THE GUN KETCH

and Sapodilla Bay, then Discovery Bay, which was a good anchorage. But a reef with exposed coral heads blocked progress to the east, and the Caicos Bank shallowed to six feet not very far offshore to the south, and continued like a clear-water lake all the way to the horizon and the tempting sight of other islands.

And there was not twelve feet of water from South Bluff across the direct course to West Caicos inside the Banks to Clear Sand Road, so they had to thread their way back out Caicos Creek to reach the sea, then proceed south along the leeward coast of West Caicos, which was the situation for which they sought a solution in a nutshell.

'At least we know there's 100 fathoms depth within a mile of shore,' Lewrie announced as they loafed along under reduced sail in West Caicos's lee. Hands in the forechains were swinging the deep-sea lead, while the luggers prowled much closer inshore of Alacrity. 'A touch rocky for good holding-ground, but one could come to anchor quite close up to the beach yonder.'

'Aye, sir, though if the winds veer westerly, I'd not trust it for a storm… good Christ!' Gatacre snapped suddenly.

William Pitt had dined on iguana the night before, too, but had salvaged himself a few choice morsels of offal before it had been cooked, and had appeared on deck towing a taloned paw in his mouth nearly the size of his head. He brought it to Lewrie's feet and dropped it, sat back on his haunches and looked up, evidently quite proud of himself, expecting a pet or two.

'Stole it from the cook, did you, Pitt?' Lewrie chuckled as hebent down to rub the ram-cat between the ears. 'I suppose that qualifies as 'hunting.' Good cat. Good lad, you are.'

'Gawd, what a stench!' Gatacre complained softly.

'One should not complain about stench until one has discovered a breadroom rat half his size in one's shoes o' the morning, sir,' Lewrie told him.

'At least he is useful in that regard, Captain.'

'Profitable, too, Mister Gatacre,' Lewrie joshed with a droll expression as he rose. 'The midshipmen's mess pays dear for 'miller' fattened on ship's biscuit.'

'Dear God, ye…' Gatacre winced, looking a touch queasy.

'I suspect the purser Mr. Keyhoe breeds 'em, as a sideline to tobacco and slop-goods. Fresh meat's always been…'

'No bottom!' The larboard leadsman sang out. 'No bottom to this line!'

'Quartermaster, ease your helm alee. Pinch us up shoreward a point,' Lewrie ordered. 'We'll rediscover the 100-fathom line.'

'Sail ho!' the masthead lookout called as well. 'One point forrud o' the starboard beam! Three-master, runnin' sou'east!'

'Busy morning,' Gatacre mused. 'Must be on passage for South Caicos or Turks Island, if she'd dare run down these breakers heading sou'east, sir. Anyone else'd give 'em a wide berth.'

'May she have joy of it,' Lewrie nodded. 'Cony, do you discard this little 'offering' of Pitt's for me, would you.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

And for another hour, they loafed south, with the merchantman looming hull-up over the horizon, coming within a league to seaward, then passing ahead as she cleared Southwest Point on West Caicos Island, and gradually began to subside below the horizon.

'Deck, there!' the lookout called again, urgently. 'There be luggers clearin' the point, fine on the larboard bows!'

'Mister Ballard, recall the ship's boats at once,' Lewrie said. 'Do not use the signal gun. Make a hoist, instead. I'll thankee for the loan of your glass, sir,'

'Aye, aye, sir,' Ballard nodded, taken unawares.

Lewrie slung the telescope over his shoulder by its rope strap and trotted forward to the taller foremast. He stepped up onto the bulwarks and swung outboard onto the ratlines of the shrouds and began to scale the mast as high as the fighting top.

From there he could see four, possibly five shallow-draft local-built luggers, some with one mast, some with two, all bunched together like a sailing race. They had low freeboards, appeared scrofulous as badly maintained fishing craft, but would be fast. But there were, to his eyes, far too many men aboard the nearest ones to be fishermen.

'Pirates, by God!' he exclaimed, turning to the lookout. 'We're going to see some action, damme if we ain't!'

Without pausing to gather the breath he'd lost in climbing the mast, he took hold of a tarred backstay and let himself down hand over hand, half-sliding with his legs wrapped around it, to the deck.

'Mister Ballard, the boats!' he panted.

'Coming now, sir.'

'Coming? So is bloody Christmas! Stir 'em up!' Lewrie paced, eager to get sail on his little ship and clear for action. 'Tell off a midshipman, and two hands per boat to tend them. None of the gunners, mind. Mister Harkin, prepare to crack on sail! Mister Fowles, ready your guns now with what hands you may gather! It's pirates after yon merchantman, Mister Ballard, standing out under the point, and so far, they won't know we're here until we clear it. Mister Gatacre, Mister Fellows, what do your charts tell you about shoal-water south of here? I wish to press up to windward, inshore of them, so they cannot escape back over the Banks.'

'Uhm…' John Fellows spoke up quickly, more attuned to haste than the civilian Gatacre. 'There's reputed to be ten fathoms close-to along the reefs, Captain. Once 'round the point, it runs east-sou'east across the mouth of Clear Sand Road. There's passes through the reefs after Southeast Reef, one after Molasses Reef… ah, here… and maybe a pass below French Cay, here… another here before West Sand Spit?'

'Do we keep the wind gauge, we deny them those passes, and keep them seaward,' Lewrie nodded with a grim smile. 'Good, Mister Fellows. Thankee. Damn my eyes, where're those bloody boat crews?'

'Alongside now, sir,' Ballard replied, sounding a touch eager himself now.

'Leave Mr. Shipley with 'em,' Lewrie decided, relegating the more useful of the Royal Naval Academy midshipmen to their command. 'He's to put into Clear Sand Road and anchor to await our return.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'Mister Harkin, pipe 'All Hands!' Get sail on her!'

* * *

Alacrity began to fly as the tops'ls were freed by men aloft on the footropes. Clews were drawn down to spread them to the wind and they bellied light-air full, rustling and drumming. Outer-flying jib and foretopmast stays'1 soared up the stays up forward, filled with air, and were manhandled over to the starboard side by the fo'c's'le crew. Though still in West Caicos' lee and robbed of the full power of the Trades, there was a rivulet of wind close inshore that swept almost due south along the coast, a wind she took full advantage of.

'Mister Ballard, beat to quarters,' Lewrie snapped. 'Before we meet the stronger winds below Southwest Point.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

The gun lashings came off, the tackle and blocks were laid out on deck clear of recoil, and the guns were run in to the full extent of the breeching ropes. Ship's boys came up from below with the first leather or wooden cylinders which contained premeasured bags of powder from the magazines. Gun captains under the direction of the quarter-gunner Buckinger fetched rammers, worm-ers and slow match, while the train-tackle men appeared with handspikes and crow-levers to be used to shift aim right or left quickly with brute force. Gun captains went to the arm-thick shot garlands made of salvaged towing cable to select the roundest, truest iron round-shot stored within, rolling them and turning them over and over to look for imperfections or dents which could send them off-aim.

'Charge yer guns!' Buckinger snarled. 'Uncover yer vents!' Alacrity trembled to the slamming noises of flimsy partitions and furniture being slung below on the orlop stores deck, out of the way so her crew would not be decimated by clouds of flying splinters.

'Shot yer guns! Tamp 'em down snug, now, lads. Wads!'

'Open the gun ports and run out, Mister Ballard.'