blessing.
And that monstrous frigate, USS Hancock, had completed repairs, and had returned to the Caribbean, though it was late in the hurricane season, commanded by a spanking- new captain, one Malachi Goodell, who, or so Lewrie was informed on the sly by Capt. McGilliveray, was one of those stiff-necked and overly righteous Massachusetts Puritans and a 'New-Light,' a Methodist to boot; a man of rectitude who brooked as little nonsense as that famously rigid French disciplinarian General Martinet.
'And wasn't he shot by his own troops at Doesbourg, in 1762?' Lewrie had glumly recalled.
'No matter, he's here, and senior to me and Randolph,' Capt. McGilliveray had responded with equal gloom, 'and mightily miffed our crews went on such a tear. Brought undyin' shame on our new Navy, and our Nation, he says, and there's to be no more of it whilst he's commanding. 'Thunderation' Goodell's a Boston 'Pumpkin,' bad as a Cotton Mather 'Hell-fire's in your future' altar pounder. He don't much hold with drink in gen'ral, and as for tuppin', well… I doubt any of our men'll set foot ashore 'til next we dock at Charleston, and as for lettin' the doxies an' port wives come aboard to ease 'em, that'll be once in a Blue Moon. Put us on notice, Goodell did, come armed with Word o' th' Lord.'
'A 'Conscience Keeper'… God save us,' Lewrie had japed. 'He cuts his hair bowl-headed like Cromwell's Puritans, does he?'
'Actually, he looks more akin to Moses,' McGilliveray had sadly countered, 'so wild-haired and bearded he looks like an owl in an ivy bush. A long, thin 'Jack O' Legs' is he. Gloom, doom, and piety… and while you're up, Cap'm Lewrie, I'd admire a drop more o' yer tasty claret, if you're still offerin', thankee kindly.'
'And I am, Captain McGilliveray,' Lewrie had twinkled, pouring a topping refill with his own hospitable hand. 'A good sailor, though, I'd imagine?'
'A right scaly fish, from the cradle,' McGilliveray had rejoined, 'and one o' th' first at sea when the Massachusetts Committee of Public Safety called for ships t'face your Customs vessels. Goodell's fam'ly were smugglin' un-taxed goods in the large way. Ambitious, aspirin'.'
'So… he might be amenable to our budding cooperation, do ye think, sir?' Lewrie had slyly queried, hoping against hope that their new arrival would be just as eager to score a notable, newsworthy success against the French.
'Hah!' McGilliveray had scoffed. 'You'd be lucky he don't make you walk the plank, do ya go aboard Hancock unbidden. He meets you at sea, alone, and ship-to-ship, he'd like as not brace up and challenge ya t'battle. None too fond o' th' British, is Goodell. Lost one fine armed brig off New Bedford and had t'swim ashore in his small clothes. Fam'ly lost a half-dozen smugglin' boats… burned a sloop o' war off Rockport so your Navy didn't take her, and got captured early in '82. Spent time in the prison hulks at New York 'til after th' Peace got signed, long after Yorktown. Ended up a backhanded hero, for all he tried, but never won much success.'
'But… he still aspires, if offered a shot at the French, and capturing Choundas…' Lewrie had pressed, hopes suddenly dashed.
'Oh, I'll allow he's that eager,' McGilliverary had mused. 'Ya show him a chance, he'll most-like go gallopin', tantwivy as hunters after th' fox. He's the fire-eatin' sort.'
'A Captain Hackum, then,' Lewrie had wondered, hopes rising.
'Well, aye. I know he's irked that our piddlin' li'l 'Subscription Ships' scored a coup, whilst he was dry-docked at Baltimore, kidnap-pin' crewmen. Boston 'Bow-Wows' and Northern Yankees hold low opinion o' Southerners, t'boot. Goodell met John Paul Jones, th' once and was almost one o' his lieutenants, and he's regretted the lost opportunity ever since. 'Thunderation' good as said he's anxious to tussle with th' French, t'show what the United States, and our navy, can do.'
'Sounds like an enterprising fellow,' Lewrie had inveigled with seeming admiration, 'though perhaps a daunting one. I should meet him. Must, rather… duty requires. You could introduce us, Captain McGilliveray, make the way smooth and straight? Perhaps on neutral ground, not here aboard Proteus, given Captain Goodell's sentiments. He most-like'd suspect we'd clap him in irons again! Must I beard him in his own den aboard Hancock, well, then I must, I s'pose, but…'
'Ya that curious, Cap'm Lewrie?' McGilliveray had chortled, 'Or are ya a glutton for punishment?'
