Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

"The local garrison commander knows nought of 'em," Lewrie said with a shrug. "Fort George depends on a monthly packet, long way about."

"Bloody soldiers, what'd they know?" Gatacre sneered. "I've my doubts they'd know how to bait a hook were they starvin', an' that from the beach!"

"And in wartime, Fort George, and any number of outposts would be cut off from Turks Island or South Caicos, and would fall without a way to resupply," Lewrie added. "And it's not just protecting the salt trade. Look wider afield. Mouchoir Passage, Turks Passage, the Silver Bank Passage, Caicos… even Mayaguana and Crooked Island Passages up north of here. Any ship leaving the Caribbean through the Windward Passage has to thread one of these to get to the open sea. A British base in the Caicos could guard them all. Or deny them all."

"Salt's important, too, sir," Ballard stated.

Since the late 1600s, Bermudian ships had been coming to the Turks to evaporate sea-salt in shallow salinas, then rake "white gold" in the summers. There were few settled islands so far, but displaced Loyalists and other opportunists were beginning to flood in, so a Crown presence was now necessary.

"What about this pass here between Water Cay and Blue Hills' eastern tip, sir?" Lewrie asked. "This quaintly named Leeward-Going-Through?"

"Narrow an' shallow f r deep-draught merchantmen, or men o' war, sir," Gatacre frowned. "An' coral reefs which block access west toward Discovery, Proggin, or Sapodilla Bays. Our best hopes are o' findin' a pass outa Caicos Creek'r Malcolm Road on the western coast, maybe from Clear Sand Road south o' West Caicos. What lies beyond 'em is a myst'ry so far, though. South o' West Caicos, there's reefs an' shoals aplenty. Passes, even so, but where they lead? Been a graveyard o' ships down there. Ye have deep water, God, fathomless deeps t'leeward. Then, in less'n three cables, half a nautical mile, it shoals so fast, and the breakers're so rough, that you're smashed like an egg on rock an' coral 'fore ya could put yer helm over! There's said t'be millions in pound sterlin' o' gold an' silver litterin' the ocean floor. Might ya dredge along the inner reefs, past the breakers, I 'spect there's untold fortune, an' that but a fraction o' what these shoals have claimed, since the days o' Cortez!"

"My word," Lewrie started. "And in shallow water, d'ya say!"

"Shall we haul up a bucket of doubloons before or after breakfast, Captain?" Ballard japed.

"Now you've done it, Mister Gatacre," Lewrie sighed. "Talk from the wardroom always gets forrud quick as lightning. We'll be lucky to get a decent hour's work from the hands tomorrow!"

"Ah, don't ya think such talk'll make 'em pay real close attention t'the bottom, though, sir?" Gatacre snickered.

Malcolm Road led nowhere but to high bluffs and jagged coral heads. Caicos Creek had been promising; twenty-four feet of water at the narrow entrance, and led east to South Bluff on Blue Hills, thence to Proggin Bay 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."