"Proudly commissioned in Savannah, Captain Lewrie, suh," Capt. Randolph told him with a warm smile, "an' named f r one of your English lords, James Oglethorpe, who founded th' Georgia colony, he said in addition, and in a liquid drawl even rounder and deeper than South Carolinian McGilliveray's, were such a thing possible.
"And ya know what they say, Randolph," McGilliveray japed him, "that all the rogues went t'Georgia', ha ha!"
"Proud of it, suh, proud of it!" Randolph happily rejoined.
"And Captains Ezekiel Crowninshield and Gabriel Crowninshield, McGilliveray continued, indicating a pair of stouter and younger men who were, at first glance, as alike as a pair of book-ends; gingery-
haired and florid. "Their schooners are outta Mystic, Connecticut, magnificent and fast sailers, the Iroquois and the Algonquin."
"Twins, as well, sirs?" Lewrie asked of them after a greeting.
"Built side-by-side in the same yard, Captain Lewrie," he was gladly told in a much harsher "Down-East Yankee" nasal twang. "First swam within a week of each other, too." One brother said.
"Raced him hyuh," the other boasted. "Beat him all hollow."
"And last but not least," McGilliveray said further, "Captain Grant, off the Sarah and Jane. Captain Grant, Captain Lewrie, of the Proteus frigate."
"Your servant, sir," Lewrie politely said, though the name was nagging at him; the ship and her captain, both, as he stepped closer to take Grant's hand. "Oh! 'Tis you, sir. Well met, again."
"Why, bless my soul, if it ain't that little pop-in-jay laddy, who gave me so much grief in the Bahamas!" Grant exclaimed. "Ruint a whole cargo o' Caicos salt on me, too… eighty-six, was it? Just a Lieutenant, then, ye were, in yer little converted bomb-ketch…?"
"Alacrity, Captain Grant," Lewrie supplied him. "But, then… you'd not have lost so dearly, had you obeyed the Navigation Acts and steered wide o' me. And the salt wouldn't have been used for bulwarks and your ship not commandeered as bait if you'd stayed in the Turks Islands and testified 'gainst Calico Jack Finney's pirates as I asked you to." Lewrie still held Grant's hand, though they were done shaking; his smile could have been mistaken for courteous, but there was a definite frost to his voice.
"Well, we live an' learn, do we not, Captain Lewrie," Grant at last said with a wintry smile of his own, almost pulling himself free.
"We do, indeed, sir," Lewrie replied.
"Whatever happened t'Calico Jack Finney?" Grant had to enquire.
"I chased him into Charleston harbour and killed the bastard," Lewrie told him in a casual, off-hand way, still grinning.
"Dear Lord, that was you, Captain Lewrie?" Capt. McGilliveray said with a gasp of wonder. "Why, I watched the whole thing from the Battery! My my my, will wonders never cease. That we've crossed each other's hawses, if ya will, more than once. In so many things, well!"
"Life is funny that way, aye, Captain McGilliveray, I grant ye," Lewrie answered, glad to turn his direction and dismiss Grant.
"Ever'body says that," Capt. Randolph of the Oglethorpe mused. "but usually with long faces when they do," he japed, solemn-faced.
"If you'll have a seat and join us, Captain Lewrie. A glass of something cool? We've cold tea, or…" McGilliveray offered.
"Cold tea'd be capital, thankee, sir," Lewrie said as he seated himself. "I take it that you were discussing some matter concerning a mercantile nature, sirs?"
"Missing ships, sir," McGilliveray intoned as his cabin servant fetched Lewrie a tall tumbler of tea, with the unheard-of luxury of a chunk of ice in it!
"Walsham, Massachusetts," one of the Crowninshields boasted to him. "The Dons an' the Dutchies're mad for th' stuff, our New England ice. Can't pack it outta the Andes mountains 'fore it melts, I guess. Mule train's too slow."
"Too-small packets, 'Zekiel," the other Crowninshield quibbled. "Has t'be stowed in bulk, in chaff an' sawdust outta sunlight. Keeps itself frozen, ya see."
"We've lost a ship, mebbe two," the brother Lewrie now knew to name Ezekiel baldly announced, stealing McGilliveray's "thunder," as the Yankee Doodles would say in their colourfully colloquial way.
