Reefs and Shoals

“What sort o’ fight was it, Mister Lovett?” Lewrie said to the other victor who was looking anxious to boast of his deeds.

“Sharp enough, sir, for a privateer,” Lt. Lovett glady related. “When she saw that there was no escape, Westward, she opened fire upon me, to which I replied. She had ten six-pounders, and they were well-manned and well-drilled, but not all that accurate, thank the Lord. I opened at about a cable’s range and scored some hits, then Bury and Lizard came up off her larboard quarter and served her a broadside.”

At the mention of his name, Lt. Bury looked up from the captured books he was rapidly scanning, and gave a little smile.

“This Chaptal fellow couldn’t out-foot me, though he did try to put helm up and come down on me,” Lovett went on, “at which point Bury fell off the wind and gave her a stern-rake, the same time as I hardened up to keep aloof of him and gave him another broadside, which forced him to haul his wind, else Bury would rake him again. I hauled wind, and we ended up on either beam, blazing away like mad, and that was enough for them! With her sails in rags, she struck.”

“Before the action began, sir,” Lt. Bury absently said, his attention still glued to the books and ledgers, “the Insolent bore sixty-eight hands, in all, and lost nine dead and fourteen wounded to some degree.” Bury looked up long enough to reward them with another of his shy grins, then returned to his delving. “We shot very well.”

“Our Surgeon’s Mates are seeing to them, sir,” Lt. Lovett said. “Three or four are in a bad way, so, perhaps your Surgeon, Mister Mainwaring, might assist them?”

“Pass word for my Cox’n and boat crew, and for the Surgeon,” Lewrie ordered. “He’s needed on the prize, tell him.”

“There’s another matter, sir,” Lt. Lovett said, turning grim. “These two sailors were captured. They claim to be American, but one of them is as Irish as Paddy’s Pig, and the other might as well have been hauled up from a Welsh coal-mine.”

“On a French privateer?” Lewrie said with a frown, rounding to look at the two men whom Lovett indicated.

“Could be deemed treasonous, sir,” Lt. Lovett gravelled.

“Indeed it could,” Lewrie said, pacing over toward them where they stood by the entry-port, tarred straw hats in their hands being nervously turned round and round, and trying to look inconspicuous, as if they took up little space, perhaps no one would notice them. Both were dressed in typical sailors’ garb of loose shirts, one in gingham check, the other in tar- and smoke-stained plain linen, tucked into the usual canvas slop-trousers which almost hid the toes of their buckled shoes.

“And who are you, my lads?” Lewrie gravely demanded.

“Michael Innis, so please ye, sor,” the taller and fairer of the pair nervously replied, “cutty-eyed” and unable to look Lewrie in the eyes. His accent was straight out of a peat bog.

“And you?” Lewrie asked the other, who was shorter, wirier, and black haired, with almost a Cornish beak for a nose.

“Dyfid Evans, sir,” the young fellow said, “David, t’at is, but some call me Dewey. T’is t’patron saint, d’ye see, and…” He withered under Lewrie’s stern glare, and shut his mouth.

“Two British subjects, serving aboard an enemy privateer in time of war,” Lewrie accused. “That’s a foul business, my lads.”

“But Oi’m not British, sor, arrah!” Innis protested in a sputter. “Nor Oirish neither! Swear by Christ, sor! Oi’ve me citizenship papers in me sea-chest t’prove it! Moy fam’ly an’ me, settled in Darien, South o’ Savannah, a whole ten year ago, sor!”

“And I’m from Savannah, sir,” Evans insisted. “I’ve been American t’ree years, now! I got my certificate, too, sir, if you’d let us fetch ’em and show t’em to ya!”

“American consuls hand ’em out by the thousands to whoever wants ’em,” Lewrie scoffed. “They print ’em up and sell them, and hand lots over to jobbers to sell for a cut! They aren’t worth the price of the ink!”

