The King`s Coat

chartered by the Royal War Commissary on Martinique and Admiral DeGrasse to carry a full battery of artillery to Rocharnbeau. Twenty-four stout European draft horses, now mostly dead and soon to be dinner, worth their weight in gold in the Colonies compared to smaller native-born horses; a line company of replacements for the Regiment Soissonois, which explained the soldiers in white uniforms with rose facings; a full artillery company of men in dark blue and buff, both sorts also mostly dead. There were stands of muskets for Washington, crates of swords, bales of uniforms, new boots and gaiters, field tents, horseshoe blanks and farrier's equipage for Lauzun's Legion of Dragoons, over 200 kegs of wine, tons of biscuit and salt-meat, a field bakery and wagon (disassembled), over two tons of six-pounder artillery cartridges, and half a million rounds of musket shot, premade into paper cartouches.

When the wine kegs were broached the hands groaned to see good red wine go cascading over the side. Cheatham took several kegs into Desperate for issue at six -to-one dilution, but the rest had to go; no officer could keep order in a prize crew with such a temptation.

The sun was well up before the prize was rerigged well enough to sail for Antigua or another British port. Alan made one last tour of the cabin to see if he had missed anything. He probed into the transom settee lockers, and found personal wine stocks.

There was also a wooden box with holes in the side, holes in the lid which fit down inside the box like a wine- press, though Alan didn't think the French master would squeeze his own grapes. He fetched it out and found canvas-bound packets wrapped up in ribbons like naval orders, weighted down with grape-shot sewn into the canvas binders.

He read the first. DeGrasse to Rochambeau: what sounded like a reply to a request of some kind, full of all the flowery gilt and beshit compliments Frenchmen were capable of. Agreement with plans, fleet being assembled… There was a second letter to Washington, also in French, but of much the same tone. Lewrie hurried on deck to find Railsford, and quickly showed them to him. Railsford read closely, his lips moving with the effort of translating a foreign language to himself. ’Have we found something important, sir?' Alan asked, eager to have done something clever, something arse-saving. ’Indeed we IUlve,' Railsford said, almost clicking his heels as he bounced about the deck. 'This DeGrasse bugger is going to sail north with a fleet to meet Rochambeau and Washington, somewhere in Virginia or Delaware… either Delaware Bay or the Chesapeake.. ‘. ’And the rebels won't know it!' Lewrie crowed. ’Oh, there's probably half a dozen sets of these that have already gone north. so one of them would make it through the patrols,' the lieutenant said. 'But we've intercepted one, and if we can get word to Hood he might just be able to square DeGrasse's yards before he gets anywhere with his plans. Get over to Desperate and show these to the captain at -Jnce.’

Lewrie had not seen Treghues for some time, so he assumed that he was aft in his quarters. He raced up to the Marine sentry and was admitted with the usual ceremony of stamping, slamming and shouting. ’Damn you,' Dome hissed at the Marine sentry. 'Lewrie, what's the call for all this noise?’

‘Papers from the Frenchman that the captain must see, sir. ’

‘Right then, but make it quick.’

Dome pointed to the small cabin to the port side, where Treghues had a hanging bed box, chest and dressing area shared with a six-pound gun. Lewrie stuck his head in, and there was Treghues, in bed, his chest bare and his head wrapped up in a bulky bandage. His steward Judkin was holding up a mug of watered wine for him to sip, and Lewrie caught the scent of fruit juices mixed into it. Treghues' face was puffy and marred with a massive bruise on one side from scalp to jaw. ’What is it?' Treghues snapped, not exactly cheered to see Lewrie and obviously in some pain from a heavy blow to the head.

Lewrie blurted out his news but Treghues was off in his own little world. from the injury or some medicine that Dome had given him. He could only rave and quote scripture about fornicators and Absalom's rape of Tamara, and all through it cob Lewrie for a miserable sinner of the worst stripe. ’Just thought you'd like to know, sir,' Lewrie said, and left the cabins, knowing he was not going to get any sense through to the captain in his state. ’He acts out of his wits,' Lewrie said to Dome in the passageway to the gun deck. ’Some French gunner laid him out with a rammer,' Dome said. 'I have given him laudanum to let him sleep. Best treatment for now. I have good hopes he shall recover his senses in a few days.’

