Dewey Lambdin - Reefs and Shoals

“Damn,” Lewrie groused.

“The ebb below mean low-tide depths marked on the chart, though, are reckoned to be only three-quarters to one and a half feet,” the Sailing Master went on with a happy uplift of one corner of his mouth. “Given the indicated depths in the entrance channel where you wish to anchor our ship, sir, which range from thirty-three feet to fourty or more, Reliant should be quite safe, even at the greatest variation of a new moon low tide. Of course, such does not signify for the rest of the squadron, which only draw ten to twelve feet. Barring the presence of unforseen silt and sediment shoals, even Thorn will swim most ably into the Cumberland, and up the tributaries… the Saint Mary’s most especially.”

“Very well, then!” Lewrie declared, rubbing his hands together in relief. “There’s where Reliant will come to anchor nine days from now,” he said, using a pencil to make an X on the chart just outside the entrance channel, “say, around midnight, giving us bags of time to man the gunboats and the smaller boats, sort them out into order, and… Get out of the way, Chalky!”

“With less chance that any watchers posted near the channel might see us,” Westcott agreed, “or warn them before we’re on our way to their lair… whichever river it will be.”

“The Saint Mary’s,” Lewrie assured him. “It’s the likeliest.”

Settled upon that destination, Lewrie leaned down to peer at the chart more closely, tracing the course of the St. Mary’s West to the first bend which sharply turned South, about two miles along, and ran South for another mile before yet another ox-bow that led to the Nor’west. There was a good, deep channel all the way, deep enough for any of their ships if they kept to the Spanish side ’til they reached the Southern bend. There was a patch that showed only thirteen feet, before hitting a deep pool at the ox-bow bend with nigh-fourty feet of water on the American side, then averaged twenty to twenty-four feet on the Spanish side of the river to the next bend. The chart did not cover enough territory; it was more concerned with the immediately accessible waters near the sea.

Far as I know, the bloody river snakes its way to the Gulf of Mexico! Lewrie thought; Surely, we won’t have t’chase ’em that far! If it is navigable that far, shouldn’t there be a town of some kind up there, far inland, where they can dash ashore and get lost in the population? Damn, and double-damn!

“Well, thank you, Mister Caldwell, you are most re-assuring,” Lewrie said, returning to the here-and-now. “Thankee, indeed.”

“My pleasure, sir, and my duty,” Caldwell preened, bowing his head. “If I may be excused now, sir, I told the youngest Mids that I would test them on their knowledge of the principal stars.”

“Of course, Mister Caldwell,” Lewrie gladly told him.

Just so long as ye don’t think t’test me ! Lewrie thought; What got lashed into me, I’ve mostly forgotten!

Lewrie rolled up the chart to stow it away, spilling Chalky onto his feet most-nettled that “play” was over. Toulon had finally gotten from the deck to a chair seat, thence atop the table, and sat on his haunches, looking about to see what fun he might have missed. He and Chalky got sufficient “wubbies” to mollify them.

“Care for some fresh air on deck, Mister Westcott?” Lewrie invited. “It’s hot and stuffy in here.”

“Delighted, sir,” Westcott agreed.

They spent some time strolling the quarterdeck to savour the wind and the clear sunshine. Far to the Sou’west the isle of Bimini was just above the horizon, a wee speck set in the heaving and short-chopped seas near the Northwest Providence Channel. They paced side-by-side for several minutes without speaking, ’til Lt. Westcott spoke up.

“Have you given any thought to the allocation of the gunboats, sir?” Westcott asked in a low voice, “And which of us will stay with the ship?”

“I’m torn between whether the armed ships’ boats will lead, or whether the gunboats should,” Lewrie mused. “It could turn out to be a cutting-out, if all goes accordingly, and we might let some of the sloops’ crew manage that, with some of our Marines parcelled out with them. With the gunboats very close astern, with our hands and more Marines in them. Perhaps all at once, ships’ boats and gunboats working in concert.”

“Hmm… depending on whether we achieve complete surprise or not, sir,” Westcott seemed to agree. “Though, once we anchor, there is the very real possibility that it will take longer than planned to get everyone ready to go. It always does, sir, or seems to.”

“Aye,” Lewrie said. “There’s many a slip ’twixt the crouch and the leap.”

“Our cutters and barges, sir,” Westcott went on, “that’s four. Two boats of decent size each from the other ships, that makes a total of ten.”

“Lovett’s Firefly has no Lieutenant, and only one Midshipman,” Lewrie pointed out. “Perhaps only eight boats, divided into two divisions, or flotillas, or what-you-call-’ems. It’d be best did Lovett keep his small crew together. That will require an aggressive officer to command one division, on the water and closer to the action.”

“Aye sir, it would,” Westcott said through taut lips.

“I think you’re best for that, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie told him. “You’ll take one of the gunboats. I assume that’s what you’re drivin’ at?”

“It is, sir, and thank you!” Westcott exclaimed in relief that he would not remain aboard the frigate and miss out on the action.

“Merriman’s junior. He’ll command Reliant, ” Lewrie decided. “Spendlove can take the other gunboat, and we’ll put our oldest Mids in charge or our boats, leaving Munsell and Rossyngton behind, to aid Merriman. Thorn can spare Lieutenant Child and one of her Mids, and Bury can place Rainey and a Mid in her boats. We’ll speak with Simcock as to how many Marines he can spare for it.”

“Ehm… Merriman will command our ship, sir?” Westcott asked. “Where will you be?”

“I think I’ll go in aboard one of the gunboats,” Lewrie said, “either yours, or Spendlove’s.”

“You will, sir?” Westcott gawped.

“Spendlove’s,” Lewrie announced. “I’d not wish t’crimp your style, Mister Westcott.”

“Ehm, well… thank you, sir,” Westcott said, grinning.

“I’ve been bored shitless, I’ve been insulted, demeaned, and I’ve been rebuffed and dismissed at every port we’ve called at,” Lewrie went on. “Not to mention discumbobulated and mystified, and, now that there is a good chance the privateers, their prizes, and this blood-thirsty Treadwell bastard might be there with some of his damned barges, damme if I’ll miss a shot at settlin’ their business for good and all!”

He paused a moment to look up at the commissioning pendant and the top-masts, rocking on the balls of his booted feet.

“Besides, Mister Westcott, even if they ain’t there, and we hit an empty bag, at least we’ll be doin’ something!”

“Anchored by best bower and kedge, sir, with springs on the cables, and the guns will be manned and loaded once all our boats are clear,” Lt. Merriman reported. The night was so dark without a moon, and the usual lights at forecastle belfry, binnacle cabinet, and the taffrail lanthorns extinguished, that Lewrie could not see that officer’s glum expression, though he could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“Very well, Mister Merriman, you have charge of the ship until our return,” Lewrie told him. “Mister Spendlove, Mister Westcott, are the gunboats alongside?”