Reefs and Shoals

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Lewrie had heard of the beauty and elegance of Savannah, but at first impression, the moment that his barge ghosted up to the teeming commercial docks, it looked as dowdy as any seaport. And, so many miles inland from Tybee Roads and the reach of a fresh sea-wind, the place had a reek about it. Add to that the fact that it was by then late May and the climate was warm, humid, and almost steamy, and Captain Alan Lewrie would have gladly avoided the place, if he could.

He had brought along the Ship’s Purser, Mr. Cadbury, of course, to purchase fresh victuals, though there was little the ship needed at present, after their previous stops, and in the course of that, to spy out the commercial trade to see if any war materiel might be stocked for sale to privateers… on the sly, if Cadbury could manage it.

He had also brought along Mr. Midshipman, the Honourable Albert Entwhistle, who was by then a seasoned, and most presentable, twenty-year-old. His barge was manned by his Cox’n, Liam Desmond, with stroke oar Patrick Furfy, and the same hands who’d accompanied him up the Cape Fear River to Wilmington. Lewrie, Cadbury, and Entwhistle could possibly be lodged with their consul’s residence, and the hands in his coach house; if not, Lewrie had come prepared with a full coin purse for food and lodging.

Their consul, though…

There had been no time to send an introductory letter up-river after anchoring the evening before, so Lewrie and his party arrived as a surprise. Once the boat was secured at a riverfront chandlery, he and his men set out to find the consul’s residence, or his offices. A clerk at the chandlery assured them where Mr. Hereford could be found, in an office behind the sprawling docks and warehouses, not two blocks off… though the clerk did not sound all that respectful.

Lewrie discovered the reason for that dis-respect when he got to the given address, and found that Mr. Hereford kept a small office in a brick building full of lawyers, a pre-Revolution mansion that had seen better days, and had been sub-divided into a nasty warren of tiny suites. An upper-storey door to one suite bore a painted wood plaque announcing “Mr. R. L. E. Hereford, Esq., H.M. Consul”, and Lewrie rapped on it several times, with no response. He tried the door knob and it opened easily, so he swung the door fully open and stepped in.

“Excuse me. Anyone in?” he called out as he entered a small anteroom filled with bookcases, a desk, chair, and a sitting area off to one side. There was a settee there, and from it sprang a liveried Black servant, his white periwig askew, and his eyes as wide as saucers. He emitted an “ Eep! ”, gulped twice, and looked as if he would run, given the chance.

“Captain Alan Lewrie,” he told that quaking worthy. “I’m come to speak with the British Consul. Is he in?”

“ Eep! ” the servant reiterated, twitching his clothing back to good order, and fussing with his wig. “Mistah… Mistah Hereford, he’s in, sah… Cap’m sah… but…!”

“Announce me if you will, there’s a good fellow,” Lewrie said.

“Yassuh, yassuh, right away,” the servant said, going to the other door at the back of the anteroom and slipping inside, closing it behind him.

“Damn’ odd way to maintain offices, sir,” Midshipman Warburton said in a sidelong mutter. “Must not do much business here.”

Lewrie thought much the same, for the book cases were crammed with piles of loose correspondence angled any-old-how, legal books in piles on the floor, on the small outer-office desk, and all filmed with a noticeable coating of dust, as if nothing of import had taken place in a month of Sundays. From behind that second door, Lewrie could hear water being splashed, some impatient mutters, and then the sound of gargling and spitting. The door was opened again, and the liveried Black servant stepped through to the anteroom, shutting it at once, softly. “His Excellency, Mistuh Hereford, will be with ya sho’tly, Cap’m.” He then stood by the doorway, waiting, eyes half-shut.

His “Excellency”, mine arse. Lewrie scoffed to himself.

After a long wait, the door to the inner office opened, and a gentleman stepped through it. Mr. Hereford’s reaction to the sight of a Royal Navy officer was most unlike his servant’s; the fellow scowled and squinted as if Lewrie’s presence was a bother.

“Richard Hereford, your servant, sir,” the fellow announced as he performed a slight bow from the waist. “My man said you are Captain… uhm?” he prompted, with a brow up and hand waved in the air.

