"I didn't much care to hear of the French having a go at your former convoy, so close to Cape Town, Captain Lewrie, 'deed I didn't," Capt. Leatherwood told him, looking pensive, and a bit fretful, setting his glass on the table between them to rub his horny hands together, a very sandpapery sound.
"The local commanders are of the opinion it was a fluke, sir," Lewrie told him, outlining the Flag-Captain's explanation that it might have been a clutch of warships on-passage simply "stumbling" on them.
"Told me much the same," Leatherwood grumbled. "And what did you think of that, Captain Lewrie?" he demanded right-sharp.
"Complete and utter horse-apples, sir," Lewrie deemed it with a derisive snort. "No one knows how many warships and privateers working out of Mauritius the French now possess. Don't know what's happening past Good Hope, but, if the Frogs have amassed enough strength, they could be thinking of raiding further afield. I believe that attack on my convoy was a test, sir. They know our monthly convoy schedules, by now. They most-like know how few ships we have on station, too. That has worried me, I'll tell you, Captain Leather-wood. And, I understand that you had a rough passage. Did you encounter any French ships?"
"Captain Lewrie, I was hunted here," Leatherwood declared with a fierce scowl, his first sign of displeasure. "It wasn't too bad at first, 'til I lost the services of my companion frigate off Ceylon to a 'blow.' I was almost of a mind, to turn back, since we were still in Indian waters, for we began to see strange tops'ls on the horizon, as far North as within an hundred leagues of Cape Comorin. Avoided them, or they avoided us, then crossed hawses with a Bombay Marine brig, and thank the Good Lord her captain agreed to see us below Madagascar, even if that was far from his usual cruising grounds.
"Should have turned back, for certain, when three of our Indiamen got into their foul water casks, and sickness broke out aboard them. That'll be the last time 'John Company' masters try pocketing the few pence difference 'twixt the prices British chandlers, and native chandlers, charge for fresh water!" Leather-wood told Lewrie with a humourless bark. "Not that Hooghly , the Bombay Marine brig-o' war, would've been much real help, if the French had been determined. Her guns were only six-pounders, and half-rusted, at that. Half a dozen British officers and senior hands aboard, her crew but two-thirds' normal complement, and most of them exiled European drunks, ne'er-do-wells, some low-caste Hindoos, or Lascars from God knows where. Might daunt the local native pirates in scabby dhows and such, but not quite the thing to go against a French National Ship, or privateer. Stayed with us to about five hundred miles East of Cape Agulhas, then had to turn back, and we had to supply shot and powder in the first place, then water and foodstuffs, the second, so they could make it back to India without starving!"
"And you saw more strange sail, sir?" Lewrie worriedly asked.
"Almost daily, Captain Lewrie," Leatherwood told him, summoning his cabin-servant for a refill of their glasses. "I thought to employ a ruse. The master of the Lord Stormont agreed to hoist a Navy Ensign and play-act the part of a Third Rate seventy-four at the convoy's van, whilst I brought up the rear, and put Hooghly to work on the seaward side. On the down-wind run, Jamaica had a bit of 'dash.' "
"Perhaps Lord Stormont could play the same part for us, sir," Lewrie suggested. "My brother-in-law is one of her passengers, and he might even like it."
"I count on it, though, towards the end, after Hooghly departed, the strange sail pressed closer," Leatherwood explained, "and I'm not sanguine that they didn't finally get close enough for a good look, and saw through my ruse, so it might not work a second time, if the French that haunted us decide to lurk off Cape Town, waiting for us to continue our passage.
"Frankly, Captain Lewrie," Leatherwood gravelled, "I doubt I'll get a wink of sleep 'til we're above the Tropic of Capricorn."
"We've had no fresh reports of any French cruising this side of the Cape, sir. Not lately, at least," Lewrie told him, about ready to chew on a thumbnail in fret. "Aye, did they follow you… Was Vice-Admiral Curtis's staff any more forthcoming?"
"Lewrie, I very much doubt those worthies would know where, and in what strength, the French are 'til they sail round Green Point some night, and sink, take, or burn all the shipping in Table Bay!" Capt. Leatherwood exclaimed. "We've a hellish task ahead of us. Yet, from what I've learned of you from the old newspapers, with Proteus aiding me, I might manage at least a cat-nap or two before we come to anchor in James's Valley on Saint Helena."
"You do me too much honour, sir," Lewrie rejoined, torn 'twixt the expected modesty and the desire to preen, which he hadn't had much a chance for, lately. "Proteus and I shall hold up our end, sir. And, after the shameful way the French mauled us, my people will relish a chance for a slugging match against them, should it come to that."
"All I may ask," Leatherwood said, pleased with the answer and looking relieved. "Well, then! 'John Company's' Commodore is meeting on the Earl Cheshire with all captains and masters, tomorrow morning, at Four Bells. With any luck, they'll feed us… though I'm not sure I would yet drink their water, hey, Captain Lewrie? Following that, do you look for me to hoist the 'Blue Peter'… the day after I expect, is the weather fair, and the winds sufficient."
"Very well, sir," Lewrie agreed. "Just one thing, sir?"
"Aye?"
"Is it possible you bought this excellent German wine here at Cape Town, sir, I'd be much obliged did you give me a course to steer by, so I could lay in some for myself."
BOOK V
"Quocirca vivite fortes,
fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus."
"Live, then, as brave men,
and with brave hearts confront
the strokes of Fate."
Horace, Satires II, 11, 135-136
CHAPTER THIRTY
Slanting West-by-North on larboard tack, HMS Proteus was making a goodly way, swanning from the starboard quarter of the convoy to the larboard quarter, and beyond, and it was joyous. Had she been steered directly Nor'west, with the steady Sou'east Trades right up her skirts, the warm African day might have felt stifling, for she would have been sailing about the same speed as the Trades, and the apparent wind would have been negligible. Now, though, the rush of the Sou'east Trades almost could be heard in the miles of rigging, and loose clothing could be fluttered by it, bare heads and long hair disturbed by it, and perspiration evaporated before one could even imagine one was sweltering, like the crews and passengers aboard the Indiamen that plodded, despite the strength of the Trades, in two columns off Proteus's starboard bows.
Marine M. Cocky, the sea-soldiers' champion rat-killing mongoose, scuttled down the windward gangway in a sinuous, arcing series of bounces between brace-tenders' bare feet, pausing now and then to take a play-nip at a particularly tasty-looking toe, before scampering onto the quarterdeck. Toulon and Chalky, who had been sunning atop the hammock nettings with their forelegs tucked in and their eyes half-slit in drowsiness, got to their feet, put their backs up, and began to hiss at him. The mongoose stopped, rose up on his hind legs, and wiggled his nose at them, one paw on the nettings and one poised like a pointer on a scent. For ha'pence, he'd scramble up and pester them, grinning.