'Ye mentioned his family, Captain Cheatham,' Lewrie continued. 'Far as I know, he had none. Or, if he had, they'd slung him into the Navy as a lad, soon as he began t'act on his sinful predilictions, most-like, and wrote him off, so… the Navy, the officers of his past and present rank, were his family, and, could he no longer command himself, his buried secret would come out, and that'd be lost to him. Revealed as a sodomist, quietly cashiered without half-pay if not brought before a court-martial, either way, he'd end up 'beached' without ten pounds to his name, and he'd die a miserable, ravin' death in Bedlam, or some, place worse, 'thout a shred of dignity, or honour.'
'Mean t'say, he deliberately was the first ashore, willing to be killed at the head of his men, 'stead of…?' Capt. Charlton said, his head cocked over to one side as if he found it hard to swallow,… yet with a knowing glint to his eyes.
'Boresome as our blockade work had been 'til now, sirs,' Lewrie said with a hapless shrug, 'it might have been his last chance to fall a hero… to go out brave and glorious. While he still possessed a last few shreds of rationality. For his good name, sirs! Perhaps… perhaps for the good of the Service, as well,' Lewrie suggested. 'In the old days, were one not aware of his perversion, one'd think Kenyon a hellish-good seaman, a very competent officer, and a fellow dedicated to the Navy. I learned a lot from him, in truth.'
'Good of the Service,' Capt. Charlton said in the long silence as they mulled all that over.
'Ahem,' Commodore Ayscough grumpily said over the creaking and groaning of Chesterfield ''s working hull. 'Yayss… I see. We will never know what was in his mind at the time, if indeed it was Kenyon's intention to end his life, or, whether it was an unfortunate mistake.'
'Or, whether he and his 'pretty lads' were intentionally slaughtered,' Capt. Cheatham growled, 'and the guilty aboard Erato have got 'way with it… so far sirs. As our Commodore related to me, our casualties were extremely light, given the audacity of our landings. Some few wounded aboard the cutters in taking the galley, hardly any aboard Savage or Mischief, and very few wounded aboard my ship, Chesterfield , Lyme, or the seventy- fours. Most of the 'Discharged, Dead' came among the landing-parties, ashore. Yet Erato lost eight killed, including a cabin steward, despite never taking any serious fire from the French.'
'Indeed, sir, most casualties occurred among the landing-parties,' Capt. Charlton countered quickly. 'And, Erato's losses were a part of the shore parties,… bravely standing into the harbour of Le Verdon and right alongside the piers against an entrenched company of French soldiers, who had to be rooted out with the bayonet and cannon fire.'
'That is very true, Captain Charlton, aye,' Ayscough mused with a spritely grin. ' 'Twould be a damned shame, was our victory marred by such a scurrilous suspicion. As well planned as our adventure was, all thanks to Captain Lewrie, no one could possibly expect to succeed with none of our own blood shed. Do you agree, Captain Cheatham?'
'Well, now sir…' Cheatham huffed up, taut ringers curling on the stem of his glass. 'Mean t'say…! Should we not delve into the matter deeper, put the question to the Erato's people…?'
'Rear-Admiral Lord Boxham must be informed,' Ayscough went on. 'He may wish court-martials held, which would result in Erato's crew being broken up among the rest of the ships of our squadron, once the guilty are sifted out, and a new crew and slate of officers appointed into her.'
'I'll not have any of them!' Cheatham hotly exclaimed. 'There's no telling what they might imagine they could get away with, next time! Nor would I wish my worst watch officer to go into her.'
'Rear-Admiral Iredell indeed must be informed of the possibility that Kenyon and his… favourites fell accidentally, intentionally, or by a mutinous deed of the moment,' Capt. Charlton suggested. 'But, it is his decision as to what to do… or, whether it is his appreciation of the matter that a rough form of Justice was done, either way, and the rot aboard her had been… excised. You make a good point, Commodore,' he said. 'Why mar a rare, if minor, victory? For the good of the Service, it might be best did Lord Boxham put an officer of his choosing in command of Erato, put the crew on notice that they'd best be True Blue Hearts of Oak from now on, and, with the chiefest cause of their grievance gone, well…'
/ can't believe this! Lewrie gawped to himself; Ayscough, and Charlton, turnin' a blind eye t'what amounts t 'murder an 'mutiny? For that'spretty much what - it was, wasn 't it. Never thought I'd see either of 'em bend the rules that far!
