Lewrie drew a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a bitter sigh. He had the Americans to flatter and congratulate, in hopes that their sudden and complete victory might make them so giddy they might leap at continued cooperation, even alliance; and that was worth much more in the long run than a puny armed schooner taken as prize.
A lack of gunfire turned his attention Westerly. Far off, now almost hull-down, Sumter and the other French corvette had ceased firing, and were now cocked up to windward, fetched-to. No flag flew on the Frenchman's masts.
"Well, damme," Lewrie groaned aloud. "Might as well secure the guns, Mister Langlie. We'll not overhaul our Chase before beaching us on Guadeloupe. Do you concur, sir? Or do you prefer a shore supper? "
"Sadly, I do, sir," Langlie said, pouting with distaste and disappointment. "Game's not worth the candle. That is one fortunate Frog captain, out yonder. Skillful, too, sir."
"Aye, damn him… whoever he is," Lewrie spat. "I fear we will hear more from him, in future. Very well, sir. Secure the guns, then get us about and lay us alongside Hancock. Where I must come over all 'Merry Andrew' and back-slap 'em. Makes me wish Mister Pelham had got aboard before we sailed… he'd know how to 'piss down their backs' in the proper manner. He's the smarmy skill to appear sincere."
" 'Til they serve him boiled okra, sir," his First Lieutenant chirped, tongue-in-cheek. "Green, boiled, disgusting… did he not say, Captain? With a dash of ground coal stirred in, too, sir."
"Hey?"
"Okra, and ashes from a coke furnace, Captain… okra-coke, do ye see?" Langlie further japed.
"Now you're really reaching, Mister Langlie. Lame, lame, lame!"
"Very good, sir."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It was a rather crowded little assembly as Lewrie's gig stroked over to the USS Hancock. Oglethorpe had fetched up her two prizes, as had Sumter, now looking a little worse for wear after fighting the longest engagement of the day with her French corvette. Eight vessels, now cocked up to windward within the compass of a quarter-mile, with boats bearing victorious officers back and forth, other boats transferring a host of prisoners into custody aboard the Yankee ships, or transferring U.S. Marines aboard the prizes to guard captured ships' companies.
Hancock's wide weather decks were crowded, too, as Lewrie stood atop the entry-port lip to receive the side-party's salute, smiling as pleasant as anyone could wish as he doffed his hat and looked about to see what damage the two-decker frigate had taken.
None, was his assessment! What little harm the corvette's lone broadside had done aloft had already been most efficiently re-roved and only a few hands were still in her rigging, tidying up with paint, tar, or galley slush.
"Ah, Captain Lewrie!" the stern Capt. Malachi Goodell bellowed with uncharacteristic good cheer. "The author of our triumph over the idolators, I am bound, the very fellow who drew us on, like the pillar of smoke by day drew Moses through the Wilderness. Welcome aboard to thee, sir. Wilt thou partake in a celebratory cup of cider, Captain?"
"I would, Captain Goodell, and gladly offer you and your fellow captains my congratulations," Lewrie replied as a steward offered him a mug of something wet from a handsome coin-silver tray. Goodell's cider potation was cool, sweet, yet sprightly on the tongue… and vaguely alcoholic? Lewrie noted.
"Normally, I eschew befuddling spirits, sir," Goodell explained, to answer Lewrie's mildly puzzled look, "and encourage others to shun the demonic lure. A home-made and slightly aged apple cider, though… in strict moderation… may, on certain rare occasions, prove harmless. Though I still lament how prodigally our honest Americans imbibe the harder ciders, ladies, men, yea, even suckling babes in their cradles."
"Quite tasty and refreshing, Captain Goodell," Lewrie complimented him, despite the sermonising. "And with a full measure, may I propose a toast, gentlemen?" he said, perking up the assembled officers-McGilliveray, Randolph, and their first officers, along with commission officers in Hancock. "To the gallant Navy of the United States of America… may today's victory be but the first of many!" "Hear, hear! Aye! Huzza! Yyee-hahh!" The last from the plum-phyzzed Georgian, Captain Randolph and his First Lieutenant; evidently Goodell's mildly aged cider was more inspiriting than Captain Goodell imagined, if taken aboard in sufficient quantities. And since cheers made for dry throats, the servants were hard-pressed to refill all the empty mugs.
And aye, McGilliveray had had a hard fight of it, for his opponent, La Resolue, had resisted bravely 'til her unfortunate Capt. MacPherson had perished, and all his deck officers had fallen, leaving it to a wounded Master Gunner to strike her colours, and her slaughter had been simply frightful, McGilliveray relished to inform him, but "Have no fear, Cap'm Lewrie, Desmond came through without a scratch, and he showed as cool and brave as ever ya could ask for. First across, when we come up close-aboard and stormed her. And how's that new kitty he gave ya, he begged me ask?"
"Missed all th' fun," Capt. Randolph imparted, between mugs of "sore-needed refreshment." "Mount fourteen spankin' fine twelve-pounders, and only fired six o' th' starboard batt'ry, at two ships, and they struck quick'z a wink, they did. Aye, fourteen of 'em, an' long-nines on focs'le and quarterdeck, too, twenty-two guns. Don't that beat all for a li'l ol' converted brig o' war? Oh, too bad that schooner out-footed ya. A clean sweep'd been sweeter by far, but… somebody has t'run back t' Guadeloupe with his tail 'twixt his legs an' bear th' bad news to that devil Choundas, don't ya know."
"Perhaps next time, so well-armed, sir, your gallant Oglethorpe will be the one to surprise greedy and unwary Frenchmen," Lewrie said, feeling unctuous… and irked, though striving to please. "Assuming they'll feel pugnacious, after such a drubbing as you gave 'em today. 'Twas smartly, quickly, and efficiently done, sir. My congratulations to you, and your accurate gunners."
"A moment, Captain Lewrie?" Goodell intruded, now more formal in mien. "Wouldst thou care to meet one of our unfortunate French? Allow me to name to thee Capitaine de Vaisseau Humbert Griot of Le Gascon. Captain Griot, may I present to thee Captain Alan Lewrie, of His Britannic Majesty's ship Proteus}"
"Captain Griot," Lewrie said, shifting his cider mug to his left hand and doffing his hat with his right, making a formal "leg" to that grizzled, unshaven worthy. "My regrets for your loss this day, sir."
"Capitaine Loo-… Lew-ray," Griot grumbled back, with a quick doff of his own hat, but no bow; he was an anti-aristo Republican to the soles of his shabby boots. "So.. .you are ze devil I meet at las'… ze one 'oo obsess Capitaine Choundas to ze frantic. But for a spy e vous, nevair you find us, I am thinking, non?"
"Tosh, sir," Lewrie scoffed, though tapping sagaciously at the side of his nose. "I was lucky, was all. Spies! What rot! Your old master Choundas was born with spies on the brain, sir. And how is the poor old fellow, might I enquire?" Lewrie said with a lofty smirk.