No, it was too much of a risk to take more, especially foreign or large-denomination coins he could never explain. And he could not “discover” it.
God, how awful, he thought. What a hellish dilemma I’ve put myself in. I should put those guineas back and hope for the best part of my legal share. But he didn’t, of course.
* * *
“Stand by, the anchor party,” Lewrie shouted as Ephegenie rounded up into the wind. Shorthanded as they were, they barely sailed farther into English Harbor than under the guns on the point, a single jib standing, and courses already brailed up, and only one tops’l set to draw wind. She was sluggish to turn, barely under steerage-way, but they were home-free.
“Back your tops’l,” Lewrie ordered. “Keep her on the eye of the wind, quartermaster.”
“No helm, sir,” the man said, idling the spokes of the wheel back and forth.
“Let go.” The bower cable roared out the hawse and the anchor splashed into the harbor. “Let go braces and veer out a full cable.”
“Done fine, sir,” Toliver said quietly in encouragement, and Alan felt a relief so great that it was almost like a sexual release. For a week he had been nervous as a cat, unable to sleep with the secret knowledge of the gold, unable to relax with the prize so poorly manned, afraid of making a mistake in managing the ship or losing her to a sudden squall. They had run into rising winds for two days, which had kept him wide awake and mostly on deck. They had run through rain and the threat of foul weather, until the skies had cleared and the Trades had settled down to balmy behavior once more.
Now Ephegenie lay as still as a stone bridge in the lee of the capes, her anchor firm on the bottom, and a boat-full of dockyard men pulling strongly for them to take charge of her.
“I never knew running a ship would be so hard,” Alan confessed to Toliver.
“Shorthanded as we were, it was, sir,” Toliver said but with an assuring tone. “With a full crew, it’s all claret an’ prize money.”
“We were fortunate.” Alan flinched. Did he know…?
“Average sort o’ passage. But I reckon we’d have done just as good in a full gale, sir … Busy damned place, ain’t it?”
“What Railsford carried to Hood must have stirred up the Fleet.”
The harbor was working alive with rowing boats servicing the needs of the many warships anchored in the outer roads. There were several ships of the line that Alan knew had been based on St. Lucia to the south. There were three 3rd Rates in a row warping themselves out of the inner harbor up the row of pilings getting ready for sea, an entire fleet of fourteen sail-of-the-line, preparing for something.
And here was a midshipman with twenty dockyard hands from the Admiralty Court. Were they there to arrest him for theft? The midshipman was elegantly turned out, his breeches and waistcoat and shirt as white as a hammockman could bleach them, his mien serious and superior, and Alan recognized himself from times before with a grin.
“Who is in charge of the prize, may I ask?” the midshipman asked with a lofty accent.
“I am,” Alan said firmly, almost swaggering in his stained and faded uniform. “I expect you want the manifests and ship’s papers. I have them aft.”
“Very well,” the other man said. He was a full man, over twenty and possibly passed for lieutenant already, or an aristocratic coxcomb too stupid to pass it. “Much bother?”
“Not after we took her.” Lewrie shrugged. “Hard fight.”
Alan led him to the master’s cabins, made generous with the claret while the other midshipman went through the papers.
“Has the Desperate frigate come in?” Alan asked casually. “Is she still here? I should like to rejoin my ship if possible.”
“Yes, she’s here, farther up the roads,” the midshipman said as he mumbled his way through the French manifests. “If you would sign this I shall take possession of the prize for the Court of Admiralty and you may leave her. You may use my boat and crew to remove your people.”
“Gladly.”
“Much of a fight?” the other asked, trying not to sound too curious but itching to know, in spite of how much it might irk.
“A company of line infantry from a French regiment … Soissonois. A full battery of artillerymen, plus her crew, of course. Hot work for a while, our captain wounded and already nearly forty hands short from other prizes,” Alan said with ease, as though it were an everyday occurrence. “There’re big doings up in the Americas. Might be a big land battle soon, and Hood seems to be getting ready to face DeGrasse, too.”
The other midshipman by then was looking crushed to be a shore stallion, resentful of being denied the chance to live such a grand life.
“Is that all you need from me?” Alan asked with a wave.
“Yes … quite.”
“Then I shall take my leave of you. I’d like a brace of hands to help with my chest, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly!” the other said through pursed lips.
* * *
It was a delight to climb through the entry port and doff his hat to Lieutenant Railsford, to see all the familiar faces back aboard, to see his chest safely swayed up with a stay-tackle and thump to the deck without spilling gold or jingling.
“Welcome back aboard, Mister Lewrie,” Railsford said pleasantly. “How was your first real command?”
“Hectic, sir. I don’t believe I slept a wink,” he confessed.
“Good training for you. We’re going north as eyes for the Fleet. Hood himself received me. Already knew from Admiral Graves that something was up and was getting ready to sail for New York, but our news was welcome, nonetheless.”
“Did we get all our people back, sir?” Alan asked as they went aft.
“Yes, fortunately. We shall need them.”
“And Commander Treghues?”
“Recovering. Once he was lucid, I explained what good service you had rendered, but…” Railsford shrugged.
“At least he allowed me to rejoin,” Alan said quietly.
“After Hood learned it was you discovered those secret papers, he had little choice. I wrote the report before Dorne would allow him to deal with ship’s business.”
“God bless you, Mister Railsford,” Alan said with feeling, and wanting to watch the progress of his valuables below but forced to stay on deck.
“Now, what about the gold?”
“What?” Lewrie almost jumped out of his skin.
“That French War Commissary officer, remember?” Railsford said. “Before he died he revealed that the prize’s master had thousands in gold hidden in his cabins somewhere, for Rochambeau and Lafayette.”
“In the cabins?” Alan was about to faint in terror. “But I slept there. I mean—”
“It was well hidden. Even the late colonel knew not where,” Railsford went on. “Bribe money to certain well-placed rebel political leaders, he said, to give France influence enough to ask for one of the southern coastal colonies should the rebels succeed in their aims. Reward for all their help.”
“My word, what a dirty business,” Alan declared, finding his wits at last. “I can see them taking British Florida, but—”
“And you slept soundly and did not suspect a thing! It might have been right underneath your head!”
Or other bodily parts, Alan thought. “How much? Did the man say before he passed over?”
“He did not have an accurate count, but he believed it to be greater than fifty thousand pounds. And I’ll lay you any odds you want that the Admiralty Court will have her torn down to a pile of timbers until they find it. Just think what our share will be, even diluted by the other ships in sight when we took the prize!”