The Captain`s Vengeance

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ahoy, the boat!" Midshipman Grace shouted from the entry-port with the aid of a brass speaking-trumpet, though his challenge was by rote, since Proteus's people had known who it was that approached her for the past quarter hour, in mounting expectation and curiosity.

"Proteus … aye aye!" Quartermaster's Mate Toby Jugg, senior hand aboard the shalope shouted back, thrusting one hand skyward as if in triumph, with four fingers spread to announce the arrival of a Post-Captain as well.

Gilding the lily, that, Lewrie thought of Jugg's display, for when coming back aboard, Lewrie was HMS Proteus. Four fingers and "aye, aye" were for unknown Post-Captains arriving, to tell how many sailors should turn out as the side-party. After a long, fretful, civilian, and covert absence, though, the more Navy ritual, the better, for it meant a return to sanity, security… and his own identity.

Lewrie almost squirmed with anticipation, that itchy-innards, leg-jiggling impatience he recalled from his boyhood when his father, Sir Hugo, had gruffly announced that they'd coach to town the next day. The dawn would never come, it seemed, before he got that first orange from the fruiterer's, that first peek at new toys, first sweet-sticky candy after being good, studious, and quiet for so long!

His eyes flitted hungrily over his magnificent frigate. Proteus in his absence had been maintained in spanking "Bristol Fashion," with First Officer Mr. Langlie in his stead as acting-captain, aided by Lt. Catterall and Lt. Adair, and that "temporary" Third Officer Lt. Darling, whom Capt. Nicely had fetched him. Lewrie could find nothing to gripe about in her appearance or her readiness.

And there those worthies were by the starboard quarterdeck bulwarks, wide grins plastered on their faces, just about ready to give up Sea Officer "stoic" and whoop like punters at Derby whose horse led the last furlong. His whole crew looked to be gathered on the gangway and glad to see him… happier than he had a right to expect.

Their shalope, a wretched craft only fifty feet on the range of the deck and never meant for extended seafaring, sidled up to Proteus like a timid trout shyly nuzzling up to a great sea bass. After they left the Mississippi Delta, even Lewrie's cast-iron constitution had been challenged to seasickness aboard the shalope, so it was with avidity that he took the single easy step from the shalope's low entry-port to the main-mast channels, man-ropes and boarding battens of the frigate's starboard entry. A moment later, Lewrie stood on his own decks once more, doffing his much-abused wide-brimmed hat in salute to the side-party, the wail of bosun's calls, the stamp-slap of boots and hands on muskets from the Marines, and the doffings from both officers and crew.

Once his honours had been rendered, Lewrie gleefully smiled and whooped himself to send his civilian headgear sailing as far off as possible. He skinned off his hideous shiny-green coat and tore at the buttons that bound him into that tight, striped waist-coat.

"Lemme help, sir!" his steward, Aspinall, joyfully offered as he came near. "God A'mighty, sir, but… these're a tad… garish!"

"Burn 'em if you wish, Aspinall," Lewrie sniggered.

Then there were his officers to greet, his middies, Bosun Pendarves, and his Mate, Mr. Towpenny, now returned to robust, full-fleshed health after his ordeal on the Dry Tortugas. And there was his Coxswain, Andrews, eyes alight with relief that he'd returned at last.

Where's that bloody Nicely? Lewrie fretfully wondered, a glance upwards assuring him that Capt. Nicely's broad pendant still flew aloft; Command of a, hah!… squadron o ' one gone to his head?

As if "witched" up by the very thought, the bulkhead door to the main deck opened below him as he still stood on the starboard gangway. The Manne sentry on that door stamped and presented his musket in salute, and Nicely began to emerge… beaten to it, though, by two balls of fur that streaked so close to Capt. Nicely's feet that he staggered for a moment like a Scotsman dancing over crossed blades, as his cats, Toulon and Chalky, came flying up the starboard quarterdeck ladder in a full-out, softly thundering, feline gallop.

"And there 's my lads!" Lewrie cried, going down on one knee to welcome their arrival, and he didn't care who witnessed it, either, so fondly happy to see them again. And oh! but didn't they twine, mew and trill, stand on their hind legs, and sniff him over, make snorting, open-mouthed sounds as he stroked their heads. They kneaded and gently clawed at his trousers, and made a great ado over him.

