King, Ship, and Sword

see… ' Captain Blanding got as close to the dining table as his girth would admit, hunching bear-like on his elbows as he imparted his news in a softer mutter. 'There are sources in Paris, d'ye see what sort I mean? They tell our people who deal in such matters that Bonaparte has given up on his dreams for an American empire and will settle for cash… with which to expand his army and navy, and prepare to fight us.

'The French Foreign Minister, Talleyrand, has been negotiating the sale of New Orleans, and all of formerly Spanish Louisiana, to the Yankee Doodles!'

Holy shit on a biscuit! Lewrie thought, stunned; and what will Charitй de Guilleri make o' that, I wonder? Hide a pistol up her bum, get to hand-kissin range, and shoot that bastard Bonaparte? Serve her right… serve him right, and spare us a sea o' bloodshed!

'So they'll still send a squadron to Louisiana, sir?' Parham enquired, puzzled. 'And do our… sources say how big it is?'

'Much smaller, for certain,' Captain Blanding said, leaning back and making his poor collapsible dining chair creak alarmingly. 'Else, Admiralty would not be sending only four ships in pursuit of them. I expect that the French will now use the formal exchange as a pretext for despatching more warships to the West Indies, perhaps even using the suddenly neutral port of New Orleans as a shelter for frigates and privateers. If there are transports, I also expect that they will be sent into Cape Franзois on Saint Domingue to re-enforce what's left of their army fighting the slave rebellion, poor Devils. Perhaps only one or two of those demi-brigades will sail, with a much smaller escort, which might see a single battalion to New Orleans to make the ceremony of handing the place over all elegant and shiny. Fireworks, cannonades, a saluting volley or three? A band playing ' La Marseillaise'?' he disparaged with another hearty chuckle. 'Then the French warships are free to pursue a guerre du course against our West Indies trade.'

'Excuse me, sir, but the French would find New Orleans not very useful to them, even if it were American, and neutral,' Lewrie pointed out. 'The city is over an hundred miles upriver from the mouth of the delta, so the best they could do would be to establish themselves at the Head of Passes and Fort Balise, where the Mississippi flows out to the Gulf through several easily blockaded passes. Fort Balise is a small, weak, and easily defeated water bastion, but once the exchange is done, it's an American fort. And I doubt our Yankee cousins would let them anchor there or supply them with goods from the city if we're now at war with France.' 'You've seen this Fort Balise?' Blanding asked, intrigued. 'Aye, sir,' Lewrie replied, trying as usual for the proper English 'pooh-poohing' modesty but, again as usual, failing badly at it. 'That, and the city of New Orleans, in fact. A job of work for some Foreign Office types, a few years ago, in mufti, as the Hindoos say. French Creole patriots who wanted Spain out and France back in, and turned pirate t'finance their scheme, d'ye see? That's not t'say the Creoles and the pirates and privateersmen still there might not wish t'help the Frogs, but I don't see it done directly from New Orleans. Covert supplyin' through the bayous to Barataria, Timbalier, or Terrebonne Bay, or further west out of Atchafalaya or the Cote Blanche Bays. But… those are all very shallow waters, sir, barely deep enough for local schooners or small brigs, not corvettes or frigates. And they are bad holding-ground in a blow, with no shelter from the barrier islands. I'd expect one stiff diplomatic note from you, sir, to the new American authorities would force 'em to kick the French out and sit on anyone who'd sell ' em supplies. If Panton, Leslie amp; Company still does business in New Orleans, we could send a boat to Fort Balise, and a letter upriver, and know which merchant houses are involved within a fortnight… then turn 'em in to the local American government.'

'Internment, by God!' Lt. Gilbraith, Blanding's First Officer, perked up and spoke for the first time since 'might you pass me that strawberry jam-pot, sir?' over an hour before. 'Do we bottle them up and send that note, the French could not remain forever at anchor in the city or at this bloody fort where the river forks! The Americans could be convinced to enforce the three-day rule and tell the French squadron to sail or surrender their ships on parole 'til the end of the current hostilities. They come out to give us honourable battle or they strike their colours and hang out in New Orleans taverns 'til the Last Trump, and either way, we've eliminated them as a threat. Ha?'

