The Invasion Year

“On order, sir, but not yet paid for,” the Purser replied.

“You can make up the lacks from Portsmouth sources,” Lewrie said. “We’re ordered there, instanter. I see the winds are from the West.”

“Roughly, sir, aye,” Westcott said, looking up at the commissioning pendant atop the main-mast, then taking a quick squint about the harbour. “We do have a working-party ashore, though, Captain.”

“Recall them at once, stow away whatever it is they’re there for, then get the ship under way by Noon,” Lewrie ordered.

Paying off from the winds once the anchors were up would be an easy chore, as would the long starboard- quarter slant out to sea. To turn roughly West-Sou’west to make passage to Portsmouth, though… that would be a long, hard slog almost into the teeth of the winds and take at least a day more, with a night spent standing “off and on” the coast ’til it was light enough to attempt an approach into port.

“I’ll see to it directly, sir!” Westcott vowed.

* * *

In his best uniform, with sash and star of his knighthood, and the Cape St. Vincent and Camperdown medals round his neck, Lewrie reported to Admiral Lord Gardner ashore… with some trepidation, it must be admitted, since Lord Gardner was reputed to be a dyspeptic and irascible officer of some age, a tetchy man who did not suffer fools at all gladly, and, Lewrie had heard, some described him as “composed of paper and packthread, stay tape and buckram,” for his over-attention to every little detail, no matter how niggling. Lewrie was forced to sit and wait in the great man’s anteroom for an hour before being allowed an audience.

“And you are who, sir?” Admiral Lord Gardner testily enquired as he gave Lewrie an up-and-down inspection.

“Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, my lord, the Reliant frigate. I was ordered to Portsmouth and told to deliver my orders for transfer from Sheerness to you for safekeeping,” Lewrie replied.

“You waste my time with this, sir?” Lord Gardner snapped. “Most pop-in-jay captains announce their arrival to me by letter!”

“Uhm, it’s a matter of secrecy, my lord… concerning trials of certain, ah… devices?” Lewrie tried to hint.

“What sort of devices?” Gardner sourly demanded. “Secret, you say?”

“Well, my lord… if you have not been told of them, I cannot dsecribe them to you,” Lewrie answered. “No one not engaged with them is to be allowed to-”

“Bedamned if you cannot, sir! What sort of foolishness is this tripe? Niles?… Niles! Come here at once, I say! There’s a lunatick in my office ravin’ about secret devices!” Gardner erupted, then hailed for an aide. At the top of his lungs, too,

Might as well give it to the town criers, too! Lewrie thought with a wince; Yoo-hoo! Frog spies! Harkee t’this!

A door to a side office adjoining opened and a genial-looking Post-Captain who looked to be in his early fifties entered, his brows up in query. “You called, my lord?”

“This imbecile… what the Devil’s your name again? This officer claims he’s ordered to give me his transfer order to keep it secret, and goes on about devices!” Lord Gardner ranted.

“Alan Lewrie, sir,” Lewrie offered, hoping that this new fellow knew more than his superior. “The Reliant frigate?”

“Guessin’ the name of your own ship, sir?” Lord Gardner sneered.

“Lewrie, Lewrie, Lewrie,” the Post-Captain muttered, “Reliant, aha!” he concluded with a snap of his fingers. “May I see them, sir?”

Lewrie handed his orders over whilst the newcomer hummed a gay tune under his breath as he read them.

“Sir Alan, sir,” the Post-Captain said at last, stepping up to offer his hand. “George Niles, Flag-Captain, and your servant, sir.”

“And I am yours, Captain Niles,” Lewrie responded in kind.

“ ’Fraid he’s the right of it, my lord,” Captain Niles told his superior. “Those infernal things built at Gosport? Captain Lewrie’s the goat charged with their testing, and Admiralty does wish us to see that his orders are kept safe, lest Bonaparte get the slightest inkling of their existence. All very ‘mum’s the word.’ ”

“Then why could he not just say so?” Lord Gardner snapped.

“I expect he’s cautioned to not say a thing about them to anyone not aware of them to begin with, my lord,” Captain Niles jovially informed the Port Admiral. “The fewer in on the things, the less odds that someone would blab, my lord.”

“Does Admiralty not trust me, Niles?” Lord Gardner yelped, still wroth and in high dudgeon.

“Merely ‘need to know,’ my lord,” Captain Niles pooh-poohed to calm the fellow. “I’ll see to Captain Lewrie, if I may, sir. There are his orders, here, to file away… more like squirrel away? If you will come into my office, sir, I do believe there are separate orders specific to your ah, mysterious duties.”

* * *

“Thank you for rescuing me, sir,” Lewrie told Niles once they were in his side office with the door closed on the Port Admiral’s.

“His bark is much worse than his bite, Sir Alan,” Captain Niles told him with a sly grin. “Unless one deserves a nipping, and then he can latch on like a bulldog and gnaw a limb or two right off, ha ha! Yes, I have them here, sir. ‘Captain’s Eyes Only,’ and all that nonsense. Here you are, sir.”

Lewrie took the folded-over, wax-sealed, and ribbon-bound letter from Niles, which was also marked “Most Secret and Confidential” in bold writing.

“Do you know what it’s about, sir?” Lewrie dubiously asked.

“Even if I did, I’d forget it the moment you leave my office, Sir Alan,” Niles said, chuckling. “I will admit to curiosity, though. You are not the first officer to call upon us with secret orders waiting for him, you know. The other fellow, Captain… well, I gather you and he are to work together on whatever it is that Our Lords Commissioners deem so vital. Mind, I forgot him and his packet as soon as he left my office, too, ha ha!”

“Then I shall be on my way at once, Captain Niles, so you may forget my arrival, as well!” Lewrie japed.

“Goodbye, then, Captain ‘Whoever,’ and good fortune,” Niles said with another sly look and a glad hand.

* * *

Lewrie was back aboard Reliant just a tick before 11 of the morning, and got himself comfortable before opening his newest set of sealed and secret orders. With a tumbler of cool tea with lemon juice and sugar near to hand, he broke the seal and read them.

They were much like the first when he’d learned of those cask torpedoes; he was required to take upon the charge and command of the trials, to serve as escort and guardian of the hired-in-for-the-purpose collier Penarth, commanded by one Lieutenant Douglas Clough…

“Penarth… ain’t that Welsh?” he puzzled with a frown. “Sure t’be, if she’s in the coastal coal trade. And this Douglas Clough? A Scot? Lord, I hope he’s better than the last two. I think Penarth is close t’Cardiff. ‘Aid to the best of your abilities the officer placed in charge of the trials’… no, it can’t be!”

“Midshipman Grainger, sah!” the Marine sentry bellowed.

“Enter,” Lewrie bade, quickly stowing away his letter.

“Captain, sir, there is a boat coming alongside, with a Post-Captain aboard,” Mr. Grainger told him. “The First