"Ah, Captain Lewrie… back at last, I see," Capt. Nicely said once he'd gained the quarterdeck, standing a few feet off, cocking one brow in wary fashion. "The deed's done, sir? Our pirates' foul business stopped, I take it?"

"Not quite, sir," Lewrie told him, looking up, half his attention still fixed on his insistent creatures. "The prize was looted and stripped of anything useful, a dead loss to us. A dead loss for them, too, 'cause we set her afire on our way out of town. Set alight a Yankee emporium ship, too, but that was accidental, really. Let me get below, back in uniform, and I'll tell you all, sir. We know where our pirates are bound, d'ye see, sir, and… there's a chance, just a chance, mind, that when we catch 'em, they might've stolen a shipload of silver the Dons were sending from the Mexico City mint, and-"

"Silver?" Nicely goggled. "A whole shipload o-?"

"Coined silver, sir," Lewrie said, rising to his feet, despite the protestations of his cats. Chalky, younger and spryer, took hold of his trousers at the left knee and scaled him like a tree trunk. "We… ow!… heard rumours in New Orleans the sum might be at least one or two millions. Spanish dollars to British pounds'd be… "

"Jesus bloody Christ!" Capt. Nicely breathed in awe. "And you think you know where they're bound, sir?" he further asked, his mouth moving afterwards in a silent mumble of numbers-juggling. "Five hundred thousand bloody pounds? "

"I do, sir," Lewrie said with a sly smile, with Chalky draped over his unbuttoned waist-coat, and going for his shoulder as agile and intent as a squirrel. "Where they'll likely be, if they're not at… owl, stop that, Chalky, damn ye… if they're not at sea seekin' the booty this instant, sir."

Lewrie looked down as he felt claws on his right leg as Toulon gathered himself for a (clumsy) ascent of his own. Lewrie knelt to let the heavier, older cat have his other shoulder, to spare himself a few more bleeding nicks. Toulon nuzzled, head-butted, and snorted, whilst Chalky went in for more playful love-nips. Needless to say, both were purring as loud and rattly as carriage wheels on street cobbles. "For what I have in mind, sir, we'll need to retain the shalope. She's very shallow draught, and can go… ow!"

"Mister Langlie," Nicely bade, swivelling about. "I'd admire if you order yon… shalope, taken in tow, then get us back underway."

"Aye aye, sir," Lt. Langlie said, flicking a wary gaze betwixt Capt. Nicely and his own Capt. Lewrie for a moment. Now that Lewrie was back aboard, the request should have gone to Lewrie first, then to him. Lewrie cocked a brow at Langlie, as if to say that he would set things right once he and Nicely were below in his great-cabins.

"The course to steer, Mister Langlie, will be roughly Nor'west, a touch of Northing, for Barataria Bay," Lewrie instructed. "Know that place, Mister Winwood?" he asked of his stolidly prim Sailing Master.

"Not personally, no, Captain," that worthy slowly replied after seeming to give the matter a long, ponderous think. "Though I have in my possession a fairly trustworthy chart of the area in question."

"An out o' date, typical slap-dash French or Spanish chart, an hopeful fiction, most-like, but…" Lewrie genially scoffed. "Consult it, anyway, Mister Winwood, and give Mister Langlie the proper heading, then fetch it to my chart space, so we may all refer plans to it."

"Aye aye, sir," Mr. Winwood replied.

"Good Christ!" Lewrie said with a grimace once he was below in his private quarters, inhaling the stench of ram-cats. "Aspinall!" he started to accuse, "have you slacked off your scouring whilst I… "

"Beg pardon, sir, but… " the lad muttered, wringing his hands. "The little fellers seemed t'take to Cap'm Nicely well enough so long as you were still aboard, but oncet you set off for Louisiana, it got sorta… grim, sir. Spent half their time sulkin' for lack o' ya and t'other half prowlin' th' ship in search o' ya, the poor little beasts did. I 'spect they felt a bit put out with a stranger aft. Gave up their sandbox for 'is clothes, the deck canvas… his shoes an' hat, sir? Lurkin' about, peein' on his pillows an' bed sheets… hissin' an' spittin' whene'er they saw him, too, sir. I tried t'scour things fresh with vinegar, e'en smoked th' cabins with tobacco, but the wee lads're nothin' but sneaky an' clever, the little pranksters. Cap'm Nicely didn't take t them, I tell ya, too, sir."

