Reefs and Shoals

by Dewey Lambdin

  “Male, is he? Not going to come in heat?” Lewrie asked.

  “Aye, sir, a male,” Munsell replied, sounding more hopeful.

  “There’s worse creatures carried aboard ships, I suppose. We had a mongoose the Marines had found aboard my old frigate, Proteus.” Lewrie allowed. “Captain Speaks and his damned parrot. He’ll need meat. He can’t live on porridge, cheese, and wormed bisquit.”

  Lewrie looked about the deck in thought, noting that his crew seemed to be hanging on his decision, as well. He was the victim of a pacific mutiny! A friendly and playful dog would be the pet of the entire ship, not just the Midshipmen’s mess, and they were all aware of its presence days before.

  What’s the harm? Lewrie asked himself.

  “’Til we can obtain more, I’ve jerked meat and hard sausages for my cats, aft,” Lewrie said at last. “I can contribute to feeding him, somewhat. As I’m sure the ship’s people will be willing to hand over beef and pork bones, ’stead of casting them over the side.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Munsell exclaimed.

  “God help ye, ye flea-ridden mutt, but I suppose you’re ours,” Lewrie decided, leaning down to pet the dog, which set off a frenzied and playful reaction. It even rolled over to have its belly rubbed!

  “We’ll take good care of him, sir, and he won’t be in the way,” Rossyngton vowed.

  “Just keep him off the quarterdeck, and away from my cats,” Lewrie cautioned.

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  Lewrie gave it one last patting, then went aft to the door to his great-cabins.

  “No, Bisquit!” he heard Munsell say.

  Lewrie turned back to see the dog squatting to take a shit in gratitude.

  “And clean all that up!” Lewrie barked.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Days later, Reliant and her little squadron struck the coast of Cuba, and the Old Bahama Channel, near Bahía de Nuevitas, and turned West-Nor’westerly to run up the deeps of the channel, skirting close ashore of Spanish Cuba, keeping an eye out for enemy shipping or privateers.

  Lewrie regretted that he didn’t have enough bottoms to maintain a close blockade of the Cuban coast, for, as Columbus had discovered long before, there were hundreds of places for privateers or warships to lurk behind the fringe cays, and in the many “pocket” harbours and bays that stretched from Nuevitas almost to Havana. There was Bahía de Jigüey, fronted and shielded from the sea by Cayo Guajaba, Cayo Cruz, and Cayo Romano. Bahía de Perros was also fronted by Cayo Coco to the West of Cayo Romano; even further West lay Bahía de Buena Vista and Cayo Santa Maria and Cayo Fragoso.

  To satisfy his curiosity, and to assure that French and Spanish privateers were not using those havens, Lewrie took his squadron West up the Nicholas Channel, well South of Cay Sal Bank, along the long scattering of the Archipiélago de Sabana, which consisted of umpteen hundreds of cays, with so many channels and inlets between them that a foe could dash from one end to the next and pick any he wished to make an escape. And, by the time that they had peeked into Bahía de Santa Clara, Bahía de Cárdenas, and Cayo Blanco, Lewrie was even further convinced that Cuba’s North coast badly needed patrolling. He had not seen another British warship in all that time; not ’til they came level with the much larger and deeper Bahía de Matanzas, and the approaches to Havana did they come across a pair of sloops of war which stood off to form a weak blockading force!

  Letters to Admiralty, soonest, Lewrie determined; My Lords may I humbly submit … and all that blather. Hmm … fire one off to Forrester, too, and if he don’t act on it, he just might end up appearin’ damned idle, and dangerously remiss!

  His shallow-draught ships had cruised as close to the coast as they could go, and the biggest vessels they had reported had been two or three two-masted fishing boats, no bigger than fifty feet or so overall, and they had quickly scuttled through the nearest inlets to shelter behind the cays. Perhaps they were coastal traders from Havana or Matanzas that peddled needles and thread and such to the scattered and isolated coastal or island villages. Lewrie imagined that Spain had never put much money back into her colonies after extracting so much wealth; if there was one decent road the whole length of Cuba’s north shore, he would be mightily surprised! Plus, it was a given that cartage by road in mule- or ox-drawn waggons was much slower than carriage by sea, and the tonnage of goods shipped was always greater aboard a merchantman.

