CHAPTER FORTY
“I find them most convincing, sir,” Lt. Bury said after he and Lewrie had looked the certificates over in Reliant’s great-cabins, as the two sailors in question, Innis and Evans, stood before the desk in the day-cabin portion, nigh-shivering as their fate was determined.
“Good bond writing paper, not ‘flimsy’,” Lt. Westcott agreed as he held them up to the light of the overhead lanthorns to squint over them, “and the letterheads are embossed. If they are sham, they are the best I’ve seen. Aye, like Bury says, they seem genuine.”
“Let’s accept them at face value, then,” Lewrie decided. “Lads, I believe you when you say you’re American citizens of Georgia. You’ll not hang, not this year, at least. Now I’ll ask ye to fufill your part of the bargain.”
In vino veritas, Lewrie thought; or, in beer veritas. Get ’em ‘wet’ and loose-tongued. Where…?
“Mister Westcott, let’s you and I take the chairs; Lieutenant Bury, do you drag one from the dining-coach, and you two have a seat on the settee yonder,” Lewrie bade them as genially as he could. “Pettus, please draw us five mugs of beer. Innis … you said you worked on the barges out of Savannah, first?”
“Aye, sor, Oi did,” the fellow said, grinning in relief, but a bit hesitant in his response. It might have had something to do with being seated like an equal with officers. Even in a looser, more easy-going Society like America, there were still lessers and betters, and enough who would insist on deference from one like him. “First off, Oi was bargin’ timber from the mills to Savannah, and goods back, but that was low-payin’ and boresome, and … like Davey told ye … Oi wanted t’see a bit more o’ the world. Went t’work for the Tybee Roads Tradin’ Comp’ny for more pay, but that was just river-work from Savannah down t’the Roads and back.”
Lewrie looked over at Bury, who had been scouring the captured privateer’s ledgers during the time it took to take Innis and Evans to the prize and return; Bury gave him a sage nod. The name of that company featured prominently on the meticulously recorded receipts.
“Did that for about a year, afore,” Innis went on, pausing as a foaming pint mug was offered him, and he took a deep swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sighed, and said “Ah, that’s toppin’, thankee, sor! The barge master, he took me aside one ev’nin’ and asks me, would Oi care t’make five or six dollar more a week, and o’ course Oi said I would, but that’d depend on if Oi could keep me mouth shut, and not go blabbin’ did I get a skin full in the taverns. Then, Oi got on the coastin’ barges … down t’the Cumberland Sound and up the Saint Mary’s or the Saint John’s. Not all the time, maybe one trip or two ev’ry two, three months.”
“And what was secret about those trips?” Lewrie casually asked, not wanting to press him too sharply, but mightily intrigued.
“We’d meet the privateers, sor,” Innis almost happily admitted. “They’d’ve fetched their prizes into the rivers, and needed supplies … vittles, mostly. We’d break-bulk the prizes’ holds o’ what they carried and put it aboard the barges t’run up t’the warehouses in Savannah, leave the most o’ the captured goods aboard, and bury ’em in lumber, rice, cotton, tobacco, whatever’d be welcome in Havana or the French islands.”
“T’at’d be so, did one of our ships be stopped, boarded, and inspected by a ship like yours, Cap’m sir,” Evans contributed. He had been silent up to that point, but had downed half his mug of beer and was almost youthfully eager to relate their doings. “There’d be false manifests, like the whole cargo was export goods, not loot.”
“So … when the prizes made port, the valuable British exports from the West Indies … or British goods sent to the West Indies … would earn more money from the French or Spanish Prize Courts?” Lewrie hesitantly summed up, “more than if the prizes were full of Georgian produce?”
“Aye, sor, that’s the way of it,” Innis agreed, grinning like a loon. “And the stuff from England, aye! Sterling and plate, crystal and china, bales o’ ready-made stuff, bolts and bolts o’ foine cloth, pianers and furniture? Kegs and crates o’ wine and brandy?”
“A grand market for a share of that in Savannah, too, if snuck past t’e Customs House,” Evans added, “or, put aboard one o’ the company ships bound for t’e Chesapeake, Philadelphee, Boston, nor even New York! T’at’s what I was doing, workin’ the ships t’Charleston, Port Royal, and ports North and back. We’d be lyin’ in t’e Roads awaitin’ a wind with local goods aboard, when the barges’d come alongside in t’e nighttime and load t’e good stuff, and no matter how innocent we were told t’play it, we knew somet’in’ was queer!”
