"Books, dear Lord, sir!" Rodgers dismissed airily, somewhere in red-faced mid-feed. "I'll admit t'only readin' the one. And that a damn thin'un. 'Twas a book set us on the right trail in the Bahamas, though, wasn't it, Lewrie? To hunt a pirate chief?"
The wines were rather good, too, though Charlton apologised for each as they appeared with each course; they'd only come from Vigo, he said with a shrug, where Lionheart had broken her passage the past spring. There's more to this'un than most people'd suspect, Alan told himself, after a grand couple of hours at table with Charlton. He's not yer typical English sea-dog. There's a brain abaft that phyz o' his. And Lewrie cautioned himself to wait awhile longer before forming too quick a judgement of his new superior. And took a care to not imbibe too deep in his wines, either. It was a cruel ruse, but a useful one, to observe one's junior officers when they were deep in their cups, in vino veritas. Fortunately, even Rodgers, ever fond of spirits, knew that one, too, and while hearty, stayed upright.
The tablecloth was finally whisked away, the water glasses removed and the port, nuts, cheese and sweet biscuits were placed within easy reach. Lieutenant Nicholson, once they'd charged their glasses, did a midshipman's duty from the foot of the table as Vice, proposing the King's Toast, and they drank to their sovereign. Even if King George III had been talking to trees in Hyde Park lately, thinking them to be Frederick the Great of Prussia, as rumour had it.
"Sweethearts and wives, sirs," Charlton offered next, with a cocked eyebrow, giving them a searching, amused glance before finishing the traditional Saturday mess toast. "May they never meet!"
And why'd he look so long at me for? Lewrie wondered as he was forced to echo that platitude. Has the bastard heard something?
"Now, sirs," Charlton said more seriously, "I would suppose you've received your formal orders from the flag by now? Good. That makes you mine, officially. I also trust you've seen to victualling, and stores, 'pon the receipt of a transfer to a new command? Again, good. Nothing to delay a dawn departure but thick heads, should the winds suit. I can tell you now, we're off to the Adriatic. What was known as the 'Mare,' or the Gulf of Venice."
Charlton took pains to outline the political situation, using many of the same terms as Admiral Jervis had that morning: the strengths, or lack of them, of the maritime nations that fronted that sea, and just how much help, or friendship, they might expect to find.
"Damn' shoal, I've heard, sir." Rodgers grimaced. "Pylades draws 'bout two-fathom-four, proper laden. Your Lionheart must draw nigh three. Be like glidin' 'cross the Bahama Banks on tippy-toes, anywhere close inshore. Like Lewrie and I did once, sir."
"Well, like I did, sir," Alan began to rejoin. "You went north-about the Banks, while Alacrity did the-"
"I would hope that we could avoid, sirs, the rockier eastern shore on the Ottoman Turk and Austrian side," Charlton interrupted, knowing the sound of a long-winded heroic reverie when he heard one. "Let those sleeping dogs lie, hey? I believe our greatest concern will be in the Straits of Otranto, the mouth of the Adriatic, and the nearby Ionian Sea. Those Venetian Ionian Islands, to the east'rd, have deep-water harbours for watering and victualing. By the by, you are aware of a new diplomatic nicety? Since the largest 42-pounder coastal artillery piece may throw solid shot three miles, many nations are now claiming sovereign jurisdiction up to three miles off their coasts, guns or no. A safe enough offing, even for Lionheart and Pylades, Captain Rodgers, d'ye see. And she does draw nigh seventeen feet aft, as you surmised."
Four little ships, Lewrie pondered as he chewed on a chocolate biscuit and waited for the port decanter to make its larboardly way. Only four ships, far from aid, unless the Austrian Navy was a whole lot better than he'd seen off Vado Bay last year. A week's voyage, too, should the winds be contrary, for orders or information. There were too many Republican plotters, too many spies and their agents to trust a message sent overland ever arriving. Or being true.
"You frown, Commander Lewrie," Charlton noted.
"Sorry, sir. Wishing there were more of us."
"A wish every senior British officer shares of late, Lewrie," Charlton agreed with a faint smile. "Had I my way, there'd be a good dozen ships. Half dozen of the line, and a half dozen sloops of war and frigates to scout. But then a more senior man would have charge of 'em, not me. And we'd miss this grand opportunity of ours."
He shook his head with a sheepish chuckle. "Had I my way," Charlton went on jovially, "I'd wish for it all! Be a full Admiral of the White, richer'n the Walpoles, maybe next-but-one in line for King! But we must play the hands we're dealt, and there it is."
"Growl we may, sir," Nicholson chimed in, "but go we must?"
"Aye, there's that saying, too, Charles, my lad."
" Venice, hmm…" Rodgers mused aloud. "D'ye think we would be puttin' in at Venice sooner or later, sir?"
"Of a certainty, Captain Rodgers," Charlton assured him.
Rodgers all but rubbed his horny palms together in glee. "I've heard good things 'bout Venice. Carnival and, well, hmm! That it's a paradise for sailormen. Fiddlers Green and Drury Lane together!"
"Show the flag, of course, sir," Charlton assured them. "Do a short port-call now and again. See if Venice, and her navy, which I am assured is still quite substantial, might be available, should a further French offensive on land threaten her interests, certainly."
"Well, right, then!" Rodgers boomed, beaming like a landsman being offered his first off-ship leave in a year.
Lewrie thought of Venice as well, his mood brightening; to actually see Venice! Rough or no, you can't beat a sailor's life when it comes to seein' the sights! Even if I still don't know if I half care for this transfer, 'course, everyone knows how leery I am. Chary of free victuals, half the time, damme if I ain't! Still…
"What is that old saying, sirs?" Nicholson posed, looking for all the world as if Charlton's in vino veritas ruse had succeeded only with his very own First Lieutenant, who was (since he was so full of platitudes) in-the-barrel, took with barrel-fever, in his cups, three sheets to the wind, in-irons, most cherry-merry-that is to say, nigh half drunk.
Too bad, old son; should've warned you first, Lewrie thought with a smirk.
"Which old saying is that, sir?" Charlton enquired.
" 'Bout Venice, sir. Something… 'see Venice and die'?"
"Bloody-" Rodgers gawped.
" Naples," Lewrie corrected him quickly. "That's 'see Naples and die,' Mister Nicholson."
"Never could keep those straight, sir, thankee," the Lieutenant replied.
"I've seen Naples," Lewrie added. "And it hasn't killed me yet, I assure you. Left me a tad flea-ridden, mind, but-"
"I do believe it refers to the city's beauty, Mr. Nicholson," Charlton grunted, sternly glaring at his First Officer. "And not to a curse for any who lay eyes on it. That Naples is so lovely, a man who goes there has seen all that life could offer, so-"
"Fleas, my God!" Rodgers hooted. "Alan, you still have that tatty old yellow ram-cat, what the Devil was his name?"
"William Pitt?" Lewrie replied. Damme if I care for all this talk o' dyin', either! he thought.
"Aye, that was his name. Never took to me, I can tell you."