"Silver?" Nicely goggled. "A whole shipload o-?"
"Coined silver, sir," Lewrie said, rising to his feet, despite the protestations of his cats. Chalky, younger and spryer, took hold of his trousers at the left knee and scaled him like a tree trunk. "We… ow!… heard rumours in New Orleans the sum might be at least one or two millions. Spanish dollars to British pounds'd be… "
"Jesus bloody Christ!" Capt. Nicely breathed in awe. "And you think you know where they're bound, sir?" he further asked, his mouth moving afterwards in a silent mumble of numbers-juggling. "Five hundred thousand bloody pounds? "
"I do, sir," Lewrie said with a sly smile, with Chalky draped over his unbuttoned waist-coat, and going for his shoulder as agile and intent as a squirrel. "Where they'll likely be, if they're not at… owl, stop that, Chalky, damn ye… if they're not at sea seekin' the booty this instant, sir."
Lewrie looked down as he felt claws on his right leg as Toulon gathered himself for a (clumsy) ascent of his own. Lewrie knelt to let the heavier, older cat have his other shoulder, to spare himself a few more bleeding nicks. Toulon nuzzled, head-butted, and snorted, whilst Chalky went in for more playful love-nips. Needless to say, both were purring as loud and rattly as carriage wheels on street cobbles. "For what I have in mind, sir, we'll need to retain the shalope. She's very shallow draught, and can go… ow!"
"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 chichees 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…