“That’s what Oi wished t’do, aboard the ships loik Davey was workin’,” Innis told them. At Lewrie’s wave, Pettus brought round a fresh pair of mugs for their “testifiers”. “And, after a while, when the bossmans thought Oi was trustworthy, that’s what Oi got. Or, Oi thought Oi did.”
“Bossmans?” Lt. Bury asked with a quizzical moue. “What does that mean?” He had been taking notes in a ledger of his own.
“T’at’s what all t’e Cuffies say do ya ask ’em somet’in, sir,” Evans easily breezed off. “T’ey say ‘yas, massah’ or ‘yas, bossmam’,” he mimicked in slave patois.
“So, eventually, the both of you ended up crewing the prizes to French or Spanish Prize-Court ports. On the same ship every time?” Lewrie asked “Where you became mates?”
“Not all that many the bosses’d trust, sor,” Innis said with a shrug. “Not all that many who could keep their stories straight, too!”
“Stories?” Lt. Westcott asked in a skeptical tone.
“Well sir, afore we could set sail for Cuba, or t’e French islands, a clerk’d come down from Savannah and give t’e captain his new papers,” Evans took up the tale. “Oncet a prize come in, she’d need a new name, so we’d rip the quarterboards or transom boards off or paint out t’e old and paint in a new … get rid of a figurehead was it too fine or somone might recognise her by it? Some’d say t’ey were owned by t’e Tybee Roads Comp’ny, some by others.”
“Altamaha Comp’ny, the Ogeechee Comp’ny,” Innis recited as if by rote, “or named after the squares in Savannah. Some o’ the ships were s’posed t’be Charleston ships, Boston ships, God knows where-all, sor. Faith, ye’d o’ thought they’d flog ye half t’death did ye not be able t’keep your wits about ye, if we got stopped and inspected.”
“And did that happen often?” Lt. Bury enquired.
“Not all that often, no sir,” Evans assured him, “and when we were, except for fear o’ bein’ pressed, we were let go right easy, comin’ and goin!”
“With supposedly innocent cargoes each way?” Lewrie mused.
“Innocent as all get-out on t’e way back, for sure, sir!” Evans said with a laugh. Lewrie summoned Pettus for more beer, all-round. Listening was dry work!
“And, what about the profits from the sale of the prizes?” Lt. Bury softly queried, looking up, at them with solemn eyes. “How were they handled, or concealed? In French or Spanish coin, or by draughts from one bank to another?”
“Niver saw any o’ that, sors,” Innis said with a puzzled shrug after a moment or two of thought. “Us sailors got paid at the end of a voyage, at Havana, say, or after we got back to Savannah. Good pay, it was, for as long as it lasted.”
“And all gone by t’e time we shipped aboard a comp’ny ship for t’e return voyage, sirs,” Evans said with a sad shake of his head over the quickness with which it went. “French or Spanish inn-keepers were more t’an glad t’see us, and t’e ladies, too, for certain. But, by t’e time come t’sail, we were mostly ‘skint’.”
“Savannah publicans’d leave us ‘on the bones o’ our backs’ as good as the Frogs and Dons, too, sor,” Innis ruefully told them.
“That’s every sailor’s complaint,” Lewrie commiserated.
“I’d like to ask a question,” Lt. Westcott said, still looking grim and distrustful. “It sounds like you could play the innocents on
either leg of your journeys with the prizes, but … how were the crew and mates of the prizes concealed on the way to Havana or other ports?”
Innis and Evans looked at each other as if where those people had gone had never come to mind. Both cocked their heads in wonder, then turned to look at the officers, and shrugged.
“I can’t recall any of t’em bein’ aboard when we took charge o’ t’e prizes, sir,” Evans said. “T’ey might’ve been slung below in irons aboard t’e privateers. Weren’t t’ere when we were, sirs.”
“Mayhap they’d a’ready been sent down, t’Saint Augustine,” Innis supposed. “When we put into the Saint John’s River t’take charge of a prize, Oi just assumed they’d been marched off t’Saint Augustine. We niver saw hide nor hair of ’em, nor their sea-chests, neither, roight, Davey?”
