Dewey Lambdin - A King`s Commander

"Mister Buchanon, 'vast your packing, sir," Lewrie called out. "I apologize, but I'll need you aboard, after all. Mister Hyde, you're still in charge of the barge."

"Aye, sir!" Hyde grinned, proud to have a temporary "command." "Pass the word for Mister Crewe to come to…" ' 'Ere, sir!" Crewe replied from the gangway above the tethered barge, which was still being loaded and armed.

"Mister Crewe, you're familiar with fire-arrows? Darde-au-feu?" "Well, aye, Cap'um…" the gunner replied, creasing his brow. "Don't 'ave no spring-iron t'make th' arms t'catch in sails, though."

"Forget the spring-arms, Mister Crewe," Lewrie countered, with a leer on his face. "Just make me up a half dozen that can be shot up high in the air, that we can see for, oh… six miles, at night? Shot at extreme elevation from a swivel gun. Like a signal-fuzee that Mister Hyde can light off like a fireworks."

"Oh, like a Roman candle, sir!" Crewe beamed. "I can do that, sir. Half dozen, no work a'tall, Cap'um."

"Pass the word for Mister Giles. My compliments, and he is to supply the barge with two days' dry rations and water, biscuit, cheese, and small-beer. And enough wine for two days' 'Clear Decks and Up Spirits.' You'll not be splicing the main brace, Mister Hyde, till I tell you. You're to loaf about just off the entrance, showing no lights of any sort. Stay furtive as mice, till any vessel leaves larger than a rowboat. You're to fire off one of Mister Crewe's fuzees from a swivel, soon as one does. Almost straight up, but in the general direction of her course. Anything heading west is what we're interested in."

"Aye aye, sir," Hyde agreed, though not sure what it was he was agreeing to.

"The captain of that corvette we fought, Mister Hyde, that's the bastard we want. He captured a commissary ship full of British gold… and he now thinks he'll slip away and go back home to crow about it," Lewrie told his senior midshipman first, before he explained things to the rest of his crew before dark. "I want him, Mister Hyde. And with your help, I mean to have him, this time."

A hot supper, for which he had little appetite, almost uncivil a host to Mister Peel and Lieutenant Knolles who dined with him, talking "shop" for once. And so eager for news that most of what he heard wasn't an awkward conversation, but the loud ticking of his chronometer in the chart-space on the starboard side of the great-cabins.

Then back on deck, wondering if Choundas had made a total fool of him, of them all, no matter how cleverly they'd schemed. Alan had always come a cropper, whenever he'd thought himself especially sly-didn't matter at what, he'd always tripped over his own wits-hoping against hope that just this once, events would prove an exception. A gelatinous crawling of time, an age between the half-hour watch bells. Nine o'clock, then three bells at nine-thirty, four bells at ten…

"Signall" a lookout screamed, as a tiny phosphorescent spark leaped into the inky night sky, trailing an amber train of embers. At a fifty-degree angle, Lewrie estimated. Pointing toward Jester, four miles offshore and ten miles down the coast, near Voltri. Pointing to the West! "Got 'at bastid, sir! We'uns got 'im!" A cheer rose from the decks, the duty watch, and the gunners standing idle in the waist. Ferociously satisfied, their blood up for the hunt, a kill. Sure that Jester would avenge herself, prove herself a lucky ship once more.

By God, we'd better, Lewrie thought! But not a very good night for it. Perversely, the winds had risen a trifle, the sea was surging and creaming now and then in tiny whitecaps-cat's paws and horses. What there was of the moon was occluded by scudding clouds coming down from inland, some storm rushing downslope off the Alps. Their view of the coast was only a black smear against a cold-ashes evening, merely a matter of degree.

"Fetch-to, Mister Knolles," Lewrie commanded. "We go galloping off east, he's sure to slip past us."

"Aye, sir! Duty watch, hands to the braces and sheets!"

A quarter-hour later, riding cocked up into the wind, bows almost due north, the ship making no headway. Still nothing to be seen.

"Signal!"

Another fuzee skyrocketing into the night, pointing west, a bit closer to them, as Hyde sailed in pursuit of whatever had aroused him. No hope of catching his Chase, of course, whatever she turned out to be. Safe enough for Hyde and his men, Lewrie thought, relieved; Choundas did not have night enough to turn and make her pay for alerting the blockade he'd have to thread. Assuming that so-far unseen vessel was his; if it was, he'd gotten a late start, and lost a precious hour already.

"We'll begin to stand inshore, Mister Knolles," Lewrie said with impatience, after another quarter-hour had passed. "Slowly, at first."

"Aye, sir."

Another half hour, Hyde's barge making no more than five knots at best, even with that stiff broad-reaching wind on her quarters. An hour, so five miles closer to us he's come, Lewrie plotted, almost frantic, but concealed by darkness on the quarterdeck, as Jester prowled without even a single glim burning. A tartane, lateen-rigged, he thought; she'd go around seven knots off such a goodly wind… two miles closer to us than Hyde? Yet not a whiff of her, not hide nor hair?

Another fuzee, this time fired slantwise, as if Mister Hyde was firing a very long, up-the-stern shot, as a miniature comet arced up and down like the trail of a burning carcase shot from a mortar. Within two miles of Jester's bows, so the Chase surely must be in smelling distance!

"Haul our wind, Mister Knolles! Time to stand in directly. Due north, Quartermaster!"

"Sail Ho!" from a larboard forecastle lookout. "One point awrf th' lar- b'd bow! 'Gainst th' town's lights! D'ye hear, there?"

Lewrie dashed to the larboard side, leaned out over the bulwarks to peer into the gloom as Jester swung. The town of Voltri was three miles north, almost dead ahead, by then. They might have been holding a/esta to celebrate the recent harvests, or some saint's day, for the waterfront and main streets were lit with torches, lanthorns, and a big bonfire, producing a pencil-thin smear of light. And suddenly, there was a ship; a quick, eye-blink glimpse of a ship atop the amber, scintillating fire-glade of the town's lights, stark and black in a second of silhouette-high-pinked stern, sharp bow, and three crescent moon sails, low to the deck; two large lateens, and a long lateen jib!

"Haul our wind, Mister Knolles, come about to west by north!" he howled. "A tartane, no error! And she's already west of us!"

Hellish-fast, too, Lewrie shivered, as the night wind went cold; fearing he'd left it too late. Seven knots mine arse, she had to be going eight or nine, or I'm a Turk in a turban! By the time we get turned in pursuit and settled down, she could have a mile lead on us.

Six bells of the Evening Watch chimed up forrud; eleven o'clock on a dark, filthy night. Jester was quick with the wind on her quarters, he knew, but this tartane would be fast as a witch. He rolled his eyes, to peer without straining or staring, for a glimpse of her, but blackness had swallowed her up, once more.

He looked astern as Jester came around on her new course, the sea swashing down her flanks, the babble of water 'neath her forefoot, under her transom an urgent mumbling. Hyde was to return on-station till daybreak then come west to safety in Vado Bay. Pray God there were no more signals from him! Had Choundas sent a first vessel out as a false lure, to test the waters and draw any watcher away, there was little he could do about it. For better or worse, he was now committed.