"Down South," the one dubbed Gabriel stuck in. "Sailed behind us. Had 'em in sight for a piece…"
"Older schooners. Slower'n ours," Ezekiel chimed in. "And we were racin' each other, like I said, so we sailed 'em under. Mohican was t'put in at Saint Lucia, but that'd only delay her two days or so, no more, and…"
"And Chippewa was t'come inta Roseau t'meet us," Gabriel grumbled, "but we've laid over almost a week now, and there's neither hide nor hair o' either one of 'em, Cap'm Lewrie, and we're getting worried, I'll lay ya. Coasted up hyuh t'ask of 'em, but…"
"Powerful worried," Ezekiel Crowninshield butted in. "Wasn't a speck o' foul weather on our passage, and nary even a squall astern of us did we see t'upset 'em."
"Trusted, salty masters and mates, good an' true Mystic lads in the crews, too, so…" Gabriel Crowninshield interrupted, shrugging in mystification.
"So, no mutiny or buccaneering," Lewrie surmised, sipping at his tea, already suspecting the worst.
"Gentlemen, I fear that those ships have been taken by French cruisers," Lewrie was forced to tell them. "When I took my prize last night, we learned some things from our prisoners. That captain of whom I spoke, Captain McGilliveray, that Guillaume Choundas? We took away his best frigate a few weeks ago, but he still commands two corvettes and now has converted a schooner and a brig as privateers, and our captives told us he'd sent 'em South, to prey on American ships in particular. To hurt your commerce as sorely as you've hurt theirs. And make himself and their Governor-General, Victor Hugues, a pile of 'tin.' If he can't challenge American warships round Hispaniola, and further up North, he intended to put all four vessels to sea beyond your immediate reach, and purge you from the oceans, as you made passage home with all those rich cargoes of yours. Sorry."
And who 'd prefer lumber, ice, and barrel staves to sugar, coffee, and cocoa? Lewrie thought, scorning American exports and the products of their limited industries. Well, they do ship rum, and decent beer!
"Onliest place they can take 'em is Guadeloupe!" Captain Grant spluttered, breaking the stunned, sad silence following Lewrie's revelation. "Bless my soul, can't ya blockade 'em, can ya not dash back an'… try to…"
"Intercept 'em, ayup," one of the Crowninshields supplied.
"Aye, intercept 'em," Grant gravelled. "Catch 'em before they fetch 'em into Basse-Terre or Pointe-a-Pitre. Get word t'your other warships, Cap'm Lewrie. Ya can't be th' only frigate in these parts!"
"Three days, into the teeth of the Trades to Antigua, and then what, sirs?" Lewrie demanded, spreading his hands at the futility. "I am heartily sorry for your losses, gentlemen, but do I haunt either or both harbours in hopes of re-capturing your ships, any Americans taken as prizes, I'm not fulfilling my proper duty. Better I…"
"Damn my eyes, Lewrie!" Grant exploded. "And here I thought ya were a fire-eatin' scrapper!"
"Better I take Proteus South, sir," Lewrie reiterated with his teeth on edge, "for do I lurk close inshore of Guadeloupe for weeks, what's happening to a dozen, two dozen other American merchantmen down South? How many ships will make it here to form a convoy, if the damn' French are free to run riot? Nossirs… I'm away down the Windwards, this very evening, as far as Caracas if I must."
"Sumter'll clear port, as well, sir," Capt. McGilliveray vowed. "Randolph, you want to take charge here, and wait for the promised frigate t'come in? Or would ya prefer t'sail in company with me and find a proper fight for a change?"
"Let our consul keep an eye on things here, Cap'm McGilliveray " Capt. Randolph cried, leaping to his feet (though careful not to knock his head on the overhead beams or planking), "for sure as there's God in his Heaven, my sword, my right arm, and my ship are yours! I'd be that eager t'show those swaggerin' Monsoors what it's like to tangle with a pack o' Georgia wildcats! Bring 'em on… yee-hah!" he ended with a shout, a Red Indian warrior's feral battle-scre
am, that made Lewrie's hackles and nape hairs stand on end.
Aboard Sumter, that howl caused her crew, and Capt. Randolph's boat-crew laying alongside, to raise a screeching wolfs chorus of their own, as they suspected that they would no longer swing idle round the moorings to await the plodding drudgery of convoying, but would be going out to look for a proper stand-up fight, at long last.
"Uhm… given this sudden, and un-looked-for, turn of events," Lewrie carefully began to say, once he had recovered his aplomb, using caution before the unwitting civilians not privy to their government's, or his and McGilliveray's covert arrangement, "and since it is British as well as American merchantmen at peril… and, notwithstanding the lack of a formal pact 'twixt your President and the Crown, perhaps we could, ah… aid each other in our respective searches for the French privateers, Captain McGilliveray?"
