Troubled Waters

aged brandy, would be even better.'

'I could ask, once inshore, sir,' Lewrie offered, intrigued by the novelty of such a liquour.

'Inshore, aye,' Ayscough said as the dishes were removed, the tablecloth was whipped away, leaving only a bowl of nuts and the port. 'To business, if I may, gentlemen? Droop, kindly fetch me the charts, now the table's cleared, then leave us be for an hour or so.'

'Aye, sir,' Ayscough's cabin servant replied.

'We've three actual groupings of small ships standing blockade, the numbers varying due to refits, recalls, and new arrivals, such as your Savage, Lewrie.' Ayscough sketched out on the chart, tapping one finger near Rochefort and the Ile d'Oleron. 'Charlton here commands an assortment of brigs and cutters in this area, whilst down South, Captain Percy Lockyear keeps watch off Arcachon and its large basin. He has but a twenty-gunned older Sloop of War, Arundel, to support his smaller clutch of ships, suitable to the shoal conditions obtaining there. A nice fellow, is Lockyear. You're sure to like him, do you ever meet.

'And I, 'til your timely arrival, do the best I can keeping an eye on the mouth of the Gironde, that leads to Bordeaux,' Ayscough said with a self-disparaging tone. 'Very wide entrance to the estuary, and sufficient depth of water rather far up, so Chesterfield can sail most of it, but for several forts sited on the tops of the headlands, which out-gun all of us, both in number of artillery pieces, and their weight of metal. Dammit, though… that's not what I am to do with my ship,' Ayscough groused. 'I am promised a second sixty-four to join me here, so I may employ two middlin' ships to re-enforce our lighter ships if they run into trouble… even if both of us would still be too slow to really catch anything incoming or outgoing.'

'Should the French come out in force, Lewrie,' Capt. Charlton said with dry wit, 'our brief is to harass if we may, or fall back upon Lord Boxham's line-of-battle ships and alert him, if we cannot.'

'Aye,' Ayscough added with a guffaw. 'Run screaming out to sea, like a pack of hysterical women!'

'Well, perhaps not run, sir,' Charlton rejoined with a twinkle. 'Nor scream, ' either. It would be more of a purposeful lope, along with loud shouts of hue and cry, or 'tally-ho,' hmm?'

'Oh, o' course, sir!' Ayscough chuckled. 'Stout hearts, strong legs, and lusty voices. What I mean t'say, Lewrie, is that I can't exercise overall command of this coast, and have any fun at all, anymore.

'That is why I will place you in command of the river mouth.'

'Me?' Lewrie gawped in surprise.

Me? Are you daft? he thought, a tad dizzy at the prospect; wee little me, in command o' me own… squadron? Ye'd have t'be barkin' mad t' turn me loose!

To that very instant, the most he expected to control was his frigate, his crew, and his penchant for strange and nubile quim! To acquire more responsibility than that, he had always supposed that he'd have to attain Ayscough's age, and that would be years in the future, but… well, he was a Post-Captain of More Than Three Years' Seniority, and times were hard. Even if he was less than a year in that rate.

Could he have physically turned his head and gone cross-eyed to look at his pair of gilt-fringed epaulets denoting his rank, he would have, if only to confirm that he was, indeed, the Lewrie that Ayscough was talking about. He almost snickered out loud at how ludicrous such a posting sounded!

'Hear, hear!' Charlton congratulated, taking the port bottle to top Lewrie up for the coming toast. 'After all you did with independent action in the Adriatic, I can think of no one more suited to driving the French demented, and stopping the Gironde like a beer keg bung.'

'Well, I knew the Navy's short-handed these days, but. Lord!' Lewrie responded. 'What do the French have, up in Bordeaux, then?'

'I'll get to that,' Ayscough told him, pouring himself a fresh glass, as well. 'What you have to work with, first. There are five smaller vessels you will command, Lewrie. First are a pair of new-ish brig-sloops… our old compatriot Hogue's Mischief, of sixteen six-pounders, and Erato, with much the same armament. Then, there are the cutters… Argosy and Penguin mount eight guns, and Banshee, which is a hired merchant brig, and a little larger, mounts ten. Of course, all mount eighteen-pounder carronades in addition to their long pieces. If you think it best, further divide your forces into pairs, or two groups of three, should you deem such necessary. Daily stations, and patrolling areas, will be up to you, but…,' Ayscough all but wheexed with amusement, 'knowing you, I am certain that your penchant for cunning will harass the French to no end, and I may rest easy at night with you out there with your eyes wide open.'

'Whilst, pray God, the French do not get a wink of sleep, wondering what new devilment will befall them,' Charlton seconded.

'Hogue is senior, then?' Lewrie asked, knowing that even large one-masted, fore-and-aft rigged cutters were usually Lieutenants' commands.

'Ah, no.' Ayscough sobered, even looking a shade evasive for a second. 'Commander James Kenyon in Erato is senior by a year.'

Lewrie's lips half-parted, and his face took on a stunned look.

'Know him, do you?' Ayscough off-handedly enquired.

'Second Lieutenant of my first ship in 1780, old Ariadne, sixty-four,' Lewrie found wit to reply. That back-gammoning bastard's here? he thought, stupefied.

'Took him long enough,' Charlton said with a shrug at the fickle nature of Navy politics. 'Must not have had a single decent patron for 'interest' or influence 'pon his career.'

'God pity you!' Ayscough commented with false sympathy. 'First ship a doddering old sixty-four, and as feeble a sailer as this barge!'

'Became the stores ship at Antigua, did she not?' Capt. Charlton asked, faintly frowning to recollect. 'Seem to recall… no matter. Did I not have to hunt about and use up half my 'interest' and patronage, I'd gladly let Lyme become a stores ship or troopship, like the few of her sort still in commission, and trade up to a Third Rate.'

'And, toss Chesterfield into that pot, too, God willing,' Commodore Ayscough quickly seconded. 'Well, then! Here's a double toast, sirs. Success to Captain Lewrie… and confusion to the French!'

'Hear, hear!' Charlton cried as they tipped their glasses back to 'heel-taps.' 'We need a bowl of punch, by God!' Ayscough decided. 'Droop! Fetch us the bowl and makin's for a good, stout punch!'

'Come all ye bold heroes, give an ear to my song,

and we'll sing in the praise of good brandy and rum.

'Tis a clear crystal fountain good England con-trols.

Give me the punch ladle, I'llfath-om the bowl!'

Lewrie and Charlton sang along to Ayscough's rough, raspy lead, twice | through all verses before the ladle was first dipped, and cups were filled. Kenyon, my God! Lewrie grimly thought, no matter the good cheer; how am I t'deal with him, after all these years?

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dawn came hazy, with a light fog up the estuary of the Gironde. The sea was slack and glassy, and the winds from out of the West were light, though steady. Right after breakfast and a shave, Lewrie bent Savage's course inshore, the frigate enjoying the tops'l breeze, with her main course twice-reefed, and t'gallants and royals brailed up to the upper yards, but all stays'ls and jibs hoisted for quicker manoeuvring.

It was second-best uniform for Lewrie this morning, his plainer cocked hat on his head, without all the formal