  What else had his sloops reported? Dozens and dozens of fishing boats, everything from small jolly boat–sized rowboats to one-masted launches, all of them scrofulous in the extreme but capable of panicky speed on their dashes to shelter behind the cays, some in so much fear that they had abandoned their buoyed nets! Though the squadron still was in need of more boats, they had not been able to capture any. The best they had done was to upset a few poor traders’ schedules and ruin a great many fishermen’s catches!

  All in all, perhaps prowling the coast of Florida was the easier task, Lewrie concluded, after comparing charts of the coasts. While he was sure that someone would have to pay a closer watch on Cuba, Lewrie was a bit relieved that that someone would not be him. That would be a task worthy of Hercules … with eagle-eyed Argus thrown in for good measure!

  * * *

  “It isn’t well surveyed at all, sir,” Mr. Caldwell, the Sailing Master, glumly informed Lewrie as the squadron stood in close to scout Key West. “Once behind the cay, I doubt even Firefly could find sufficient depth of water.”

  “And the charts upon which we depend are copies made from Spanish charts, sir,” Lt. Westcott added, “and God only knows how long ago the Dons drew them up, and what’s changed in the meantime.”

  Even without his telescope, Lewrie could see the changes in the colours of the waters. There were steel-blue patches indicating deep water, surrounded by brighter aquamarine, with the aquamarine shading to bright green or milky jade-green nearer the shore of the key. The waves that broke upon it that early morning seemed as lazy as a wind-driven lake’s waves; there was no real beach, unless one deemed rocks and pebbles and gravel a “beach”. It was very pretty, though, which was about the best that could be said about it.

  “Mast-head!” Lewrie yelled through a brass speaking-trumpet at the lookouts in the cross-trees. “Any settlements ashore?”

  “Shacks, sir!” Midshipman Munsell yelled back. “Only a few shacks. There’s no one about! No boats to be seen! Looks abandoned, sir!”

  From the cross-trees high aloft, Lewrie expected that Munsell could almost see clear across the island to the far shore, for it was very low-lying, its mean elevation only a few feet above the high-tide mark. God, ’tis only the really poor, and demented, who’d live here! Lewrie thought.

  “Hmm,” Lt. Westcott said with his mouth screwed to one corner. “It’s not even the first of April yet, sir. Perhaps the itinerants don’t winter over, and they’re not ready to start their fishing season, yet.”

  “Or, they’ve crossed back over to Cuba for Easter,” Mr. Caldwell opined. “Papist Spaniards put a lot of stock in Easter. End of Lent, and all that? Fiestas, dancing, swilling, and stuffing their faces with whatever they gave up in penance?”

  “Aye, cleansed, and free to sin all over again!” Lt. Westcott scoffed.

  “Beyond the shallows back of the island chain, though,” Lewrie speculated, “the Florida Bay is deep enough to admit vessels with moderate draught. Right, Mister Caldwell?”

  “Aye, sir,” Caldwell cautiously agreed.

  “It’s broad enough here to allow privateers easy access to open seas, and stays broad right up to Key Largo,” Lewrie pointed out. “If a privateer captain wished, he might be able to find a pass through these little isles to that deep water … either end of Key Largo, it seems,” he went on, crossing to the chart pinned to the traverse board by the compass binnacle cabinet, forward of the helm. “Here, at the West end of Largo, or the North end near Isla Morada, or even take the pass into the bay that lies to the Nor’east of Isla Morada.”
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  “A privateer of very moderate draught, sir,” Caldwell warned.

  “Perhaps, sir,” Westcott suggested, “were we to take Reliant into the Florida Bay, and scout up the inside of the island chain, whilst our smaller ships each form a blocking force at the passes and inlets? If there’s anyone lurking back there, we’d be the ‘beaters’, and Thorn, Firefly, and Lizard could form the firing line. Like going after grouse or pheasant?”

  “And, do we flush a wild boar, Reliant gets the kill?” Lewrie asked with a brow up.

  “Something like that, sir, aye,” Westcott agreed most slyly.

