Sea of Grey

'Aye aye, sah.'

Proteus found her anchorage, rounded up to slither on windward for a piece, her fore-tops'l flat a'back to brake her progress, until the very last of her way fell off and the helm went helpless. At that moment, the best bower anchor dangling from the larboard cat-head was let go to splash into the water, and the hawser paid out then snubbed after a run of half a cable, to see if the anchor would hold. With a faint jerk and groan, Proteus came to a stop, her voyage over.

'Hello, the boat!' Lewrie called down to the guard-boat that had been so obliging. 'Where am I to report to Admiral Parker?'

'His flagship's in the careenage, sir!' the midshipman in the boat's sternsheets called back. 'His staff captain keeps office at Fort Charles, for now!' he added, pointing back at the tip of the Palisades, the natural breakwater mole that made Kingston such a calm anchorage in most weathers, with the Blue Mountains lying in the harsh Nor'east, where most hurricanes blew their fiercest early winds. Lewrie looked in that direction, using a telescope to see if anyone had hoisted the usual 'Captain Repair On Board' code flags. No, nothing. For the main base of the West Indies Station, Kingston maintained what could only charitably be termed as 'peacetime' activity.

'Very well, sir, thankee!' Lewrie shouted down.

'I'm going that way, sir!' the midshipman offered. 'Would you care to be rowed over?'

'Aye, that'd suit admirably. Come alongside!' Lewrie agreed.

'Thank de Lord,' he heard Andrews whisper sotto voce.

'Don't feel too relieved, Andrews… you may have to come and fetch me back, then take me ashore to the civilian part of town. You scamp, you.'

'Mebbe you'd speak t'Mister Padgett afore ya go, then, sah? He get dem certificates started?' Andrews countered, still looking wary.

'Dear Lord, what a lack-wit!' Captain Sir Edward Charles said, after Lewrie had filled him in on his meeting with the hapless Lieutenant Gordon of the United States Treasury Department cutter Trumbull. 'If he's an example of what we may expect to meet in the near future, then God help them. In such a small service as their Treasury, or the new navy of theirs, surely only their very best and most experienced officers would gain commands. Unless they simply have none, o' course.'

'I gathered that most of their experienced naval officers by now are quite aged, sir,' Lewrie informed him, 'those who won fame back in the Revolution; and most of them were privateersmen, to begin with.'

The interview was going quite nicely, Lewrie thought. Captain Charles was Admiral Sir Hyde Parker's staff captain, a most ebulliently friendly sort-big as a rum keg about the middle and twice as stout, with the rosy cheeks and nose of the serious toper. The first thing to be done was to fetch newcome Captain Lewrie a glass of claret, and take up a refill with him to be convivial. They sat in leather wing chairs to either side of a wine-table, not before and behind the massive desk as junior and superior might, like cater-cousins or fellow clubmen.

Lewrie was turned out in his newest and nattiest uniform, run up in London for the December fкte to celebrate Camperdown. The dark blue wool coat was hard-finished and smooth, and perhaps a bit too hot for a tropic day, but a snowy-white silk shirt and equally pristine sailcloth cotton waistcoat and breeches somewhat eased any discomfort that Lewrie might have felt. The single gilt epaulet on his right shoulder, all the buttons, and gold-lace cuff trim was so new, and so well packed away so long, that he fair gleamed. And the two medals hung about his neck had gotten a polish, along with his new Hessian boots with the gilt tassels. Captain Sir Edward Charles's eyes had drifted to the medals several times, in an almost wistful way, since their introduction.

Ain't ev'ry one-winged captain that can boast one medal, Lewrie smugly told himself; much less two! Poor old soul's jealous!

'Within two day's sail of Antigua, was it?' Sir Edward asked as he topped up their half-filled glasses.

'Aye, sir. Mister Gordon told me that Saint Kitts would be one of their 'rondy's,' as would Dominica. American merchantmen will gather there and await escort for convoys, he said, to perhaps as far north as Savannah, in Georgia. He gave me the impression that what few French privateers or warships that had harried their coastal shipping were now scared off by their new frigates, and that the bulk of their losses now take place in the Caribbean. This new naval minister of theirs, termed a Secretary of the Navy, a man name of Benjamin Stoddert, gave Gordon the further impression that he's that eager to make a 'forward presence'… as soon as they have enough ships in commission, of course.'

