A King`s Trade

his head like a flock of Harpies, forever-more, just might be a Fate worse than Death!

Oh, Death, where is thy sting? Lewrie mournfully chid himself, dredging up a Bible verse (though not exactly sure from which Book of the Good Book). Though, as he turned his arse out-board and began his descent of the man-ropes and boarding battens, he made a quick, mental note to re-read the Book of Job… carefully!

And, he thought as he took a seat in his smart gig's stern; if it's a criminal trial, there's bound t'be a half-dozen 'dominees' near to hand, with Bibles t'loan, just hot t 'weep o 'er my damned soul!

'Ready, sah,' Cox'n Andrews said in a low voice behind him, at the tiller, fetching Lewrie up from his black study to take note that two of the six oarsmen waiting to row him ashore were Black, ex-slave sailors: big and strong Jones Nelson as stroke-oar, and the wiry young 'George Newcastle' (who'd new- christened himself once free after their King, and a bottle of beer he'd seen but never sampled!) as a larboard oarsman, on the middle thwart!

Take out advertisements, why don't we! Lewrie thought, in a gawpish shudder. 'Right, then…'he said in a proper sea-captain's low growl of impatience, after re-gathering his courage (which had taken a very sudden tack-about!) 'Shove off, lads.'

'Up-oars,' Andrews called. 'Let go dah painter, and shove off, bow man. Out oars, starboard,' he ordered as he swung the tiller over hard a' larboard. 'Dip oars, starboard… two short strokes. Now… out oars, larboard, ready, and.. – long-stroke, t'gether.'

'Well, I think that should about conclude things, at last, sir,' the aging Flag-Lieutenant to the new Port Admiral confessed, finally. 'Any other matters wanting?' he cheerfully enquired.

'Topping up supplies expended on-passage from Halifax,' Lewrie told him, handing over a fair copy of his frigate's lacks, assembled by her Purser, Mr. Coote, the Bosun, Master Gunner, Sailmaker, Cooper, and others. 'Though, I s'pose the Dockyard Commissioner's office would be the best place for it.'

'The Commissioner, Captain Sir Charles Saxton, will be relieved to hear of it, Captain Lewrie,' the Flag- Lieutenant chuckled. 'I note your ship received a bottom-cleaning and re-coppering at Halifax, did ye not, sir?'

'We did, sir,' Lewrie agreed amiably. 'Amazin' what can be accomplished on a good sand and shingle beach, with such dramatic tides.'

'My word, you'll be more than welcome, then, Captain Lewrie, I dare say!' the Flag- Lieutenant gushed. 'And Proteus is, at present, un-attached? Neither the North American nor the West Indies Station will be expecting you back anytime soon?'

'Not that I know of, no,' Lewrie carefully admitted, taking time to cross his legs the other way about, guarding his 'wedding tackle' as he did so, and striving to sound breezily unworried.

'Well, then! I shall inform Channel Fleet of your availability, sir! As well as London, of course,' the other officer gleefully said, all but rubbing his hands. 'Our Admiral Nelson has said that there are never enough frigates to go round, and isn't that the truth of it, sir?'

From the beatific look of hero-worship that seized the lieutenant's phyz, Nelson's repute had gone skyward like a sea-mortar's shell after his victory at the Battle of the Nile, so Lewrie thought it politic, and might improve Proteus's future employment, to make a boast or two about his connexions to that worthy.

'Served with him twice, now, sir,' he off-handedly tossed about. ' Grand Turk Island, in '83, just before the end of the American Revolution, then as part of his squadron off the Italian coasts in '94, and '95. Corsica, too, actually… and saw him in action during the siege of Toulon. Oh!' he cried, fingering the medal for Cape St. Vincent on his chest. 'He dragooned me to follow him and repeat signals in '97 at Saint Vincent, as well! That was a 'windy' hour or so.'

' 'Pon my stars, Captain Lewrie, you did?' the Flag-Lieutenant responded with the expected gawp of astonishment, giving Lewrie a rare chance to preen and forget his impending troubles.

'Prosperin', is he?' Lewrie idly asked.

'Well, aye, sir.' The Flag-Lieutenant sobered, looking uneasy, and skittish. 'You knew he'd lost his right arm when trying to force a landing at Tenerife, in the Spanish Canaries?'

'Poor fellow, never had a bit of luck at land expeditions, did he?' Lewrie said, with the expected clucks of sorrow. ' Grand Turk…'

'A head wound at the Nile, which I am told still pains him and causes sick headaches,' the other officer sadly intoned.

'Why, they'll whittle him down to a nubbin, he keeps that up,' was Lewrie's rejoinder to that, which gave the Flag-Lieutenant pause, for a leery second.

'Lately, he's… well, there are rumours that he's come under the sway of the King and Queen of Naples, and their corrupt court-'

'Met him, too,' Lewrie interrupted. 'Runs his own fried fish shop, 'Old Nosey' does. Serves a grand platter. Italians, well.. .'

'All sorts of difficulties with the Neapolitans, Captain Lewrie. And, there's scurrilous talk of the Admiral's dealings with the Hamiltons… the Ambassador's wife, most-'

'Lady Emma?' Lewrie butted in, again, sitting up straighter for closer attention to the 'dirt' he expected to hear.

The Flag-Lieutenant dared cock a brow at him as if to ask, You know them, aw.- ⁵ before getting cutty-eyed and breaking his gaze. 'He is said to be led about by the nose, like a prize bull, by that lady, Captain Lewrie. That they've, uhm…' he gravelled, actually turning red with embarassment, or remorse for a hero's seeming failings.

Topped her, has he? Lewrie thought, and felt like snorting with derision; Took him long enough, didn't it? Five years or more, since he met her. The way she went after me, Nelson must've been numb from the waist down… or held her off at sword-point like a daft saint!

'I am sure the rumours are indeed scurrilous, and baseless, my good sir,' Lewrie pretended to growl in support of Nelson's fame.

'Lady Emma gambles, sir,' the Flag-Lieutenant bleakly sniffed.

'Uhm, aye, as I recall…'

'Gambles to excess, sir. And a woman who wagers like a man is utterly lost,' the junior officer primly stated, all but wringing his hands that his paragon would even associate with such a woman.

Never been to Bath… have ye? Lewrie drolly thought. Seeing in which quarter the wind was blowing, Lewrie decided to trim sails to suit. 'She came from low degree, don't ye know, sir… an actress for a time, so I heard. Mistress to Sir William Hamilton's own kin for a bit… bought off him as token for gambling debts. Bedded, risen in foreign societies, then only properly married years later. A dancer au naturel, hey? Would've done her scanty-clad 'impressions' for the Hellfire Club, she'd been old enough.'

And wouldn't 't Father have loved that! Lewrie happily considered.

' 'Tis a pity, though, sir, that Lord Nelson cannot be more discerning of the company he keeps,' the Flag-Lieutenant fretted. 'A man so high-minded and intent 'pon defeating the King's enemies might not even be aware of what people in England might construe from, ah…'

'Lie down with dogs, at Admiralty Orders, mind,' Lewrie said to comfort the older fellow, who most-like would serve out his years as an humble 'catch-fart' to shore-bound admirals, never pace a quarterdeck, and could but savour vicarious joy from newspapers that cited his hero, 'and one cannot help but rising with a flea or two.'

And, haven't I just! Lewrie told himself, recalling all those sordid duties he'd performed for King and Country in the company of an host of 'foreign hounds.' Though, some of them had been handsomer than others, and delightful temporary