“Alan Lewrie, captain of the Reliant frigate, Mister Hereford,” Lewrie told him, performing a deeper bow. “My pardons for not sending word of my arrival in Tybee Roads last evening, sir, but the lateness of the hour would not admit rapid delivery. Allow me to name to you one of my senior Midshipman, Mister Entwhistle. I am come-”

“Welcome to Savannah, Captain Lewrie, Mister Entwhistle,” the Consul said. “God help you,” he added with a sneer. “One supposes that your errand is of an official nature, hmm? If you will follow me to my office, we may discover the nature of your visit. Will you take wine, sir, or might you prefer tea? Tea, it is, then.” He sounded a tad disappointed. “Ulysses, fetch the captain a pot of tea.”

“Yassuh, Massa,” the servant said, scuttling out into the hallway.

“A servant, or a slave, Mister Hereford?” Lewrie asked once he was seated in front of Hereford’s desk with his hat in his lap.

“Bought him,” Hereford answered, “the idle fool. One can’t do a thing in the American South without slaves. Even the poorest Whites, begging in the streets, reject the notion of house service, or body service. Gad, to recall how close I came to a posting at the North! Philadelphia, New York, or Boston, which are at least civilised, and cooler. Yet, here I find myself, croaking like a frog in a Georgia marsh, in a place as dis-agreeable as ‘Sweaty-pore’ in India.

“Now, Captain Lewrie… Sir Alan, one would suppose, hey?… what has brought you to Savannah?” Hereford asked. As Lewrie laid out his mission, where he had been so far, and upon whom he had called, Hereford made the proper “ahems” and “ahas” and “I sees” at the right places, and even dragged out a sheet of paper and a lead pencil with which to make notes. In the middle of all that, the pot of tea arrived, and the servant, “Ulysses”, poured cups for all, and offered cream and sugar. Mr. Hereford reached behind him to a sideboard and book case hutch for a decanter which he waved to them in invitation, filling the office with the tang of rum as he pulled the stopper. He shrugged at Lewrie’s and Entwhistle’s refusal, then openly poured himself a dollop into his tea, and damned what they thought.

Lewrie looked round Mr. Hereford’s inner office. It was bigger than the anteroom, and featured a set of glass-paned double doors leading out to a wide, railed balcony, as if the entire suite had at one time been a spacious bed-chamber, music room, or upper parlour. It was just as dusty, as crammed, and dis-organised as the anteroom office, though, and featured a suspiciously deep settee in one of the dark corners, furthest from the glazed doors. The cushions, and the pillows, still bore the impressions of its owner’s head and body. It appeared that Mr. R. L. E. Hereford, Esq., rarely saw visitors, and took long naps through his idle mornings.

“Privateers, do you say, Sir Alan?” Hereford mused aloud after a sip or two of his tea, leaning far back in his leather-padded chair to rest his cup and saucer on his upper chest. “I can’t say when the last time was that a French or Spanish vessel of any description put into Savannah, or even anchored at the mouth of the river. I arrived at this posting during the Peace of Amiens, and there were some ships from France, Spain, and Holland who came to trade, but… since the renewal of the war, the trade has shrivelled up to nothing, more’s the pity. One cannot imagine how dear a case of good wine, or a simple bottle of champagne, has become! At least our American ‘cousins’ do still trade with the Spanish West Indies, and tobacco is available in quantity. Why, were it not for the rare British ship, it would be impossible to obtain decent clothing or fabrics to entrust to clumsy local tailors, haw!”

Much good that does you! Lewrie sneeringly thought, for “His Excellency” Mr. Hereford’s suitings, expensive as they looked, were ill-fitted, rumpled from his naps, and in need of a good sponging to remove some stains. He wore a snuff-brown coat of broadcloth wool, a pearlescent waist-coat of a light gold colour, and a pair of buff trousers, all worn so long that every joint in his body had creased them into permanent wrinkles. His neck-stock was pale blue, badly, indifferently bound, too. To top it off, Hereford was possessed of one of those clench-jawed and “plummy” Oxonian accents natural to those born to the upper aristocracy, or those who affected it, that had always set Lewrie’s teeth on edge.

