returned months later, there was no sign they’d ever been there, and no one’d give me the time o’ day as to which of ’em did it,” Lewrie said in sour reminiscence. “You’ll want t’keep a weather eye on that business, too, sir.”
“Good God!” Grierson exclaimed. “Perhaps I should hang one or two, to dissuade their criminal tendencies.”
“Good luck on that, sir,” Lewrie said, chuckling. “The courts hereabouts merely wink at cases like that … if ye can wake ’em up long enough t’present one. Then, there’s still the problem of French and Spanish privateers, and the coast of Spanish Florida. I’ve a mind to keep my squadron together and prowl over that way, t’keep the frogs and the Dons honest. And scare any more Americans from aidin’ them.”
“Well, now I…,” Grierson began, but the cabin servant had come with Lewrie’s tea, now that it had cooled sufficiently.
“Most refreshin’, thankee kindly,” Lewrie told the servant after he had taken a sip. He turned back to Grierson. “We destroyed a rather clever cabal, d’ye see. An American company, the Tybee Roads Trading Company, was supplyin’ the privateers out of Savannah, Georgia, providin’ false registries for their prizes and passage crews t’sail them under American colours to Havana or a French island port, after takin’ off a portion of the cargoes for sale in Savannah, or ship North as far as New York or Boston in their own bottoms, and bring back the profits in Tybee Roads ships to give to the privateers, less a substantial commission, of course.”
“I am not sure that my brief extends quite that far, Sir Alan,” Commodore Grierson said with a shake of his head. “You, as you said, held independent orders to conduct such operations, but mine are to defend and administer the Bahamas, what?”
“Well, you might at least send a frigate to prowl up the coast of Spanish Florida, now and again,” Lewrie suggested, wishing that he could cross the fingers of his right hand for luck that such searches and intimidation might continue. “Just t’keep ’em lookin’ over their shoulders, perhaps send someone to make a port call at Savannah, too, to see if the death of a Mister Edward Treadwell spelled the end of the Tybee Roads Company. Our Consul there, a Mister Hereford, is an ass, but he might know something of it.”
“The man’s dead, do you say?” Grierson asked, sounding bored.
“He was there in the Saint Mary’s River, the morning of our raid, sir,” Lewrie explained. “Caught red-handed, as it were. We were takin’ fire from both sides of the river, the Spanish, and the neutral American … musket-fire, mostly … and he was fleein’ up-river in one of his barges. He took a shot at us with a Pennsylvania rifle and had to stand up to load, and I shot him.”
“You … with a musket?” Grierson spluttered, un-believing. “At what range?”
“About an hundred and fifty yards, sir. With one of Major Patrick Ferguson’s breech-loadin’ rifled muskets,” Lewrie took a secret delight in relating. “A souvenir from the American Revolution that I got from my brothers-in-law who were officers in a Loyalist North Carolina regiment outfitted by their father with Fergusons.
“I hit Treadwell a bit lower than I meant,” Lewrie went on with a grin, “just below the waist-band of his trousers ’stead of in his chest, but good enough for ‘fatal’. He lived long enough t’tell me what he’d done with the passengers and crews off the prizes before he died … horribly.”
“Aha, I see,” Grierson commented, all but goggling at Lewrie.
“With Treadwell out of the business, there’s sure t’be others who might be tempted, sir,” Lewrie continued. “It was too profitable a scheme t’let pass. Even a slow cruise outside the Three Mile Limit but close enough t’show British colours might be enough to daunt any who might revive the scheme.”
“I will consider that,” Grierson
“Good God!” Grierson exclaimed. “Perhaps I should hang one or two, to dissuade their criminal tendencies.”
“Good luck on that, sir,” Lewrie said, chuckling. “The courts hereabouts merely wink at cases like that … if ye can wake ’em up long enough t’present one. Then, there’s still the problem of French and Spanish privateers, and the coast of Spanish Florida. I’ve a mind to keep my squadron together and prowl over that way, t’keep the frogs and the Dons honest. And scare any more Americans from aidin’ them.”
“Well, now I…,” Grierson began, but the cabin servant had come with Lewrie’s tea, now that it had cooled sufficiently.
“Most refreshin’, thankee kindly,” Lewrie told the servant after he had taken a sip. He turned back to Grierson. “We destroyed a rather clever cabal, d’ye see. An American company, the Tybee Roads Trading Company, was supplyin’ the privateers out of Savannah, Georgia, providin’ false registries for their prizes and passage crews t’sail them under American colours to Havana or a French island port, after takin’ off a portion of the cargoes for sale in Savannah, or ship North as far as New York or Boston in their own bottoms, and bring back the profits in Tybee Roads ships to give to the privateers, less a substantial commission, of course.”
“I am not sure that my brief extends quite that far, Sir Alan,” Commodore Grierson said with a shake of his head. “You, as you said, held independent orders to conduct such operations, but mine are to defend and administer the Bahamas, what?”
“Well, you might at least send a frigate to prowl up the coast of Spanish Florida, now and again,” Lewrie suggested, wishing that he could cross the fingers of his right hand for luck that such searches and intimidation might continue. “Just t’keep ’em lookin’ over their shoulders, perhaps send someone to make a port call at Savannah, too, to see if the death of a Mister Edward Treadwell spelled the end of the Tybee Roads Company. Our Consul there, a Mister Hereford, is an ass, but he might know something of it.”
“The man’s dead, do you say?” Grierson asked, sounding bored.
“He was there in the Saint Mary’s River, the morning of our raid, sir,” Lewrie explained. “Caught red-handed, as it were. We were takin’ fire from both sides of the river, the Spanish, and the neutral American … musket-fire, mostly … and he was fleein’ up-river in one of his barges. He took a shot at us with a Pennsylvania rifle and had to stand up to load, and I shot him.”
“You … with a musket?” Grierson spluttered, un-believing. “At what range?”
“About an hundred and fifty yards, sir. With one of Major Patrick Ferguson’s breech-loadin’ rifled muskets,” Lewrie took a secret delight in relating. “A souvenir from the American Revolution that I got from my brothers-in-law who were officers in a Loyalist North Carolina regiment outfitted by their father with Fergusons.
“I hit Treadwell a bit lower than I meant,” Lewrie went on with a grin, “just below the waist-band of his trousers ’stead of in his chest, but good enough for ‘fatal’. He lived long enough t’tell me what he’d done with the passengers and crews off the prizes before he died … horribly.”
“Aha, I see,” Grierson commented, all but goggling at Lewrie.
“With Treadwell out of the business, there’s sure t’be others who might be tempted, sir,” Lewrie continued. “It was too profitable a scheme t’let pass. Even a slow cruise outside the Three Mile Limit but close enough t’show British colours might be enough to daunt any who might revive the scheme.”
“I will consider that,” Grierson
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