Sea of Grey

said. 'Take Mister Pendarves the Bosun with you, and the rest of Mister Devereux's men.'

'Aye, sir.'

'Cargo manifests, ship's papers, and correspondence before all else, sir!' Lewrie urged. 'Inspect the holds later. Quickly, man… before they ditch 'em or set 'em afire.'

'A fair morning's work, Captain,' Mr. Winwood was saying, now that the folderol and danger was past. 'Two prizes before breakfast. And a passage through shoal waters that'll make them sit up and cheer back in London.'

'We'll see, sir. We'll see,' Lewrie cautioned. Though he did feel rather joysome, himself.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A present for you, Captain Lewrie,' Lt. Devereux said after he had returned aboard and had taken the salute from the side-party. He held out a knitted wool sack that covered something long and narrow and over four feet long. He was beaming with secret delight.

'What the Devil?' Lewrie muttered aloud as he took hold of it, and felt the hidden object's hardness and leanness. Imagining that he knew what it might be, he stripped off the woolen cover as quick as a child might rip open a birthday present. 'Oh, dear Lord, how lovely!'

It was a Pennsylvania rifle, octagonal-barreled, fitted at butt, barrel-bands, and firelock plates with shining brass, the hinged cover to the patch-box in the buttstock also bright brass, and the stock all of a highly polished, ripply-striped bird's eye maple! It was indeed lovely, one of the finest examples of the gun-maker's art that he had ever seen outside of a set of custom duelling pistols; even the plates were engraved so finely that he suspected only a magnifying glass could reveal the detailing.

'Fresh from Philadelphia, sir,' Devereux said proudly, 'and the work of a master craftsman.'

'You've one for yourself, Mister Devereux?' Lewrie asked, lifting the piece to aim at the sky and sight down the long barrel, noting the silver bead on the muzzle's top, and the cut-steel notch sights at the rear, near the fire-lock. 'Was this the only one, I'd understand… envious as all Hell, but…'

'One for myself, too, sir, near its twin,' Devereux confessed with a little laugh, 'and one of lesser quality for every officer and midshipman… as private hunting weapons, ha ha! Two dozen, in all.'

'Personal possessions of yon brig's mates?' Lewrie frowned.

'No looting of a prize, sir… part of her cargo. Withheld as uhm… evidence for the Prize Court?' Devereux snickered.

'By God, we have corrupted you!' Lewrie laughed. 'But this is magnificent, I must own. Find yourself some coehorn mortars, too?'

'No, sir, but those'll come. Ah, here's Mister Langlie, coming aboard with even better news. I'll let him tell the rest.'

Lewrie almost pounced on Langlie, primed to eagerness.

'She's the Sycamore, sir, out of Philadelphia,' Lt. Langlie reported, after he'd taken the salute, doffed his hat, and had been given his own covered rifle up from the boat below the entry-port. 'A native tree, I s'pose, or the name of an Indian tribe. Her master was wounded, and is still aboard. Rather panicked by the thought of expiring, sir, so he was open to questions… between prayers and pleas for his last will and testament to be taken down, that is.'

'Will he live?' Lewrie asked.

'His wounds are more fearful than mortal, sir. Mister Durant is of the opinion that he's more likely to pass over from fret than shot,' Langlie chuckled. 'He openly confessed that he's been smuggling to the French for some time. With most of their overseas trade curtailed, 'tis a lucrative endeavour, I gather. He also admitted he's run arms to L'Ouverture on Saint Domingue. Now his country is all but at war, any large cargoes or arms and powder would have been suspicious, and expensive, with the United States Navy the best customer, so he made arrangements through French agents in Philadelphia to meet the privateer and transfer her arms aboard his 'innocent' ship.'

'What's his cargo, then?' Lewrie asked, absently stroking his new rifle.

