“A grand market for a share of that in Savannah, too, if snuck past t’e Customs House,” Evans added, “or, put aboard one o’ the company ships bound for t’e Chesapeake, Philadelphee, Boston, nor even New York! T’at’s what I was doing, workin’ the ships t’Charleston, Port Royal, and ports North and back. We’d be lyin’ in t’e Roads awaitin’ a wind with local goods aboard, when the barges’d come alongside in t’e nighttime and load t’e good stuff, and no matter how innocent we were told t’play it, we knew somet’in’ was queer!”
“That’s what Oi wished t’do, aboard the ships loik Davey was workin’,” Innis told them. At Lewrie’s wave, Pettus brought round a fresh pair of mugs for their “testifiers”. “And, after a while, when the bossmans thought Oi was trustworthy, that’s what Oi got. Or, Oi thought Oi did.”
“Bossmans?” Lt. Bury asked with a quizzical moue. “What does that mean?” He had been taking notes in a ledger of his own.
“T’at’s what all t’e Cuffies say do ya ask ’em somet’in, sir,” Evans easily breezed off. “T’ey say ‘yas, massah’ or ‘yas, bossmam’,” he mimicked in slave patois.
“So, eventually, the both of you ended up crewing the prizes to French or Spanish Prize-Court ports. On the same ship every time?” Lewrie asked “Where you became mates?”
“Not all that many the bosses’d trust, sor,” Innis said with a shrug. “Not all that many who could keep their stories straight, too!”
“Stories?” Lt. Westcott asked in a skeptical tone.
“Well sir, afore we could set sail for Cuba, or t’e French islands, a clerk’d come down from Savannah and give t’e captain his new papers,” Evans took up the tale. “Oncet a prize come in, she’d need a new name, so we’d rip the quarterboards or transom boards off or paint out t’e old and paint in a new… get rid of a figurehead was it too fine or somone might recognise her by it? Some’d say t’ey were owned by t’e Tybee Roads Comp’ny, some by others.”
“Altamaha Comp’ny, the Ogeechee Comp’ny,” Innis recited as if by rote, “or named after the squares in Savannah. Some o’ the ships were s’posed t’be Charleston ships, Boston ships, God knows where-all, sor. Faith, ye’d o’ thought they’d flog ye half t’death did ye not be able t’keep your wits about ye, if we got stopped and inspected.”
“And did that happen often?” Lt. Bury enquired.
“Not all that often, no sir,” Evans assured him, “and when we were, except for fear o’ bein’ pressed, we were let go right easy, comin’ and goin!”
“With supposedly innocent cargoes each way?” Lewrie mused.
“Innocent as all get-out on t’e way back, for sure, sir!” Evans said with a laugh. Lewrie summoned Pettus for more beer, all-round. Listening was dry work!
“And, what about the profits from the sale of the prizes?” Lt. Bury softly queried, looking up, at them with solemn eyes. “How were they handled, or concealed? In French or Spanish coin, or by draughts from one bank to another?”
“Niver saw any o’ that, sors,” Innis said with a puzzled shrug after a moment or two of thought. “Us sailors got paid at the end of a voyage, at Havana, say, or after we got back to Savannah. Good pay, it was, for as long as it lasted.”
“And all gone by t’e time we shipped aboard a comp’ny ship for t’e return voyage, sirs,” Evans said with a sad shake of his head over the quickness with which it went. “French or Spanish inn-keepers were more t’an glad t’see us, and t’e ladies, too, for certain. But, by t’e time come t’sail, we were mostly ‘skint’.”
“Savannah publicans’d leave us ‘on the bones o’ our backs’ as good as the Frogs and Dons, too, sor,” Innis ruefully told them.
“That’s every sailor’s complaint,” Lewrie commiserated.
“I’d like to ask a question,” Lt. Westcott said, still looking grim and distrustful. “It sounds like you could play the innocents on either leg of your journeys with the prizes, but… how were the crew and mates of the prizes concealed on the way to Havana or other ports?”
