A Jester’s Fortune

Commander, and one Commander to Post-Captain. When Hotham left, he'd anointed Lt. William Fillebrowne from his own flag-ship's wardroom (the surest route to quick advancement, that) to Commander, and put him into Myrmidon, to replace another favourite who'd gotten the Departure Blessing to Post- Captain into a 6th Rate Frigate whose own captain had gone sick.

Charlton and Fillebrowne, both proteges of the same patron, were surely known to each other already, Jervis thought. Perhaps were from that same mould that Hotham thought most valuable to the Fleet. He had no wish to curry favour with Hotham in this regard-damn his blood!-but they might work together the better for being 'dipped' in the same ha'porth of tar. Charlton he thought he might be able to trust. Fillebrowne, well…

Come to think on't, he mused as his cabin-steward poured them a top-up of claret, the one time he'd met Fillebrowne, he'd struck Jervis as a bit too suave, too cultured-too quick to smarm and try to 'piss down his back.' With the same Oxonian mumble as Hotham or Charlton. A very smooth customer, entirely. Tarry-handed, Jervis grudgingly allowed, but with cat-quick wits, and the amusedly observant air of the practiced rakehell, who went about with his tongue forever stuck in his cheek.

Jervis thought he could trust Charlton to handle this mission-and keep a wary weather eye on Fillebrowne, for Fillebrowne wasn't the sort Sir John wished to have round him.

'The last vessel I may spare is a tad more potent, sir,' Sir John said with a smack of his lips after a sip of wine. 'HMS Jester. Another ship-sloop of eighteen guns. But French eight-pounders, which is to say, English nines, in our measurement. Just came in to water from the Genoa blockade. Hate to deprive Captain Nelson, but, needs must. Commander Alan Lewrie.'

'Ah,' Charlton commented, frowning a bit. 'Took her late in '93, didn't he, sir? Quite a feat, I heard tell. Being chased by a frigate and a brace of corvettes after Toulon? Took one for his own, dismasted the other and the rescue force took the frigate?'

'That he did, sir,' Sir John agreed, with a matching frown.

'Spot of bother, though, something 'bout cannonading civilians in a Genoese port he raided?' Charlton squirmed diplomatically.

'Completely disproved, sir,' Admiral Jervis countered, though he continued to frown. 'A gasconading lie put out by French spies and agents provocateurs. The matter was looked into and he was found entirely blameless.'

'Didn't he, uhmm… oh, some months ago, sir.' Charlton dared to quibble further. 'Took a prize near Vado, then sailed her straight onto the beach and wrecked her, just so he could chase some Frenchman? Mean t say, Sir John… a perfectly good prize?'

'Rode inland and shot the fellow,' Jervis related, nodding slowly in agreement. 'Two-hundred-yard shot, with a Ferguson rifle. And spared us no end of bother from this Frog Navy captain. Chief of all their coastal convoys, raiders and escorts, so I've been informed. A rather nasty customer. But he stopped his business most perfectly.'

'A bit unconventional, though. Don't ye think, sir?' Charlton essayed. He was not yet a Commodore, not yet one of the anointed, so well regarded by his commanding Admiral or London that he could veto a ship or captain. To be allowed to pick and choose, that was a favour granted only a remarkable few. And this was about as far as he could go, or ought to go, to suggest to Admiral Jervis that he would much prefer someone else; some other small ship. Taking a Frog corvette, being all dashing and brave-well, anyone could be brave, even the daft and foolhardy. Wrecking a valuable prize, going ashore and leaving one's command, just to pot a Frog, well, that made this Lewrie sound as mad as a March hare!

'Unconventional, hmm.' Sir John pondered over his claret. He rubbed his chin once more and then broke into an icy grin. 'To say the least, sir! And, it doesn't signify. After all, beggars can't be choosers, hmm? But he's all I have to spare. It may occur, sir, that Lewrie and Jester will prove useful to you. Above all, he knows how to fight! And he's experienced in blockading with Captain Nelsons squadron. And you'll be hip-deep in supposedly 'neutral' merchantmen where you're going.'

'Of course, sir,' Charlton replied, aware that he'd just been taken down a peg by the Admiral's 'beggars can't be choosers' remark.

