Dewey Lambdin - A Jester’s Fortune

"Doesn't seem to bother him much… not yet, anyway," Rodgers snorted. "Like a Robin Hood, or a famous highwayman back home. He's here, he's there, everywhere. Three coaches robbed 'fore sunrise… in three different counties, and all that outlaw's doin'."

"And Wurmser, sir," Lewrie went on, feeling the need to cross to the sideboard and top up his glass, then fetch the bottle back to fill the others up. "Coming from the Rhine armies, you said? Hellish risk, to strip the Rhine of men and guns, ain't it? Makes it easier for Frog troops to go tramplin' into Bavaria…?"

Damme, they look as if I'd just let a fart! Lewrie thought as he saw the sudden, gape-mouthed expressions on their phyzes.

It was one thing to hear that the largest, most lavishly equipped and most rigourously trained army in Europe-an army supported by the mightiest and most populous empire in the world-was having a few bad bouts…

Well, Lewrie qualified to himself, there's China, but they're not in this equation. And there is Roosia, but they're lucky to stand upright on a good day, so I'm told!

But, to contemplate the tag-rag-and-bobtail French actually defeating Austria… invading Austrian possessions… well!

Well, hadn't they just? Lewrie qualified again. The Archduchy of Milan and Lombardy are Austrian possessions. So what's special 'bout Bavaria goin', too? And if they can do that…!

That sneaking, queasy, gut-wrenching worry was on every face of a sudden. Lewrie poured their top-ups in total, astonished and funereal silence, like they'd just been told of their monarch being murdered. Or that hushed silence of Maundy Thursday in church, when the fine trappings are stripped in mournful quiet.

"Ahum…" Charlton grunted, breaking their silence, taking his newly full glass at last. "Thankee, Lewrie. Now, sirs. That's the appalling lot; here's the merely bad. Admiral Jervis had sent us new instructions. He is of a mind that, should the French try to cut the Italian peninsula and gain the eastern coast, our presence in the Adriatic will be more important than ever. We are to keep a closer eye on the Italian coast, now Bonaparte controls the Papal States' shores. We must prevent any succour reaching him by sea. We are to prevent any warships formerly controlled by those nations now paying tribute to the French from being appropriated and incorporated into their navy… prevent them from sailing, or destroy them should they do so. And we're to continue our interdiction of the timber and naval stores from the Adriatic, of course, hence delaying the presence of substantial numbers of French warships along their newly gained Italian coast. We must… uhm, 'soldier' on, for the nonce."

They nodded dumbly at that directive.

"For us to remain in the Adriatic, sirs, is not bad news, and I do not wish you to draw any negative- connotations from my characterisations of our expanded orders," Charlton was quick to warn them. "I refer, rather, to the local situation, anent the Austrians. It seems… hmm… the local authorities, the town fathers of Trieste, as well as the Austrian Naval and War Ministry at Vienna have, uhmm…"

He took another bracing sip of wine, screwing his mouth to one side as if he'd developed a sudden distaste for the spicy, sweet drink.

"Perhaps we've been a tad too successful, too quickly. Or the Austri-ans now expect miracles from us, as a matter of course," Captain Charlton posed, essaying a rather grim chuckle, with no real humour in it, "I know not which. Sweep their seas clean for 'em… muck out the Augean Stables for 'em, like Hercules as a hired labourer did. But… given their parlous situation ashore, Vienna has shifted funds from the Trieste Squadron and given them to their hard-pressed armies. And the town council of Trieste have seen fit to reduce their contributions to Major Simpson's squadron. Cut him in half, just about. So he will not be completing his seven new gunboats, and will barely be able to maintain what few vessels he already possesses. That, of course, precludes his conversion of any of our seaworthy prizes into warships which might have reinforced us, as we had originally discussed. He'd have to buy a ship in, first, arm her, strengthen her, then man her. And where he'd get a tenth of the funds necessary for that, God only knows. So here we are, still completely 'on our own bottoms,' sirs."

"Well, what about the Hungarian Squadron, sir?" Lewrie enquired. "Though we haven't met 'em yet, weren't they more aggressive at…?"

"I'm told it's much the same with them, Lewrie, the same text, chapter, and verse," Charlton rejoined. "In point of fact, their infantry regiments which form their marines have been given orders to go west, to Mantua. They put great stock in Croat soldiers. Devilish-good fighters, I'm told. They're laying up their fleet, too, stripping it to the bone, 'til the problem with Bonaparte has been settled. On the land… over in Lombardy. 'Til then, the only naval worries they might have would be along the upper Rhine and the Danube."

"Th' French get so far'z t'threaten Trieste," Captain Rodgers quipped, "then th' Austrians've far greater problems'n ya could shake a stick at, anyway."

"Quite so, Captain Rodgers," Charlton was forced to agree.

"Never even met the Hungarians yet, sir," Fillebrowne sniffed primly. "Nor any help from their little squadron of coasters."

"Doin' main-well so far, sir," Rodgers grumbled. "An' 'thout a jot o Austrian aid, either! We'll manage fine… way I see it."

"Ah, but should the traffick increase, sirs," Charlton warned them sternly, "should the French take over even a few well-armed small ships… we can't be everywhere at once. Nor, unless we sail together, be of sufficient strength. Guard the straits only, and the French may play merry Hell on the Italian east coast. Shift patrols over there, closer to Ravenna and Venice, and the straits become a thoroughfare to smugglers and French merchantmen. We're badly in need of reinforcement. I tell you, sirs, badly. Did we have a third frigate and sloop of war, we might- might, mind-just barely cope. One group for the straits down south, one for the Balkan coast, and one patrolling higher up in the Adriatic… keeping an eye on Ravenna and such."

"So, we split up into singletons, sir," Lewrie suggested. "The frigates, at least, and pair Jester and Myrmidon. There's your three groups." Much as he disliked the idea of sailing with Fillebrowne!

"And what did our first spell at sea shew us, sir?" Charlton objected right crankily. "That there are ships enough to intercept already… without an increase in numbers. And only so many hands we may spare to man them, before we are forced to return to Trieste. Or run the risk of battle so poorly manned we're barely able to tend sail, much less fight. Do one or the other, but not both, sir!"

"No chance there would be any help forthcoming from the Fleet, sir?" Fillebrowne prompted, sounding almost wistful.

"Not with these newly captured Tuscan ports to watch, atop the others we were already thin-stretched to blockade, sir, no," Charlton assured him. "There are never enough frigates or sloops, sore as their lack is felt in time of war. Even before this Bonaparte marched, we'd gotten all he could spare. Damme, had we twice the force, though…!" He sighed, sounding more than a touch wistful, too. "Surely our Lords Commissioners should know this cruel fact, should have laid down ships other than 'liners,' by the score!"

Uh-oh! Lewrie thought. Things must have come to a pretty pass if he's blamin' Admiralty for 'is problems!

Perhaps someone kind should have made a helpful suggestion, said some comforting words of encouragement to him. Lewrie felt the urge to commiserate with the much-put-upon Captain Charlton.