"An excellent suggestion, Captain Lewrie," McGilliveray replied, shamming the utmost surprise at such a generous offer. Then, amid the enthusiastic "Huzzahs!" from Randolph and the merchant masters, he gave Lewrie an enigmatic smile, and the tiniest incline of his head as a reward. "I, and my government, stand forever in your debt for your open-handed and cooperative spirit!"
Lost in the cheering and toasting, however, was the fact that no British ships, or very few at most, were in danger; they didn't trade on the Spanish Main or with the Dutch isles, with both nations allies to France!
A toast was raised to Lewrie's alacrity and support, and while it was being drunk, and he posed all disparagingly "Aw, Pshaw" modest, his mind was mildly ascheme.
No matter what Pelham wanted, what his London masters wanted, it made eminent sense, and to the Devil with Saint Domingue and who owned it! America and Great Britain, he marvelled; sworn enemies not fifteen years past. Despite the lingering grievances and distrust created during their Revolution, their burgeoning commercial competition, and rivalry, they were going to war as temporary allies,! on the same side for a blessed once! Could this lead to better things, he speculated?
And what allies they'd make, too! Even if they were so ruled by their enthusiasms, so… un-English in revealing their feelings, such as their screams, howls, and cheers at present.
Well, so was he, when you came right down to it. Wearing a public mask of blase boredom definitely did not become him. In fact, he rather liked the freedom to howl, and wished he possessed it!
Oh, Lord, he thought, Peel's sure t'go off like a bomb!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ah, Captain Lewrie," Peel said after he had gotten back aboard Proteus, and had made it below to his great-cabins. Peel was sitting in the dining-coach, in the middle of writing a letter, to his master Mr. Pelham Lewrie supposed as he tore open his neck-stock, unbuckled his sword belt, and removed his coat. "You're back, at last. I have been meaning to discuss your idea with you… that'un you proposed on deck, yesterday, concerning the, uhm…" Peel enigmatically said with a vague wave of his hand in Aspinall's direction.
"Oh, yes?" Lewrie responded, feigning idle interest, and making his face a placid Englishman's mask again. "I'd relish a ginger beer, Aspinall, there's a good fellow. The Americans served cold tea when I was aboard Sumter just now."
"The decoction in which I indulge, sir," Mr. Peel told him, all chirpy and pleasant, as if yesterday's bitter argument hadn't happened.
Lewrie answered, "With ice, sir. The Yankees still had a small supply of their Massachusetts ice aboard. Worth its weight in gold with the Dons, one of their merchant masters informed me." He took a seat at the table, across from Peel.
"I am suddenly jealous, sir!" Peel said with a groan of envy at the prospect, and made a moue of faint distaste at his mug of tea. I suppose we shall not see the like 'til the first American traders call at Kingston next spring, alas."
"Yer beer, sir," Aspinall said, fetching Lewrie a foaming mug.
"Thankee, Aspinall, that'll be all for a bit," Lewrie said with a brief smile. "Do you take a turn on deck and get some air. Cabins are stuffy, God knows, even with the canvas chutes rigged."
"Aye, sir, and I will," his man-servant replied, departing with a long hank of spun-yarn he quickly fetched from what was left of his tiny day-pantry, so he could continue his sennet-work.
"So, you've considered the idea, have you, Mister Peel?" Lewrie said once they were alone. He could not show as much keen interest in what Peel decided, for, frankly, the developments aboard Sumter had made the quickly spun scheme quite fly his head. He could sham renewed interest, though… and trust that fear of rejection would explain a lack of greater enthusiasm in his demeanour.
"I have, sir," Peel stated. "Once I had, uhm… cooled off a bit, d'ye see?" He made another moue, tossed off a shrug, and chuckled softly. "And I've come to the conclusion that encouraging Choundas in imagining that he's a traitor in his vicinity is actually a rather neat piece of mis-direction… one which I am sure that Mister Pelham would approve, were he here. One, frankly, which he might have dreamt up himself, was he privy to the intelligence we just discovered."
"Excellent!" Lewrie crowed, slapping the dining table with his open palm. "Capital! And I am certain that you've concocted a scheme for getting our prisoners back to Guadeloupe, and blabbing what you wish to Choundas. It'll be a clever bit, knowing you, Mister Peel. More subtle than any / could have come up with on short notice. Mean t'say," Lewrie gushed, then paused, thinking that he was laying on the praise a bit too thick for Peel to credit, so soon after their howling snit. He had a very large and heavy "shoe" which he was about to drop on the long-suffering bastard's head, after all, and it would be nice to agree on something, anything!, before dropping it.
