A King's Trade (51 page)

“But, that's about to change!” Leatherwood perked up. “We are bound for
home,
at long last, to pay off. ‘Twill be a
slow
passage, I fear…slow, but steady, as they say.
Jamaica
might attain a knot or two more than our Indiamen,
and that on a
stout
wind, mind. Your own quickwork, sir. You said you re-coppered at Halifax?”

“Last year, sir, that,” Lewrie had to tell him, “so my one weed has grown apace, but, on our short test sail after the new rudder was in place,
Proteus
seems fairly fast, still. And, that new rudder is a
tad
broader than an English yard might install, so she's very quick on the helm…more manoeuvrable.”

“Good,” Leatherwood declared, sounding relieved. “For our slow plod North, I'll place you astern of the convoy, and will take the van position myself, do I not work out on a flank, now and again. You'll bear the onus, should the French have a go at us. With the winds from the Sou'east, and with the Agulhas Current shoving us along, even the Indiamen could make enough sail to outfoot a beam approach….”

“And, t'would be the rare Frog working far enough North to intercept us, or lie in wait, sir,” Lewrie pointed out.

“Exactly, so the main threat will come from astern,” Leatherwood said with a vigourous nod of his head. “The convoy Commodore tells me another ship will sail with us. What do you know of this
Festival?”

“She will?” Lewrie exclaimed in surprise. “Makes sense, I do suppose, now they've rounded up their new menagerie of beasts. She's a
circus
ship, sir. Mister Daniel Wigmore's Travelling Extravaganza. Circus, theatrical troupe, fire-eaters, sword-swallowers, acrobats, and clowns… ? We escorted her here as part of my former convoy. Not the swiftest old tub, I fear, sir.
Slower
than an Indiaman by day, under all plain sail, and even slower at night. Lots of visiting aboard her on the way to the Cape—”

“Not in
my
convoy, Captain Lewrie,” Leatherwood interjected. “I want us as far North as we can manage, as quickly as we can manage, and there'll be no shilly-shally. I'll place her at the stern of the trade, and you can play whipper-in to keep her up with the rest.”

The Frogs come after us, she'd be no loss?
Lewrie thought;
Just like the Russians… throw somebody off the back of the sled to delay the wolves? S'pose so… compared to the wealth in the Indiamen, the
Festival
‘s not worth a groat. An
amusin'
prize, but…!

“I didn't much care to hear of the French having a go at your former convoy, so close to Cape Town, Captain Lewrie, ‘deed I didn't,” Capt. Leatherwood told him, looking pensive, and a bit fretful, setting his glass on the table between them to rub his horny hands together, a very sandpapery sound.

“The local commanders are of the opinion it was a fluke, sir,” Lewrie told him, outlining the Flag-Captain's explanation that it might have been a clutch of warships on-passage simply “stumbling” on them.

“Told me much the same,” Leatherwood grumbled. “And what did you think of that, Captain Lewrie?” he demanded right-sharp.

“Complete and utter horse-apples, sir,” Lewrie deemed it with a derisive snort. “No one knows how many warships and privateers working out of Mauritius the French now possess. Don't
know
what's happening past Good Hope, but, if the Frogs have amassed enough strength, they could be thinking of raiding further afield. I believe that attack on my convoy was a test, sir. They know our monthly convoy schedules, by now. They most-like know how few ships we have on station, too. That has worried me, I'll tell you, Captain Leatherwood. And, I understand that you had a rough passage. Did you encounter any French ships?”

“Captain Lewrie, I was
hunted
here,” Leatherwood declared with a fierce scowl, his first sign of displeasure. “It wasn't too bad at first, ‘til I lost the services of my companion frigate off Ceylon to a ‘blow.' I was almost of a mind to turn back, since we were still in Indian waters, for we began to see strange tops'ls on the horizon, as far North as within an hundred leagues of Cape Comorin. Avoided them, or they avoided us, then crossed hawses with a Bombay Marine brig, and thank the Good Lord her captain agreed to see us below Madagascar, even if that was far from his usual cruising grounds.

“Should have turned back, for certain, when three of our Indiamen got into their foul water casks, and sickness broke out aboard them. That'll be the
last
time ‘John Company' masters try pocketing the few pence difference ‘twixt the prices British chandlers, and native chandlers, charge for fresh water!” Leatherwood told Lewrie with a humourless bark. “Not that
Hooghly,
the Bombay Marine brig-o' war, would've been much real help, if the French had been determined. Her guns were only six-pounders, and half-rusted, at that. Half a dozen British officers and senior hands aboard, her crew but two-thirds' normal complement, and most of them exiled European drunks, ne'er-do-wells, some low-caste Hindoos, or Lascars from God knows where. Might daunt the local native pirates in scabby
dhows
and such, but not quite the thing to go against a French National Ship, or privateer. Stayed with us to about five hundred miles East of Cape Agulhas, then
had
to turn back, and we had to supply shot and powder in the first place, then water and foodstuffs, the second, so they could make it back to India without starving!”

“And you saw
more
strange sail, sir?” Lewrie worriedly asked.

“Almost
daily,
Captain Lewrie,” Leatherwood told him, summoning his cabin-servant for a refill of their glasses. “I thought to employ a ruse. The master of the
Lord Stormont
agreed to hoist a Navy Ensign and play-act the part of a Third Rate seventy-four at the convoy's van, whilst I brought up the rear, and
put
Hooghly
to work on the seaward side. On the down-wind run,
Jamaica
had a
bit
of ‘dash.'”