I’ll wager he drives Savannahans mad, too, he told himself, and imagined that was the reason the clerk at the chandlery had spoken so derisively of the British Consul. I don’t think I like him very much.

“I see that there’s only the one wee port South of here, the town of Brunswick, before the border with Spanish Florida, sir,” Lewrie posed. “Do you happen to get down that way very often?”

“Brunswick?” Hereford scoffed, pouring himself another dottle of rum into his tea. “A sleepy little place, a bare cut above a hamlet. Is there any trade conducted there, it is of little import, and strictly a local affair, conducted by vessels little larger than fishing smacks, mostly to serve the Sea Island plantations. Would that His Majesty’s Government see their way to providing me a decent subsidy, I would establish myself on Tybee Island for a summer residence.

“The planters, do you see, Sir Alan,” Hereford imparted with a smile, “the immensely wealthy ones, and many with the pretensions, maintain inland plantations, and summer plantations on the Sea Islands, which are so much healthier. Can they not get away from their active lands, they will at least send their women and children to Saint Simons, Jekyll, and Cumberland Islands to survive the heat and the humidity, if not the sicknesses, of the mainland. If a plantation out there will not do, they will at least have summer houses and truck gardens.”

“So, you don’t get down to Brunswick often, sir?” Lewrie asked once more, striving to not sound impatient with the fellow.

“Hardly ever a reason to do so, Sir Alan,” Hereford idly waved off, and took a deep sip of his “tea” with a welcome sigh.

“Might it be possible, then, Mister Hereford,” Lewrie went on, shifting in his chair, “for foreign vessels to put in there for a day or two… put into Wassaw or Ossabow Sounds, or one of the sounds below Brunswick, to take on firewood and water, and perhaps meet with a local chandler or trader, and re-victual without your knowledge, or the knowledge of American authorities?”

Hereford seemed stumped by the question, laying his head over to one side to ponder his answer for a long moment. “I would imagine that anything is possible, Sir Alan… though hardly plausible, d’ye see. Just how, for instance, could a foreign trader-most likely a smuggler wishing to avoid American import duties than a privateer-inform a nefarious trader from Savannah of his date of arrival, or which sound or inlet he will use for that particular cargo? On the other hand, how might the aforesaid nefarious trader communicate his wishes to the smuggler, what?

“In any case, such smuggling… if such is being conducted… would be of more concern to the United States Revenue Service than to Great Britain,” Mr. Hereford jovially dismissed. “We of the Consular branch do not interfere with the sovereign rights of our host nations. Neither do we presume to enmesh ourselves in the manner in which host nations enforce their customs fees or their laws, except when those laws, fees, and regulations involve British ships calling at American seaports. Anything else beyond that limited brief is ultra vires… a legal term for ‘actions beyond one’s legal authority or power’.”

Hereford gave them a little concluding smile and simper, then took another sip of his rum-laced tea, as if it was all settled.

“So, you would only look into rumours of smuggling, or supplying privateers, if they involved British merchantmen, or privateers, sir?” Lewrie summed up, feeling a very strong urge to leap across the desk and seize the arrogant fool’s neck and squeeze… hard!

“Well…” Hereford flummoxed, taken aback by the question. “If evidence-evidence, mind, not mere rumours-was brought to my attention that Crown subjects were engaged in smuggling, I would give the American authorities, both local and Federal, my most strenuous support. But such activities are most implausible, I assure you, Sir Alan. Upon what enemy trade might British privateers prey, sir, hey? There may be some crumbs to be gleaned in the West Indies, and in European waters, but not this side of the Atlantic, heh heh. Our merchant vessels calling at Savannah come from the West Indies in convoy, where your own Navy bonds them, and their cargoes are mostly salt, molasses, rum, dye wood, and tobacco, perhaps the most valuable commodity being refined sugar… as well you might know, had you ever served in the West Indies yourself, Sir Alan,” Hereford simpered again, condescendingly. Lewrie put a brow up and a scowl on at that remark, but that didn’t signify to Mr. Hereford; he would make his little jabs for the idle fun of them.

