"We understand each other, Captain Lewrie," Grant simpered.
"This once we do, sir," Lewrie insisted. "Yet I would pray you complete your trading and clear these waters with all haste. I might just be possessed of a deep-enough purse to defend myself were I of a mind to inspect your vessel the next time I see her. Do we understand each other now, Captain Grant?"
Grant laughed and gave him an elaborate seated bow. "I do stand admonished, Captain Lewrie," he allowed with a wry expression. "We'll not cross hawses again, more'n like. And if we do, I'll try to outrun ye 'stead o' bribing ye. Ye catch me, though, I just might try the depth o' that purse o' yer'n. Can't expect the fish to be hauled aboard without a fight, ye know."
"I know," Lewrie nodded.
"Still want that deposition, then?" Grant asked.
"I do, sir, if you're still of a mind."
"Then let's be about it," Grant agreed. "Faster I give me testament, the faster I'll be out o' yer hair."
"And out of port," Lewrie prodded.
"And out of yer jurisdiction," Grant beamed. "Fair enough."
"Galling, ain't it?" Mr. Lightbourne said as they walked back to the Commissioner's House together. "Now you begin to know what I face here in the Turks. No support from Nassau. No real authority. Threat of being lynched were I too effective. Or turned out by those bone-lazy worthies on New Providence for being incapable, were they to discover the true circumstances which obtain here. I've turned many a blind eye, long as there's revenues from salt quarterly. Yet I cannot blame the people hereabouts for wanting lumber and luxury. They'd go naked and starving without the illicit trade. There'd not be one decent shack to live in without it."
"Mmmm," Lewrie frowned, pacing into his advancing shadow, eyes downcast.
"I do not sell my office, Captain Lewrie," Lightbourne told him. "Nor do I think you would. Watch yourself, though."
"Sir?"
"There's enough would sell their honour, turn the blind eye, and pray not to be bothered. Some of our exalted, so to speak, superior to you and me. And some so venal they'd even countenance your pirates, long as it was foreign-flagged merchants they plundered. Have a care, Captain Lewrie, whom you arrest. They might turn out to have powerful allies."
"You caution me to ignore the Navigation Acts, sir?" Lewrie demanded, stopping his stroll and looking up sharply at Lightbourne.
"I caution you, do nothing rash, Captain Lewrie," Lightbourne shot back, his own honour touched. "Think deep before you commit yourself. Before you do what honour dictates. But don't trust to a single snare. Lay yourself a web maze-y as a spider's, so there is no way for your prey to wriggle out. And, like me, be thankful for a small victory now and then, 'stead of going crusading."
"I see," Lewrie softened, seeing what sense Lightbourne was endeavoring to give him. "Thankee, Mister Lightbourne, I'll take a round turn and two half hitches. Look before I leap, then. And that's a trial best tested later. For now, I'll be satisfied with running the rest of this gang to earth. No way I suppose those in custody'd talk to us? Tell us where the rest may be found?"
"This lot're practiced sinners, Captain Lewrie," Lightbourne shrugged resignedly. "Honour among thieves… some freebooters' code of silence… the black spot and all that. They'd rather swing game on the gallows and be infamous for a few days. No hope of that."
"Then it'll take combing these islands," Lewrie vowed. "But comb 'em I will. However long it takes."
"Make 'Captain Repair On Board,' Mister Mayhew," Lewrie ordered as Alacrity ranged up to within half a cable of the wayward Navy cutter Aemilia. They had spent a whole day and night seeking her, first in Hawk's Nest Harbour on Turks Island, Long Bay and Balfour Town on Salt Cay, and had finally discovered her cruising south of Big Sand Cay in the Lower Turks Passage.
The young officer who came through Alacrity's starboard entry port came most unwillingly, having dressed hurriedly and still had a blotch or two of shaving soap behind his ears, a fresh tea stain on his shirt front, and acted very put out and sulky.
"Courtney Coltrop," the officer said before Alan could open his mouth, his demeanor on the ragged edge of open insubordination. "I was not informed another ship was in my area, sir."
"Alan Lewrie, Mister Coltrop," Lewrie said, taking an intense dislike to him at once, and spurning the honorific of "captain" which he merited. "You're a hard man to find, sir."
"I do not maintain a set patrol, sir," Coltrop almost sneered, "so I may spread confusion among our King's enemies the better."
"Pirates and smugglers, aye," Lewrie glared. "Such as the Yankee trader in South Caicos harbor yesterday, which you did not find on your irregular patrol. Nor the pirates off West Caicos the other day. Ever patrol as far as that, do you?"
"The bulk of the trade is here in the Turks, sir," Coltrop said, waving an arm about the empty straits. "And I am one small cutter with a huge area to cover. Here now, what's the date of your commission?" he demanded, irked at the preemptory questions.
"February of '82," Lewrie snapped. "Yours? As if it matters."
"March of '83, sir," Coltrop reddened, realizing that he was junior at last, and should begin to show proper courtesy. Though it was a mystery to Lewrie that the lout would not automatically assume the deference due a captain of a warship larger than his tiny sixty-foot cutter. Alan put it down to insufferable, overweening pride, or impeccable connections and patronage; some powerful "sea daddy."