“Perhaps
Lord Stormont
could play the same part for us, sir,” Lewrie suggested. “My brother-in-law is one of her passengers, and he might even like it.”

“I count on it, though, towards the end, after
Hooghly
departed, the strange sail pressed closer,” Leatherwood explained, “and I'm not sanguine that they didn't finally get close enough for a good look, and saw through my ruse, so it might not work a second time, if the French that haunted us decide to lurk off Cape Town, waiting for us to continue our passage.

“Frankly, Captain Lewrie,” Leatherwood gravelled, “I doubt I'll get a wink of sleep ‘til we're above the Tropic of Capricorn.”

“We've had no
fresh
reports of any French cruising this side of the Cape, sir. Not
lately,
at least,” Lewrie told him, about ready to chew on a thumbnail in fret. “Aye, did they follow you…Was Vice-Admiral Curtis's staff any more forthcoming?”

“Lewrie, I very much doubt those worthies would know where, and in what strength, the French are ‘til they sail round Green Point some night, and sink, take, or burn all the shipping in Table Bay!” Capt. Leatherwood exclaimed. “We've a hellish task ahead of us. Yet, from what I've learned of you from the old newspapers, with
Proteus
aiding me, I
might
manage at least a
cat-nap
or two before we come to anchor in James's Valley on Saint Helena.”

“You do me too much honour, sir,” Lewrie rejoined, torn ‘twixt the expected modesty and the desire to preen, which he hadn't had much a chance for, lately.
“Proteus
and I shall hold up our end, sir. And, after the shameful way the French mauled us, my people will relish a chance for a slugging match against them, should it come to that.”

“All I may ask,” Leatherwood said, pleased with the answer and looking relieved. “Well, then! ‘John Company's' Commodore is meeting on the
Earl Cheshire
with all captains and masters, tomorrow morning, at Four Bells. With any luck, they'll
feed
us…though I'm not sure I would
yet
drink their water, hey, Captain Lewrie? Following that, do you look for me to hoist the ‘Blue Peter'…the day after I expect, is the weather fair, and the winds sufficient.”

“Very well, sir,” Lewrie agreed. “Just one thing, sir?”

“Aye?”

“Is it possible you bought this excellent German wine here at Cape Town, sir, I'd be much obliged did you give me a course to steer by, so I could lay in some for myself.”

BOOK V

“Quocirca vivite fortes, fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus.”

“Live, then, as brave men,

and with brave hearts confront

the strokes of Fate.”

H
ORACE,
S
ATIRES
II, 11, 135–136

S
lanting West-by-North on larboard tack, HMS
Proteus
was making a goodly way, swanning from the starboard quarter of the convoy to the larboard quarter, and beyond, and it was joyous. Had she been steered directly Nor'west, with the steady Sou'east Trades right up her skirts, the warm African day might have felt stifling, for she would have been sailing about the same speed as the Trades, and the apparent wind would have been negligible. Now, though, the rush of the Sou'east Trades almost could be heard in the miles of rigging, and loose clothing could be fluttered by it, bare heads and long hair disturbed by it, and perspiration evaporated before one could even imagine one was sweltering, like the crews and passengers aboard the Indiamen that plodded, despite the strength of the Trades, in two columns off
Proteus
's starboard bows.

Marine M. Cocky, the sea-soldiers' champion rat-killing mongoose, scuttled down the windward gangway in a sinuous, arcing series of bounces between brace-tenders' bare feet, pausing now and then to take a play-nip at a particularly tasty-looking toe, before scampering onto the quarterdeck. Toulon and Chalky, who had been sunning atop the hammock nettings with their forelegs tucked in and their eyes half-slit in drowsiness, got to their feet, put their backs up, and began to hiss at him. The mongoose stopped, rose up on his hind legs, and wiggled his nose at them, one paw on the nettings and one poised like a pointer on a scent. For ha'pence, he'd scramble up and pester them, grinning.

”
Mister
Larkin!” Lewrie drawled in a loud voice. “No ‘private Marines' on the quarterdeck except in battle, remember?”

“I'll see to him, sor…sir,” their youngest Mid replied, as he came forward to doff his hat quickly, then scoop up the offending mongoose, clatter down the larboard ladderway to the waist, and shout for Sgt. Skipwith to come get his errant beastie. Again. Once it was safe to do so, Toulon and Chalky settled down on their haunches to judder their little jaws and utter “I'm-Going-To-Kill-It” mews.

“Such
brave
catlings,” Lewrie muttered with a smile as he clung to the larboard mizen stays to enjoy the refreshing breeze, his uniform coat discarded, along with his formal cocked hat, and waist-coat undone and flapping either side of his shirt.

“Thus!” Lt. Langlie cried as
Proteus
settled on a course a full point more Westerly, now they were clear of the larboardmost column of ships, and could begin to range outwards to scent for trouble skulking over the horizon in the West or Nor'west. Lewrie planned to stand out nearly six miles, before wearing and slanting back to the convoy. He paced down the slightly-slanting deck to amidships, by the binnacle and compass cabinet, and the double helm.

“Damn my eyes, Mister Langlie,” Lewrie exulted, “but it feels so good t'be back at sea, does it not?”

“Indeed it does, sir,” his First Officer happily agreed; and on the faces of the two Quartermasters manning the helm, brief smiles alit to say that it felt good to them, too, after so many weeks of drudgery in Table Bay, and too few chances for ease.