  Lewrie bent over to peer more closely at the chart. The Florida Bay began deep enough for Reliant, deep enough for even a Third Rate ship of the line, but it did turn shallow as one made way Easterly up the chain of islets. It was a tempting idea, but there seemed to be no exit if need arose, unless one put the ship about and returned to Key West and round it out into the Florida Straits once more, leaving the lighter ships on their own should they stumble over a well-armed threat. Lewrie shared a look with the Sailing Master, who gravely shook his head in an almost imperceptible “no”.

  “If we do spot someone hiding behind the islets, we’ll find a way t’get at ’em, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie decided, “but I’d not wish t’leave the rest of the squadron on their own for that long. Mister Rossyngton? Signal to the squadron to alter course to the Nor’east.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Am I goin’ t’regret that decision? Lewrie asked himself; But, I can’t abandon the little ships.

  “Hands to the braces and sheets, Mister Westcott, and be ready to put about,” Lewrie ordered as he paced forward to the full hammock stanchions and nets at the break of the quarterdeck.

  “Aye, sir,” Lt. Westcott replied, as crisply as if his suggestion had never been broached.

  As the hands of the watch made ready to free the braces and the sheets to take the winds on a new point of sail, Lewrie caught sight of his cats making a beeline up the starboard ladderway to the quarterdeck. In rather a hurry, he noted, with their tails bottled up and their bellies low to the oak planks. For a brief second he reckoned that they were playing tail-chase, or were coming to see him, but … not a second later here came the damned dog, yelping merrily in close pursuit!

  Spry Chalky, even slower and clumsier Toulon, gained the top of the hammock nettings’ canvas covers in a flash, and dug their claws in so they could arch their backs, turn sideways in threat, and moan and hiss in anger. Bisquit loped up and began to bark, his bushy tail wagging.

  “Damn my eyes, what’d I say about keepin’ him off the quarterdeck, or scarin’ the cats?” Lewrie snapped. “Down, you, down! And stop yer bloody gob!”

  Bisquit stood on his hind legs, front paws on the nettings to reach them, safely just short of some tentative claw swipes.

  “Down, I said!” Lewrie barked. “Down! And hush!”

  The dog sat down, looking at Lewrie, then up at the cats, his tongue lolling, and damned if the silly thing didn’t look like he was grinning! He uttered a few encouraging woofs at the cats, who would have none of it, of course, hissing, moaning, spitting, and hunkering.

  “Hands are at stations, sir,” Lt. Westcott reported.

  “Very well, sir,” Lewrie said, looking further afield. “Make the ‘Execute’, Mister Rossyngton.”

  In succession, Thorn, Lizard, and Firefly put about to the Nor’east to continue skirting up the Keys. Once they were all steady and their sails trimmed, Lewrie ordered Reliant put about as well, so that the three smaller ships formed a line ahead and to larboard, with the frigate standing further out to sea of them.

  “Mister Rossyngton!” Lewrie snapped.

  “Sir?” Right timid, that.

  “Now there are no signals to be made for the moment, I wish you to see this…,” Lewrie began. The dog made a last playful leap at the hammock nettings, then turned to trot to Lewrie, nuzzling under a hand for attention. “Ahem! I wish you t’see this dog off the quarterdeck. Ask the Bosun for a length of line to make a leash or tether for him, so he can’t romp up the ladderways again.”

  “Aye, sir!” Rossyngton replied.

  The dog was licking his hand! Grinning upwards playfully and licking Lewrie’s hand. Despite the sternness he’d intended, Lewrie found himself scratching him behind the ears, which elicited another goofy, tongue-lolling grin.

  “Go on, now, ye daft thing,” Lewrie growled. “Get below, and stay there. Hear me?”

  Midshipman Rossyngton took the dog by the collar and led him to the top of the ladderway, then down to the ship’s waist. A whine or two of complaint, and a longing look or two at the cats on top of the hammock nettings, perhaps at Lewrie, or the denied expanse of the quarterdeck, and Bisquit suffered to be led forward, his tail held low.

  “It appears he likes you, sir,” Lt. Westcott commented.

  “Damn what he likes,” Lewrie rejoined, going to the nettings to placate his cats. “There there, lads,” he cooed. “Threat’s over, and ye won’t be eaten.” He reached out to stroke them, but both Chalky and Toulon spat and hissed at him! They would not settle down and flatten their tail fur ’til they’d seen the dog securely tethered to the bottom of the boarding pikes stored upright round the main mast. Only then did they allow Lewrie to stroke them and pet them.

