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 m pirogues to escape, to lose their pursuers in the maze of coulees 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 Charite, 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," Lewrie 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 / 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."