'Germane and canny as usual, Jemmy,' Captain Blanding told him, 'but dash my eyes! We've orders to go looking for a fight, and I'll be very disappointed should it end that way. I want powder smoke and close broadsides… struck colours, prizes, and a slew of dead Frogs!'

To which fierce sentiment they all gave loud, hearty huzzahs.

'Pray God, then, gentlemen,' Lewrie seconded. 'We catch them up at sea, before they can take shelter in any French possession or get to the mouth of the Mississippi. I wager we all wish an ocean of Frog blood!'

And huzzahs for that, too!

'How soon might your ships be ready to sail?' Captain Blanding demanded, posing the question to each Captain and First Officer; two days more for Pylades, only one for Cockerel, this very afternoon for Modeste, Gilbraith was quick to announce, and a one-day delay from Lt. Westcott.

'We lack the last of wardroom provisions and live-stock, sir,' Westcott said. 'We could fall down to Saint Helen's Patch whilst we see to all that, if I may suggest, sir?' he said, turning to Lewrie for permission. 'A long sail or row for the victuallers, Captain Blanding, but…,' he concluded with a shrug and one of his brief tooth-baring grins. Lewrie took note, for the first time, that Westcott had a pug nose, almost Irish in its short sweep.

'Chicks!' Blanding boomed aloud. 'Chicks and rabbits and game hens. They take much less room in the manger, and much less feed and water than pigs, turkeys, or beef on the hoof. Mature rapidly and are prolific at reproduction.'

'A sack of fat rats t'be let loose in the flour, sirs?' Lewrie suggested, tongue-in-cheek. 'Can't forget t'feed our Midshipmen!'

'I'd imagine we've rats enough for a dozen ships by now, sir!' Captain Blanding roared with laughter, slamming a meaty palm on the table top in appreciative mirth. 'Saint Helen's Patch it will be, as quick as dammit, soon as you're all back aboard your ships. I trust your frigates will prove fast enough to keep up with me, sirs! She is French, Modeste, and very quick for a sixty-four, or so her former captain's records tell me. She's six more feet of waterline than the usual sixty-four from our yards. Second one of the same name we've taken off the Frogs,' Blanding happily imparted with a wink. 'Built at Toulon in Ninety-Seven and lost in the Med a year later. One'd think the French would see her name's bad luck- for them, at any rate-and drop it for good.'

'Uhm… Harbour Drill, sir,' Lewrie had to point out. 'We've barely had a fortnight to train the landsmen and new-comes. I'd like at least another ten days of it before considerin' my lads ready for sea, and battle. To get the best speed from Reliant, from all of our ships, and safe and efficient handlin', well… ' He trailed off as he took note of the disappointed looks round the table.

''Growl we may, but go we must,' Lewrie,' Captain Blanding said with a scowl. 'Aye, we're all short of complete training, but… take a page from the French and deem our crews ready enough to get to sea, then work them to perfection on the voyage, what?

'To war, gentlemen!' Blanding bellowed in a throaty growl, with another slam of his palm on the table top for emphasis. 'We will shift our anchorages down to Saint Helen's Patch, and pray for a fair wind, just as soon as you complete your lading. From there, we will prowl 'twixt Ushant and Scilly 'til the French come down to us, or… should we miss them there, we'll hare cross the Atlantic in pursuit, into the West Indies and Gulf of Mexico. Either way, I am bound to see all of them in Hell before we're done.

'Admiralty's chosen us, given us specific orders,' Blanding said in a calmer tone, fussing a bit with his coat lapels. 'Given us a grand opportunity, and a demanding task, to smite the Devil on his snout, right from the outset. And he is… Napoleon Bonaparte. If not Satan come to the world, then his dread minion, the Anti-Christ, as many people of my circle have come to suspect of late… '

We on a personal Crusade o' his? Lewrie asked himself, suddenly wary of such an apocalyptic outlook,… and the messianic zeal for such a quest Blanding might display, to their overall detriment, when they did cross hawses with the French squadron; How 'bout we fetch back the Holy Grail, too? Or the Golden Fleece!

'… his captains and sailors are the Devil's disciples, and I mean to see them returned below, as