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HMS Pegasus had been near the rear of the right-hand column led by the massive Royal Sovereign, close to Swiftsure, Dreadnought, and Defiance, spared the drubbing that the lead vessels suffered as the miles-long French and Spanish line had opened fire, unable to reply for what seemed hours of punishment, sure to be shot to pieces long before the British Navy could come to grips, but…!
Hugh described his awe and joy as the two columns speared through the enemy line and let loose with both batteries, sailing into that massive, impenetrable fogbank of powder smoke! The enemy’s ships had been isolated, lost in their own fogs, in singletons, pairs, and trios upon which Nelson’s fleet had fallen, “doubling” two-on-one to either beam to pound them and shatter them at “close pistol shot,” and it had been the Frogs and Dons who had been shot to pieces!
We came upon a lone French 74, crossed her stern to deliver a devastating Rake which brought down her mizen, came along her stabd. side at close range, & traded shot for nigh an hour before lashing to her & boarding. We’d never seen our gallant Capt. Charlton, usually the most phlegmatic of men, get so lively & excited! Despite the volume of musketry, which took my hat, and the Capt.’s hat and one of his epaulets, we boarded her, my brave gu
“Good God, I’ve raised a real scraper!” Lewrie whooped with delight.
Hugh had gotten a scratch or two, though his ship had paid a steep price in killed and wounded. And, by dark that evening, the weather had gotten up, so fiercely that they had had to cut the tow, and had lost their prize. Theirs, and many of the already-damaged prizes, had been cast ashore on the Spanish rocks, reefs, and shoals.
And, there was the death of Admiral Lord Nelson, which Hugh had learned of hours later. The rumour was that the Nelson had been dressed in his finest, with all his foreign decorations, and some French Marines in one of the fighting tops had shot him down.
Hugh closed by reckoning that he had acquitted himself main-well in his first true action, if he did say so himself, and that Pegasus was off to Gibraltar to make repairs and re-victual, and that he would write more, later.
“Thank God,” Lewrie whispered, faintly smiling as he laid the letter aside. “He’s safe, he’s blooded, and he did do damned well … but Lord, what a way t’learn t’fight!”
Lewrie wondered if he’d even recognise Hugh the next time they met, whenever that might be. He’d seen him off by the King’s Stairs in Portsmouth as an active, lark-happy thirteen year old in 1803. Though only sixteen now, he sounded as adult as any “scaly fish” in his twenties! He’d crossed swords with men out to kill him, fired his pistols, stabbed with his dirk, and had slain men in furious, face-to-face battle! Sixteen or not, he was a man, now.
Lewrie turned to Lydia’s letter, and it was certainly not the plaintive expressions of longing that he had expected! It had been written and sent before news of Trafalgar had reached England, for she made no mention of it. No, her news was of her brother Percy’s wedding to Eudoxia Durschenko, at long last!
They’d pla
Lydia had been enjoying late summer in the country at their estates near Reading and Henley-On-Thames, riding daily over their acreage (which consisted of miles and bloody miles of land), dining al fresco with childhood friends, relatives, and neighbours, when she’d gotten an invitation from Hawkinge in Kent, where Percy’s self-raised cavalry regiment was posted to guard against the threat of invasion by the French. Just before the a
The church at Hawkinge, near Folkstone, had not been all that grand, but the officers of the regimental mess had decorated it and turned the “happy occasion” into a grand military affair. A troop of horse had escorted Eudoxia’s carriage to the churchyard, another troop had brought the groom. Trumpets had blown fanfares, the band had been boisterous, accompanied by some new-fangled tinkly bell-draped thing called a “Jingling Joh
Eudoxia’s father, Arslan Artimovich, that vicious, sneering, eye-patched old bird, had turned out in new suitings, rather grandly, Lydia wrote, with no muttered curses in Russian, and no sign of his wicked daggers.
The old fart saved his curses for me, whenever he saw me and Eudoxia together, Lewrie told himself; He likes Percy’s horses too much t’curse him! Arslan Artimovich might still despise aristocracy, but Percy comes with too much “tin” attached.
Lydia wrote that the affair had become “soggier” and more exuberant than most weddings, and that Arslan Artimovich had gotten as drunk as only a Russian can, and had tried to teach the subalterns how to do a wild dance, which involved whirling about, turning Saint Catherine’s Wheels, and squatting with arms crossed and kicking legs straight out in turn, to the further delight of local witnesses, before the “happy couple” had coached off.
Despite her initial reservations, Lydia expressed that she had come to like Eudoxia, her outré past aside. Eudoxia had become a good influence on Percy and his penchant for gambling deep, finding her a level-headed, sensible, and clever young woman, and, with her su
After that, Lydia had returned to London to stay at their house in Grosvenor Street for a few days, eschewing most of the public events where she would feel uncomfortable, but had attended some symphonies and new plays, done some shopping to see the new fashions, but expressed how relieved she would be to return to the country and take joy in the Autumn and the holidays to come. Percy, Eudoxia, and the regiment would march back to Reading and their permanent station once the winter weather precluded any attempt by Napoleon to cross the Cha
The rest of her letter expressed fondness, longing for his return, and concern for his safety so far away, at whatever it was that required him to be months away and thousands of miles off. Perhaps it might transpire, she wrote, that they could pick up where they had left off, and see what their relationship could be, in future?
“What a scandalous set we’d be!” Lewrie muttered to himself in wry humour. “Lydia and her un-warranted bad repute as a divorcé … Percy and his mad-cap ways, married to a foreigner who’d been a trick shooter, bareback rider, and actress with Dan Wigmore’s Peripatetic Extravaganza, her lion-tamer papa t’boot! Christ, scandalous little me would fit right in!”
There was a discreet rapping on the great-cabin door. Pettus went to see to it. “Master-At-Arms, sir,” he a
“Right, then,” Lewrie said with a groan. “Tell Mister Appleby I’m just retiring, and all the lights will be extinguished in five minutes … if he’ll give me that long, that is.”