Hostile Shores

“I do b’lieve I’ll wait a tad longer, ma’am,” Lewrie told her. “The evening breeze, and the aromas from the flower gardens, are just too delightful.”

Yet another coach creaked to a stop at the foot of the hill on Market Street, an open coach which carried Commodore Grierson and his Flag-Captain, Meadows, and Lewrie turned away, wishing to delay rencontre with the fellow ’til the last moment. He looked round for a tall planter or bush behind which he could hide.

“Are you avoiding me, Sir Alan?” a lovely voice asked in petulance. He spun about to espy the “grass widow”.

“Why, Mistress Frost! Priscilla!” Lewrie exclaimed. “You are invited tonight? Your presence makes the occasion all the more delightful. And, how splendid you look!” he gushed in pleasure as he went to the top of the last flight of steps to offer her an arm after a bow.

Might tonight be the night? Lewrie fervently wished; After all, I’m nigh the bloody hero of the hour!

The object of his lust, Mistress Priscilla Frost, would be the desire of any man. She was a wee woman only five feet four inches in height, with a creamy pale complexion, a mass of artfully styled red-auburn hair, and bright green eyes. This night, her filmy sheath gown was of mint green, cut delightfully low, and was almost sheer enough to reveal a slim young body that was promisingly bouncy-looking, with perky breasts that even a modest bandeau to press them down could not completely hide. To top all that off, she was a woman of a sinuous, languid, and teasing demeanour.

“It is too bad that we shall not be seated close together,” she said with a moue, and a waft of her fan. “I expect you shall be seated nearer the top of the table, whilst I must languish far down, with the ‘chaw-bacons’, ha ha!”

“Well, there’s the mingling before, and the dancing after,” Lewrie said, trying on a leer. “Uhm … I note that Mister Frost is not attending with you? He’s still down at Grand Turk?”

“An American ship came in with mail, and he sent me a short note,” Priscilla told him with another pout. “He’s found a market at Cape Franois, on Haiti, and has sailed there to look into the possibilities, so … he will be delayed some more weeks.”

“Oh, what a pity,” Lewrie commiserated.

“Lord only knows what dangers he might face among the savage Blacks of that foul place,” Priscilla said, not sounding all that much concerned for her much older husband’s safety.

“They’re a blood-thirsty lot,” Lewrie told her, looking over her shoulder to see Commodore Grierson mid-way up the flights of stairs. “Be a dear, Mistress Priscilla, and stroll with me into the garden for a bit.”

“Why, Sir Alan! Captain Lewrie, will you ruin my repute in Nassau?” She did so with a fetching air of mischief, a merry glint in her eyes, and a tap of her fan against his chin.

“Only with your complete permission, dear lady,” Lewrie purred in kind, with a flirtatious laugh. “But, I’d rather put off havin’ to greet Commodore Grierson ’til later. Much later.”

“Oh, that fatuous clown!” Priscilla huffed. “But of course, I shall aid you in that.” She offered her arm to be supported by his and allowed herself to be led towards the gardens. “What a thoroughly thoughtless act! Why, I was so terrified that the French had come to impoverish us all that my maids and I were packing in a perfect panic, until it was revealed that his ships were ours! Everyone is wroth with him…’tis the talk of the town, and none of it complimentary, let me tell you! Do I get the chance, I would tell him what I think of him to his face!”

“Then I shall be sure to introduce you,” Lewrie assured her. “Do look and see if he’s gone in, yet.”

“He is just about to enter,” Priscilla whispered conspiratorially after a quick peek. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Lewrie asked in dread that Grierson had spotted him.

“Do you enter and be a

“What a clever girl you are!” Lewrie said in open praise. “For that I stand completely in your debt … and in complete admiration of you, to boot,” he added with another leer.

“Debt and admiration, Sir Alan?” she cooed, looking up at him with a lazy and flirtatious smile … and an artful hitch of her breath that lifted and swelled her breasts. “Such complete admiration must be rewarded. Amply rewarded, hmm?”

“Where admiration may turn to worship?” Lewrie dared hint, leering yet again. She slowly batted her lashes and nodded her head to agree.

Huzzah, I’m aboard! Lewrie exulted to himself.

“Walk me back to the entrance, Sir Alan,” Priscilla said, turning practical, “before people have reason to talk. Make your entrance a bit after me. I shall prepare the ground. A minute or so later?”

Lewrie saw her to the grand entrance doors, bowed her away, then lingered a bit more. Over the mutters of attendees and the musicians, there came a thump of a long cane, and a loud voice a

Finally, he shot his cuffs, settled his waist-coat and fiddled with his neck-stock, took a deep breath, plastered a benign grin on his phyz, and went inside to check his hat, then name himself to one of the liveried “catch farts”, who passed his name on to the major-domo with the long and heavy cane.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, Baronet, of His Majesty’s Ship Reliant!” the old functionary called out.

“Huzzah!” someone called out. “The hero of the hour!”

“Oh, bravely done!” Priscilla ringingly declared, and began to clap her hands, which prompted others to join in.

The fierce scowl on Commodore Grierson’s face was priceless, no matter how much bad blood was engendered, and Lewrie secretly delighted in it, even if it cost him later.

*   *   *

Nassau Town was not like London; its Society consisted mostly of commoners, albeit successful ones. A gala gathering such as this supper ball in England would never allow people engaged in “Trade” to attend! Nassauans could not even be described as Squirearchy who owned land and lived off gentlemanly farm incomes, cottagers’ rents, and shares in the Three Percent Funds. For the most part, the largest plots of land that Nassau’s upper crust owned were the town lots on which their houses sat, where their goods warehouses were situated, or their stores did business.

Lewrie suspected that Commodore Grierson had a low opinion of people engaged in Trade, lumping them in with pie men, knife grinders, or green grocers and store clerks, and could not fathom the conversations over the supper table, the pre-di

He looks damned uncomfortable and mute! Lewrie thought; They’ll give up on him altogether and talk past him in half an hour!

Lewrie, for his part, simply had a grand time, even if he was seated at least eight people away from the promising Priscilla. There was his rash sortie to be congratulated for. There was his destruction of so many French and Spanish privateers, the very bane of mercantile and maritime trade, and his re-capture and return to their owners of several prize vessels.

How had he won his knighthood? Lewrie gave them the Battle of the Chandeleur Islands off Spanish Louisiana in 1803. He had to tell them of his medals, of course, though Lewrie could (modestly!) relate that he had been present at the Battle of the Chesapeake during the American Revolution, had gotten trapped at the siege of Yorktown yet had escaped the night before the surrender, had been at St. Kitts when Admiral Hood had stymied de Grasse, had stumbled into the Glorious Fourth of June in 1794 while being chased by two French frigates and had ended up driven towards the lee of the French line of battle, and been with Nelson at the Battle of Cape St. Vincent.