'Send her home,' Lewrie said into the tenseness, the heat coming off Cheatham's glowers.
'What?' they all pretty much barked at the same time. 'Erato can't keep the sea more than four months without replenishment of stores, sirs,' Lewrie said with a shrug. 'She needs to be victualled. Let Lord Boxham place officers into her, men of his own selection. Whoever is her acting captain will surely be confirmed by Admiralty as a Commander, so long as the war continues. Pluck Cottle, her First Officer, out, and place him aboard one of the seventy-fours, as replacement for the Lieutenant whom Lord Boxham names as the second- in-command. Thurston, too, in charge of her Marines, for there's no guilt attached to him, either… yet, and there's no reason he should suffer. Then, once in a home port, Erato can be given a refit, whether she's due or not, and, in the interim, the crew… guilty or innocent, or merely suspect… can be re-assigned to other ships in the Channel Fleet.
'Even if it was Kenyon's intention to die by the enemy's hands,' he quickly added, 'and no one's guilty, the scattering of her people'd draw no unwanted notice, sirs. Happens all the time.'
Captain Cheatham of Jersey still looked sour, but he did nod his head in sullen agreement, while Ayscough and Charlton immediately looked relieved, taking Lewrie's scheme as a sensible suggestion.
'Well, we must leave the details of it to Lord Boxham… agreed, gentlemen?' Ayscough asked. 'A toast, then. Fill your glasses. Damme, the port's almost gone, and we'll need another bottle soon. Here's to the memory of Commander James Kenyon… a fallen.., hero.'
'Rather sir, if I may?' Lewrie stuck in. 'Perhaps the memory of Commander Kenyon might be, uhm… best soon forgotten.'
'Oh, quite! Lord, yes,' Commodore Ayscough said with a cynical laugh. 'All topped up, gentlemen? Then here's to the late Commander Kenyon… and the 'Erato Guns.' '
They all drank their glasses dry, reflective of a ritual empty of real sentiment, and an uneasy silence fell over the great-cabins.
'D'ye think Hogue will keep his prize, sir?' Lewrie dared ask. 'Or, is she not 'Good Prize'?'
'Marvellous prize!' Ayscough bellowed gleefully. 'By the time Mischief 'was alongside her, not a shot fired, mind… her master and crew had gone over the side and rowed for Talmont like the very Devil was at their heels. Only people left aboard were a half-drunk ship's boy and a one- legged cook, and both of 'em swearing they were Danish, but all they could speak was Dutch, ha ha! Her master left so quickly, he abandoned her three sets of papers, so he was surely up to something beyond smuggling wine and brandy to Rotterdam.'
'Bung-full of Bordeaux, Lewrie,' Capt. Charlton confided with joy. 'Casks and kegs and crated bottles of it. She's bound for England, not Lisbon. Wine to Portgual? Like carrying coal to Newcastle!'
'Wouldn't fetch a shilling to the pound in Lisbon, but, landed in England, she's worth thousands^' Ayscough heartily agreed. 'Lucky dog, Hogue, his fortune's made, and no master or ship owner to sue for her return. Abandoned… salvaged, must he claim so, ha ha, and, in the merchant service of the Batavian Republic, a French ally.'
'Something to cheer, sir,' Lewrie posed with a smile. 'Punch, sir? For you make a fme'un.'
Even if we'll all feel like the Wrath o' God in the mornin', he told himself, but… they needed some good cheer. They had a victory to celebrate!
'A punch, by God, yes!'
' 'Give me the punch-ladle, I'll fath-om the bowl!' ' Lewrie
