“Tomorrow, we raid the Danish Virgins,” Treghues said.
“But they’s neutral, sir,” Monk said in the buzz of excitement that followed Treghues’ pronouncement.
“Aye, they are, Mister Monk. Neutral, but culpable,” Treghues said wryly. “Admiral Rodney was most clever to seize St. Eustatius, and keep the Dutch flag flying. He took over one hundred fifty ships intent on running our blockade. But now the word is out and that traffic has shifted to other harbors. At first the Danes winked at privateers using their islands, and the local governors had little military force to control the traffic. We complained diplomatically, and they ordered belligerents and smugglers to move their operations to Puerto Rico or Cuba, but they never seem to put any teeth in those orders as long as the privateers are subtle about their doings. Now our job is to stage a lightning raid as though we are part of the ships based on Tortola, and put the fear of God and the Royal Navy into these people, scour them until they concentrate somewhere else, and force the Danes to play fair.”
“Most clever,” Forrester said loud enough for Treghues to hear him, which brought a smile from their captain.
“By first light Roebuck and Amphion, with local pilots, shall be far enough down the Drake’s Passage to look into Coral Bay on St. John, and then run down to the west and snap up everything that moves off the port of Charlotte Amalie,” Treghues went on, using a pair of brass dividers to sketch a course, tapping at the great hurricane hole and bay on the southeast coast of St. John, which island had been made desolate by a slave rebellion years before and pretty much left to go to ruin.
“We shall enter the open waters south of the island of St. Thomas, and head for the island of St. Croix.”
Everyone leaned a little closer to look at the western end of the Drake Passage, which was littered with rocks, possible shoals and the mark of a wreck or two.
“Mister Monk advises the Flanagan Passage for us, south of the island of the same name,” Treghues continued. “Vixen shall lead our little flotilla and shall be inshore of us, off Christiansted, going no closer than two leagues to avoid entering Danish waters. We shall be farther offshore snapping up one prize after another. Coming from the east as we shall be, with the sun behind us, with the Trade Winds behind us and with the westerly-setting tide flow, we can catch anything at sea. All ships and prizes shall concentrate here, later in the day, off the island of Vieques in the Passage Group, to the east of Puerto Rico.”
“This’ll be a bitch, sir,” Monk said, scratching at his scruffy chin. “Drake Passage is as lumpy as a country road. Now, there’s twenty-four to twenty-five fathoms, safe as houses, down Drake’s Passage. It’s here off Norman Island, it gets tricky. The chart don’t show it but somewhere off the point here nor-nor’west o’ Pelican there’s a shoal with a deep channel between that an’ another shoal. There’s deep water between Flanagan an’ The Indians an’ Ringdove Rock, ’bout fourteen-fathom at high tide. An’ ya can’t go too far inshore o’ Peter Island to avoid the shoals. I’d feel my way down with the fores’ls, spanker an’ forecourse, an’ keep the tops’ls at three reefs until we’re in the clear.”
“We shall be following Commander Ozzard,” Treghues said, disliking the advice. “So I think we should not have too much difficulty.”
“But if he sets on one o’ them shoals, sir…”
“We shall depend on your skill to guide us, Mister Monk,” Treghues said, moving on to other matters. “Prize crews. First will be Forrester and a bosun’s mate … Weems, I think, and ten hands, if she’s big. Next, Avery and Mister Feather. We’ll be in deep water, so the third crew will be Mister Monk, young Carey, and some men, depending on her size. Lieutenant Peck, if you should be so good as to provide four private Marines to each prize, in full kit to cow any resistance, I would be much obliged.”
“Delighted, sir,” Peck said. It was rare that his Marines had a chance to wear their scarlet uniforms at sea; usually they were dressed in slop clothing much like the hands, to save wear and tear.
“Should we be so incredibly fortunate as to take a fourth ship as a prize, I shall send the first lieutenant and Mr. Toliver, which will still leave me a master’s mate aboard. Bosun, see that each crew has a quartermaster’s mate or senior hand able to steer, and let’s get all our boats down for towing tonight.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
There were a few looks in Lewrie’s direction. He was rated as able to stand as an acting master’s mate, had done so already, in fact, and yet had been pointedly left out of their captain’s reckoning.
“If a chase is too small, burn it. We can also ignore the many local fishing boats unless they seem to be heavily loaded, or act suspiciously, or show too many white faces.”
“What about putting captives overboard, sir?” Railsford asked.
“Any ship engaged in illicit trade, you may spare the blacks, Danes and neutrals. But any belligerent nationals, and especially any American rebels, or rogue Englishmen, be sure to retain so they may be taken to court for their activities. The French, Spanish and Dutch deserve to be placed in chains, as do any rebels. And any Englishman partaking in this business deserves to hang for treason.”
* * *
By first light Lewrie was on the gun deck below the gangways, swaying uncomfortably as the squadron seemed to fly down the Sir Francis Drake Passage. The Trades were steady and blowing quite fresh. With the wind nearly dead aft it never felt like they were making much gain over the ground since they had no noticeable breeze. The only way to judge was to stand on a gun breech or the jear bitts and watch the many isles and rocks slide past. There was a heavy chop in the passage, six-foot waves seemingly about six feet apart, and the frigate’s four hundred fifty tons thumped and pounded through them, flinging spray halfway up the jibs.
The crew had gone through the motions of dawn Quarters, the daily scrubbing of decks, like automatons, but now there was a tingle of excitement in the air as they stood easy to their guns. They were piped below to their breakfasts but didn’t stay below long and came back up still chewing, to stow their hammocks and resume their waiting among the artillery.
“Mister Railsford, I’ll have chain slings rigged aloft on the yards,” Treghues ordered, finding work for them to do in the meantime. “Bosun, lay out the boarding nettings and prepare for hoisting.”
Lewrie had been on the quarterdeck earlier and had gotten a good look at Mr. Monk’s chart, much marked and doodled on from his years of experience in these waters. He could recognize Norman Island off their larboard bow, could spot the hump that was Pelican Island.
The locations of those two shoals, of which Monk was so leery, were shadowy guesses in dark pencil markings, and Alan tried to triangulate a possible way to avoid them.
About five cables ahead of them, half a mile, Vixen tiptoed her way a little closer inshore, and Desperate leaned slightly as she wore to follow her around. The leadsmen were alternating tossing the lead from either foremast chain platform, calling out their soundings, which had remained stable at twenty-four or twenty-five fathoms. Desperate drew nearly three, so she was still safe if the charts were right, though that was a big if. Farther ahead and off to starboard a little, Amphion and Roebuck were threading the gap between Flanagan Island and Privateer Point and would soon be able to look into the deep bay which might shelter enemy merchantmen or a privateer ship or two.
“God Almighty, he’s found a shoal!” Monk shouted, and Alan took a peek over the bows. Vixen was wearing almost due south, coming about hard and beginning to heel to the stiff breeze.