Commodore, due a Flag-Captain to run her.
Better yet, HMS
And, as captain of the only other frigate in the squadron, was not Lewrie second-in-command to Nicely, no matter that he had not yet attained the right to wear a second epaulet on his shoulders, and was still a Post- Captain of Less than Three Years' Seniority?
Given Capt. Nicely's knacky wits, and his bellicosity when it came to trouncing the King's enemies, it had promised to be a fruitful cruise… so long as Nicely didn't order Lewrie to sneak ashore as a Spanish grandee or mule-skinner and play spy one more time, that is.
Little wonder, then, that Lewrie had cocked his head over that invitation, had muttered something akin to 'Hmmpf, well o' course,' and had tossed it into the scrap drawer, and didn't give the matter a second thought, except for what he should serve for a working dinner, and for how many. And, given how badly Capt. Nicely had fared aboard
It
Capt. Nicely had proved to be popular with the crew, his recent exploits earning every Man Jack a pretty penny, so it was with happy smiles and waving hats that
'Hallo, lads!' Capt. Nicely had joyfully cried, waving his own hat back at them. 'Spent your prize-money, yet, you rogues, ha ha? Or, did you owe your Purser too much for tobacco, what?'
That had gotten him a laugh, and a jeer or two at their 'Nip-Cheese,' Mr.
Coote, as all Pursers were termed.
'Seeing as how 'tis just
'And, do you come this way, sir,' Lewrie had offered, gesturing aft, 'we'll 'splice' our own. I've a case of fine French claret.'
'Delighted!' Nicely had cried; though his eyes
'It smells… fresher than I recall,' Nicely tentatively allowed, accepting a semi-conical, low-stemmed, and footed glass from him.
'Oh, the cats, d'ye mean, sir,' Lewrie replied with a well-hid simper. 'Don't know quite
your things.'
Far aft in the bed-space, Lewrie could espy two pairs of ears, two sets of hard-slit and wary eyes, perhaps even two noses, one with pink nostrils, the other grey, lurking over the top of his extra pillow and the folded-up coverlet, in his wide-enough-for-two hanging bed. Where, he fervently hoped at that moment, they would be content to stay… muttering only the
'Delightful creatures,' Nicely intoned without even attempting to sound convincing.
'And didn't they take to you, just, sir!' Lewrie couldn't help saying as he led Nicely to the dining-coach and a seat at the table.
'Ummm… yayss,' Nicely rejoined, 'and aren't you so fortunate?'
High summer in Jamaica, even with wind scoops erected at every hatchway, the awnings rigged tautly over the quarterdeck against direct sunlight, and all the transom or coach-top windows of the great-cabins opened, mitigated against a heavy repast. They'd begun with a thin but spicy chicken broth, which was followed by freshly- caught red snapper with lemon and clarified butter sauce, and boiled carrots. Green salad with shredded bacon and oil-and-vinegar cleansed the palate for a main course of de-boned pork chops served with fried potato wedges and middling dollops of mushy peas, which repast required the opening of some hock with the fish, soup, and salad, and a second bottle of claret with the chops.
Not a single word was said about their coming mission far to the South'rd, of French and Spanish foes sheltered at Aruba or Curacao, at Caracas or Cartagena, nor what dangers lurked in the port of Cayenne, or the marshy inlets of French Giuana, and Lewrie
It was expected, of course, that naval officers never discussed Politics, Religion, Women, or 'Work' in the mess, so… perhaps
It was only once the tablecloth had been whisked away, the sweet biscuits and mixed nuts, and the port bottle, had been set out, that a nigh-broody Capt. Nicely had appeared to wince, or steel himself for a secret discussion, requesting that Aspinall make himself scarce.
'So… what is it to be, sir?' Lewrie had prompted, scooting up closer to the table, expecting to hear Capt. Nicely whisper revelations about secret sailing times, sealed orders for
That, or another miserable spell of dirty-work for Lewrie.
'These… walnuts?' Nicely had grumpily asked, instead, with his face screwed up like a hanged spaniel as he nibbled on one.
'Uh… no, sir,' Lewrie said, topping off his glass of port and passing it down-table. 'American pecans,' he informed Nicely, saying it the way he'd heard it from Capt. Randolph of the USS
'Hmmpf,' Nicely had muttered, clearing his palate with the port, and pouring himself another rather quickly, too, tossing that one back uncharacteristically quickly. He poured himself a third, but let that one sit 'twixt his hoary hands, and gave it a long glare before looking at his host.
'Uhm… bad news, I fear, Lewrie,' Nicely had begun, at last. 'A matter's arisen which, ah… may preclude your participation in my squadron's mission, d'ye see.'
'Some other duty, then, sir?' Lewrie had asked, feeling, in the following order: disappointment to miss a straightforward adventure; some relief that he'd
'Not, ah… quite,' Nicely had struggled on, obviously loath to bear bad news, but… 'I shall be…
'I'm t'go somewhere