Sea of Grey

'Got old Lir,' Catterall whispered. 'Don't forget the tales of seals and selkies, the old sea-god's favour and all, and the uncanny good fortune that follows the Captain from ship to ship. What did for our first commanding officer at Chatham? What did for that mutineer, Rolston, the night we transferred him after we escaped the Nore? No, lads, don't forget we've luck on our side. Why, the Captain's taken the man half apart, already! Shot off his arm, by the sound of it… probably did the carvin' on his phyz, too, I shouldn't wonder, maybe was the one who lamed the bastard, as well!

'One more encounter with Captain Lewrie, and this Choundas'll have t'sign his name with his prick like that Buckinger feller, does all the stunts at the raree shows 'thout arms or legs, hey? And keeps Mistress Buckinger a happy woman, 'tis said!' Catterall chortled, more loudly than necessary. 'He don't scare me, this Guillaume Choundas or howsomever ya say it! Bring him on, I say!'

'Hear, hear!' Langlie cheered, drumming the tabletop.

'And, m sieurs,'' Durant slyly commented, tapping the side of his head, 'after so many disasters to his person… who is to say that he, Choundas, just may be in dread of rencontre with ze capitaine, n'est-ce past

'Hear, hear!' Langlie chirped, merry once again, hastening to top their glasses. 'The Captain gets one more shot at him, and it will be finis for Choundas. After this morning, I doubt that there's anything on Earth that'd daunt our captain for more'n a second!'

'Toast, toast!' Catterall cried, staggering to his feet.

In the sudden silence, though, as foxed wits tried to dredge up the proper sentiments, there came a sound from the quarter-gallery in the stern, not quite unlike a prolonged, stentorian belch; nor, being in a hero-worshiping and charitable humour, could the assembly term it as resembling a day-long, fluttery fart.

Either way, though, it didn't sound particularly heroic.

EPILOGUE

Mind th' paint, yer honour, sor,' Landman Furfy cautioned, as Lewrie's gig bumped against their frigate's hull below the entry-port.

'You do the same, Furfy,' Lewrie cheerfully called back, taking in how much ended up on Furfy rather than the gunwale, 'else the only thing t'clean you would be neat rum, or turpentine.'

'Prefer th' rum, sor… bathin' in it, ah th' wonder!' Furfy replied, pausing on the half- awash work catamaran platform on which he stood, standing back to salute with his paintbrush as Lewrie ascended the battens to the starboard gangway. Pipes trilled, boots clomped in unison, hands slapped shiny, linseeded musket stocks, and sailors took pause in their labours to doff their hats.

'The high-jump, was it, sir?' Bosun Pendarves asked once Lewrie had turned aft to the quarterdeck.

'Guilty on all counts, and to be hung at dawn tomorrow,' Lewrie told the hawk-nosed older man with a satisfied nod. 'A foregone conclusion, really. Chained, tarred, and caged 'til his bones fall away, then buried off the Palisades at low tide, God knows when.'

'We can see it from here, sir?' Bosun Pendarves chuckled, glad for a bit of amusement. Public hangings did that to people, even the primmest. 'I'd admire t'see Hennidge get scragged, I would.'

'All ships in harbour to send witness parties, Mister Pendarves. And all crews to muster facing Execution Dock,' Lewrie said. 'You get first thwart in the boat, then choose the rest for me. Best turn-out, mind.'

'Oh, aye, sir!' Pendarves beamed, rubbing his calloused hands with gleeful anticipation. 'I'll see to it.'

Lewrie didn't tell him that he'd send a midshipman with him in nominal charge of the shore party; he thought that Mr. Elwes was tough enough, and 'blooded' by longer service, not to shame Proteus by casting up his accounts to Neptune at the sight.

He took another look about the ship before going below, and it was amazing what Martin Hennidge's appearance at Kingston had done for his frigate's repute. Canvas, cordage, tar, and oils-paint!-so spitefully and stingily denied before, had appeared in liberal, squanderous amounts, since. Admiral Sir Hyde Parker had been effusive with praise, and had done him the honour of supplying him a copy of a flatteringly fulsome report he would send to Admiralty anent the capture of a Hermione mutineer; which report lavishly, nigh luridly, recounted his personal seizure and disarming of Martin Hennidge, with but a hanger against a loaded and cocked musket. Even the staff-captain, Sir Edward Charles, had simpered with outwardly sincere congratulations.

Sycamore s capture, with proof of Yankee Doodle collusion with the French, admittedly had caused a problem with the American consul, and could still result in a chilly rift with their frigates in future, but the burning of a French privateer, the scotching of an arms delivery, and most especially the intelligences he had gained had offset that-as far as Lewrie and Proteus were concerned, at any rate. The matter of his pressing three men from Sycamore, and one of them a mutineer-as if the United States had deliberately sheltered him-was not a matter for discussion from the local American representative! Too bloody embarassing, all round!

So, perhaps for the moment, he could afford to feel smug. But for the Admiral's parting comment as he'd left the court-martial, that he'd count on Proteus to put paid to that ogre Choundas! As if it was to be his quest, and no one else's!

Lewrie allowed himself a disbelieving shiver as he gained his great-cabins and divested himself of his best uniform, and donned one of his older shirts, without neck-stock, and slop trousers. He went to the desk to give Toulon an affectionate stroking of his belly. In the heat of a Caribbean summer, the ram-cat had taken to sleeping on his back, with all four paws limply stuck in the air. His best response to a petting was a sleepy ' Urrmph' and a thump and swish of his stout tail on the desktop. Toulon was down for the day, most-like to contemplate shedding.

Lewrie went aft to the transom settee and splayed himself slack-spined on the cushions, his head resting on the sash-window sill for a cool breeze.

Choundas, by God! he thought; can't the bastard find anything better to do than follow me round the world? I've taken my best shots at him, surely someone'd call me 'out' and send in another batsman to finish him off! Thankee, Id rather not, this time, but do keep me posted.' Bet that'd go down well! Damme, if fame an' glory ain't a cursed buggery… do one thing flashy, and they never give you a rest!

He shut his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to recall the bastard. From the description Mr. Durant had read, he'd hit Choundas's arm, not the chest he'd aimed for. Two hundred yards, even with a Ferguson rifle, was an iffy shot. Their sword-fight on a beach at Balabac in the '80s… hacking that hateful face into ruin with a last-second, blind slash to save his very life! Ham-stringing him and forcing that leg-brace and mask on him, making Choundas stump and limp with a cane evermore…! By now Choundas should be a shambling ogre, the stuff of children's nightmares, an implacable Nemesis tracking him down, a beast to fear, but… Lewrie found himself grinning a bit, seeing him not as his Doom, but as a crippled… clown!

Not as quick as he used t'be, I'll warrant, Lewrie thought as he fanned the front of his shirt for coolness; it can't be his sword and mine crossed, this time… he '11 order others. No matter how well he chooses, his minions could never measure up to him/

It also struck Lewrie that Choundas wasn't part of that massive French fleet, not part of General Bonaparte's, or of Admiral de Brueys grand aspirations, either!

Who'd want a man that gruesome in one's entourage! Lewrie felt like giggling; He'd put people off their feed! Damme, has Choundas had a comedown… tsk-tsk?

The French Revolution had a habit of eating its own; condemning and executing its early firebrands who were too crude, radical, and brutal to present on the world stage, too identified with The Terror, and its excesses and slaughters. They had a habit of turning on each other, too, denouncing and guillotining both leaders and followers of losing factions in their ever-shifting grasps for absolute power!