Troubled Waters

by Dewey Lambdin

  Cabin stewards refilled their glasses from a bottle of Chateau d'Issan Bordeaux, a splendid little wine from a local seventeenth-century vineyard little known beyond the Medoc region so far, but one that both Ayscough and Lewrie thought a treasure that went well with the mutton.

  While it was more than pleasant to have Commodore Ayscough toast him, and declare him an aggressive and active fellow possessed of such uncanny wit and wile, Lewrie thought there was one niggling hitch to such praise . . . he would now have to deliver.

  It was one thing to speculate idly, and quite another to enter into a thorough investigation, which would require long hours questioning French fishermen; cajoling, getting drunk, bribing, and playing a spy's game to determine whether he was being told the truth, the half-truth, or having his leg pulled, and two out of three could prove fatal.

  Then, perhaps gulled like one of Clotworthy Chute's newly come heirs, or haying the entire French defensive plan laid before him like Moses' first peek at the Commandments, he would actually have to plan a complicated operation . . . with his head on the chopping block did it go awry!

  Oh, won't this be just bags o 'fun! he sarcastically thought as he clinked glasses with Ayscough; should've kept me bloody gob stopped! What was Ithinkin'? This is more Twigg's game than mine. Sortin' fact from fiction. Christ. Don't know if I'm bright enough for it!

  Another realisation struck him, right after that doubt. Well, two realisations, really. The first was that, whenever in his life, be it in his personal life or his naval career, he had felt sly-boots and clever, Dame Fortune usually woke from her nap and came down from Mount Olympus to kick him firmly in the fundament.

  The second was that he would have to make nice of a sudden with Capitaine Jules Papin, and that might be just too horrid to contemplate.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  D'ye trust any of the fishermen ye run across?" Lewrie asked of Commander Nathaniel Hogue some days later, and finding it remiss of him to have served with the younger man in the Far East, yet never learned his Christian name 'til then. "This Papin fellow, for instance?"

  "Oh, him!" Hogue said with a wry chuckle. "Frankly, sir, I am surprised he hasn't crammed a dozen local whores aboard his boat, and pimped them out to us on a day-rate. Papin is a thorough rogue, in my humble opinion. Rogue enough to sell information, at any rate. And . . . so far, what little he's grudgingly related to me, or the cutters, has proven true. Mind now, Captain Lewrie," Hogue cautioned, "I only speak of shilling revelations, not gold. Lieutenants Bartoe, Shalcross, and Umphries and I hold much the same opinion of M'sieur Papin, and where his loyalties lie . . . which is in personal profit."

  Such a confident young man, Lewrie thought, recalling the last time he'd served with Hogue, when the lad had been a somewhat shy and diffident cully, a tad naive of the ways of the world, and straight as a die. Now, though, after years of service, and "on his own bottom,' Hogue was as chirpy as a magpie, and just about as sure of himself. In those days, when Hogue had contracted the Pox from some Chinese whore, he'd blushed and stammered and skulked in shame like a pregnant nun . . . Damme, was la bad influence on him, back then? Lewrie asked himself; most-like, aye.

  "I've something in mind, sir," Lewrie told him over glasses of cold tea in Savage's great-cabins; late summer in the Bay of Biscay was warm days and muggy seaside nights, just enough so to make the cold tea refreshing. "Do we gather enough information to improve our odds, we might have a chance to reduce the battery on Pointe de Grave, and may even convince Lord Boxham to bring some of his 'liners' inshore to help take the fort cross the river, too. The biggest snag, o' course, will be what forces the French maintain hereabouts, and where; what weight of artillery we really face, and how quickly the local garrison could march to counter us. May not come off, but. . ."

  "Oh, finally, sir!" Hogue crowed, rocking boyishly on his chair with a hand clasping a raised knee. "We've spent weeks and weeks just staring at that new battery as it is being erected, at last being allowed to fire upon it . . . well, to land, take it, and slight it would just be delightful."