’Let us pray he does,' Lewrie said with a solemn expression that was expected, but secretly was delighted. Him whom the Lord loves, he chastiseth, he quoted to himself wryly. Pious bastard.

He reported back to Railsford, still holding on to the letters. 'We must get word to Antigua quickly,' Railsford said after a long moment. 'And if Commander Treghues needs further medical treatment he must have it soon. Desperate must go direct to English Harbor. The prize can catch up the convoy for safety, and pass word to Amphion regarding our discovery.’

’Aye, sir,' Lewrie said, handing Railsford the packets. ’I recall you have stood deck watches and run a schooner before, Mister Lewrie.’

’Aye, sir,' Alan replied, beginning to quiver with joy. ’I shall give you Mister Toliver, an acting quartermaster's mate, and a dozen hands. Transfer the physically able prisoners to Desperate, where I can guard them the better. The prize is yours.’

’Thank you, Mister Railsford!’

‘Might take your sea chest,' Railsford suggested. 'No, don't think I want to get rid of you, but you may be separated from the ship for some time and will need your things. Mind you, I'd be proud to have you aboard after what you've accomplished, but our captain may not see his way to being reconciled to your presence.’

’Thank you, Mister Railsford.1 appreciate your good opinion of me,' Alan told him, and meant it, appreciating such kindness from a man he had not overly cultivated. ’On your way, then.’

An hour later, Ephegenie cast free of Desperate, and the frigate began to surge past her, spreading her tops'ls and the hands tailing on the jears to raise her t' gallants to the accompaniment of a fiddler's hauling chanty.

Alan watched her go, stout oak hull gleaming brown, her wale a black curve at the waterline, her gunwale streaked bright and jaunty green, her taffrail carvings and gold leaf gleaming in the sun. She was home, for all her frustrations, and she was leaving. He got a lump in his throat at the sight of her. I never realized that ships could be so beautiful, he thought. Hard work and ruptures, bad food and no sleep, so complex and nothing goes a day without needing fixing, but they can be so Goddamned lovely! 'We'll be back aboard again, don't you fret, sir,' Toliver told him, working on a quid of tobacco. 'Get the ship underway, bosun,' Lewrie ordered. 'Quartermaster, lay her head sou-sou' west, half-south. ’

‘Hands ta the braces,' Toliver bellowed. They braced her yards around first, shorthanded as they were, then went aloft and shook out reefs in her courses and tops'ls. The convoy was ahead of them but not sailing fast. With all plain sail they could catch them up by nightfall.

Lewrie looked at his pocket watch. Eleven-thirty in the morning. Time to think about feeding the men some of that fresh horsemeat before it spoiled. He found a man that claimed he could cook, a former waiter at an inn who had been caught poaching on his squire's lands. ’Boiled horse, an ammunition loaf of that fresh bread per man, an onion, watered wine, and an apple to polish it off,' Lewrie directed. 'Same for me. I'll take my dinner aft.’

’Rum issue, sir?' the cook asked. ’Mister Toliver.’

’Aye, sir?’

‘Supervise the spirits issue, if you please. A pint of wine, if there's no rum.’

’No rum, sir,' Toliver said, 'I checked.’

’I'm sure you did.' Lewrie smiled slightly. 'Carry on. And don't give out more than a pint. And make sure the dinner wine is mixed six-to-one. I don't want to have to flog anyone for drunkenness. ‘

‘Aye, sir.’

The bosun's call piped and Toliver shouted, 'Clear decks an' up spirits!’

‘And Toliver?' Lewrie said, standing by the wheel with his hands in the small of his back, watching the luff of the main course, like a real watch-officer. 'Aye, sir?’

‘Use the kid. Don't spit tobacco on my decks.’

Chapter 15