“Last Spring, I was part of an escorting squadron to a ‘sugar trade’, Mister Hereford,” Lewrie replied. “We lost three ships when level with Georgia and South Carolina, to French privateers who took us from the landward side, and hared off with their prizes to the West and Sou’west. That makes me think that they based themselves somewhere along the American coast, or had arrangements with Americans to sell off their stolen cargoes and ships without going all the way to Cuba or the Spanish Main. D’ye see what I’m drivin’ at?”

Hereford might not have; he sat perfectly content with his cup on his chest and stomach, blinking beatifically.

“If stolen ships were brought into Savannah under pretense of false registries, or sold here to un-suspecting buyers in need of new bottoms, would you have any way of knowing, Mister Hereford?” Lewrie asked.

“Unless someone familiar with such a vessel saw her at anchor in the river under a new flag, and brought that to my attention, no, Sir Alan,” Hereford easily admitted. “Only if a British-flagged ship were contracted to be sold to an American buyer would I become involved, merely to note the transfer of ownership, flag, and registry, and assist the Crown subject selling her with my best advice as to the particular details of such a sale… and perhaps suggest ways that he not be gulled by a low offer, hmm?”

“You are on good terms with the chandlers, the import-export trading firms here at Savannah, sir?” Lewrie went on, wondering just what Hereford did do to earn his salt at Crown expense.

“Reasonably so, Sir Alan,” Hereford told him as he snapped his fingers at Ulysses to pour him a fresh cup of hot tea. “Though, they are in trade, and for the most part are an avaricious and common lot, the epitome of the fabled sharp-practiced Yankee trader, even though one could expect that the heat and humidity of Savannah’s clime would engender a torpor which slows their frenetic greed, haw haw! A batch of ‘chaw-bacons’… or ‘chaw- baccies ’, more to the point! I do not associate with them on a daily basis.”

For which they surely thank the Lord! Lewrie thought.

“But, have any of them struck you as more sharp-practiced than most, sir?” Lewrie pressed, wondering if he could extract a positive and informative answer from the top-lofty idler before sundown. “Do you keep your ear to the ground, so to speak, as to which might be engaged in smuggling, or supplying enemy privateers on the sly, should the opportunity fall in his lap? Keep tabs on them?”

“As I said earlier, Sir Alan, and must point out again, criminal behaviour by American traders and chandlers is a matter for the American authorities,” Hereford told him, getting a bit testy as he shifted in his chair. “That would be beyond my purview, and to probe into their doings, well! That would smack of spying on them, sir! An activity that no gentleman would conduct in one’s host nation! The very idea!” Hereford harumphed, and openly glowered, as if Lewrie had touched upon his honour, and was impatiently waiting for an apology for making such a suggestion.

You ain’t worth a tuppenny shit! Lewrie fumed to himself, trying to keep a level expression on his face.

“I see,” Lewrie said after a long blink and a sigh. “Well, I was ordered to come and make your acquaintance, Mister Hereford, and to discover to you Admiralty’s suspicions, and that, I believe, I have done. All Foreign Office can ask of you is that you keep your eyes open, and advert to the American authorities, and our Ambassador at Washington City, any suspicious activities. That ain’t spyin’, ’cause you’d be helping Brother Johnathon enforce his touchy sense of neutrality, and I trust ye won’t think it so. As soon as the tide in the river turns, it might be best did I set off to re-join my ship… unless you think that a shore supper with some of the prominent citizens of Savannah could be arranged on short notice? In that case, I would take lodgings for the night somewhere, and set off tomorrow morning.”

That’s a hint, ye thick turd! Lewrie thought.

“I fear that the suddenness of your un-anticipated arrival may not admit of such a supper gathering, Sir Alan,” Mr. Hereford quickly said, sounding relieved that Lewrie would toddle off and leave him to his rest once more. “Now, had you given me two or three days notice, I could have accommodated you, and shown the ‘country-put’ locals what an English gentleman looks like, ha ha! They will raise cheers for the so-called Common Man, but would dearly love knighthoods and titles of their own. Show them what they gave up with their damn-fool rebellion, and what little dignities they got from their independence, what?”