"Well, sir," Peel continued, though he did pause a bit, himself, to give Lewrie the tiniest chary look. "Captain Haljewin was the one sprung the idea of a spy on Choundas, from what I gathered whilst interrogating the man. Haljewin had bags of unguarded time since his capture to converse with the French captain and his mates, as separate interrogations with them revealed. They are all now convinced that someone on Guadeloupe betrayed them to us last night, and I was careful to leave them with the impression that they weren't far wrong… without actually confirming the existence of a spy, or spies. But neither did I go out of my way to deny it, d'ye see, Captain Lewrie!"
Let him have joy of it, Lewrie thought; preen gladsome, for now.
"During my interrogations, I also discovered that Choundas has a rather small, but trusted, staff," Peel went on almost happily, in his element, privy to things Lewrie didn't know, and glad to impart them "There's a Captain Griot, commanding a corvette name of Le Gascon A Breton, and you know what stock Choundas puts in his ancient Celts and Veneti warriors… men of the ancient blood, and all."
"God, yes," Lewrie agreed. "Mad for 'em."
"His other corvette is commanded by a Captain MacPherson, one of those emigre Scots who fled after the Battle of Culloden. He was born in France, but his parents were minor Scots aristocracy. Most-like landed gentry, in the 'squirearchy' with but dim and distant relation to a proper 'laird.' In France, though, 'til the Revolution, they were awarded the title of Chevalier. Or, bought it. King Louis's court at Versailles was as corrupt as the Ottoman Turks'. But, Captain MacPherson is Catholic! A breast-beater of the staunchest sort, hmm?"
"A fallen aristo, and a Papist, to boot?" Lewrie said with a chuckle. "That'd make him doubly suspect to the Directory in Paris… all the anti-religion cant they spout. There's bishops back home now calling France the Anti-Christ, already. He your choice, then?"
"In a pinch, he'd serve main-well, I do confess," Peel laughed, "though he's reckoned a superb officer and ship-handler. Rather popular with his officers and men. Well thought of, in general."
"Oh well, then," Lewrie said with a shrug, and a sip of beer.
"Should a well-liked and trusted man be labeled a spy and traitor, sir, and were enough proofs manufactured to convince Choundas and Hugues of his guilt," Peel merrily plotted, "the implications of that strike much wider and dee
per than Guadeloupe. Firstly, if a man like MacPherson can't be trusted, then who can? And secondly, would it not set off a frenzy of Jacobin revulsion 'gainst Catholics in France? Or create a Catholic resistance to the Directory, and the Revolution? Do you see the possibilities, sir? They're breathtaking!" Peel exulted.
"Oh!" Lewrie gasped. "It'd set off another Terror, worse than the one of Ninety-three! Half their people'd be witch-findin' among the other half, and everyone'd be suspect. They'd keep their guillotines workin' round the clock!"
"Decimating their officer corps, purging it all over again, of capable people, and promoting the rabid fools most loyal to the Republic from the rear ranks to the officers' mess," Peel chortled in glee as he contemplated the reach of his scheme.
"Turning Ordinary Seamen into Post-Captains," Lewrie added with an evil snicker.
"Aye, he'd do right-wondrous, this MacPherson fellow. But he may be a bit too straight for our purposes," Peel went on. "Choundas maintains a very small staff, as I said. There is his aide-de-camp, his flag-lieutenant I suppose you'd say in naval parlance. Jules Hainaut. A Lieutenant de Vaisseau, now. Just a midshipman, an Aspirant, the last time we dealt with Choundas in the Mediterranean. Recall him, do you?" Peel asked, tongue-in-cheek sly.
"No, not really," Lewrie replied, frowning.
"You should. You captured him," Peel informed him, enjoying a look of surprise on Lewrie's phyz. "Thatch-haired lout, looked like a swineherd? Tattered uniform, all out at elbows and knees?"
"Perhaps," Lewrie had to confess his ignorance. "Can't really say. Hmmm… wasn't Dutch or something, was he? My old clerk Mister Mountjoy had to interview him? Hmmm, it'll come to me."
"The very fellow," Peel insisted. "The sort who'd sell his own mother, did she fetch a good knock-down price, Mister Twigg determined. Parrots the right slogans, toadies with the best of 'em, and fawns on Choundas, so he can trade on his fearsome repute, so the Frog prisoners say. A right bastard, in their opinion, one of the charming rogues. For some reason, though, Choundas has sent him away from him, after near-doting on the young sprog all these years. Appointed him aboard that new auxiliary man o' war schooner, and he's most-like at sea now."
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