pronounced Cockney accent. 'Circus! Bareback riders… h'acrobats an' h'animal hats. Dramas s'tragic they'll make ye blub, comedies s'funny ye'll split yer sides laughin'! Jugglers, fortune tellin', death-defyin' h'aerialists, an' feats o' magic done by mystic
'Lewrie, Royal Navy,' he said in stiff reply. 'We have-'
'An' 'aven't ye come in Puddin' Time, Cap'm Lewrie!' Mr. Wigmore energetically prattled on. 'Wot a wonder, h'arrivin' h'at th' werry instant in our 'our o' need!'
'Need, sir?' Lewrie asked with a snort. 'What need?' Damned if he'd give up spare spars and canvas to
'Why, pertection, Cap'm Lewrie, perfection!' Wigmore exclaimed. 'We're h'all h'alone out 'ere, an' th' wide ocean full o' two-legged sharks o' th' French an' Spanish persuasion, like. Now ye're 'ere, we kin sail t'Recife in comp'ny wif a stout British frigate, so…'
'You've seen enemy warships, Captain Weed?' Lewrie demanded of the soberer merchant master,
Trying, too, to ignore the semi-exposed charms of the women the
'Seen
'Mmhmm,' Lewrie said with a sage nod, more than half-distracted.
'Frets me critters somethin' 'orrid, sir!' Wigmore bemoaned at his elbow. 'Oh, 'tis 'ard, shippin' 'orses an' such, an' them a pitch away from broken legs, an' h' after
Evidently, lying fetched-to didn't suit his 'menagerie,' either, for Lewrie heard a sudden cacophony of grunts, roars, bleating goats, burbling
'Might ye be good h'enough t' h'excuse me, Cap'm Lewrie. I've beasts t'set-tle, damn 'em,' Wigmore griped, then scampered down to the main deck and down a midships hatchway, bawling for his keepers.
'Tell me ye're bound for Recife, sir,' Capt. Weed nigh-implored.
'We're, ah…' Lewrie temporised, loath to tell Weed too much. 'Perhaps, sir. Bound South, at any rate. But, let me ask you, sir… what took you to the Cape Verdes, and from where did you sail, before you fetched 'em?'
'As to yer second question first, sir,' Weed explained, 'we'd just done a whole year o' shows all up and down the coast of the United States of America, ev'ry seaport city from Maine to Savannah, down in Georgia. Right successful, too, and huge crowds ev'rywhere we lit. The Yankee Doodles are starved for entertainment, I expect. We did a show or two in the Bahamas, then planned to head South, ourselves, for Cape Town and the Far East.
Lewrie could see the sense in that worry, as he let himself be distracted by the women clad in muslin or sheer cambric underskirts and chemises, exchanging recited lines from slim booklets he took for the scripts of a new dramatic work. One of 'em that particularly caught his eye was an exotic, foreign-looking girl with raven-dark and long curling hair, high-cheeked features, and a complexion that put him in mind of Spain or the New World.
'As to yer first question,' Capt. Weed continued, dragging him back to reality, 'we hit the Equatorial Current, and the passage turned longish… so much so we were runnin' low on water for the critters, Cap'm Lewrie.'
'There's been drought in the Cape Verdes, the last fourty years, Captain Weed,' Lewrie scoffed, his un-formed suspicions of such an odd ship revived, and took a moment to glance over his shoulder to see if his Marines or sailors had found anything piratical in their searches.
'Aye, and so there is, sir,' Capt. Weed sadly agreed. 'I
'We, ah…' Lewrie hedged once more, then finally had to spill it. 'That would be up to my senior officer, sir, and the East India Company's civilian 'Commodore.' We're part of a rather large escort to a 'John Company' trade. Should the winds suit, those gentlemen may even plan for us to beat our way direct to Saint Helena.'
'A 'John Comp'ny' convoy, up to windward of us?' Capt. Weed gladly exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in such an avaricious way that he put Lewrie in mind of a new-day Blackbeard, who had just heard news of tops'ls in the offing. 'Though I never heard a good word said o' Saint Helena water, either, nor decent anchorage, that'd be better than swanning about these seas, alone. Aye, 'John Comp'ny' masters'd not discomfit their paying passengers with
'You know the rules of convoying, sir?' Lewrie had to ask him. 'The Acts and Admiralty regulations, that you'd have to post a bond with the Commodore, before…'
'And follow ev'ry rule, aye, Cap'm Lewrie, aye!' Weed replied. 'An' Daniel Wig more's rolling in 'chink,' so the bond'd be no bother. A very profitable bus'ness, is entertainment! 'Tis another reason to wish to join yer convoy, sir… there's lashings o' profits hidden in Dan's cabins, most of it in silver coin, so…'
Lewrie's interest drifted off, again, as a pack of nigh-naked people swarmed down from aloft where they'd been swinging or leaping about. And, there was that raven-haired girl, again, too, and this time, she was done with reciting her
lines, and was leaning against the larboard bulwarks on the opposite gangway, her arms crossed under her breasts, her legs-parted stance through the sheerness of her underskirtings hinting at slim hips, a taut belly, and
Something butted the back of his booted calves, something hairy encompassed his lower legs, something as reeky as his cats' sand box after a month's neglect, and he looked back and down.
'Whuff!' the thankfully leather-muzzled bear said as he tried (thankfully) unsuccessfully to lick and chew on Lewrie's ankles!