Hereford gulped the last of his tea and stood, beaming at one and all, sure that the interview was over, quite jolly once more.

“Any suggestions as to lodgings, sir?” Lewrie asked as he stood as well. There was no way he could stomach the thought of sharing the Consul’s residence, even for one night, sure that they’d come to blows before midnight if he did, but Hereford should make the offer.

“There are some few lodging houses, though none that rise to the level of amenities that a gentleman such as yourself could abide, Sir Alan,” Hereford was quick to warn. “Even the lone inn with aspirations to quality, I found, before obtaining a wee residence in town, offers hard, thin beds, perfectly tawdry and squalid furnishings, and your choice of lice, fleas, or bed bugs. The food is insufferably bad, to boot.”

“Surely not that bad, sir,” Lewrie said, as if bandying jovial words.

“I would offer you and your Midshipman the hospitality of my residence, but for the fact that I am in the process of re-plastering and re-painting at the moment,” Hereford told him, almost but not quite looking sorrowful that he could not dine them in and offer beds.

“I came up-river with my Purser and a party of five hands from my boat crew, so…” Lewrie said as they made their way to the outer office.

“There would have been no room for them, in any event,” Mister Hereford said with a shake of his head. “If you lodged them at one of the sailors’ inns, well…” It seemed that Mr. Cadbury, a man engaged in “business” aboard a warship, and lived and died on the slim profits earned ’twixt buying and selling, was one of these abysmal people in “trade”, too, to Hereford’s lofty lights.

“No matter, then,” Lewrie said as they reached the door to the hallway, which the slave Ulysses held open for their departure, and seemed as eager to see the back of them as his master; perhaps he needed a longer nap before dinner, as well. “Never been to Savannah,” Lewrie lied. He had been up-river with despatches, once, from Tybee Roads when British forces still held it. “Perhaps Mister Entwhistle and I could hire a carriage for a brief tour before dinner. I am told that the city’s layout by Governor Oglethorpe is most impressive.”

“A most inventive and creative gentleman, he was,” Mr. Hereford agreed. “His plans for Savannah were quite inspired… though, one does wish that he created his Eden anywhere else but here, hey?”

“Good day to you, Mister Hereford, and thank you for receiving me on such short notice,” Lewrie said in parting, “You have been most helpful.”

“Sorry that I could not be more so in aid of your quest, Sir Alan,” Hereford said. “Good day to you, and may you have a safe and successful passage.”

They bowed themselves away, the door closed, and Lewrie could imagine long, deep sighs of relief from both Hereford and his slave, before he and Midshipman Entwhistle trotted down the stairs and to the street.

“Might I ask, sir,” Entwhistle hesitantly said, “if you found him as useless as I did?”

“That I despise him for a pus-gutted, slovenly, arrogant, idle waste of the Crown’s money as ever I clapped eyes on, sir?” Lewrie hooted. “Aye, I do find him useless. So useless and un-informative, in point of fact, that I could easily suspect him of bein’ hand-in-glove with criminal traders and enemy privateers, if anyone gave me a strong hint in that direction. What a goose-berry bastard he is!

“Not that we should speak ill of our compatriots in Foreign Office, Mister Entwhistle, God forfend!” Lewrie added with mock solemnity, with a hand on his heart. Entwhistle was all but cackling out loud.

“Hold my coat for a bit, Mister Entwhistle,” Lewrie bade as he peeled it off, and slipped the bright blue satin sash clear of his body, then plucked the enamelled silver star from the coat, stowing them in the side-pockets before donning his coat once more. “Bloody silliness… wasted on his sort. Most-like wasted on the people of Savannah, too. Makes me feel like a monkey on a leash!”

Entwhistle looked a bit scandalised that his captain put little stock in the hard-won marks of distinction that every young officer-to-be desired, but said nothing.

“There’re more picturesque public squares in Savannah than you and I have had hot dinners, Mister Entwhistle,” Lewrie told him with a grin, “and all of ’em, and the broad streets between, lined with mansions as grand as Grosvenor Street in London. Let’s go find the Purser and our hands, and have us a carriage tour!”