At what range?”

“About an hundred and fifty yards, sir. With one of Major Patrick Ferguson’s breech-loadin’
rifled
muskets,” Lewrie took a secret delight in relating. “A souvenir from the American Revolution that I got from my brothers-in-law who were officers in a Loyalist North Carolina regiment outfitted by their father with Fergusons.

“I hit Treadwell a bit lower than I meant,” Lewrie went on with a grin, “just below the waist-band of his trousers ’stead of in his chest, but good enough for ‘fatal’. He lived long enough t’tell me what he’d done with the passengers and crews off the prizes before he died … horribly.”

“Aha, I see,” Grierson commented, all but goggling at Lewrie.

“With Treadwell out of the business, there’s sure t’be others who might be tempted, sir,” Lewrie continued. “It was too profitable a scheme t’let pass. Even a slow cruise outside the Three Mile Limit but close enough t’show British colours might be enough to daunt any who might revive the scheme.”

“I will
consider
that,” Grierson warily allowed.

“If you do, sir, I cannot recommend Lieutenant Peter Darling of the
Thorn
brigantine, Lieutenant Tristan Bury of the
Lizard
sloop, Lieutenant Oliver Lovett of the
Firefly
sloop highly, enough. All three of ’em are as smart as paint, know the coasts and inlets like the backs of their hands by now, and are as eager t’get at the foe as so many starvin’ tigers. During our service together, they’ve all acquired larger boats for the odd raid into the inlets, and behind the barrier islands. Of course, when we staged our amphibious raids; they had
Reliant
’s Marines to go with them, but their sailors are very familiar with the work, and can pull them off.”

“Hmmm … I perhaps could spare some smaller vessels, now and again,” Grierson uncomfortably allowed, frowning. He called for his servant to fetch him a fresh glass of wine. “Such duties would be a nice change of pace for some of the sloops and cutters relegated so far to drearier chores, down-island.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Lewrie gently tried to object, “but Darling, Bury, and Lovett are used to working together as a team, and a fine one they are. When I was off on diplomatic port calls, they were perfectly capable of playing merry Hell with the Spanish, taking several prizes on their own. It’d be a shame did you break them up and—”

“Did you teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Captain Lewrie?” Grierson snapped of a sudden, glowering up.

“I only knew the one on my mother’s side, sir, and she was perfectly capable of sucking eggs with no instructions from me, nor anyone else,” Lewrie responded, stung by the sudden change in Commodore Grierson’s demeanour.

By God, I knew he didn’t much care for
me,
but he don’t much care for advice, either?
Lewrie thought;
No more “Sir Alan” politeness?

“Sir, you are impertinent!” Grierson gravelled.

“You summoned me to explain the tactical situation and the best use of ships under your command, sir,” Lewrie replied, trying not to take umbrage … openly, at least. “I mean to lend you my experience in the Bahamas, and what I’ve learned in my previous time here, along with what has transpired in the last few months. To ignore the risk to shipping by privateers would be remiss.
I
would be remiss, rather.”

“You may leave the particulars with me, Lewrie, and I shall take it all under study,” Grierson stiffly said, “but, as we both understand, I am now the senior officer in the Bahamas, and every ship comes under
my
command. If I deem your recent actions against enemy privateers successful, then your previous orders, and the necessity of your little squadron, are moot, and I will do with them what I may.”

“But of course, sir,” Lewrie said, his face set in stone.

“Which means that you and your frigate come under my command, as well, Captain Lewrie,” Grierson said, shooting to his feet, ending the meeting, and Lewrie had to rise as well, his hat under his arm.

“Very good, sir,” Lewrie said, sketching a wee bow in parting.

“Which means,” Grierson continued with a cold smile, still not making a move to see Lewrie to the doors, “that I may do with
you
as I will, and you must haul down that inferior broad pendant of yours.”

“I understand that very well, sir,” Lewrie replied with a cock of his head, refusing to lose his temper to this … arse!

“You may consider yourself dismissed, Captain Lewrie. You may go,” Grierson told him in a snooty way, looking down his long nose.