“No, sir! No, sir!” Evans frantically rejoined, “Beggin! your pardon, sir, but mine isn’t from a consul, sir, but t’ Mayor o’ Savannah! When I first shipped aboard tradin’ ships, knowin’ t’at t’e war was on and all, me Da wouldn’t let me go ’less I had solid proof, so I wouldn’t be pressed!”

“We come t’America ten year ago, sor, when I was but a wee lad,” Innis stuck in. “Oi been a Georgian since! Loik Davey here says, sor, when Oi thought t’leave the bargin’ trade and go t’sea, Oi went to a local magistrate at Sunbury for a certificate, for the same reason!”

“Mister Caldwell,” Lewrie called over his shoulder to the Sailing Master. “Do you know of any places named Darien or Sunbury?”

“Ehm, sir,” the ever-cautious Caldwell said, referring to one of his American-drawn charts. “I do see the names, which refer to river settlements of little importance. There is a notation that the region is referred to as the Midway settlements.”

“Aye, sor, Midway’s closer t’Savannah, an’ Sunbury oncest was a rival t’Savannah,” Innis exclaimed with a hopeful note to his voice, as if proof of his town’s existence was proof of his innocence.

“But, why the Devil would ye sign aboard a French privateer in time of war?” Lewrie pressed, shaking his head at the lunatick nature of such service. “Surely, ye’d know did you get taken, there’d be a good chance of hangin’.”

“Well, sir,” Evans said with a sheepish, grin, “t’ere’s a power more money t’be earned t’an aboard a merchantman, and a chance t’see more o’ t’e world t’an Havana or Basse-Terre.”

“Beats th’ bargin’ trade all hollow, too, sor,” Innis added.

“ Only Havana or Basse-Terre?” Lewrie asked, perking up. “There and back again was all you did?”

“Well, sir, we did see Fort-de-France on Martinique, once,” Evans offered, shrugging and almost smiling in remembrance of a good time, despite his circumstances.

“Do either of you speak French?” Lewrie asked them, curious as to how the pair of them had fit in aboard a French raider.

“We learned enough o’ their words for sail-tendin’ an’ such, sor,” Innis told him, “and, seein’ as how short they were o’ sailors, they made sure we picked up their palaver roight quick, but… they rated us Landsmen, sor, and niver paid us no mind off-watch.”

“Butt o’ t’eir japes, more-like, sir,” Evans added. “I spent a year and a half a merchant mariner and got rated Ordinary, but not on t’e Insolent. She’s a poor ‘feeder’, t’boot.”

“The merchant trade,” Lewrie slowly said, hands in the small of his back and his gaze averted to the horizon. “Out of Savannah, to French or Spanish ports… nowhere else? What sort o’ merchant work?”

Innis and Evans shared a look, nigh-shrugged at the same time as if resigned, then announced, “T’e Prize-Court trade, d’ye see, sir? Seein’ what prizes t’at Insolent and t’e others took t’sell at Basse- Terre or Havana,” Evans told him.

“Then ship aboard another bound back t’Savannah, sor,” Innis chimed in, “t’do it all over again. Got roight boresome, it did.”

Lewrie whirled to gawp at them with as much delight as if the Christmas holidays had come early, just for him!

“The others, you say?” Lewrie asked them. “ What others?”

“Well, there’s the Otarie, what means t’e ‘Sea Lion’, for one,” Evans confessed. “T’en t’ere’s t’ Furieux, but her captain’s a real Tartar. Sea Lion ’s captain…”

“Mollien,” Lewrie stuck in.

“Aye, sir,” Evans said. “He’s good at it, but can’t hold a patch t’Captain Chaptal. T’at’s why we signed aboard her, sir, for he’s t’e most successful, young t’ough he be.”

“There was a Spaniard, too, now and again, the Torbellino,” Innis told Lewrie. “Moighta been a Catholic-run ship, but there’s no way Oi’d ever take articles with a