“All t’eir beddin’ and’ kits were cleared out like t’ey never were t’ere,” Evans agreed. “By t’e time we went aboard a prize, she was painted up new and re-named like she was fresh from t’e builder’s yards, ’cept she was loaded and ready t’sail.”
Lewrie shared a suspicious look with Westcott and Bury.
“One wonders, Captain Lewrie, if their prisoners were landed at all,” Lt. Bury icily accused, peering hard at the two sailors. “Might I enquire if, during your time aboard the Insolent, you brought the master, mates, and sailors in with a prize … or, were they murdered and put over the side?”
“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!” Innis erupted in shock. “Nary a hair on their heads was touched once they’d struck! Swear that on me sainted mither, sor!”
“Hardly anybody was ever killed, nor even hurt when we took ’em, sir!” Evans hotly protested. “T’is t’e rare master’d put up any kind o’ fight when we overhauled ’em wit’ t’e guns run out, guns o’ t’eir own aboard or no! Cheese-parin’ masters never sign on hands enough for a fight, ’less t’ey’re an Indiaman!”
“Cap’m Chaptal niver messed with the prisoners, sor, other than pennin’ ’em up below oncest they was taken, and soon as we put in, we sent ’em off with all their kits,” Innis bubbled out in a rush to show his innocence. “He wouldn’t let no man mess with any wimmen, neither.”
“Women?” Lewrie barked.
“Wives o’ t’e masters, sometimes, passengers now and again and t’eir maids and such,” Evans told them. “Some real fine ladies.”
“But, what happened to them once landed?” Lt. Bury demanded. “Who took charge of them?”
“Well sors, did we land ’em in the Saint John’s River, there was dry land handy, and there’d be Spanish-lookin’ fellers, some Free Cuffies with guns, or Indian-lookin’ men’d show up with horses and a cart’r two, and they’d march ’em off South. There’s a good road down t’Saint Augustine. Did we put into the Saint Mary’s, we’d put ’em in Comp’ny barges and sail or row the prisoners sev’ral miles up-river t’where there’s solid land, and there’d be armed guards waitin’. Don’ know if they was Comp’ny men or not, but we’d land ’em and that’s the last we saw of ’em, honest. Ain’t that right, Davey?”
“T’ey’d put any wounded, t’e women, and t’eir sea-chests on t’e carts, kind and gentle as anyt’ing, sir!” Evans assured them.
Lewrie sat back in his chair and gazed levelly at them.
I hope to God they ain’t lyin’, he thought; Maybe they believe what they’ve been told, and are too simple t’question it. Or they’re too in-curious to bloody care! I still don’t like the smell of it.
“You never heard any talk, or wondering, about their fate?” Lt. Bury pressed. “No sidelong glances, or warnings to hush?”
“They wasn’t any o’ our bus’ness after we landed ’em,” Innis replied with a shrug, and another deep swig of beer.
“Right, then,” Lewrie said as he sat his empty beer mug down on the brass Hindoo tray-table with a click of metal on metal. “Whenever your Captain Chaptal brought in a prize, and the prisoners were taken away … wherever … how did he send word that he was back, in need of supplies and such?”
“Well, sor,” Innia croaked, still shaken by new-found, dread suspicions, “most o’ the time, the barges was already there, waitin’. There was only the oncest we came in off-schedule and had t’send one o’ the mates up the Darien Road t’Savannah by fast horse.”
“And why would they be waiting so long between the arrivals of the privateers?” Lewrie further queried.
“Every two or three month, sor,” Innis told him. “At the dark o’ the moon, ev’ry second or third month, when I was working barges. Reg’lar shipments o’ vittles and such, exports’d be sent down ev’ry new moon, and if they had any special orders t’be filled, a barge’d go back t’Savannah t’fetch the goods afore Insolent’d sail, or one o’ the prizes’d sail when we were workin’ that side o’ the trade.”
“And does the place change with the timing of the new moons?” Lt. Bury asked. “Every second month the Saint Mary’s River, and then the Saint John’s River on the third, say?”
“In t’e beginnin’,” Evans confessed, “but t’e Saint Mary’s is handier, closer t’Savannah, and if anyone ever stumbled over us when we were there, we’d just shove off, hug the Spanish side, and sail or row up far enough t’strand anyone chasin’ us on shoals.”
“If it was an American Revenue cutter, aye,” Innis added, “but if someone like you, your honour, sor, caught us, we’d hug the other bank, Georgia bein’ neutral and all, and if we had to, we could slip over the side and swim or row to American soil and be safe as babbies.”