'You must first of all sweep that sea clean of French traders, warships and such, should they be there in force,' Jervis directed, back to business. 'You are to completely estop the traffic in naval stores-Adriatic oak and Balkan pine-which supports the French fleet in the Mediterranean. You will stop and inspect every ship you meet, determining their bonafides, and whether they are laden with a contraband cargo or sailing to a French-held port.'

'Aye aye, sir,' Charlton replied firmly.

'Further, you will liaise with our allies the Austrians and perform for them any task which a Royal Navy squadron may do to keep their friendship,' Jervis hammered out, though not without a slight sneer about Austrian 'Friendship.' 'Have an eye toward strengthening or expanding what poor excuse they deem their Adriatic Squadron. As for Venice, well, make a port-call or two. Put a flea in her ear 'bout throwing in with us. Venice may be on her last legs, but she still is possessed of a substantial fleet of ships and useful bases in the Ionian Islands. The Foreign Office is working on that aspect now, and the presence of your squadron might just tip the scales in our favour, d'ye see. Escort and protect any and all British trade, as well. Goes without sayin', hmm? And the merchant vessels of the Neapolitans, Papal States, Venice… and other… how do they put it? 'Ships of those nations in amity with His Majesty's Government'?'

'I see, sir.' Charlton nodded soberly.

'B'lieve 'twas Pitt the Elder,' Sir John mused, 'but you must not quote me, sir, said that 'trade follows the flag'? Well, this time round, perhaps the flag must follow trade, hmm?'

'Of course, sir.' Charlton nodded again.

'Pylades and Jester are here, at San Fiorenzo Bay, sir,' Sir John grumbled. It was rare that he made a jest, and he'd thought it a rare good'un; though Charlton hadn't risen to it. 'Myrmidon is down in Portoferrajo, on Elba. She escorted a troop-ship, so we could begin fortifying Elba and the isle of Capraia. At least protect the sea-lanes to Leghorn. And Corsica 's flanks. Close the Tyrrhennian Sea to French ships, at least, should they have a plan to seize those isles first, d'ye see.'

With Genoa gone, her port city and capital now regarded as hostile, Tuscany was wavering, too, much like the Neapolitans. Admiral Jervis all but winced as he considered it. The Tuscans were leery of allowing Great Britain to base its fleet out of Porto Especia, or Leghorn, any longer. Garrisoning Capraia and Elba was a safeguard so that Tuscany did not think to put troops on them first!

'You will sail as soon as the wind allows you, Captain Charlton,' he said. 'And gather up Myrmidon on your way. Written orders and such will be aboard Lionheart no later than the end of the Second Dog Watch this evening. Along with copies of Admiralty and Foreign Office directives to me, too. To enlighten you. As much as Foreign Office despatches may enlighten anyone, hmm?'

'Very good, Sir John,' Charlton said, rising. 'And thankee for the opportunity, sir. For your faith in me. You shan't regret it, I swear to you.'

'I'd best not, sir,' Admiral Jervis cooed in reply, with that bleak and wintry smile of sardonic humour of his. 'Good fortune, sir. And good huntin', Captain Charlton.'

'Aye aye, sir!' Charlton nodded, wilting, in spite of the honour just done him. And vowing to himself that he would prove worthy of his awesome new trust-if he died in the attempt. Or had to kill somebody else to do it!

In the great-cabins he'd just left, Admiral Sir John Jervis allowed himself a brief moment of leisure to savour the satisfaction he felt in having done himself, and Captain Nelson, a favour.

This Lewrie fellow was a bit too much the 'fly' character to suit him. A stallion more suited to the rare oval racecourse, or the neck-or-nothing dash cross winter fields in a steeplechase. And the source of his information was the Foreign Office, their own spies, those who'd used Lewrie before. He was too headstrong to suit them as well. Too prone to take the bit in his teeth and gallop to suit the gallant Nelson.

But perhaps Lewrie would be the perfect addition to Charlton s ad hoc, understrength and isolated squadron. 'Old Jarvy' might have just done the Captain a huge favour. Or the greatest harm. Only time, and events, might tell.

And either way, he was shot of him!