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“Really? Hmm,” Lewrie exclaimed in surprise, begi
Admiralty’d have my hide, he thought; Breakin’ bulk, stealin’ from a prize’s value for private gain ’fore submission to the Prize Court? How many of the Articles of War does that violate?
So far, this year of 1806, Reliant had had no opportunity to earn a single pe
I s’pose I’ll just have t’hope that the Argentine produces a few decent wines, Lewrie consoled himself; A ten-gallon anker for instant salvation for the vintner and his family, perhaps? Maybe the dispensations’d serve for paper money!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
They entered the outer-most reaches of the Plate Estuary on the 27th of May, arriving in a thick and dense fog that took half the day to burn off, groping their way slowly West under greatly reduced sail and sounding with the short leads, already in shoal water. It was, to Lewrie’s lights, an ignominious begi
It ain’t as if the Spanish know we’re comin’, or can even see us if they knew t’look out for us, Lewrie groused to himself, pacing the deck and wincing at each leadsman’s call; so what’s his bloody urgency? It’s like Popham’s ru
Poor Mr. Caldwell, the Sailing Master, looked as if he would fret himself to an early grave, breaking out in a fine sweat despite the coolness of early morning as he was reduced to tracing his index finger round his much-pawed charts each time a new sounding was called out, as if to divine their exact position by the procession of indicated fathom markers. Lewrie noted that that index finger shook at times, and that Caldwell was actually mouthing silent words; curses or prayers, no one could say.
* * *
The fogs did burn off by mid-morning, relieving one and all. As soon as it did, though, the flagship was hoisting a flurry of signals. The first was a “General” to all ships, a
“Wants t’beat us to the loot, does he?” Lewrie speculated to Lt. Westcott in a low voice. “Ah, Mister Caldwell! My congratulations on seein’ us through. I am sending down for a pot of cold tea. Might I offer you a glass?”
“Thankee, but no, sir,” Caldwell said, mopping his face with a red calico handkerchief after he had gathered up his personal navigation aids and rolled up the large scale chart. “If I may have your leave to go below for a bit, I had something stronger in mind. This morning has taken its toll upon me, I do confess.”
“Nice enough, now, though,” Lewrie made note, pausing for a moment to hear one of the leadsmen call out, “Eighteen fathom! Eighteen fathom t’this line!”
“A pretty morning, aye, sir,” Caldwell agreed, looking out and up at the skies and clouds and the state of the glittering seas as if seeing them for the first time in his life, blinking in amazement.
“Do you reckon that the ship is in no danger for the moment, sir, you have leave to go below,” Lewrie allowed.
“Thank you, sir, and I shall return shortly,” Caldwell vowed.
“After all this fog and uncertainty, I feel in need of a stiff ‘Nor’wester’ myself, sir,” Lt. Westcott stated.
“Should I send down for rum, instead?” Lewrie teased.
“Cold tea’s fine, sir,” Westcott said with a twinkle.
Lewrie left the windward bulwarks and went to the bi
“Pass word for the Purser if you will, Mister Westcott,” he reluctantly said. “It’ll be days ’til we come to anchor off Flores, and we’ll have to wait for the Commodore’s return. In the meantime, it will be necessary to reduce the bread and water rations to three in four, unless God grants us a deluge. Perhaps we can make up the lack with small beer, or try to bake fresh bread, if the wind and sea state allows.”
“Just slipped his mind, did it, sir?” Westcott whispered with a savage, knowing look on his face.
“Perhaps he’ll find a fresh-water stream far out of the way of any watchers,” Lewrie sneered. “Or, meet up with some Spanish bum-boat traders.”
“Lashings of water, wine, and charming señoritas,” Westcott wistfully said. “Ah, the possibilities!”
“You quite forgot the chance they’d have fresh fruit,” Lewrie reminded him.
“Hmm … mangoes … coconuts … or even … melons!” Westcott japed, raising cupped hands to his chest as if weighing the mentioned delights, widening his palms at each in lustful anticipation for the young women of the Argentine.
“You’re bloody hopeless, ye know that,” Lewrie told him.
* * *
It was the 13th of June before all ships were together, again, off Flores, where they did find fresh water, and dead-calm waters which allowed them to bake bread. Commodore Popham was off again almost at once, shifting his flag to the Encounter brig, which drew even less water than Narcissus. Before departing, though, he took the time to hold a quick conference aboard Diadem.
“My initial reco
“In the meantime, Captain Downman, and Acting-Captain King, I wish you place Diadem so as to keep a close eye upon Montevideo,” Popham continued, “and prevent any of its garrison from crossing over to the South bank of the estuary to re-enforce Buenos Aires before we may pluck it, ha ha!”