Lewrie lowered his head and rested his upper lip on the forefinger of his right hand, mulling all that he’d been told. At last he lowered his arm and looked to either side at Westcott and Bury.
“Do any of you gentlemen have any other questions for these men which might further enlighten us?” he asked. “Any part of their tale that needs further explanation?”
“How long had your privateer been at sea?” Lt. Bury thought to ask. “Were you due in the river soon, or would your Captain Chaptal wait ’til he had a prize?”
“We was in two month ago, sor, with our last prize,” Innis said, looking as if he would care for a fresh mug of beer. “In any case, we can’t stay out much more’n three ’til the rum, whisky and beer runs out. We’d just started prowlin’ the Bahamas for pickin’s, coz your Navy’s convoy escorts is gettin’ too strong.”
The last thing that a privateer ever wanted was a hard scrap with a warship, or even a well-armed merchantman with a master determined enough to put up a fight, which might cripple the raider and cost her captain, owners, and investors a steep repair bill. Against a warship, the only thing a privateer could do would be to flee, and pray for a clean pair of heels. Even a well-armed privateer’s guns were more for show to daunt the desperate, not for a slugging match.
“So, the next new moon would be the next ‘rondy’?” Lt. Westcott asked, shifting in his chair hard enough to make it squeak, sounding canny and eager. “For you, or another privateer?”
“Well, aye, sor,” Innis said, looking surprised, that anyone had to ask; it was plain as day to him!
Westcott sat back with a smile on his face, quite satisfied.
“Anything else?” Lewrie asked, smiling contentedly. “No? Then I suppose we’ve kept these men long enough. Mister Westcott, would ye kindly pass word for a Midshipman of the duty watch, and arrange for a boat to carry Innis and Evans over to Thorn?”
“Of course, sir,” Westcott agreed, rising to go to the door to the weather deck. Lewrie stood, too, as did Bury.
“You two are gettin’ off by the skin of your teeth, ye know that,” Lewrie told the sailors. “Ye’ve been up to your necks in an evil trade. I’m still not satisfied that the crews off the prizes are safe … or even alive. Understand me? Aye, you think upon that, and thank God I can’t link you to their fates. Volunteeering for the Navy’s your second chance. I strongly advise the both of you to make the most of it, obey orders chearly, and sing small
. It may not pay as good as merchant service, or ‘lays’ in a successful privateer, but pay it is. Don’t make me, or Lieutenant Darling, regret givin’ you the benefit of the doubt!”
“We won’t, sor, cross me heart an’ hope t’die!” Innis swore.
“A fine gentleman ye are, sir, and a merciful one!” Evans said.
“Off with you, now,” Lewrie gruffly ordered, shooing them to the forward door. Once they were gone, Lewrie cast his eyes on the overhead and let out a long, weary sigh.
“Lieutenant Darling will not thank you for them, sir,” Lt. Bury softly said. “They’re ‘King’s Bad Bargains’, if ever I saw any.”
“I expect you’re right, Bury,” Lewrie grudgingly agreed, “but I made a bad bargain of my own, to get them to talk so freely, and I have to keep to it, no matter my personal feelings.
“You suspect that the people off the prizes are dead, the same as I do?” Lewrie asked as he turned to look at him.
“I hope not, sir, but it does not sound promising,” Bury said most gravely. “But for the most scrupulous Prize-Court officials, the muster books listing crew members suffice, so for a privateer captain, the temptation to save rations and money by eliminating them is quite strong, and saves him the trouble of guarding and sheltering them, yet … I cannot imagine that being done by even the most cold-blooded and piratical. There are rules of war, after all, a code of gentlemanly conduct, of honour! Those two, Innis and Evans, saw the prisoners being marched away, so they were brought in. If they were to die, why not kill them far out at sea?”
“I hope you’re right,” Lewrie moodily replied, “but, this insidious scheme hangs on secrecy. If the prisoners were kept in some holding pen out in the wilds, even in a warehouse at Saint Augustine, there’s always the chance that a few might escape and make their way to American authorities, and the entire enterprise falls apart, with arrests and trials all round. Even held incommunicado ’til the end of the war, whenever that’ll be, they’d have to be released then, and if evidence of what they witnessed comes to light, a lot of people would be ruined.”
Reefs and Shoals Page 34