"Don't hold with such doings, myself," Sir Edward scoffed, now growling with ill humour. "My Marines'll volley from the bulkwarks. Shooting officers, sir, is un-gentlemanly. Deliberately targeting an officer is abominable! Dishonourable! Might as well cut their throats in their beds! Piratical, barbaric! Just what I'd expect of American manners, morals, or 'honour!' Pack of Red Indians, near-like, sir, in all those deerskin clothes, with feathers-and dung!-in their hair so please you! We'll not have such in this fleet, sir, and I'll thank you to remember that!" The feathers, deerskins… or snipin ? Lewrie had to ask himself. "Never stood and fought in the open, Captain Lewrie, no! They skulked in the bushes and shot from cover, the coward's way! Armed to the teeth, e'en the women and children," Sir Edward querulously carped, in a "pet" over past experiences, Lewrie surmised. "Uncivilised thieves and highwaymen, riotous armed bullies, hah! But never the stomach for a proper battle, and I doubt they've improved, now they're on their own without English law to rein in their chaotic nature. Do we really see American warships down here, I'll lay you any odds you wish, they will skulk in port, fatten off our stores, but leave the hard work to a proper navy such as ours! The French'd eat 'em alive!"
"Well, sir, even as addle-pate as their Lieutenant Gordon was," Lewrie dared to point out, "they did run a taut enough ship, and they sounded quite eager to prove themselves against the Frogs."
"Ev'ry calf-headed innocent sings eager before his first fight, Captain Lewrie," Sir Edward countered. " 'cause he knows nothing about battle. Let idiots and fools like your Lieutenant Gordon cross hawse with a real French frigate, and then see what tune he sings, hah! No, sir… Americans are too disorganised, too stubbornly individualistic to achieve much. Put a dozen in a room, you'll hear fifteen different opinions! Lazy, idle; twiddlers, who'd rather get drunk on their corn whiskey-a vile concoction!-just enough bottom to 'em to plant more corn, so they can make more whiskey! As money-grubbing as Jews, too. But not a single gentleman, a single educated and civilised man in a thousand to boast of. Barbarians, sir! Ignorant.. . peasants!"
Does he really hate 'em that bad? Lewrie wondered. Or is he just drunk, and ravin'? And how 'in-the-barrel' was he before I got here?
"I s'pose we'll see, Sir Edward," Lewrie said, noncommittally. "This Gordon fellow expected their warships rather soon."
"In hurricane season?" Sir Edward responded, leaning far back in his chair to the point that it almost tipped off its front legs, agape with a mix of horror and amazement on his now-glowing phyz.
"Their Secretary of the Navy, that Mister Stoddert, is of the opinion that really bad storms occur more rarely than people think. I believe Gordon said perhaps no more than once a year, sometimes once in five years, sir. American merchantmen in the Caribbean keep records of weather, and their studies of those records-"
"Told you they were purblind fools!" the staff-captain said with an angry bark. "Well, let me tell you, Captain Lewrie, the Royal Navy has records, too, and vaster experience in the West Indies than anyone else, hundreds of years in these waters, and even we depart the Indies by June, and don't come back 'til late September. Why Sir Hyde's flagship Queen is in the careenage this very moment, sir… to ready her for her voyage to Halifax."
And here I thought it was 'cause the seaweed on her bottom had taken root in the harbour mud! Lewrie thought, hiding his smirk. He'd heard that Sir Hyde Parker was making a vast fortune in prize money in the West Indies, the richest plum assignment that Admiralty could bestow; and that he was doing it the classic way… trusting to others in frigates and sloops of war, to junior officers in hired brigs, cutters and tenders to reap the spoils, whilst the big ships languished at anchor, waiting for a French fleet that might never come, so tight was the British blockade of the French ports.
"Why the other Third Bates are in, outfitting, too," Sir Edward further informed him. He topped up his own glass, but made no offer to do the same for Lewrie's this time. "By no later than mid-June, this harbour will be nearly empty. Then it will be up to the lesser ships on the station to exert themselves in our stead. Tenders to the Third Bates, tenders to the flagship…"
Pets and toadies, Lewrie sneerfully told himself; captains' favourites who can fatten their sea-daddy's purse, and their own. While better men twiddle their thumbs and never see tuppence.
"… hired brigs, captured schooners, and a few frigates, just to keep the French on the qui vive. What is your draught, sir?"
"Umh…" Lewrie said, coming back to the moment, "seventeen and a half feet aft, sir."
"Excellent! Though you'll want to purchase, or capture, a tender, or tow some additional single-masted boats for close inshore work," Sir Edward suggested. "Base out of Kingston, here, so the voyage over to Saint Domingue will be short, when you run low on stores. You may even contemplate landing some stores, sailing lighter, to reduce draught to seventeen feet, or slightly less."
"I see, sir. Most helpful advice," Lewrie replied, realising he was probably the lowest-ranking Post-Captain on-station, and would be staying after the valuable ships departed for hurricane season. Dull blockade work off some French-held port on Saint Domingue, off-and-on plodding back and forth, and nothing worth chasing but for island-built luggers and single-masted sloops. And reefs and shoals, aplenty!
"So Proteus is to patrol close to Saint Domingue, is she, sir?" he simply had to ask, in way of sly prompting for a wider liberty for action… and prize money! "Or shall she have leave to patrol more, uhm… aggressively? "
"Blockade work, Captain Lewrie," Sir Edward told him, sounding almost glad to grind it in, as if he had formed a low opinion of him, in a twinkling. "Get your sea legs in the West Indies, after all that derring-do of yours in European waters," the staff-captain sneered, with a dismissive gesture towards Lewrie's medals. Unfortunately, the hand that he employed was the one that held his wineglass, and he spilled a goodly dollop of it on his own breeches, the wine-table, and his carpet, which was a very fine-mostly pale- Turkey. "Goddammit!"
"Oh, what a pity, sir…'bout the rug," Lewrie said, making a charitable grimace, instead of the angry scowl he felt like showing.
"Best pair, dammit," Sir Edward seethed, trying to swipe at his drenched thigh, setting that dangerous glass down, at least… but he flung droplets from his hand with an idle shake that spattered Lewrie in turn. "Oh, bugger!"
"Actually, Sir Edward, I did a few years in the West Indies in the Revolution. Started out here, in '80. So I wonder if the best use of Proteus is…" Lewrie slyly attempted to wheedle.
"Damned puppy!" Sir Edward screeched of a sudden, glaring back at him. "Don't like your orders, do you? Presume to talk me out of 'em, will you? In debt, are you? That eager for prize money?"
"Never, sir!" Lewrie declared, with his best "righteous" face on. "Proteus is fast and nimble, and does draw seventeen feet, sir. I was merely wishing to point out that a shoal-draught brig or large schooner would better serve close-in, whilst a frigate might stand farther offshore, to better interdict ships attempting to smuggle arms into Saint Domingue. And be better placed to intercept the odd French warship. As you say, in a few weeks our strength in the Indies will be reduced 'til the end of hurricane season, and fewer ships will have to cover a vast area, so it struck me that the most, uhm… efficient use of all our vessels is necessary, so-"