The King's Marauder (14 page)

“Should we encounter the enemy on our way, I’ll pretend to be a Commodore,” Lewrie said, beginning a sly smile, “I was one for a bit in the Bahamas, so I’d admire did you fly the Blue Ensign, as will the transports, just in case the Frogs try to take us on. With any luck, they’ll take us for a squadron of frigates and shy off.”

“Hah!” Knolles chortled. “As sly and sneaky as ever, sir!”

“Sly, me?” Lewrie countered. “Nobody ever called
me
clever … fortunate, or plain dumb luck’s been more like it.”

“Your reputed good
cess,
aye,” Knolles said. “That was uncanny, the time we stumbled into the Glorious First of June battle, lost that volunteer lad, Joseph or Josephs? And all those seals showed up when we buried him over the side.
Selkies
and ancient Celtic sea gods?”

“The morning we stumbled into our meeting with the Serbian pirates in the Adriatic in that thick sunrise fog, and there were seals there t’warn us?” Lewrie reminisced. “We should’ve trusted them for a warnin’ that the Serbs’d play both ends against the middle.”

Chalky decided that the new interloper in his great-cabins was harmless, for he padded over from the padded transom settee and joined them in the starboard-side seating area, leaping into Lewrie’s lap to glare at Knolles.

“Still the ‘Ram-Cat’ I see, sir,” Knolles said with a chuckle.

“Chalky’s a present from the American Navy in the West Indies, back in ’98,” Lewrie told him, stroking the cat which laid down upon his thigh as if guarding his master from the stranger. “Toulon passed over last year in the South Atlantic, just before we landed at Cape Town, under Popham.”

“Gad, you were part of that South American disaster?” Knolles said with a commiserating groan. “My sympathies, sir. I don’t know if our government knows
how
to give it up for a bad hand. Still, you had Toulon for a good, long time, and once I got my first command, I found that having a pet aboard eases the loneliness. I’ve an utterly useless terrier … he won’t even hunt rats, if you can believe it. But, he’s a comfort, is Tyge. Damned loud at times, though.”

Lewrie’s cook, Yeovill, had entered minutes before and had laid out the serving dishes in the dining-coach. He came out and announced that their dinner was ready.

Over their meal, Lewrie explained how he had come to command a two-decker, expressing distress that it seemed his frigate days were behind him, at least temporarily. He had no idea of
Sapphire
’s sailing qualities except for her officers’ reports, had yet to conduct any live-fire drills, and worried that his new ship might prove to be an ugly duckling that
never
grew beautiful, or loveable.

“Our voyage may take longer than normal,” Lewrie said over the quail course, as the red wine that had accompanied the lamb chops was replaced by a smuggled French pinot gris. “I’d desire do we get at least five hundred miles West’rd of the French coast before hauling off Sutherly, well clear of most privateers and prowling frigates. I may have yoked you to a pig in a poke, if this barge can only
wallow
at the foe, and your
Comus
only has nine-pounders.”

“She sails extremely well, sir,” Knolles assured him with some pride, “fast and weatherly, and can go about like a witch. My people are very well-drilled, by now, and, taking a page from you, sir, I’ve made sure that my gunners can load and fire as steady as a metronome, and are hellish-accurate within a cable. I’ve two twenty-four-pounder carronades and six eighteen-pounders, as well, so I do believe that I can deal with your typical Frog privateer or
corvette,
perhaps even hold my own against a smaller frigate.”

“I’m much relieved t’hear it,” Lewrie told him. “Let’s say we place you at the head of the convoy, about two miles ahead and another two or three miles alee, on ‘sentry-go’. I’ll bring up the rear with
Sapphire,
and place the four transports in a single line-ahead column ahead of me.”

“Hmm,” Knolles mused, sampling the white wine as if he judged its taste instead of Lewrie’s idea. He nodded as if satisfied. “Do you wish us to look like a naval squadron, sir; perhaps it might be best did you place your two-decker in the middle of the column, with two transports ahead and t’other two astern of you, a very loose two cables or so between ships?”

“That might work, if the French are daunted by the sight of us, but…” Lewrie puzzled, his own glass held halfway to his mouth. He frowned, took a sip, then got a cocky look. “Look here, Knolles. If the French are in force, or persist despite how
dangerous
we appear, I wonder how confident they’d feel did we all haul our wind and go on a bow-and-quarter line right at ’em? If they thought they were facing five frigates and a two-decker?”