"And what of my clothing, Aspinall?" Lewrie dubiously said, as Aspinall bustled about, prating and fetching him fresh breeches, knee stockings, and shirt. Lewrie held the shirt up, sniffing it warily.

"Oh, no harm t'yours, sir!" Aspinall grinned. "When they were their lowest, they'd curl up t'gether on yer dressing robe. It seemed t'comfort 'em. But nary a whizz did they ever make on it. Though I did have t'brush off a couple pounds o' hair, now an' then, d'ye see. Now… here's a fresh-pressed neck-stock, sir, and yer waist-coat. I got a pitcher o' cold tea brewed, just th' way ya like it, and…"

It was all Lewrie could do to walk from one end of his quarters to the other for his lovelorn cats, who twined round his ankles.

"Right, then," Lewrie said with glad sigh of satisfaction once he was properly and comfortably garbed in complete uniform, less gilt-laced coat and cocked hat. "Do you pass word for Captain Nicely, the ship's officers, and Marine Lieutenant Devereux to attend me."

"Aye, sir," Aspinall responded.

"And uhm… Quartermaster's Mate Jugg, as well," Lewrie added.

"Well, that should cover it," Lewrie concluded, looking at his officers gathered round his desk and the pertinent chart spread atop it. HMS Proteus bowled along on a goodly slant of wind, her larboard shoulder firmly set to the sea, and heeled over about fifteen degrees. It felt good to flex his legs and balance again, good to hear the hissing, swooshing muffled roar of her hull parting the waters. "Two-pronged assault, not so very far apart that either party is dangerously isolated from the other, I trust."

Grand Terre was about five miles long and perhaps a mile wide at best, a low-lying sandy barrier island. It, and its smaller eastern twin, Grand Isle, barred the southern end of Barataria Bay, leaving a poor choice of entrances to the bay. Between the two was the deepest, though Proteus, with her seventeen-and-a-half-foot draught, could not probe too deep between the isles. The borrowed shalope would lead the assault, armed with swivel-guns and 2-Pdr. boat-guns, whilst Proteus would stand in as close as she dared to support with her 12-Pdrs.

It was an uneasy conference, when all depended on Toby Jugg's dim "recollections" of older sailors' talk, with many a "so I heard" qualifier flung about; and Jugg shiftily avoiding how he'd gathered such knowledge… or under which flag he'd gained his "experience."

Jugg sketched out three possible sites that the pirates might use. One was on Grand Isle's Nor'west tip, on the right-hand side of the best channel; the other was on Grand Terre Island 's Nor'east tip, on the other side of the pass. The last, least likely "So I heard of, oncet, sors" was at the far West end of

Grand Terre by the shallower inlet. A schooner could get in there, but not a deep-draught prize to be unloaded and stripped.

At both of the most likely sites there were freshwater springs and rills ashore, dense stands of timber for firewood or huts… off the ground like Indian chichees to deter the venomous snakes that the "auld sailormen" had mentioned. Indeed, there were reputed to be easily recognisable Indian mounds there-wide, tall, and slope-sided, erected God knew how long ago, and for unfathomed uses. There were mounds of oyster, clam, and mussel shells, too-garbage middens from centuries of native settlement, of fishing, raking, and cooking.

Proteus and the shalope would close the coast once it was full dark, launch a cutter and a spying-out party on the evening of their arrival to determine which spot the pirates might be using. If they were even there, of course; if Barataria was more convenient than any inlet farther west, like Atchafalaya Bay, or…

Were they present, all four of Proteus's boats would be used to land a mixed party of seamen and Marines, who would march a short distance overland to take the shore encampment under fire. At the same time, the shalope would go for the pirates' ship and any capture they might have made, curling round behind to block their escape.

If they'd come down Bayou Barataria or the Ouatchas River, like Mr. Pollock had supposed, it made sense to imagine that they would run back that way if overpowered, poling and paddling like mad m pirogues to escape, to lose their pursuers in the maze of coulees or bayous that they alone knew. The shalope's light guns and swivels could slaughter the dugout log canoes and flat-bottomed boats.

"Now, as to who leads which," Lewrie posed, gesturing for them to take seats and accept glasses of claret, now they were finished with the chart. And this was the sticky part.

