Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Commission

"Well, that lets out Walsham and his Marines," Lilycrop said. "And if this mission is to be secret-I do take it to be secret, hey-then why advertise our presence by wearin' uniform at all?"

"A good point, sir," Cowell spoke up, feeling left out on all the martial planning. "Mister McGilliveray, I doubt they could pass at close muster as natives, but clothes do make the man, do they not, ha ha?"

"A most sensible suggestion, honored sir," said McGilliveray, bowing to his mentor. "Perhaps pack uniforms for the negotiations, to appear more impressive to my people, who are delighted by a fine show. But on the march hunting shirts, leggings and moccasins might escape notice by any Spanish patrol we happen onto. Better to be ignored than have to fight, unless it's absolutely necessary."

"You could supply troops, Colonel?" Cowell almost demanded from his enthusiasm and excitement at getting to dress up like a Red Indian.

"I still hope to honor your requests, sir." He frowned, not liking his unit to be slighted so easily from a grand adventure. "There are no riflemen on Jamaica. No Fergusons, either. Well, I could assign men from my regiment, even so. From the light company, practiced as skirmishers. Remnants of a fusilier battalion. I assure you they know their way around in the mountains and forests hereabouts, milord. They're acclimated to Yellow Jack and the other fevers by now as well, after chasing after rebellious slaves during the last revolt."

"God. Cashman," Captain Eccles whispered bitterly, aghast at being left out.

"Cashman, did you say?" Admiral Rowley prompted, cocking an ear in Eccles' direction. "And who is that, sir?"

"The captain of our light company, milord," Peacock replied, trying to keep a sober face. "A bit… eccentric, but a good man in a fight, I assure you, milord."

If this ass Peacock doesn't like him, then he'll probably be just our sort, Alan thought. Doubt if I could have stood this catch-fart Eccles for more'n a week without callin' him out. And damned if I'd trust one of those battalion-company stallions to guard me out in those swamps.

Alan took it for a given that, as first officer, he would be called upon to guide the little sloop inshore; that's what first officers were for, to risk their arses while their captains stood off and chewed their furniture with worry. It was a rare captain who would give his first lieutenant command of his precious ship and go off on some deed of derring-do just to satisfy his blood-lust. By the time a man had made post-captain, he mostly had blood-lust out of his system, anyway, and was glad to make way for a younger, and more expendable, man.

The conference lasted several more hours, determining that the Spanish sloop would be the only vessel to go inshore, towing a single ship's boat. She could make her way at high tide as far as two miles up the Ochlockonee River with her topmast struck. The two twelve-pounder guns on her fo'c'sle would be dismounted for a brace of four-pounders to ease her sailing qualities. The ship's boat, a standard twenty-five-foot launch, would step a single mast, and would need only six oarsmen due to her shallow two-foot draft. She would also get a couple of swivels should they run into trouble.

This meant that another half a dozen hands had to come along, leaving half a dozen soldiers free for lookouts and protection. Once they left the sloop, six men would stay behind under a quartermaster's mate, with another half a dozen soldiers.

Shrike would never close the coast, but would stand off out of sight of land, and would wait two full weeks from the night the San Ildefonso left her and went inshore. If she did not show up within three weeks, they would come into the bay and search for them.

Shrike would not go ashore for good reason; she would be carrying the bulk of the arms. Cowell didn't want to risk everything in one small ship. The sloop would carry fifty muskets, one thousand rounds of pre-made cartouches and musketeers' equipment such as cartridge boxes, fine priming powder bottles, bayonets, swords and baldrics enough to make a fine show, along with knives, pots, blankets, etc., as samples of England's largesse. There would be bolts of cloth and blankets for presents, and all the usual trade goods, but only enough to whet their appetites for more. McGilliveray argued against this, assuring Cowell that he knew best when dealing with his own people in good faith, but finally relented.

"Well, I think that about covers it, gentlemen," Admiral Rowley said with a yawn. "Shrike is provisioned for a cruise already. All that remains is loading the cargo, bringing the troops aboard the sloop, and readying her for sailing. Her repairs are complete, and she has been provisioned as well. Lieutenant Lewrie, you had best go aboard her at first light with your selected crew. Mister McGilliveray is going to take care of the disguises for the shore party. Have we forgotten anything? Mister Cowell? Mister McGilliveray? Captain? If anything springs to mind between now and sailing date… say two days from now… send me a sealed note, or better, bring it yourself to my flag-captain. And I must warn you, not a word of this among your men until you are at sea. You know how fast rumors fly on the lower deck, hey?"

"If they wonder, we'll let out we're goin' to raid the Cuban coast, milord." Lilycrop chuckled, almost leaning on his hand, propped up from the table and looking far past his bed-time. The continual supply of drink hadn't helped. "They'll believe that, and be glad it's the Army goin' ashore 'stead o' them. That'll explain the sloop, too."

"Excellent subterfuge, Captain. Excellent. Well, I'm for bed."

When they emerged on the quarterdeck of the 2nd Rate flagship, it was blessedly cool, and a refreshing little breeze was blowing to remove the funk of the closed cabins. Their boat was brought round, after the crew was awakened, and they rowed back to Shrike, keeping an enigmatic silence. It was only after they had gone to Lilycrop's cabin that they could talk freely. Lilycrop stripped out of his uniform and knelt to pay attention to his many cats, who blinked and stretched and made much ado over him after such an uncharacteristically long absence.

"Cats et, Gooch?"

