Dewey Lambdin - Reefs and Shoals

His own hands were cheering and jeering as the last French hold-outs came up from below, tossing aside their muskets, pistols, swords, and cutlasses, even personal knives, onto a loose pile of weaponry. A lone Marine emerged from the forward hatchway, his uniform and his kit still in Sunday Divisions best, with his musket slung over his shoulder and a bundle of abandoned weapons in his arms to add to the pile.

Lewrie went forward as Sgt. Trickett appeared from the hatch.

“Beg t’report, Cap’m sir,” Trickett said, stamping and stiffening in parade-ground fashion, “all the lower decks’re clear o’ enemies. No weapons remainin’, no spirits looted, and guards on their run and such. The Frogs did put up a wee fight, up forrud, but we ended that right quick. There’s two dead and five wounded still below. None o’ our lads, though, sir!”

“Very well, Sergeant Trickett,” Lewrie replied, looking over to his Mids, Entwhistle and Grainger. “Any of our people hurt, sirs?”

“Some nicks, cuts, and bruises, sir, that’s all,” Mr. Entwhistle reported.

“Well done, lads!” Lewrie congratulated them all, “Damned well, and briskly, carried! Do you be free with the French’s scuttle-butts and drink some water. There’s more work up-river. Fun’s not over!”

“Sir! Sir!” Lt. Rainey from Lizard cried, once he and his men had boarded and secured their boats to take charge of the prize. “The other privateer is cutting her cable and making sail! She and her prize! I do believe they’re trying to escape us, further up-river!”

“Right, then! Drink up, lads, and we’ll get back in our boats. Mister Rainey?” Lewrie said. “The prize is yours. I will leave you five of my Marines to help guard the prisoners. Be sure that no one gets into the rum, and all those weapons get moved aft of the helm.”

“Aye, sir, I have charge of the prize,” Rainery agreed.

Reliant ’s cutter and barge refilled with men and shoved off as Lewrie waited by the entry-port. The gunboat was brought alongside, and sailors and Marines tumbled down into her, Lewrie going last.

“Shove off, and get a way on!” Lewrie snapped to Spendlove once seated aft by the tiller on a thwart. “Take us close-aboard Lizard, if ye please, sir. I wish t’speak to Bury as we pass.”

“Aye, sir,” Spendlove said.

Lizard had gone alongside the prize brig up-river of Mollien’s schooner, and British sailors were swarming her bulwarks and the sail-tending gangways. Bury stood aft, evidently waiting for Lewrie. He leaned far out to shout his news.

“The French guards took a boat and rowed to the Spanish side, sir!” Lt. Bury told him. “But the prize’s master, mates, and crew are here on board. We’ve freed them!”

“Let them work her out to mid-river short of the entrance channel, Mister Bury, and anchor!” Lewrie directed, standing in the boat. “We’ll need their testimony before we let ’em sail off! I have need of your ship up-river!”

“I see, sir, and I shall follow you, directly!” Bury promised, pointing up the St. Mary’s to the fleeing privateer and prize brig, and the gaggle of barges that were trying to escape. Two of them had men at the rails tossing goods overboard to lighten them to reduce their draughts, and improve their speed. “We will have those soon!”

“There’s enough wind, it seems, sir,” Lt. Spendlove told him. “Should we hoist sail?”

“Aye, let’s give it a try,” Lewrie agreed. “It’s a lovely morning for a race.” The oarsmen aboard heartily agreed with that as well, and raised a brief cheer as the jib and gaff lugs’l were hauled aloft, the halliards cleated, and the sheets drawn in. It was not a good wind they found, but the gunboat did begin to move forward, breasting the river current and heeling over a few degrees.

It’s a river, so it must be fresh, Lewrie thought. He hadn’t taken his own advice to drink from the freshwater scuttle-butts aboard the privateer. He dipped a hand over-side, took a tentative taste of the river, then scooped up several handfulls to slake his thirst. It was fresh, with a silty, leaf-mouldy taste.

“ Hmph, ” Lt. Spendlove commented, looking off the gunboat’s starboard quarter. “That’s expedient.”

“What?” Lewrie asked, turning to see what he was talking about.

“Mister Westcott’s cut the last barges free, and is letting the river current take them out into the Cumberland Sound, sir. I think he’s getting the brig under way… but I don’t see many hands aboard.” Spendlove pointed out.

“If the harbour watch and guards have abandoned her, she’d not need many t’work her out,” Lewrie speculated. “Some of Thorn ’s hands, perhaps.”

“None of her own still aboard her, then, sir?” Spendlove asked with a worried frown. “Already marched, off, or… slain?”

“God knows, Mister Spendlove,” Lewrie said with a sigh.

All of Westcott’s Marines and most of his sailors were getting back into their boats, leaving not over a dozen on board. Lovett’s sloop, Firefly , had not waited for them to complete their work and had continued sailing on, her sails limply filling and flagging as she left the North side of the river for mid-channel and began to slant nearer to Lewrie’s gunboat.

“Hoy, Captain Lewrie!” Lovett bellowed through a speaking-trumpet. “Do you wish me to pursue, or should I board the three-master to see if she can be worked out of the river?”

Lewrie looked at the three-masted ship that was slowly looming up on the Spanish side. He could not see anyone aboard her above her bulwarks, or on her gangways or quarterdeck. No one was working on her forecastle to cut her anchor cable, and no one had laid aloft to free any sail. She might have already been abandoned by the French sailors who formed her harbour watch.

If Lovett fetches alongside her, it’ll take him half an hour t’work back to the speed he’s already got, Lewrie thought, scheming an answer as quickly as he could; He’s best left to pursue.

“View, halloo, Lovett! Go after them!” Lewrie shouted to him, and even from two hundred yards away, Lewrie could see how much that order pleased the fellow. “Tally ho!”

What about the three-master? Lewrie asked himself.

“Mister Entwhistle!” he called forward to Reliant ’s barge. “I fear that you and Mister Grainger must go aboard this prize, here. Spendlove and I will continue on with the gunboat!”

“Aye aye, sir!” Entwhistle replied, looking crestfallen.

“Once the river’s clear astern of you, you may try to get her anchor up and work her out, and anchor short of the entrance,” Lewrie added, more as a sop to their disappointment than anything else. The excitement of the day was over for those lads.

Lewrie looked round again. There was Firefly , slowly stepping away ahead by about an hundred yards. Lizard was astern of his boat by about two hundred yards, standing away from the freed brig. Lt. Westcott and his gunboat, cutter, and barge formed a short column on the American side of the river, astern of them all but making sail.

“Still have that chart with you, Mister Spendlove?” Lewrie asked.

“Aye, sir.” Spendlove said, pulling it from the breast pocket of his coat and handing it over. Lewrie spread it out on his knees. They were past a possible escape route, the very shallow Point Peter Creek on the American side, and there was marsh on either hand for at least a mile on the Spanish side and the North, so…

There came a series of distant bangs from astern. Lewrie saw puffs of powder smoke rising from the marshes on the North bank, and return fire from Westcott’s boats.