'I'm under Admiralty orders to treat United States Navy vessels and their captains with all the respect due those deemed as 'in amity' with His Majesty's Government,' Lewrie had glibly stated. 'We share a foe, and would not share a signals book did not our respective governments intend us to work together, when our aims coincide. Your Captain Goodell, fearsome though you depict him, is the senior American naval officer in these waters, so it only makes eminent good sense to become acquainted… professionally.
'I doubt knowing him would be quite as pleasureable as your own acquaintance, Captain McGilliveray,' Lewrie 'chummily' had said, trying to 'piss down his back' to grease the wheels, 'but still, Goodell, and Hancock, are the most powerful force now about, and it'd be a dev'lish shame did we work at cross purposes.'
'Well, there's that,' McGilliveray had casually allowed, 'but, Cap'm Goodell may have his own ideas about things. And he's new-come from home, so his orders're surely fresher than mine. France might've seen sense and called off its trade war, by now, and we'd know nought of it.'
'I shouldn't be telling you this, but…' Lewrie had confided, leaning forward in his chair as McGilliveray had lolled on the settee. To make things even better, Toulon, having perversely taken a liking to their amiable, drawling visitor, was on the settee, too, up against the good captain's leg with his paws in the air, and twining slowly as his chest and belly were idly caressed. 'We strongly suspect that the French intend to move a small convoy, but a rich'un, from Guadeloupe to Saint Domingue in the near future. Two, perhaps three, vessels, laden with supplies for the rebel slaves. L'Ouverture or Rigaud, who knows? But do either of 'em end up holdin' the high cards over t'other, they will start fightin' again. Then all the ports get closed, and trade be damned 'til the dust settles. Don't know who your country backs in that horse race… don't care, really,' he had lied.
'Don't know as how we've a cock in that fight, either, Captain Lewrie,' McGilliveray had lied right back. Just after, though, he had revealed a bit of his nation's preference, perhaps his own, by adding 'Seems if those two do go at each other, it'll eliminate one, and make the winner so weak he'd… may be best do those ships get there, and let 'em fight it out and settle it, once and for all.'
'Guillaume Choundas, we are fairly sure,' Lewrie had lied some more, wondering just what it took to spur the man to further ambition, 'is charged with their safe delivery. All he has left to use for that purpose are his two corvettes… what we'd call three-masted sloops of war, and moderately armed akin to our Sixth Rates. Twenty or twenty-four guns. Nine-pounders, most-like. French Navy, National sloops of war, not over-armed privateers. Takin' them, bestin' 'em in a proper sea-fight, at odds…? And they'd have to fight, 'cause Choundas has t'win at something or be sacked, and to abandon the supply ships while saving themselves'd be the last straw, so they must stand and…'
'Your charmin' Mister Peel tell ya all this, did he, sir?' Capt. McGilliveray had snickered, his eyes glim-flashy in secret delight. 'Or 'twas that totty-headed new-come, Pelham? Him o' th' hunt togs?'
'Don't know what ye mean, sir,' Lewrie had grunted, pretending total ignorance, even going so far as to tuck in his chin and 'sull up like a bullfrog.'
'Yer spies, Cap'um Lewrie!' McGilliverary had hooted with mirth 'Yer Foreign Office, or Admiralty, or whoever pays 'em spies. 'Bout as secretive as house fires, th' both of 'em. Peel ain't your clergyman God knows, he don't tutor your midshipmen, so what else could he be?'
'Uhm, well, actually… uhm,' Lewrie had flummoxed, blushing for a rare once. 'Damn.'
'Don't hold with spies, meself,' McGilliveray had quibbled.
'Don't know why not!' Lewrie had quickly countered. 'Your partisan rangers like Francis Marion the Swamp Fox, your ship's namesake Thomas Sumter, thrived on the aid of patriotic spies. Your esteemed General Washington, so Peel tells me, ran an intelligence network, in the face of which our Foreign Office still stands in awe. So…'
'I can tell Cap'm Goodell this?' McGilliveray had asked. 'That it came from the