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” Captain Knolles said, furrowing his brow. “If we did, once they got within a mile or so of us, they’d see through the ruse, and realise that the transports were harmless. In that case, we’d have to signal the transports to run, close-hauled to the Westerlies, and within range to be chased down and captured.”

“
We’d
still be there, t’protect ’em as they run,” Lewrie pointed out. “Do we encounter three or more Frogs sailin’ together, we would be up to our necks in the quag, anyway, but if it’s only two, or one big’un, we’d daunt ’em in the first place, or meet ’em on equal footing in the second.”

“Good God, though, sir!” Knolles almost goggled in amazement, raking the fingers of his left hand through his hair, “how do we get four civilian merchant masters to sail in an orderly column and maintain proper separation in the first place, much less convince them to play-act as warships? Do they sail into battle, they’d be as helpless as kittens! What are their burthens?”

“One’s three hundred tons, the other three are of three hundred and fifty tons,” Lewrie told him, calling that up from memory.

“That’s only fifteen men and some ship’s boys aboard one, and only a couple more hands in the other three, sir,” Knolles pointed out. “I suppose they’re armed, after a fashion … but with what? Four- or six-pounders, and some swivels? And, I very much doubt if their masters have pulled the tompions or cast off the lashings on those guns in the last year, except to look for rust.”

“There are soldiers aboard all four,” Lewrie said whimsically. “Perhaps Colonel Fry can be convinced that they’re only
really
big muskets, and man them on their own?”

“Oh now, sir!” Knolles countered, then broke out laughing.

“Only a thought,” Lewrie said, shrugging and waving a hand in the air. “Let’s get out to the fifteenth Longitude, ever further from France, form ’em all in column, and
if
we’re approached by the enemy, we’ll hoist the Blue Ensign and trust that Shakespeare was right … that ‘the play’s the thing’. How do you like the quail?”

“Quite savoury, indeed!” Knolles said, uttering a little moan of appreciation. “What does your cook do to make it so flavourful?”

“I fear that’s Yeovill’s secret spices and sauces,” Lewrie said with a sly grin, “and it’s rare that he tells
me
how he does it, but I wouldn’t trade the man for a keg of gold.”

“Mmumm!” Knolles agreed, then dabbed his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of wine. “If we do get out to the fifteenth Longitude, sir, I’d serve no purpose standing alee. Perhaps I should place
Comus
no more than one mile ahead of the column.”

“Aye, that makes sense,” Lewrie agreed. “Now, if the French
don’t
come from the East, but are discovered ahead of us, that’d be another matter … or, from windward. Do they appear North of us, it will be a long stern-chase, and we can wheel out of line and interpose our ships ’twixt the French and the transports, who can escape South as fast as their little legs’ll carry them.”

“You wouldn’t wheel us
all
about and challenge them, would you, sir?” Knolles asked with one brow up.

“Might depend on the odds, hey?” Lewrie joshed.

They spent the better part of the next hour enjoying their meal, right through the berry and cream cobbler, port, and sweet bisquits, sketching plans against every contingency. By the time Pettus poured them coffee, and Jessop cleared the table, they had filled two sheets of paper with their thoughts.

“Now, the only thing left is to introduce you to the masters of our transports, Knolles, and convince them that daring, and
fraud,
is their best bet,” Lewrie concluded. “I bought them Blue Ensigns, just in case.”

“I rather thought you already had, sir,” Knolles said, grinning.

“Shall we go, then? We’ll take my launch,” Lewrie offered.

On the quarterdeck, waiting for Lewrie’s boat crew to bring the launch round from astern, Bisquit came frisking up, whining and
yowing
for attention. Lewrie dug into his coat pocket for a strip of Indian-style
pemmican,
which made the dog blissful.

“What do you feed your Tyge, Captain Knolles?” Lewrie asked.

“Table scraps, cook extra, sir,” Knolles told him.

“Before we sail, have your Purser go ashore to Rutledge’s,” Lewrie suggested. “He has preserved, dried meats. American-styled jerky strips,
pemmican
with grains and dried fruits pounded in, and an host of wee sausages. Bisquit here, and Chalky, thrive on ’em. And they come in handy when I feel peckish ’tween meals, too. I’ve laid by a couple of hundredweight.”