Innis and Evans looked at each other as if where those people had gone had never come to mind. Both cocked their heads in wonder, then turned to look at the officers, and shrugged.
“I can’t recall any of t’em bein’ aboard when we took charge o’ t’e prizes, sir,” Evans said. “T’ey might’ve been slung below in irons aboard t’e privateers. Weren’t t’ere when we were, sirs.”
“Mayhap they’d a’ready been sent down, t’Saint Augustine,” Innis supposed. “When we put into the Saint John’s River t’take charge of a prize, Oi just assumed they’d been marched off t’Saint Augustine. We niver saw hide nor hair of ’em, nor their sea-chests, neither, roight, Davey?”
“All t’eir beddin’ and’ kits were cleared out like t’ey never were t’ere,” Evans agreed. “By t’e time we went aboard a prize, she was painted up new and re-named like she was fresh from t’e builder’s yards, ’cept she was loaded and ready t’sail.”
Lewrie shared a suspicious look with Westcott and Bury.
“One wonders, Captain Lewrie, if their prisoners were landed at all,” Lt. Bury icily accused, peering hard at the two sailors. “Might I enquire if, during your time aboard the Insolent, you brought the master, mates, and sailors in with a prize… or, were they murdered and put over the side?”
“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!” Innis erupted in shock. “Nary a hair on their heads was touched once they’d struck! Swear that on me sainted mither, sor!”
“Hardly anybody was ever killed, nor even hurt when we took ’em, sir!” Evans hotly protested. “T’is t’e rare master’d put up any kind o’ fight when we overhauled ’em wit’ t’e guns run out, guns o’ t’eir own aboard or no! Cheese-parin’ masters never sign on hands enough for a fight, ’less t’ey’re an Indiaman!”
“Cap’m Chaptal niver messed with the prisoners, sor, other than pennin’ ’em up below oncest they was taken, and soon as we put in, we sent ’em off with all their kits,” Innis bubbled out in a rush to show his innocence. “He wouldn’t let no man mess with any wimmen, neither.”
“Women?” Lewrie barked.
“Wives o’ t’e masters, sometimes, passengers now and again and t’eir maids and such,” Evans told them. “Some real fine ladies.”
“But, what happened to them once landed?” Lt. Bury demanded. “Who took charge of them?”
“Well sors, did we land ’em in the Saint John’s River, there was dry land handy, and there’d be Spanish-lookin’ fellers, some Free Cuffies with guns, or Indian-lookin’ men’d show up with horses and a cart’r two, and they’d march ’ em off South. There ’s a good road down t’Saint Augustine. Did we put into the Saint Mary’s, we’d put ’ em in Comp ’ny barges and sail or row the prisoners sev’ral miles up-river t’where there’s solid land, and there’d be armed guards waitin’. Don’ know if they was Comp’ny men or not, but we’d land ’em and that’s the last we saw of ’em, honest. Ain’t that right, Davey?”
“T’ey’d put any wounded, t’e women, and t’eir sea-chests on t’e carts, kind and gentle as anyt’ing, sir!” Evans assured them.
Lewrie sat back in his chair and gazed levelly at them.
I hope to God they ain’t lyin’, he thought; Maybe they believe what they’ve been told, and are too simple t’question it. Or they’re too in-curious to bloody care ! I still don’t like the smell of it.
“You never heard any talk, or wondering, about their fate?” Lt. Bury pressed. “No sidelong glances, or warnings to hush?”
“They wasn’t any o’ our bus’ness after we landed ’em,” Innis replied with a shrug, and another deep swig of beer.
“Right, then,” Lewrie said as he sat his empty beer mug down on the brass Hindoo tray-table with a click of metal on metal. “Whenever your Captain Chaptal brought in a prize, and the prisoners were taken away… wherever… how did he send word that he was back, in need of supplies and such?”
“Well, sor,” Innia croaked, still shaken by new-found, dread suspicions, “most o’ the time, the barges was already there, waitin’. There was only the oncest we came in off-schedule and had t’send one o’ the mates up the Darien Road t’Savannah by fast horse.”