Dewey Lambdin - A Jester’s Fortune

"No, sir. Thought the more survivors ashore, the more worries. I let them have their boats and sent them in, after tallying up their names so the documentation passes muster."

"Ah-ha!" Charlton laughed. "Aye, the restll not be quite so keen, will they? Might even treat those released as Jonahs. Not even sign them aboard the other ships, nor wish them as passengers for the voyage home to France. I rather like that touch. Now, what about the other ports you shadowed… Durazzo and Volona?"

"I kept a strict accounting, sir," Lewrie cautiously prefaced to the nub of his report. "With no French traffick present, I had to buy some local boats from the Albanian or Montenegran fisher-folk. Sheep, too. Two roosters, and as many of those long red 'Liberty' caps as we could turn up among the Frog crewmen, from the first'un. Went into shore… nothing official, 'long as no Turks saw us, sir… and picked up a few odds and ends. Red and blue cloth, and such, to make up Frog flags. Paid for it all from the first prize's working capital, sir, as 'necessary for the Use and Service' of our vessel."

"Ahum," Charlton purred, going bland. This verbal report from Lewrie was beginning to sound a tad high-handed and verging very close to harum-scarum. "A strict accounting, d'ye say, sir."

"To the pence, sir. And it wasn't much at all," Lewrie assured him, savouring his first glass of welcome-aboard claret, and wondering, after his tale was told, if he'd really get another.

"Roosters?" Charlton squinted. "Sheep? And stocking caps?" "The very thing, sir." Lewrie tentatively smiled back. "Once we had everything in hand, we sailed right up to the three-mile limit off both harbours and came to anchor. I listed my bearings, sir, on the Venetian charts, so there'd be no error. And the Venetian charts are da… deuced accurate. My First Officer, Mister Ralph Knolles, was in charge of the local boat, and one of ours, for his getaway. Fired off some blank broadsides to get their attention, sir, then sailed the boats in as close as he dared, took to our boat, and let the other run ashore. My launch went inside the three-mile limit, sir. Unarmed-"

"Ah?" Charlton interrupted with a chary cough. It was quibblesome, that. He got that bland look again. "I don't see…"

"Well, sir…" Lewrie beamed, after polishing off his wine. Sure there'd not be another, the way Charlton was leaning his head back and staring fish-eyed down the length of his nose at him. "We'd sheared the sheep, then cut their throats and gutted 'em aboard those boats we'd purchased… in situ, so they'd bleed in-place. Bound them upright, at watch stations… the helm and such… and put the stocking caps on 'em, d'ye see, sir."

No doubt he does. Alan shivered. He's goin' bloody cross-eyed!

"So they'd faintly resemble French sailors, sir," Lewrie said, suddenly not finding it quite so clever a message. "And the roosters, sir? Old French folk symbol, I'm assured. Le Chanticlier, they call him? Pegged to the foredeck with a marling-spike… as a figurehead."

"Pegged…" Charlton grunted.

"Did I mention the frogs, sir? Balkan shore teemed with 'em, so we paid for the locals to harvest a bushel or two," Lewrie rushed to say, hoping they played better than the roosters or the sheep. "Had off the hind legs-rather good eatin', by the way!-floured, seasoned, then pan-fried, sir. And scattered 'em all about the decks, dead as mutton."

Charlton sat stock-still, but for putting his wineglass safely on his desktop. He folded his hands in his lap and breathed, off the top of his lungs, for a sombre moment or two.

Both hands free, Lewrie noticed with a sigh; he's goin't strangle me!

But then there was a faint twitch at either corner of Captain Charlton's prim mouth. A slight, purse-lipped upturning. His cheeks went ruddier under his sun-baked complexion, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. A faint grin appeared, like an ostrich chick fighting to leave a damn thick egg. Captain Charlton began to snicker. Then he threw back his head and roared!

With this encouraging sign to go by, Lewrie dared make free with the wine decanter and allowed himself to show his own amusement, merely a faint chuckle at first-whilst Captain Charlton began to bray, loud as Balaam's Ass. He rose from his seat and absolutely staggered aft to the transom settee, fighting for breath and slapping his thighs, clapping his hands over his aching stomach. Real tears could be seen coursing his cheeks! Though it would never do to appear to laugh at a jest one had made, Lewrie found it infectious and shook with silent sniggers. Though he still feared a sudden sobriety on Charlton's part, and a harsh tongue-lashing, once he was over his fit.

"Ah, dear me," Charlton said, though, a good three minutes later, as he dabbed at his eyes and blew his gone-cherry nose. "Oh, sir! I've not had reason to be amused since San Fiorenzo Bay. A moment more, I do beg, sir… to recover my wits. But I never heard the like! And those poor Frog seamen… t see such a sight, sailing right into… Dear Lord! Fresh-'spatched frogs all over the…! Oh, dear me. Whoo!"

He gulped for air and calmed, at last, and came back to the desk for his abandoned wineglass. "A toast with you, sir. A brimming bumper. Admiral Jervis gave me an inkling I might find you unorthodox, but he didn't speak the half of it. To your knacky wit, Commander Lewrie… and confusion-and fear-'mongst our foes."

"Confusion and fear, sir," Lewrie echoed, knocking back a savoury gulp.

A rather pacific, spent sort of minute went by then, with good Captain Charlton emitting the odd wheeze or two, the odd shake of his head in wonderment. Which put Lewrie in mind of that ipostcoital silence one spent with whores one'd never clapped eyes on before.

Well, wasn't that.. . nice? he smirked to himself; must run, bye… and where'd I drop me hat?

"Uhm… I s'pose this will result in the squadron shifting down south, sir?" Lewrie asked, as Charlton reached out for the decanter to top them up again. "Nothing we may do 'gainst the Venetians."

"Hmm, aye, Commander Lewrie, that is very much true," Captain Charlton allowed with a shrug as he did the honours. "And with only four main ports to watch now, our four vessels have much better odds of catching any runners. As long as we stand far enough out, so we do not appear to be blockading neutral Venetian ports. Hull-down, or our t'gallants only, showing."

"And the ship which watches over Corfu may also stand out to see what's doing in the straits, sir," Lewrie added, wondering if the time was now ripe. He decided that it was, and slyly launched the nub of his scheme. "That's rather far from the Serbs' usual haunts, sir. The few vessels they had aren't made to keep the seas for weeks at a time. Nor are they of a patient nature to do blockade work. Official or no. I wonder how much real use they'll be to us now. Given this change."

"There is that," Charlton allowed, patting his short hair with one hand. "Perhaps those smallest boats of theirs could still work as inshore scouts for us, though. Sniff out French ships which sail, and alert us. Some set of signals we may devise for them… their appearance near us, preceding any runners who put to sea."

"Quick as lateen-rig boats are, sir, they still can't run ahead of a well-run ship-rig with a longer waterline," Lewrie objected with a dismissive grin. "Be it a night signal-fusee, they'd give the French warning to put back in or alter course. Day signal or night, if they put back in, and put their heads together, they'd have to assume there is a blockade of Venetian ports. Then the Venetians would have to take note of it and complain formally, sir."

"Do they put in, though, at Durazzo or Cattaro, say…" Charlton counterposed, "seemingly innocent fishermen or coastal traders buying supplies, say… they could count noses for us, take note of those vessels readying for sea, and report back, Commander Lewrie."