“You think of everything, sir,” Knolles said. “But then, you always did.”

“I did?” Lewrie said, pulling a wry, dis-believing face. “You do me too kind, sir! Think of everything? Hah!”

BOOK TWO

Your course securely steer,

West and by South forth keep!

Rocks, lee-shores, nor shoals

    When Eolus scowls

You need not fear

So absolute the deep.

“T
O THE
V
IRGINIAN
V
OYAGE
”

M
ICHAEL
D
RAYTON
(1563–1631)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sunday’s weather was foul, but the winds came fair for sailing that Monday, and Lewrie at last got his small convoy to sea, beating out into the North Sea for a time to make a wide offing from the coast before turning South, then Sou’west to stand into the Channel and its chops well clear of Dover and the Goodwin Sands.

It was not an auspicious beginning, though. The masters of the transports, already leery of Lewrie’s dispositions, and loath to agree with the Navy—they were
civilians,
after all!—brought the expression about herding cats to mind, along with many a stifled curse.
Comus
led, followed in
some
sort of order by two of the transports in trail, sort of. Warships sailing in column were used to trimming and adjusting sail to maintain separation, and had large crews to perform the work. The thinly-manned transports, though, were either too slow or too quick, barging up alarmingly close to the ship ahead before taking in a reef, or too slow off the mark to spread more sail or shake out a reef, in danger of having the ship astern of them ploughing up their transoms!

“Two columns perhaps, sir?” Lt. Westcott muttered to Lewrie after
Sapphire
’s topmen and line-tenders had clewed up the main course once more. “A nice, tidy square formation?”

“Nice? Tidy? Mine arse on a band-box!” Lewrie growled, just about ready to howl in frustration. “The cunny-thumbed, clueless…!”

A single cable’s separation didn’t look as if it would work. He considered having a signal bent on to change it to two cables, allowing 1,440 feet between ships.

One’d
think
seven hundred and twenty feet’d be all the room in the world, but
 …
no!
Lewrie thought;
The cack-handed
 …
bastards! And we’re barely into the Channel, yet!

“Cast of the log, sir,” young Midshipman Ward reported to Westcott. “Seven and a half knots.”

“Just
blisterin’
speed, by Gad,” Lewrie sneered. “Even
we
are able t’rush up and trample somebody. No, Mister Westcott, I’m not yet ready t’give up. If the winds hold direction, they just might catch on how to do it by the time we’re off the Lizard.”

Midshipman Ward was a youngster; he couldn’t help but grin, and let out a stifled titter.

“Ain’t funny, lad,” Westcott glumly told him.

“Sorry, sir,” Ward replied, only slightly abashed, moving away.

“What’s worrisome to me, sir, is what happens when the weather turns foul, and we have to go close-hauled,” Westcott went on. “They just might end up weaving Westward on opposing tacks, like so many wandering chickens. And, they’re civilians. They won’t tack, they’ll
wear
from one tack to the other, like they usually do, with so few hands aboard.
That’ll
be fun to watch. In a morbid way.”

“This’ll turn into a smaller version of our infamous ‘sugar trade’ a few years ago, is that what you’re sayin’, Mister Westcott?” Lewrie muttered to him, groaning in sour remembrance. That had been a disaster, from Jamaica through the Florida Straits then North ’twixt the Hatteras Banks and Bermuda, especially when ships bound for ports in the United States had tried to leave the seaward side of the convoy,
through
the lee columns!

“Just keeping my fingers crossed, sir,” Westcott gloomily said. “And trusting that the transports’ masters are professional seafarers.”

Then God help us all,
Lewrie thought in dread.

*   *   *

They did begin to get the hang of it, after a few more hours, with a steady following wind, and a less-than-boisterous sea to steady all ships, making between seven or eight knots. By Two Bells of the Day Watch, one in the afternoon, Lewrie felt confident enough that he could cease trotting up and down the ladderways from the quarterdeck to a better view from the poop deck and back again over and over. He went to the forward edge of the quarterdeck and saw Yeovill coming aft from the galley with his covered brass food barge, and decided that he would go aft and eat his delayed dinner.