'Two thousand stand of arms, Charleville muskets with leather accoutrements, two thousand pairs of boots and shoes,' Langlie intoned as he read from a list he pulled from a coat pocket. 'One hundred and twenty thousand pre-made cartridges and twist paper, shot and powder for half a million more… four six-pounder Gribeauval Pattern pieces of artillery with caissons, limbers, harness, and the essentials for a battery forge-waggon. Blankets, slop- trousers, cross-belts, shakoes, and other uniform items, bayonets, infantry hangers, and officers' quality swords… most of it recently snuck into Guadeloupe aboard a Frog frigate, sailing en flute, sir. A real treasure trove.'

Turning up in Kingston, with that brig astern and the British flag flying over the American, would represent a treasure, a 'golden shower' of prize money, Lewrie was mortal-certain.

'There's also an innocent cargo of molasses and sugar, Captain,' Langlie went on. 'Saint Domingue coffee, tea, and cocoa would have put Sycamore far ahead of the game, once they'd unloaded the arms.'

'Just their bad luck, but to our good. This is documented? We have them by the 'nutmegs' about this, for certain?' Lewrie demanded.

'Every bit of it on paper, sir, even the captain's private log. It was well hidden, but not destroyed. Mister Neale, our Master-At-Arms, was part of my boarding party and he and his Ship's Corporals, Burton and Ragster, are old hands at knowing where sailors hide things.'

'And what they made off with, God only knows… or cares, with all this on our plate,' Lewrie chortled. 'And the rifles were part of the cargo?'

'Ordered specifically, sir. L'Ouverture's people are mad for 'em. Yours, sir… do you look close, you'll find it engraved with Toussaint L'Ouverture's name, sir. It was to be a present to one of his generals, a man named Dessalines.'

'God almighty!'

'We also found three men aboard whose certificates are 'colourable,' sir,' Langlie told him. 'As English as Bow Bells, and with so obvious a set of frauds, they were pathetic. Should we press 'em, sir?'

'But of course,' Lewrie said with a sly grin. 'I'll not turn up my nose at volunteers… willing, or no. Muster 'em on the gun-deck, and I'll have a word with 'em. We're making sternway onto the shores of Saint Thomas, and need to haul off. The wind's veered half a point North'rd, and we're on a lee shore. Might have to sail all the way to the western end of the island, then beat back to pick up Catterall and our boarding party…'

'Excuse me, sir,' Mr. Winwood suggested, coming to his side and looking to Lieutenant Devereux expectantly. 'With the wind veered so, it would be possible to stand back down this Leeward Passage, here, with the wind almost abeam, and be off Ram Head in less than two hours. I, uhm… I must say, Mister Devereux, those are dashed handsome rifles.'

'You are welcome to take your pick from the lot, Mister Winwood. As a private, personal hunting weapon,' Devereux assured him.

'And a handsome gesture, too!' Winwood actually enthused, come over all a'mort with greedy pleasure.

'Our prize is secure and in good order, Mister Langlie?' Lewrie asked him. 'No troubles from her crew or mates?'

'Secure, sir, and ready to proceed. The crew disarmed and our Bosun, Mister Pendarves, and trusted hands to back him up in guarding them,' Langlie confidently stated. 'Very little real damage done.'

'Very well, gentlemen. Let's get under way back down the Leeward Passage. We know it, now, and I know when I've stretched my luck in unfamiliar waters for the day. Better the Devil you know, hey? And not an inch to loo'rd this time. Hmmm… stern kedge anchors readied for dropping, just in case this pass holds a last surprise… right?'

Lewrie reluctantly surrendered possession of his new rifle into Andrews's care, then went down the starboard ladder to the waist where three seamen stood hang-dog, awaiting their fate. Lewrie put his hands in the small of his back and faced them. One, the youngest, hopefully a teenaged topman, stared back fearfully, eyes blared and swallowing in shuddery gulps. One stouter, older fellow dared glare back at him in a sneer. The third, a lanky-lean