  The cats seemed to gloat whilst the dog lay down with his head on his forepaws, looking up at them. One last hiss to get their message across, and the cats sat up and began to groom themselves.

  “I’ll uh … be below in my cabins for a bit Mister Westcott. You have the watch,” Lewrie said, clearing his throat and hoping that his ears weren’t turning red in embarassment.

  “Aye aye, sir,” Westcott answered, sounding as if there was a slight smirk deeply hidden.

  As Lewrie reached the foot of the ladderway, the dog perked up in hopes, but Bosun Sprague was by his side, kneeling down to stroke and knead. “An’ ain’t ye a fine dog, now? Ain’t ye, Bisquit?” the Bosun was cooing in a very un-characteristic voice, one which made sailors turn and gawp; Sprague was more used to bellowing at them than he was to speak softly.

  Christ, now Sprague’s dotin’ on the silly beast? Lewrie thought; This ship’s turnin’ into a schoolyard full o’ boys!

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A great many of the islets in the Keys were little more than hammocks of dry land a few feet above the sea, some as small as tennis courts, and covered so thickly with mangroves that it was hard to tell where the sand ended and the sea began, and birds were the only inhabitants. They were easy for the little squadron to pass by on their slow jog up the archipelago. The larger isles, though … despite the urge to rush on, Lewrie felt it necessary to land shore parties to inspect them if anything that resembled a settlement appeared; a clearing, the sight of farm crops, or the presence of domestic animals near the beaches. The landings pleased Reliant’s Marine Officer, Lt. Simcock, right down to his toes, since they gave him a splendid excuse to exercise his men away from the ship, and relieve the boredom of the daily routine. Frankly, the frigate’s sailors, and the hands aboard the smaller ships, relished it, too, for it was a change of pace, with the prospect of discovering something useful, or edible, married with the hint of danger and action.

  Strange fruits came back aboard the ships, now and then a small deer or wild hog, or some domestic chickens abandoned at a tumbledown collection of shacks.

  And they did find settlements, of a sort. From the few who did not flee in fear, they found ragged remnants of the once-feared Calusa Indians, some Spaniards, Frenchmen, and Englishmen “gone native”, along with runaway Black slaves, even some few Muskogee Indians with “itchy feet”, driven from Georgia and Alabama by hordes of American settlers. The Muskogee had a name for those who would not stay in one place for long; they called them Seminoli—“wanderers”.

  They lived on fish, on squash and beans and maize corn, and had chickens and pigs. They had some muskets, but were always
short of lead and powder, and depended on the bow and arrow. Their homes were little more than lean-tos or raised, roofed, sleeping platforms in the native style, and their boats were hollowed-out mahogany logs A few who could actually speak a little English said that they feared the Spaniards who came up from Cuba to fish, for they were not above slave-catching. Privateers? Big boats? None of them could say. Further up to the East, perhaps, there might be, closer to what was left of the old Mayami tribe? They might know.

  * * *

  “Any luck ashore, Mister Merriman?” Lewrie asked as the Third Officer stepped through the entry-port after a scramble up the boarding battens.

  “Same song, a different verse, sir, sorry to say,” Merriman reported, knuckling the brim of his hat in casual salute. “The few we saw are poor as church-mice. Their settlement’s on the bay side, so it took a while to row round to it. Hello, Bisquit! Happy to see me back? Here, boy! I brought you a pig bone!”

  The dog seemingly adored every Man Jack in the crew, whining in longing whenever the Marine parties and boat crews, some of the Mids or one of the officers, manned the boats and rowed off, then went into paroxyms of joy at their return.

  “The settlement?” Lewrie prompted.

  “A bit fancier than most, sir,” Merriman replied, beaming at the sight of the dog trotting round the ship’s waist to show his bone off to everybody. “About a dozen huts, but made from sawn planks for floors and walls … roofed with palmetto, though. The flats were so shallow that we had some trouble finding a way to the bay side, so by the time we arrived, they’d all scampered into the bush, but for a few of the oldest, and not one of them knew a word of English or French or my poor Spanish, sir. And the bay, as far as we could see, was empty.”