“Of course, sir,” Knolles said; every ship in the Royal Navy carried all variants of the Union Flag, along with the flags of every seafaring nation, for courtesy or for subterfuge.
“Should we encounter the enemy on our way, I’ll pretend to be a Commodore,” Lewrie said, beginning a sly smile, “I was one for a bit in the Bahamas, so I’d admire did you fly the Blue Ensign, as will the transports, just in case the Frogs try to take us on. With any luck, they’ll take us for a squadron of frigates and shy off.”
“Hah!” Knolles chortled. “As sly and sneaky as ever, sir!”
“Sly, me?” Lewrie countered. “Nobody ever called me clever … fortunate, or plain dumb luck’s been more like it.”
“Your reputed good cess, aye,” Knolles said. “That was uncanny, the time we stumbled into the Glorious First of June battle, lost that volunteer lad, Joseph or Josephs? And all those seals showed up when we buried him over the side. Selkies and ancient Celtic sea gods?”
“The morning we stumbled into our meeting with the Serbian pirates in the Adriatic in that thick sunrise fog, and there were seals there t’warn us?” Lewrie reminisced. “We should’ve trusted them for a warnin’ that the Serbs’d play both ends against the middle.”
Chalky decided that the new interloper in his great-cabins was harmless, for he padded over from the padded transom settee and joined them in the starboard-side seating area, leaping into Lewrie’s lap to glare at Knolles.
“Still the ‘Ram-Cat’ I see, sir,” Knolles said with a chuckle.
“Chalky’s a present from the American Navy in the West Indies, back in ’98,” Lewrie told him, stroking the cat which laid down upon his thigh as if guarding his master from the stranger. “Toulon passed over last year in the South Atlantic, just before we landed at Cape Town, under Popham.”
“Gad, you were part of that South American disaster?” Knolles said with a commiserating groan. “My sympathies, sir. I don’t know if our government knows how to give it up for a bad hand. Still, you had Toulon for a good, long time, and once I got my first command, I found that having a pet aboard eases the loneliness. I’ve an utterly useless terrier … he won’t even hunt rats, if you can believe it. But, he’s a comfort, is Tyge. Damned loud at times, though.”
Lewrie’s cook, Yeovill, had entered minutes before and had laid out the serving dishes in the dining-coach. He came out and announced that their dinner was ready.
Over their meal, Lewrie explained how he had come to command a two-decker, expressing distress that it seemed his frigate days were behind him, at least temporarily. He had no idea of Sapphire’s sailing qualities except for her officers’ reports, had yet to conduct any live-fire drills, and worried that his new ship might prove to be an ugly duckling that never grew beautiful, or loveable.
“Our voyage may take longer than normal,” Lewrie said over the quail course, as the red wine that had accompanied the lamb chops was replaced by a smuggled French pinot gris. “I’d desire do we get at least five hundred miles West’rd of the French coast before hauling off Sutherly, well clear of most privateers and prowling frigates. I may have yoked you to a pig in a poke, if this barge can only wallow at the foe, and your Comus only has nine-pounders.”
“She sails extremely well, sir,” Knolles assured him with some pride, “fast and weatherly, and can go about like a witch. My people are very well-drilled, by now, and, taking a page from you, sir, I’ve made sure that my gunners can load and fire as steady as a metronome, and are hellish-accurate within a cable. I’ve two twenty-four-pounder carronades and six eighteen-pounders, as well, so I do believe that I can deal with your typical Frog privateer or corvette, perhaps even hold my own against a smaller frigate.”
“I’m much relieved t’hear it,” Lewrie told him. “Let’s say we place you at the head of the convoy, about two miles ahead and another two or three miles alee, on ‘sentry-go’. I’ll bring up the rear with Sapphire, and place the four transports in a single line-ahead column ahead of me.”
“Hmm,” Knolles mused, sampling the white wine as if he judged its taste instead of Lewrie’s idea. He nodded as if satisfied. “Do you wish us to look like a naval squadron, sir; perhaps it might be best did you place your two-decker in the middle of the column, with two transports ahead and t’other two astern of you, a very loose two cables or so between ships?”
“That might work, if the French are daunted by the sight of us, but…” Lewrie puzzled, his own glass held halfway to his mouth. He frowned, took a sip, then got a cocky look. “Look here, Knolles. If the French are in force, or persist despite how dangerous we appear, I wonder how confident they’d feel did we all haul our wind and go on a bow-and-quarter line right at ’em? If they thought they were facing five frigates and a two-decker?”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” Captain Knolles said, furrowing his brow. “If we did, once they got within a mile or so of us, they’d see through the ruse, and realise that the transports were harmless. In that case, we’d have to signal the transports to run, close-hauled to the Westerlies, and within range to be chased down and captured.”
“We’d still be there, t’protect ’em as they run,” Lewrie pointed out. “Do we encounter three or more Frogs sailin’ together, we would be up to our necks in the quag, anyway, but if it’s only two, or one big’un, we’d daunt ’em in the first place, or meet ’em on equal footing in the second.”
“Good God, though, sir!” Knolles almost goggled in amazement, raking the fingers of his left hand through his hair, “how do we get four civilian merchant masters to sail in an orderly column and maintain proper separation in the first place, much less convince them to play-act as warships? Do they sail into battle, they’d be as helpless as kittens! What are their burthens?”
“One’s three hundred tons, the other three are of three hundred and fifty tons,” Lewrie told him, calling that up from memory.
“That’s only fifteen men and some ship’s boys aboard one, and only a couple more hands in the other three, sir,” Knolles pointed out. “I suppose they’re armed, after a fashion … but with what? Four- or six-pounders, and some swivels? And, I very much doubt if their masters have pulled the tompions or cast off the lashings on those guns in the last year, except to look for rust.”
“There are soldiers aboard all four,” Lewrie said whimsically. “Perhaps Colonel Fry can be convinced that they’re only really big muskets, and man them on their own?”
“Oh now, sir!” Knolles countered, then broke out laughing.
“Only a thought,” Lewrie said, shrugging and waving a hand in the air. “Let’s get out to the fifteenth Longitude, ever further from France, form ’em all in column, and if we’re approached by the enemy, we’ll hoist the Blue Ensign and trust that Shakespeare was right … that ‘the play’s the thing’. How do you like the quail?”
“Quite savoury, indeed!” Knolles said, uttering a little moan of appreciation. “What does your cook do to make it so flavourful?”
“I fear that’s Yeovill’s secret spices and sauces,” Lewrie said with a sly grin, “and it’s rare that he tells me how he does it, but I wouldn’t trade the man for a keg of gold.”
“Mmumm!” Knolles agreed, then dabbed his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of wine. “If we do get out to the fifteenth Longitude, sir, I’d serve no purpose standing alee. Perhaps I should place Comus no more than one mile ahead of the column.”
“Aye, that makes sense,” Lewrie agreed. “Now, if the French don’t come from the East, but are discovered ahead of us, that’d be another matter … or, from windward. Do they appear North of us, it will be a long stern-chase, and we can wheel out of line and interpose our ships ’twixt the French and the transports, who can escape South as fast as their little legs’ll carry them.”