"Aye, sir." Gooch yawned. "Will there be anythin', sir?"

"No, go back to sleep. Bide a moment, Mister Lewrie."

"Aye, sir."

"Wine?"

"Thankee, sir."

"Pour me one, too, whatever you're havin'."

They sat down together at his desk, leaning forward into the pool of light from a single overhead lantern that swayed softly as the hull rode the slight harbor ruffles stirred up by the gentle breeze.

"You feel comfortable with this idea, Mister Lewrie?" Lilycrop asked, his features heavily shadowed by the light.

"Comfortable enough, sir, I suppose." Alan shrugged. "It's a devilish grand opportunity for us, stap me if it ain't. If McGilliveray knows half of what he says, we should be alright once we're ashore. But I worry about the sloop and the men we leave behind. Not just about the Spanish running across 'em, but discipline while we're gone."

"Take Svensen, the quartermaster, as your senior hand," Lilycrop suggested. "That square-headed Swede'd put the fear o' God into artillery. There'll be no nonsense with him in charge. And he's a right clever'un, too."

"Thank you for the suggestion, sir."

"I don't like it, myself." Lilycrop frowned, looking old as Methuselah. "This McGilliveray, or Turtle or whatever he prefers to call himself, come up with this too-clever idea, an' he's got that Cowell excited as a sailor on his first whore to go off'n do somethin' grand an' mysterious. They sailed direct from Portsmouth in the mail packet with all their trade goods, and loped up to Rowley and Peacock with this plan. Now if the government at home is so miss-ish about endin' the war, why did they agree to such a far-fetched scheme, I wonder?"

"You don't think they're legitimate, sir?" Alan perked up.

"Oh, don't be that large an ass," Lilycrop grumbled. "Think just any fool can go aboard a flagship and dream somethin' like this up on the spur of the moment? No, this'n has so many official wax seals on it it'd float."

The ship's bell chimed three bells; half past one o'clock of the middle watch, and Lilycrop looked weary to the bone, which explained his testiness.

"Only thing that surprises me is, if Florida's so bloody important to us, why didn't we raise the tribes long ago, when we still had the east coast forts? Why leave it this late?"

"There is that, sir," Alan agreed, too sleepy to worry much.

"I've seen things like this before," Lilycrop went on. "War on the cheap, dreamed up by map-gazers'n quill-pushers safe back in London. I don't know whether our Mister Cowell come up with this himself, or if he's just a nobody wantin' to make his name out of it. He might be some lord's errand boy. And that McGilliveray. A right 'Captain Sharp,' too clever by half for the likes of me. Mayhap he knows what he's talkin' about, an' his tame Apalachee'll treat us like vistin' royalty, and he'll sit at the right hand of God once he's up-river with his people the Creeks. I don't like leavin' the sloop up-river. And we'll have to split our parties again when you transfer to horses."

"You should have said something then, sir."

"Oh, I did enough carpin' for their likes. All that praise we got, like we're Drake'r Anson come back with flamin' swords… well, talk's cheap, and so are we. I'm the oldest lieutenant in the Navy, you're nobody, and Shrike and the sloop are expendable. Damned expendable."

"You give me chills, sir," Alan said, taking a deep sip of his own mug to fortify himself. "But surely, the admiral has already placed his favorites into larger ships than ours. Everything makes sense to choose Shrike. It's a chance to do something really grand."

"And get your name in the Marine Chronicle!" Lilycrop sneered. "Hell, nary a word o' this'll ever get out. We're goin' to be as anonymous as spies, no matter how it comes out. Oh, maybe our Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty will make a note of it in our records, but I'll not be made post-captain over it, and you'll not go higher than you are now. There's no way to refuse this duty, but if there was a way, I'd consider it. All that talk of how the Spanish don't patrol. Well, remember, there's troops and a ship'r two at Pensacola, and sure to be a ship o' war workin' outa Tampa Bay. Spies along the coast, some Indian that'll run to the Dagoes to raise the hue an' cry. Sell us out for a fuckin' mirror! Jesus weep! Nobody I knew ever prospered who got tied up with damn foolishness such as this. You be sure to watch your back once you're ashore. If you learned anythin' up in the Chesapeake, use it. Take whoever you know is a woodsman an' a scrapper, 'cause you'll have need of 'em. And I'll pray every day for your safety, Mister Lewrie."

"Thank you, sir, that was well said, and welcome," Alan replied with a warm feeling inside for Lilycrop's regard for him.

"Hard enough to break in a first officer. No call to do it more'n once a year, 'pon my soul." Lilycrop scowled, looking away at the antics of his cats on the floor. "I've grown used to ya, d'ya see? Show us heel-taps on your glass, and let us get some rest. We'll need it."

"'They are ingenious, witty, cunning, and deceitful; very faithful indeed to their own tribes, but privately dishonest, and mischievous to the Europeans and Christians. Their being honest and harmless to each other may be through fear of resentment and reprisal-which is unavoidable in case of any injury.'" Alan read half aloud from a volume that McGilliveray had recommended to him, James Adair's History of the American Indians, published in London in 1776. "'They are very close and retentive of their secrets; never forget injuries; revengeful of blood, to a degree of distraction. They are timorous, and consequently, cautious; very jealous of encroachments from their Christian neighbors; and likewise, content with freedom, in every turn of fortune. They are possessed of a strong comprehensive judgement, can form surprisingly crafty schemes, and conduct them with equal caution, silence and address; they admit none but distinguished warriors and beloved men into their councils.'"