"Mister Coltrop, you were unaware that a substantial band of pirates were active in the Caicos? There was no rumour of an action off West Caicos three days ago, sir? No hint of past depredations?"
"No, sir," Coltrop grunted, considering the consequences.
"If you would be so kind as to join me in my chart-space, sir, I will discover the matter to you," Lewrie smiled benignly, "and use your knowledge of these waters so we may hunt the others."
They repaired below to Alan's quarters; Lewrie, the truculent Coltrop, sailing master Fellows and James Gatacre. Lewrie sketched out the area where the action had occurred with a pair of dividers.
"… picked up our boats here, and searched the foreshore for them," he said, laying the dividers aside at last. "There was some sort of temporary camp, but no arms or stores. Palmetto leantos or shacks. Empty and abandoned. They had nothing to return for. But I believe they have some lair in the Caicos still."
"That don't follow, sir," Coltrop told him, screwing his face into a moue of disagreement "They're freebooters. Live wild like so many bloody gypsies! More than like, they came up from Tortuga, off Hispaniola. Maybe over from Spanish Florida or Cuba, with all their goods in their boats. You scared the bejesus out of 'em, so they crossed through one of these passes after dark to scuttle off to safer waters. They're probably drunk as lords in some hurricane hole this very instant. Just came over for the odd raid or two."
"One or two luggers I deem a raid, sir," Lewrie smiled. "But five boats, with about eighty or ninety men between them, would need a shore base where they might store their ill-gotten gains. One or two boatloads could take one ship of the summer trade, at best, but five seems enough to raid all summer, and they had to have a place to cook, to sleep, to keep lookout for inward-bound ships."
"Well, one would suppose, sir," Coltrop sighed as though he were bored. "But, given me hurt you allege you dealt 'em, I'd put my guineas on their being long gone from the Caicos by now."
"A fatal assumption for the next ship taken, if such assumption is wrong," Lewrie snorted. "They've two swift luggers still, and could take at least one more vessel, so they have some profit torepay their pains. And I doubt if determined and ruthless men know when to quit. For revenge, if nothing else."
"Conversely, Lieutenant Coltrop," John Fellows said, raising his gingery eyebrows, as was his wont when he got excited, "what if there were ships already taken? They must have stowed that plunder somewhere in the Caicos, and they'd not sail away without it An even more compelling argument for them remaining. I wonder if you are aware of other ships that may be missing, sir?"
"Lord!" Coltrop gaped in mock wonder. "How would I know? With absolutely no method of determining how many ships set sail for the Turks to begin with, the when or the wherefrom?"
"You've heard no talk among the arriving masters? No rumours of 'what happened to Old So-And-So'?" Lewrie pressed.
"It is not within my duties to question arriving masters, or to. deal with them except as to whether they abide by the law, sir."
"Yet in pursuing your duties of enforcing the Navigation Acts, in boarding and documenting arriving ships' manifests," Lewrie cooed, trying hard to rein in his growing anger, "in determining whether a vessel is allowed to enter British ports you have absolutely no converse with their captains and mates, sir? Is that what you are telling us, sir?"
"I have heard no gossip, no complaints, no speculations about missing vessels, sir," Coltrop replied stiffly, haughtily.
"Very well, then, Mister Coltrop," Lewrie said after a deep breath and a long sigh of frustration. "Let's proceed along another tack. Mister Fellows my sailing master, and Mister Gatacre, who now directs my ship's activities as her supercargo from the Admiralty," Lewrie said, inflating Gatacre's status without having to tell a baldfaced lie, or be specific, "deem that our pirates need a place where there is a tall headland. They need a reliable well or stream for water. Shelter from seaward to hide their boats, and what prey they take so they may loot 'em at their leisure. Shoal-waters wide enough to prevent pursuit by a warship or gunfire closer than random shot And easy access to the Caicos Banks so they may flee if their lair is found. Not too close to Fort George Cay up north, nor close to Turks Passage, where you patrol. That means they must be based either to the west of the Bank, or somewhere along the northern side of North, Middle, or East Caicos Island. Now, just where, assuming our suppositions about their needs are correct, in your experience in these waters, would you believe the most likely hideout to be?"
Coltrop leaned over the chart, hat under one arm and elbows tucked in close to his sides as if he wished to avoid touching it, or getting in any way involved. He blew out a breath, puffing his cheeks in perplexity.
"Lord, sir," he said at last with a hopeless smile. " 'Fraid I haven't a clue! Sorry. Know the Turks Passage and all, d'you see, but…"
"Good Christ!" Gatacre exploded. "You're about as useless as teats on a man! How long you been in these waters, puppy?"
"Year and a bit, sir, I…" Coltrop shuddered, too scared of Gatacre's uncertain amount of seniority to continue his smug bluster. Gatacre wore navy blue, but it was a civilian suit, more apt on some merchant master, but for a military cocked hat big as a watermelon. The buttons were plain pewter, though, so what was he if not some civilian official from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, a secretary who'd report back about Lieutenant Coltrop and tell them… Lord!
"And you've leashed yourself to the Turks Passage?" Gatacre went on indignantly. "Never explored the Caicos? Or are they too far from your bottle'r your table? The brothels that good in the Salt Isles, are they, sir?"
