"My bosun may give up what paint we have," Ayscough told them merrily. "And he will, if he knows what's good for him! Lady Charlotte may be transformed into the very image of the stoutest fifty-gunned two decker as ever swum! A proper ocean bulldog!"
"Or, sir," Choate snickered, "she could end up looking remarkably like La Malouine."
"Why, bless my soul, you nacky young bastard!" Ayscough said with a booming laugh, the first anyone had heard him utter in months. "I do believe you've been conniving with Mister Lewrie. Yes, with a lateen yard on her mizzen for a spanker, 'stead of yon gaff and boom, she could be laying at anchor in the Spratlys, waiting for Choundas to return."
"Imagine the consternation he would feel, to expect her lost, and there she is, big as life, sir," Lewrie chortled. "He'd have to sail into harbor to speak her. Close enough for us to hull him with artillery. He might sail right into a trap. Oil or varnish to darken her upper works and she'd resemble La Malouine well enough."
"He'd never fall for it," Twigg carped.
"One never knows, sir," Ayscough sniffed. "He might. He just might. And, if Telesto and the second vessel Lewrie suggested that we hire were to be lurking off-shore, somewhere to the north… yes, to the north would be best, I believe… a shore party could send a signal to alert us as to the best moment to fall upon the harbor."
"I most strenuously object to this… dribbling of our assets into… into"-Twigg spluttered-"penny-packets! As Crown representative, Captain Ayscough… damme, sir, any delay in getting to Calcutta, and there will be no second ship dispatched from there to succor Colonel Willoughby's troops. And there will be the transport, in harbor and defenseless. Her loss would destroy any hope of pursuing Choundas, should he not fall for your ruse in disguising her. And strand our troops on this island a thousand miles from nowhere."
"She could be escorted north by one of the patrol vessels here in the harbor already, sir," Ayscough allowed, turning to peer out the open window once more. "There's a ketch-rigged ship out there that's suit. See her yonder? And if not her, perhaps the brig lying farther out. That might be best, after all. In addition to whatever vessel we may send out from Calcutta before Telesto is ready to rejoin our endeavor."
"Little better than fishing smacks and packets," Twigg scoffed.
"Some fresh paint, the proper flag flying, and at a distance who may deny they are not well-manned warships?" Ayscough shot back. He was in a fine and confident fettle now, and would not be gainsayed. "Were I a pirate, I'd not wish to fight one of them. One hard battle yardarm to yardarm would cause so much damage the raiding season would be over right there.
That's the risk a privateersman takes. I doubt if this Frog Choundas wants to fight a real battle against a flotilla, after all. Overpowering one weak merchantman at a time is more his style."
"Even more reason for him to turn tail and run for God knows where as soon as he spots strange ships in his harbor," Twigg gloomed.
"They might look like early captures," Lewrie suggested. "If they were in harbor, sirs. Even more reason to enter and moor, to see what the booty amounts to so far."
"And should Choundas arrive early, enter harbor," Twigg carped, "and not be utterly destroyed, then Telesto hits that empty bag you spoke of, with him days' gone and free to plunder still!"
"Come, Mister Twigg, you cannot have things both ways," Captain Ayscough smirked. "Either he will arrive early, as Lewrie suspects, or he shall keep to his previous schedule, as you bejieve. Either way, sufficient force shall confront him."
Twigg opened his mouth to make further objections, but Ayscough raised a restraining hand and cut him off.
"You, sir, have fulfilled your brief. You were charged with an investigation into the disappearance of so many of our merchantmen, of identifying which native pirates were responsible. And that you have done. You were further charged with the task of unmasking the French behind their activities. And that, too, you have accomplished. You have found their base of operations, when to expect their arrival to launch more depredations against English shipping and have raised a naval and military force to destroy them."
"Yes, but…"
"But now, sir," Ayscough hammered on, "the said destruction is a naval and military matter, the proper use of those forces allocated to you. And that use, Mister Twigg, is my bailiwick at sea, and it is Sir Hugo's on the land. From here on out, sir, allow other batsmen to have their innings. Now, you may hold our coats."
And about bloody well time, too, Alan thought! Damn all civilian meddlers. Especially the ones that dreamt this horror up in the first place.
"Are you familiar with the vessels in harbor, Sir Hugo?" The captain asked.
"Hmm, I fear it's my son who understands things nautical, Captain Ayscough," Sir Hugo replied, chuckling. "The brig, I believe, though, is a Macao packet. I've heard tell the… what-you-called-it… a ketch?… is the local supply ship from Calcutta or Madras. I've met their owners."
"I shall wish to speak to them about hiring or selling us their ships, should they prove suitable," Ayscough said decisively. "I believe that we have sufficient funds aboard Telesto at present to do so, and pay a guinea joining-bounty for every hand that signs into service. Do we not. Mister Twigg?"
"Aye, sir, we do," Twigg nodded, all fight blown out of him.
Sir Hugo took Alan's arm and steered him out to the verandah as the details were thrashed out. It was a little cooler, but not much, out of the overcrowded rooms. They could hear Twigg, still insisting they sail for Calcutta as soon as the weather moderated.
"Thank you for that back there, Alan."
"Oh, you're welcome, sir."
"I'd have done just about anything to get my troops out of this malaria-ridden sink!" Sir Hugo said with some heat. "Do you always up and speak your mind like that? Can't promise you an ambitious naval career if you keep that up. But for now, I'm grateful. And for what you said. About 'your dear father.' "
"Well, about that, sir…" Lewrie cringed. "It was the only way to get your support, you see. Get you to listen to what I had to say and back my play. I expected you wanted to get your arse out of Bencoolen, before you went under to some sickness, so what you want, and what I thought needed doing, could work together."
"Damn you, you little shit!" Sir Hugo stiffened. "Get mine own arse out of here? Do you think what I said about my men was so much moonshine?"
"I've never known you to care very much about anyone. I don't know what to believe," Lewrie replied evenly.
"By God, Alan, you may think me the biggest sinner you'll ever meet, but you'll not lay that on me!" his father growled. "Before I wasted seed enough to quicken your miserable life, I was a soldier! May not have been a great one. May not have been a glad one most of the time, but I was good enough. Think what you will of me, but by God above, this battalion is mine. I fought with it, marched with it, killed with it and bled with it. We've cracked lice together, eaten the same rotten food, swilled the same filthy water, and they look to me to do what's right by 'em! And I will, no matter what you think. You may sneer at 'em. Sneering's a thing I remember you're quite good at. So they're not a fashionable English regiment! Think they're not good soldiers just because they're Hindoos? Think it's a come-down for me… all I can command is a tag-rag-and-bobtail pack of bare-arsed Bengalis? Well, let me tell you, even when they were at their worst, they're the best troops I've ever seen, Goddamn your blood! And now they've been fleshed out and equipped proper, I could take them through the Brigade of Guards like suet through a goose. Something else I'm prepared to do, and they know it… I'm their colonel-I'm ready to die with 'em, if it comes to that. Aye, you sneer all you bloody well want. Maybe you were born a bastard after all!"