Kings and Emperors

With the need for blockade over, several Britsh warships from Rear-Admiral Purvis’s squadron had been allowed into harbour, mostly for firewood and water. There would be no shore liberty here either, though, for the Spanish were still touchy upon the presence of too many ingleses in town, sure that there was still a plot by the perfidious British to take the place by force and turn it into a second Gibraltar, then keep it forever!

Lewrie got his wish to meet Vice-Admiral Cuthbert, Baron Collingwood, but that resulted in a very brief encounter, a nod of a head and a gruff “Ahd ye do, sir?”, and Lewrie would not gush like a schoolboy a second time.

“Happy now, sir?” Purvis asked with a wry expression.

“Sorry ’bout that,” Lewrie replied, ducking his head and turning red to be reminded of his embarrassment. Up close, Collingwood was a tall and lean old stick, morose and tired-looking, and going bald.

“Well, he was one of Nelson’s ‘band of brothers,’ but I’d have rather known Nelson,” Purvis idly said.

“Might I ask, sir, what’s to become of Sapphire, now that the army is landed?” Lewrie had to ask. “I’ve been on Independent Orders at Gibraltar for the last year and a half, but with the Spanish up in arms ’gainst the French, my presence there may not be necessary.”

“Hmm,” Purvis mused aloud, pondering. “I could order you to join my squadron, Collingwood’s now, really, but with Cádiz ours, the need for another blockader is gone.”

“I might be better employed up North with Sir Charles Cotton’s squadron blockading Lisbon, d’ye imagine, sir?” Lewrie wondered. “If General Wellesley’s army is to land in Portugal soon…?”

“Aye, you might be more useful with him, but, Dalrymple, and those furtive Foreign Office gentlemen might not be through with you yet. Best sail for Gibraltar and see. Upon that head, you can carry despatches from Collingwood and me on the way,” Purvis told him.

“Capital!” Lewrie exclaimed. “I can give my people shore liberty somewhere they’re welcome, where most people speak English!”

“Aye, join the Navy, see the world, and be gobbled at by foreigners,” Purvis said with a rare laugh. “We’ll have our despatches in your hands soon, Captain Lewrie, then you can be off.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lewrie replied, doffed his hat, and took his leave.

*   *   *

Free of plodding transports at last, Sapphire made a fast passage back to Gibraltar, almost racing through the Strait with currents and wind combining to speed her along, daring to skate past the guns at Tarifa and Cape Carnero, reducing sail and speed as she rounded Pigeon Island into the bay. The Spanish gu

Sapphire rounded up into the wind and dropped anchor off the Old Mole, took in sail, and came to rest. Even as that evolution was going on, one of the cutters was brought up from being towed astern, ma

Soon, girl, he thought; soon as I’m done with the Dowager!

*   *   *

He was shown into General Sir Hew Dalrymple’s offices immediately, where the Dowager shot to his feet and almost dashed to take hold of the despatches, idly ordering wine for Lewrie.

“Ayamonte first? Quite a long way from Cádiz,” Dalrymple commented after he’d read the first one. “God above, the Spanish!”

“They only allowed us into port for firewood and water, sir,” Lewrie told him, thanking God for the Convent’s deep cellars, where wine could almost chill, as he took a long sip. “General Spencer has built defences round Puerto de Santa María, but he’s also despatched four battalions and some artillery to Xeres, further inland, to buck up the Spanish army.”

“He’s aware that under no circumstances is he to march along with Castaños when he moves? I’ll not trust the fighting prowess of the Spanish against the French, and risk losing a sizable body of ours in the process,” Dalrymple grumped.

“He is, sir,” Lewrie assured him. “I was told that there’s yet a French brigade under Avril, lurkin’ somewhere between Seville and Cádiz, if it hasn’t gone off to join L’Étang there, or Dupont at Córdoba. I gather that General Spencer will remain near Cádiz ’til he knows whether General Avril will march upon him.”

Lewrie took note that Sir Hew’s map stand no longer featured Ceuta and the fortress, but now displayed a large map of the entire Iberian Peninsula, with bits of ribbon pi

“What’s the red ribbon for, sir?” Lewrie asked. It was stuck in the ocean, not the land, up near Coru

“It represents General Sir Arthur Wellesley, Sir Alan,” Sir Hew told him as he returned to his desk, and his despatches. “London sent me a letter that he might land there, first. I eagerly await news of that.”

“Rather a long march to Lisbon, ain’t it?” Lewrie asked. “Even the roads close to the coast are sure t’be bad. But, if the French confront him in force, he could always be taken off by sea, from Vigo or Oporto, if need be. Wellesley’s idea, that?”

“Lord Castlereagh’s, most likely,” Dalrymple said, frowning and stroking his chin. “I know of the Wellesleys, but little of Sir Arthur, but for his reputation gained in India. I do not know his fighting qualities, or whether he is a cautious man or an audacious one. Flighty Hindoos are one thing; the French are quite another. I’m not aware of any ‘Sepoy’ generals of note who have fought well against the French.” He almost sneered.

“Well, so far, Sir Hew,” Lewrie drawled, “our Army’s not done all that well against them, no matter their generals’ bona fides.”

“Think so, do you?” Dalrymple snapped, coming to the defence of his service, but he could not deny the truth. “I see that the French fleet in Cádiz is neutralised, with the honours going to the Spanish? No prize money in it for the Navy? How sad.”

That was a definite sneer. Lewrie shrugged it off, sure that the interview would soon be over.

“Any ideas of how you might employ my ship, given the change in circumstances, Sir Hew?” he asked anyway. “She’s too slow for a despatch vessel. Ye need frigates and such for that.”

“An orphan, are you?” Dalrymple posed, sounding as if he was still nettled by Lewrie’s comments about the Army and its generals. “If Admirals Collingwood and Purvis found no use for your services, perhaps you might call upon your Mister Mountjoy. You were sent here partially under his auspices, were you not? You still operate under Independent Orders.”

“I shall do that, Sir Hew,” Lewrie replied, shifting in his chair, prepared to rise and depart. “Anything else you need from me regarding the situation at Cádiz?”

“No, I believe the despatches speak for them,” Sir Hew said. “You may go, and good luck to you finding employment.” He shooed Lewrie off as he would a fly.

“Very good, Sir Hew. I’ll take my leave,” Lewrie said, and rose to deliver a brief bow. When he looked back for a second, he caught Sir Hew Dalrymple gazing at his maps with a contemplative grin on his face, and his eyes alight with some scheme.