signalled orders…?' he posed, detaching his hand from Lewrie's.
'Why, none, sir,' Lewrie declared. 'No damage either. They couldn't shoot worth a… they were very poor at
'No casualties… and no damage,' Sir John mused heavily. 'I do declare. Good, though. Good. 'Tis been a bloody-enough day.'
'Well, for the Dons, much worse, sir,' Nelson prattled on. 'I must think they suffered ten times worse than us. You've been aboard the prize-ships, seen…'
'Aye,' Sir John grunted, clapping one hand behind his back to pace himself back to his usual taciturn grumpiness. 'So you may sail off towards Cadiz and 'smoak' the dispositions of their remaining warships, sir?' He directed this to Lewrie.
'Aye, Sir John,' Lewrie said automatically. 'Though… we are a
'You've been in commission since… Captain Calder?'
'Three years, this month, Sir John,' Calder supplied, off the top of his head.
'We shall make other arrangements then,' Sir John said, almost mournfully. But instantly there was a twinkle in his eyes. 'Lewrie, today is Valentine's Day. I shall make you a present. Remain under my lee 'til I send you written orders.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
'And, well done, Lewrie. Damn' foolhardy, but well done.'
'There was a lot of that going round today, sir. I think it must be catching,' Alan allowed himself to jape.
'… called the
Lewrie cocked a chary brow at that statement; Nelson was never a shy man when it came to taking acclaim- he'd seen that preening side to him before. And he most-cynically suspected no one
Servants were sporting trays of drinks 'round, and Lewrie snagged himself one and took a welcome sip of a very good claret. Old Jarvy's best, he imagined, saved for a rare occasion such as this.
'By the by, Commander Lewrie,' Captain Calder purred, stepping over to him. 'Just before this little set-to, we received some mails for the fleet. I do believe, should you speak to our First Officer, he has yours ready to hand.'
'Mail, sir!' Lewrie enthused. It had been weeks since he'd had news from home. 'I can't think of a single thing more to make this day any more perfect.'
'Uhmm… is that some
Nearly nine o'clock of the Evening Watch and almost time that all glims and lanthorns were doused for fear of fire in the night hours. Even a captain had to heed the Master At Arms. There was still time, though, to race through just one more letter from his wife, Caroline, back home in Anglesgreen, then give them all a slower, more loving perusal the next morning.
He swiveled and craned under the swaying overhead lanthorn for the most light at his desk, idly stroking a sleeping Toulon, atop the attractively crinkly discard pile of other mail from chandlers, tailors, bankers, and such, tucked up all Sphinx-like.
…
Lewrie flipped back a page or two, looking for a clue. Was this some new botheration from Harry Embleton or his father, the baronet? That was Chiswick land, just by his own rented acres, land he stood a chance to inherit (his brother-in-law, Governour, for certain) once old Uncle Phineas Chiswick went 'toes up' (and, pray God, soon!). Phineas would never sell a three-hundred-acre tract off whilst living and would likely find a way to tuck it in his coffin and hoist it off to Perdition with him! Just for spite! In fact, he'd rather
'Now where the deuce…' Lewrie grumbled half-aloud, sorting out the fronts and backs of the hefty letter. There came the crisp clang of two bells up forrud, the stamp of boots, and a musket butt from the marine sentry at his main deck door, almost at the same instant.
'Master At Arms, sah! Reports 'darkened ship,' sah!'
'Christ on a
'Sah?'
'Very well… carry on then… Jesus!' Lewrie barked back.
…
'My bloody father!' Lewrie muttered. 'Aye, dark, alright. Dark and gettin' darker!'
I pray you, though, Alan, should you have any
BOOK ONE
Non equidem invideo; mirror magis; undique totis
Well, I grudge you not-rather I marvel;