“Indeed,” Grierson drawled with a dis-believing expression, as if to question his diligence during his temporary command of the Bahamas.
“You may not see many of them ’til they return to Nassau for wood and water, either, sir,” Lewrie explained. “I can vouch for those I’ve worked with, but beyond them…?” he ended with a shrug.
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?