As commanding officer of HMS Proteus, one who had already earned his captaincy, Lewrie customarily should have left the hard chores to his junior officers, for how else could they ever gain notice with Admiralty except by the successful doing of some brave deed, mentioned favourably in their captain's report of the action. Of such things a successful career was made, promotion and advancement earned, command of their own warships someday "bought" with bloody, fatal risks.

Yet Lewrie wished to be in at the kill, to see firsthand, or cause firsthand, the deaths of the de Guilleris, Lanxade, and Balfa… that cousin of theirs, that Don Rubio Monaster who'd most likely taken the shots at him and was reputedly as tight as ticks with them all… do something with that lying slut Charite, though he did admittedly feel squeamish qualms should she be slain.

"Mister Devereux to take all his Marines for the landing party, it goes without saying," Lewrie declared with a grin, knowing how his elegant and efficient Marine officer relished independent action. They lifted their glasses to each other, Devereux smiling wolfishly.

"Mister Langlie, as First Officer, to oversee our frigate's approach inshore, sir," Capt. Nicely said with a grunt, knowing that Lt. Langlie would be crestfallen. "If I, as temporary commander of this squadron, may deem best, hmm?"

"With Mister Adair to assist," Lewrie said. "Mister Catterall to lead the seamen of the shore landing and take charge of the boats' progress to the beach."

"Thankee, sir!" the burly Catterall hooted with glee, ready to elbow everyone within reach to gloat over his good fortune, even if he could be a bobbing corpse not two days hence.

"We do have Mister Darling handy," Nicely posed.

"Your pardon, Captain Nicely," Lewrie gently objected, "but he is not known to the ship's people. Neither, for that fact, is Mister Gamble, tarry and efficient a Midshipman as he's served in my absence. If I may, sir, as Proteus's captain, I prefer her own people to participate. After what the pirates did to some of her people, they have a personal stake, if you will, in the-"

"Mister Darling and Mister Adair, with Lieutenant Langlie, will manage Proteus, " Captain Nicely decided, "whilst / shall take overall command of the boat party, and you, Captain Lewrie, shall command the shalope."

"Well, sir!" Lewrie gawped, trying to finesse his objection politely and squirming uneasily in his chair. "Dear as I'd wish to see things done to a proper turn, d'ye really think that-"

"Damme, I do, sir," Capt. Nicely rejoined, all smiles and verve. "Privilege of my seniority, d'ye see. Oh, we'll not get in the way of the younger lads who need to make their names, but! If those pirates are in there, and if they've been successful, I would no more be able t'sit by and fidget than I could abide t'watch another man eat my supper… then tell me how tasty it was, hah!

"Are we successful, I intend to write fulsomely of all participants in my report to Admiralty, so no one'll suffer for want of credit. Call me an old war-horse if you must, Captain Lewrie, but I can't turn down the chance for real action… and so I shan't."

Gold fever, more like, Lewrie uncharitably thought; in this case, silver night-sweats/

"Very well, sir," he said, knowing that further quibbling could be deemed insubordination. "In that case, I'll need Mister Adair and a midshipman with me… Mister Larkin's an energetic laddy. And at least eighteen hands. Mister Darling and Midshipman Gamble may stay aboard Proteus to second the First Lieutenant."

"We'll have four more hands, at any rate, sir," Lt. Adair glumly told them, still disappointed to not play a larger role. "The men Mister Pollock loaned you off his brig… once word got round that we could be in the way of substantial prize-money, those four asked to speak with me and ended up taking Ship's Articles. Since they already had their chests and kits, their guinea Joining Bounties are all profit to them too, sir."

"In at the kill, Lewrie!" Capt. Nicely cheered. "They desire to be in at the kill! As to your request for your own Lieutenant and Midshipman to accompany you aboard the shalope, I say 'done, and done,' ha ha!" Nicely slapped the desktop with his palm as if to seal the bargain. "And a full bumper with all of you, gentlemen, from my own stock of wines… a toast to our complete success!"

Which boisterous slap and cry elicited ominous hissing, moaning, and some spits from Toulon and Chalky, now well hidden 'neath the starboard side settee.

They even despise the sound of him, by now, Lewrie sardonically thought as Aspinall produced a brace of claret bottles; Either that, or we're in for a whole lot o ' trouble!