'Well, if Gordon's little cutter was the best they have to show the flag…' Sir Edward smirked over the rim of his glass. 'How well-armed was she?'

'Four four-pounders, and a batch of swivels, Sir Edward, and all rough-cast,' Lewrie said with a deprecating sneer of his own. 'Not two from the same foundry. Old-style touch-holes with powder-filled quills for ignition. That, or port-fires. The muskets and pistols that I saw were a tad rough, as well. Copies of Tower muskets,' he said, heaving a tiny shrug. 'Though some mates and officers had purchased long-range Pennsylvania rifles, and those were quite well-made and very accurate. We had a little shoot-off, sir. I with my Ferguson breech-loader, and they with their muzzle-loaders.'

'Who won?' Sir Edward snapped, 'tetchy' of a sudden. 'Uhm… they did, sir. Though ramming the ball down a rifled barrel with a lubricated leather patch about it takes forever. I was told that their new Marine Corps will be issued rifles, not muskets. A squad of Marines in each top, with rifles, could decimate the officers of a foe at nearly two hundred yards, maybe even a full cable's range. Then, sir, God help the French, when they meet!'

'Don't hold with such doings, myself,' Sir Edward scoffed, now growling with ill humour. 'My Marines'll volley from the bulkwarks. Shooting officers, sir, is un-gentlemanly. Deliberately targeting an officer is abominable! Dishonourable! Might as well cut their throats in their beds! Piratical, barbaric! Just what I'd expect of American manners, morals, or 'honour!' Pack of Red Indians, near-like, sir, in all those deerskin clothes, with feathers-and dung!-in their hair so please you! We'll not have such in this fleet, sir, and I'll thank you to remember that!' The feathers, deerskins… or snipin ? Lewrie had to ask himself. 'Never stood and fought in the open, Captain Lewrie, no! They skulked in the bushes and shot from cover, the coward's way! Armed to the teeth, e'en the women and children,' Sir Edward querulously carped, in a 'pet' over past experiences, Lewrie surmised. 'Uncivilised thieves and highwaymen, riotous armed bullies, hah! But never the stomach for a proper battle, and I doubt they've improved, now they're on their own without English law to rein in their chaotic nature. Do we really see American warships down here, I'll lay you any odds you wish, they will skulk in port, fatten off our stores, but leave the hard work to a proper navy such as ours! The French'd eat 'em alive!'

'Well, sir, even as addle-pate as their Lieutenant Gordon was,' Lewrie dared to point out, 'they did run a taut enough ship, and they sounded quite eager to prove themselves against the Frogs.'

'Ev'ry calf-headed innocent sings eager before his first fight, Captain Lewrie,' Sir Edward countered. ' 'cause he knows nothing about battle. Let idiots and fools like your Lieutenant Gordon cross hawse with a real French frigate, and then see what tune he sings, hah! No, sir… Americans are too disorganised, too stubbornly individualistic to achieve much. Put a dozen in a room, you'll hear fifteen different opinions! Lazy, idle; twiddlers, who'd rather get drunk on their corn whiskey-a vile concoction!-just enough bottom to 'em to plant more corn, so they can make more whiskey! As money-grubbing as Jews, too. But not a single gentleman, a single educated and civilised man in a thousand to boast of. Barbarians, sir! Ignorant.. . peasants!'

Does he really hate 'em that bad? Lewrie wondered. Or is he just drunk, and ravin'? And how 'in-the-barrel' was he before I got here?

'I s'pose we'll see, Sir Edward,' Lewrie said, noncommittally. 'This Gordon fellow expected their warships rather soon.'

'In hurricane season?' Sir Edward responded, leaning far back in his chair to the point that it almost tipped off its front legs, agape with a mix of horror and amazement on his now-glowing phyz.

'Their Secretary of the Navy, that Mister Stoddert, is of the opinion that really bad storms occur more rarely than people think. I believe Gordon said perhaps no more than once a year, sometimes once in five years, sir. American merchantmen in the Caribbean keep records of weather, and their studies of those records-'

'Told you they were purblind fools!' the staff-captain said with an angry bark. 'Well, let me tell you, Captain Lewrie, the Royal Navy has records, too, and vaster experience in the West Indies than