Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Commission

"Looks like a good anchorage here, sir," Alan said, shoving the kitten's rump out of the way long enough to indicate Hawk's Nest Anchorage sou'east cf the southern end of the island. "Not much to look at from the chart, though."

"Been here before," Lilycrop said, now busy entertaining the cat. "Nothin' much but coral, salt and mud. Only drinkin' water is what they catch from a rain. More reefs around it than a duchess got necklaces, an' pretty steep-to, close under the shores. Hawk's Nest or Britain Bay up here seem best, 'less we just barge our way into this little harbor on the western side. But I expect the Frogs have a battery there. I would."

"What about fortifications, sir? Ours, I mean, that they've taken over."

"Nary a one, sir." Lilycrop shrugged. "Not much reason for 'em before, since it was only the salt trade that anybody'd come for, and that only in the summer months. God pity the poor French possession of the place, I say."

"If they landed back in the middle of February, they wouldn't have much time to build fortifications, sir," Caldwell pointed out. "Sand and log, rubble from the town perhaps. That sort of place would just soak up round-shot."

"Worth taking, though, sir," Alan said after studying the chart. "Look at all these passes. Turk's Island Passage, Silver Bank, Mouchoir Passage, and up north, the Caicos and the Mayaguana Passages. Put some privateers in here, and just about any ship using the Windward Passage from the west would have to run the gauntlet by here to get to the open sea for home."

"Nobody ever said the French were stupid, aye," Lilycrop said. "A little prospectin' for territory before the war ends. It'd be a year before the peace conference hears of it, and even begins to get the place sorted out in our favor. But, Resistance took two ships, and a sloop of war and one 6th Rate frigate can't carry many troops, or land much in the way of artillery. They're cut off on this island for now, without any ships to support 'em-what, not more'n one hundred fifty or two hundred troops? We can outshoot 'em with our three frigates, and muster more men from our Marines an' seamen. Best kick 'em up the arse now an' have done."

"I'll tell Lieutenant Walsham, sir," Alan said grinning. "God, he'll love it, after being stuck aboard during the Florida thing. Full 'bullock' kit and cross-belts for a proper show."

"How's the leg, Mister Lewrie?" the captain inquired.

"Still a mite tender, sir, but I'll cope," Alan offered. "It really is feeling much better."

"No, I've seen you wincin', try as you will to put a good face on it," Lilycrop replied, waving off Alan's enthusiasm for action. "If we land troops from Shrike, I may go myself. Can't let the young'uns have all the fun, now, can we, Mister Caldwell?"

Damnit, it was Alan's place to go as first officer, and he now regretted his earlier theatrics. But, to act too spry on the morrow would reveal what a fine job of malingering he had been doing; and, he considered, he'd done more than his share of desperate adventuring in the last few months-why take another chance of being chopped up like a fillet steak if there was no reason to?

"Well, if you really are intent on the venture, sir," he sighed, trying to give the impression that he was hellishly miffed.

Their tiny flotilla arrived in Britain Bay off Turk's Island before sundown, just at the end of the first dog-watch. The holding ground was coral and rock, so getting a small bower and the best bower secure in four or five fathoms of crystal-clear water was a real chore. They had to row out a stream anchor as well. The Tartar frigate was driven off her anchorage, losing an anchor in the process, while Captain Dixon from Drake rowed ashore under a flag of truce to demand the French garrison surrender. The prize, La Coquette, stayed out at sea, standing on and off as the winds freshened.

Once they could pause from their labors and consider Shrike safely moored, Alan could see French troops ashore in their white uniforms, drawn up on a summit overlooking the ships, which were not over a cable to two cables' length from the shimmering white beaches. It looked to be, Alan decided after plying his glass upon them, not more than the one hundred fifty to two hundred men that Lieutenant Lilycrop had surmised.

Captain Dixon's boat came off the shore just at the end of the second dog, around eight in the evening, with news that the French had refused to surrender. That response was thought to be pretty much a formality for the sake of their honor, the prevailing view being that once a determined landing party went ashore in the morning and a few broadsides had been fired off, the French would shoot back a few times and then haul down their flag in the face of overwhelming force.

During the night, Albemarle and Resistance fired a few shots into the woods overlooking Britain Bay to keep the French awake and in a state of nerves for the morrow. Shrike 's people sharpened their swords and bayonets; the Marines went about hard-faced and grim, tending to their full uniforms (which were only worn for battle or formal duties in port) and seeing to their fire-locks, flints and powder. The rasp of files and stones on bayonets and hangers and cutlasses made a harsh, sibilant rhythm under the sounds of the fiddlers on the mess decks who went through their entire repertory of stirring airs before Lights Out.

At first light, just at 5 a.m., they stood to, ready to board their boats and set off for the shore expedition. Captain Dixon of the Drake brig would lead. Evidently, Tartar had not been able to keep good holding ground, for there had been no sign of her since she had lost a second anchor and been driven off shore in the night.

"Not much to the place by daylight, is there, Mister Cox?" Alan asked as their swarthy little master gunner strolled aft to the quarterdeck.

"Little dry on the windward end here, sir, true," Cox said in a rare moment of cheerfulness as he looked forward to some action for a change. "Same's most islands here'bouts. Might I borrow your glass, sir?"

Alan loaned him his personal telescope and let the man look his fill of the shadowy forests above the beach where the troops would land. There wasn't much to see, not in dawn-light. Sea-grape bushes, poison manchineel trees, sturdy but low pines and scrub trees that only gave an impression of green lushness rooted firmly in the sandy soil of a coral and limestone island.

"No sign of a battery this end, sir," Cox commented, handing the tube back. "And I'd not make those heights over forty-five feet above the level of the beach, even if there was. Good shooting for us."

Lieutenant Lilycrop came on deck in his best uniform coat, wearing his long straight sword at his hip, with a pair of pistols stuffed into the voluminous coat pockets. His face was red and raw from a celebratory shave, his first of the week.

"No stirrings from the French yet, Mister Lewrie?" he asked.

"Nothing to be seen, sir," Alan replied.

"Might be a white uniform in those trees, sir," Cox disagreed. "Sentries, most like so far. But no sign of a battery."

"They've had all night to prepare, even so." Lilycrop frowned. "Well, Lieutenant Walsham. Rarin' to have a crack at 'em, are ye, sir?"

"Aye aye, sir," Walsham answered, sounding a lot more somber than his usual wont. He was a recruiting flyer, the very picture of a Marine officer this morning, as if dirt and lint would never dare do harm to the resplendency of his red uniform. The gorget of rank at his throat flashed like the rising sun.

"Doubt we'll need springs on the cables," Lilycrop mused. "I 'spect the frigates'll cover the landin', and we won't be called for much firin', 'less they try to sweep 'round to flank us once we're ashore. If they do, they'll be in plain sight of our guns over there. And it ain't a full two cables to that low hill."