conquests into the Germanies?'
Keep the bastard from plannin' an invasion of England, certain.1'Lewrie grimly thought.
'Ze… flea-bite, oui, M'sieur Capitaine,' Brasseur gravely replied, with a slow, sage nod of his head. 'Ze many flea-bite, hein}'
'Hellish-hard, that,' Lewrie told him, ' 'less sufficient forces could be scraped t'gether, and a good place discovered to strike, with no intelligence of local sentiments, opposing forces available… all that. One would require a great deal of factual information, m 'sieur.'
Brasseur left off petting the cats and leaned forward, elbows atop his knees, and rolling his glass between his hands. 'Such facts could be found out, Capitaine,' he said in a soft, guarded voice, and with a sly glare in his eyes. 'All I suffer… all neighbours suffer… I owe la Revolution nozzing, m 'sieur. Last son a moi is sixteen. Revolution take my eldest… do zey take him, aussi? 'E become gunner at Pointe de Grave fort, or march away to die in faraway Prussia ? Bah! Peu! Peut-etre, a flea-bite 'ere, m'sieurl' Brasseur declared in heat, before calming, and, still hunkered over, sipped at his drink.
'I speak of zis to votre Commandeur Hogue,' he added. ' 'E say 'e must speak to you, or I speak to you myself.'
'If,' Lewrie cautiously supposed aloud, 'if you were to supply the information which made a 'flea-bite' here possible, might you and your family require a means of escape, M'sieur Brasseur… Jean?'
'It is possible, if ze authorities discover 'oo talk to you,' Brasseur cagily allowed, rubbing his chin and shrugging. 'But, zere are so many fishermen you stop each day, 'oo is to say which man tell you? What is it you need to know before the flea bites, hein?'
'Your village,' Lewrie said, daring to trust him, at last. 'I can't see round the point, so… your little harbour, the bay north of Le Verdon, the cove south of the mole. How far along the construction of the battery, how many troops already there… and, how many troops on the south side of the Gironde there are within two hours' march. When you have discovered all I ask of you, stray out to sea again, and… hoist a long pendant from your mast-tip. I note you have none now. I shall pay guineas for what you learn, Capitaine Brasseur. Say, a guinea now, as well?'
'Non, m'sieur,' Brasseur replied. 'Non ze guinea. Better ze silver shillings. Spend gold coin, an' ze gendarmerie take notice of zis, and suspect. Besides, I 'ave not yet sold you my fish, hein?' Brasseur said with a wide smile and a laugh.
'Done, and done!' Lewrie declared, reaching for his coin purse.
Lewrie ended up with another basket full of a medley of oysters, clams, mussels, and shrimp, along with Brasseur's wife's recipe for the famous Biscay mussel dish, mouclade, which he would serve his officers that very evening. Brasseur had also sold the wardroom and the Midshipmen's cockpit some large fish he had trawled on his way out to sea.
Since Brasseur didn't usually put in on the north shore of the river Gironde he knew little of the doings at the St. Georges fort or the weight of its guns he had seen the artillery barged in over the last year, and thought they might have been long eighteens, or twenty-fours, but could not say with certainty.
Yes, barges laden with Dordogne stone put into his home port of Le Verdon sur Mer, and he had never seen an escort, and it was a rare thing to see a sail-driven or galley-style oared gunboat near Pointe de Grave, nor many light warships, either.
And, yes, Brasseur had sometimes sailed along 'the Savage Coast' to go up to Marennes or La Tremblade on the far side of the peninsula, mostly to trade for salt so he could preserve some of his catch, but he had never overnighted on the windward beaches, so could not confirm the presence of a freshwater stream or pool. Pine trees for firewood? But, of course there were! he had assured Lewrie.
Lewrie could barely contain his rising excitement 'til Papin, or Brasseur, or both, fetched back news from shore. Newspapers! Lewrie chid himself again, though he'd all but tied a string round his finger to recall the need for recent French papers, and what they might inadvertantly reveal.
No more, just these two, Lewrie silently decided as HMS Savage slowly loafed her way seaward for the night, into the beginnings of a spectacularly fiery sunset. Too many pointed questions of too many of the local fishermen, and suspicions would be roused with the local authorities; too much coin doled out, and just one drunken fisherman who had cooperated, and Savage would be swampedby others eager to earn a golden guinea with just any sort of fantasy or moonshine!
If Papin and Brasseur brought back good tidings, he could come up with a workable plan to lay before Ayscough, who was always ready for a good scrap; perhaps a good-enough plan to entice Rear-Admiral Lord Boxham to participate, too, before he died of boredom out beyond the horizon, yearning with drawn daggers for the French to sortie.
Jules Papin; could he trust him? So far, he'd proved greedily honest, and what little he had related was true. An amoral man without a jot of patriotism, with his eyes ever on the main chance.
Jean Brasseur? Lewrie wondered. A fellow in need of money, but a disappointed patriot, as well. At least Brasseur had not attempted to spin a fool's tale, had freely admitted what he did not know, and could not say with assurance. Take what both say with a grain o'salt, aye, Lewrie speculated; that'dbe safest.
They agree, all well and good. Their accounts vary too much, then… Christ, what'll I do, then?If they do, though … !
Lewrie resisted the urge to chew on a thumbnail as he pondered what he wished to accomplish, clapping both hands in the small of his back and rocking on the balls of his booted feet, instead; wondering if he might be aspiring to too much.
Not just a landing by the Pointe de Grave battery to drive off the workers and officers, so he could blow it apart, no; there was the completed small lunette fort by St. Georges de Didonne, too. With any luck at all, there might be barges in Le Verdon's harbour to take or burn. With enough force devoted to the endeavour-and he'd have to talk a blue streak to see that there was!-a landing could be made by Royan. A quick march behind the St. Georges fort, an assault from the unguarded land side (pray God that Papin could tell him for sure!) so he could spike all those guns, as well, lay charges to topple those ramparts, rout both garrisons, and sail out with prisoners… perhaps-peut-etre- even stay ashore long enough to barge the artillery out to sea and scuttle them, or have enough Marines to meet any relief column on the shore road from Tal-mont and give them a bloody nose, to boot?
Hopeless/ Bloody daft.1 Lewrie irritably thought, reining in his galloping imaginings;yet… it beats waitin't'hear 'bout my legal troubles, or a recall t'face trial!… don't it bloody-just!
There was also a nagging qualm that would not stay tamped down; am I doin' all this 'cause it needs doin'? Or, am I so desp 'rate for glory t 'keep me from the hangman?
