"Preposterous!" the Earl Spencer snapped.
"Been a while since Nelson at the Nile, milord," Adm. Hammond softly stuck in from the other side. "The common folk and the Mob are starved for continued good news anent the war. Even what may be called a minor frigate action for the most part has quite elated them, and Sir Evan is correct, I believe. Lewrie must be awarded something, milord."
"Beyond the accolades he's gotten, already?" the Earl Spencer sourly rejoined, tugging the velvet pull-cord to summon them more tea. "Thanks of
Parliament, the usual presentation of a plate service, and an hundred-guinea sword from the East India Company for Leatherwood and Lewrie, both? Both officers granted the Freedoms of their towns or villages, along with the Freedoms of Portsmouth, London… the keys to Hearne Bay , for all I know!
"Both agreed that they were 'in-sight' of each other, and with two French National Ships brought in as prize," the Earl Spencer continued to carp, "so Proteus and Jamaica will reap a pretty penny from being bought into Navy service, as well. The next step might be presenting them at Saint James's palace, and knighthoods, but… as you say, Leatherwood didn't do all that much, and Lewrie is simply too… we might as well knight that Cockney, Wigmore, his actresses, and his bears into the bargain! No, Sir Andrew, I am extremely loath to place Captain Lewrie's name to the King. T'would be too embarrassing."
"His First Officer, Anthony Langlie," Sir Evan Nepean suggested more mildly, "promoted to Commander, of course, milord, and given an active commission into a suitable vessel?"
"The usual thing, aye," Adm. Hammond nodded with a smile on his face, "though I doubt Leatherwood's First earned the same thing. Or, should we? Right then, both of them promoted," he happily said after a resigned nod of assent from the First Lord. "A spell of shore leave for both Lewrie and Leather-wood, then, new active commissions for both… to better ships, hmm?" The First Lord cocked his head towards Nepean.
" Jamaica was due to be paid off and hulked, milord," Sir Evan quickly supplied, after a quick shuffle of his notes. "A very old and bluff bowed sixty-four gunner, as slow as treacle even when new. Built just before the Seven Years' War. But, there are several Third Rates of seventy-four guns coming available, and Captain Leatherwood will be honoured to command one, I'm certain. As for Captain Lewrie… hmm."
He shuffled some more, as a steward in livery entered with tray and pot to replace the used cups and empty tea-pot, then silently went out like a zephyr of summer wind.
"Proteus is fairly new, but has seen rather more action than one may expect, milord…"
"Lewrie was her first, and only, captain," Sir Andrew stated, as if trying to tweak the Earl Spencer, leaning towards him and grinning.
"The Surveyors think she will require a total refit," Sir Evan Nepean continued. "Four to six months' work. Might you wish Captain Lewrie to sit ashore on half-pay that long, milord?"
"By God I do not!" the First Lord barked. "There's no telling what Deviltry the man's capable of with that much idle time available him. And… there is the, ah… possibility of being tried for his theft of slaves on Jamaica. 'Out of sight, out of mind' seems apt, at this moment. I will not knight a man who stands a chance of being put in the dock a few months later. Nor will I allow the papers and public time to discover what sort of man he really is. A new ship something larger and suitable, of a certainty. Preferably, one able to sail far from England, and possible embarrassment, Sir Evan."
Exactly what the Foreign Office appointee to the Privy Council suggested might be best for the Crown, Nepean thought, hiding his sly grin. "Ah. In two more months or so, milord, Sir Andrew, an eighteen-pounder gunned Fifth Rate frigate will be returned from the dockyards at Portsmouth, and ready for re-commissioning. She is the HMS Savage, originally built in '93, just after the start of the war, and in very good structural condition, barring the usual problems with her bottom, and such. Her former captain has already been reassigned, so…"
"Two whole months with him ashore and unemployed, though," the First Lord mused with a suspicious frown. "Then, however long it will take him to gather a new crew…"
"There would be no delay in it, either, milord," Nepean brightly added, "for we are in possession of a letter from both the officers and crew of Proteus… even the Marines and cabin steward lads, expressing their wish to remain under Captain Lewrie, entire."
"Remarkable," Adm. Sir Andrew Hammond allowed. He was Royal Navy, man and boy, and knew what sort of officer might elicit such loyalty, even if the First Lord, a civilian, did not appreciate it. "We could pay off Proteus into the Portsmouth yard… where she currently is anchored, I believe? Then turn over Proteus's people into Savage. Quite neat, milord. And, with little reason for Lewrie to come up to London… into the clutches of the newspapers, hmm?"
"Oh my, yes!" the First Lord quickly, enthusiastically, agreed. "Make it so, Sir Evan. Now, as to the next matter on our agenda…"
The exotic beasts, the jugglers and acrobats, the fire-eater and his bursts of flame from his mouth, the capering clowns and their pig bladders and antics, and the clattering waggons painted in fresh bright red and yellow drew such a crowd as any that the Marine garrison from Portsmouth Dockyards had ever drawn. The circus's band, replenished by new musicians and outfitted in garishly-trimmed uniforms more imposing than the Army List of generals (including all retired ones), oom-pahhed, crashed, drummed, and tooted along at the head of the parade, children of the town deserting the kerbings for the cobblestones to prance and march along with them, goggle-eyed and shrieking with utter delight at such a wonder! H'elefinks, lions, dancing bears, zebras, and God knew what-all, and some of them, like the performers in their show costumes, had fought the filthy French, and won, for didn't all the newspapers say so, all the flyers printed by the circus, too, say it?
It wasn't just any tawdry old circus and theatrical troupe, it was Wigmore's Travelling Extravaganza, honoured with a proclamation by the Crown, with Thanks of Parliament to boot, back from deepest, darkest Africa, bigger and better than ever, and, "Oh, Mummy! We must see it! We must attend, puhlease?"
Individual blossoms, whole nose-gays, were flung at the parading performers and beasts, even the hyena and the anteaters, and the red-arsed baboons in their waggon cage, the same sort of accolades given a regiment just back from a victorious campaign, and there was good old Daniel Wigmore on a fine horse, tipping his hat to one and all, a patch-eyed "foreign-looking cove" with a rifle-musket in one hand, and one of his squawling lion cubs on his saddle's pommel, a cove who could swing to face backwards, turn a flip on his horse's back, slide down to hang on the side of his mount like a wild Red American Indian, and gallop up the street like the very wind, huzzah!
And, that remarkably beautiful girl on the white horse, riding astride, in breeches and boots so snug you could see…! and children's eyes were covered, and women tittered into handkerchiefs, but my!, but she was a horsewoman, too, and with that spiky crown, that flowing mane of curly black hair, and that bow, my Gawd! She was the lovely Eudoxia, slayer of a dozen, two-dozen, odious Frenchmen intent upon her ravishing, or worse, and when she stood on her mount's bare back, everyone cheered, whistled, and fell in love with her daring, and her bravery.