I should’ve known better than t’try humour on a man like
him, Lewrie chid himself as he made his goodbye to Lt. Hayes, who was still on the quarterdeck, and who saw him to the entry-port;
There’s some people so “tetchy”’bout their bloody honour and
prestige
that a gay “good morning” will put ’em in a sour mood!

Once in his boat and being rowed back to his frigate, Lewrie wondered whether he should “sing small” round Grierson from then on, or do something that would row him beyond all temperance. He could not abide serving under such an arrogant bastard for long, and he knew himself well enough to realise that his own patience was not everlasting. Sooner or later, there would be a blow-up.

Get him so irked, he’d be glad t’see the back o’ me, and send me very far away?
Lewrie pondered;
There’ll be lots o’ drink sloshin’ at the ball tonight. Maybe that’s where t’make a start.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Despite Commodore Grierson’s unfortunate little jest that had frightened the good citizens of Nassau Town and New Providence Island so badly, they would not have, at that moment, trusted their own arses with a fart, the new Senior Naval Officer Commanding in the Bahamas
had
to be welcomed and regaled with an introductory supper and grand ball, no matter the personal feelings of the aforesaid citizens, who had at last regained their accustomed aplomb, and were back to business. The Governor-General, hoping perhaps that the new Commodore had fired the
last
shot from his humour locker, staged the affair at Crown expense, a cost which he would try to get underwritten by the better-off of the aforesaid good citizens, or justify to His Majesty’s Government.

Lewrie took pains to sponge off, shave closely, and wait until the very last minute to dress that early evening, so he would not end soaked in perspiration before he combed his hair or left his cabins for the deck. He despised the new style of slipper-like shoes, but he had a good, mostly un-used pair of buckled shoes with coin-silver buckles, into which he stuck his silk-stockinged feet. His breeches were snow-white new, his waist-coat with gilt buttons just as pristine, and his shirt and carefully pressed neck-stock were of silk, as well, stowed at the bottom of one of his sea-chests for such rare occasions. Over the waist-coat, his steward, Pettus, draped the broad blue sash of his knighthood. Lastly, just before departure, Pettus offered him his best-dress uniform coat with the silver and enamelled star of the Order of The Bath pinned to the left breast. Pettus had carefully brushed it earlier, then hung it from a peg driven into one of the overhead deck beams, so the cats, Toulon and Chalky, could not roll on it and mark it with fur. One gold medal hung from a button hole on a ribbon, for his participation in the Battle of Camperdown. Dangling just over the vee of the waist-coat hung another on a pale blue ribbon; that’un was for being at the Battle of Cape St. Vincent.

“You look champion, sir,” Pettus told him as he held up a small mirror from the wash-hand stand so Lewrie could preen a bit, and sweep hair back on both sides of his head. At his nape there was a sprig of hair, neatly tied with black ribbon and no more than three inches long.

Styles were changing, and there were many younger officers who eschewed even a hint of sailor’s queues, deeming them old-fashioned, or best worn by the common seamen up forward, as a mark of class difference. Lewrie’s had been shortened over the years, and he suspected that some-day he might lop his off, too, but not yet.

“Just keep the cats from leapin’ on me ’til I’m in the boat,” Lewrie told Pettus with a laugh. He donned the offered hat, a cocked one with a wide gold lace band round the outer edges, with the gilded button, loops of gold lace, and the fanned black silk cockade over the left eye, the “dog’s vane”. “And I hope someone’s either leashed our dog out o’ the way, or wiped his paws.”

“I’ll see you to the entry-port and keep a weather eye peeled for Bisquit, sir,” Pettus offered.

Thankfully, Bisquit was below with the hands who were just then getting their boiled meat from the galley, hoping for the offer of a nibble or two. Once in the boat, Lewrie sat down on a piece of new, un-sullied canvas to protect the seat of his breeches and coat tails from tar or dirt. “Town piers, Desmond!” he cheerfully ordered.

*   *   *

All the wide double doors and windows of Government House, up Market Street from the piers, were thrown open, and yellow light glowed from within from hundreds of candles. A small batch of liveried musicians were playing light, and somewhat muted, airs to entertain guests as they arrived, were announced, and welcomed inside to stroll and socialise before the supper was announced.