  "Just watching it being built?" Lewrie asked, puzzled. "How so?"

  "Well, sir . . ." Hogue reddened slightly, and lost his buoyant airs. "Far be it from me to say anything uncomplimentary, or insubordinately, of a senior officer, but . . . "

  "Don't know why not," Lewrie cynically scoffed, " 'tis usually a hellish-good relief."

  "Uhm, in that case, sir, since you put it that way," Hogue said in a soft voice, all but peering squint-a-pipes in the dark corners of Lewrie's quarters to see if there might be a witness to his disloyalty, "Commander Kenyon said our chiefest role was stopping commerce entering or departing the Gironde, sir. That we were not to risk our vessels by entering the possible gun-range of the Saint George fort, or dare to go East of Point Grave. We could stop and search as many fishing boats as we wished, and ask of doings ashore, but that was to convince the French of the impossibility of any imports or exports, and, by not confronting their guns, or giving them any chance to do us harm, foment in French minds a notion of our . . . invincibility, and inevitability."

  "Ahum . . . I see," Lewrie slowly drawled, a dark frown forming on his face. "Well, such might be decent goals, but. . . once the battery on the point is finished, such orders and cautions would force us to give it a wide berth, too. Convincing the Frogs that, do they build a set of batteries up the north shore, we could be frightened out beyond Pointe de la Coubre, or three miles to seaward of Soulac sur Mer!"

  "Assuming, as we have, sir, that the French possess fourty-two-pounder guns in sufficient number," Hogue pointed out. "The Commander may have decided that the few men we have aboard our ships could make no impression on the Saint George fort, for certain, and could only delay the completion of the one on Point Grave . . . and, were we repulsed with casualties, fill the French with confidence."

  "Defeats tend t'do that," Lewrie mused aloud. "If I thought the Frogs had four or five thousand troops they could whistle up on short notice, I'd be much of the same mind. But, so far we don't know just how dangerous a landing could be. And, we must find out."

  "Just like the old days, isn't it, Captain Lewrie?" Hogue asked with a cheerful grin. "Chasing the French and Lanun Rovers from the Malacca Straits to Canton, and back . . . and but slowly knitting all of the clues together?"

  "Very much like, aye," Lewrie agreed. "I will speak Erato sometime this afternoon. For the nonce, I'd like you to pass word to our cutter captains, and tell them to begin pressing, cajoling, and bribing the fishermen even sharper. And, I would very much like for them to discover for me just what lies behind Le Verdon sur Mer. The port, the bay by the point, and that cove below the village."

  "Uhm, if I may make a suggestion, sir," Hogue said. "But, we've come to name places more Anglicised, to avoid confusion. We say Point Grave, 'stead of Pointe de Grave, and say it like a churchyard grave. Verd'n . . . Saint George, 'stead of all that de Didonne flummery. Soo-Lack; Mashers, 'stead of Meschers sur Gironde, Point Coober, 'stead of de la Coubre, and Royan . . . well, that'un needs no change, but . . . "

  "I see," Lewrie said. "Well, thank God for't, for my French is next to nonexistent, and I mangle enough already. So, it'isn't the Cote Sauvage, it's the 'Savage Coast,' is it? My coast, perhaps? Or, might well be by the time I'm done with it, ha ha! Capital idea. Just 'cause the Frogs own 'em is no reason we have to go all nasal and 'hawn hawn' t'say 'em."

  "Uhm, there will be another matter, Captain Lewrie," Hogue said in a more serious tone, "so far we purchase wine, foodstuffs, and news with shillings, half-crowns, and crown pieces, in silver, and, with the shortage of specie aboard our ships at present, and the shortage of it at home, we might need an infusion of coin, and how that may be found, or from whom, I've not the slightest hope. I seriously doubt that Admiralty would ship us out a keg or two o' guineas."

  I'm suddenly so responsible for it I have to pay for it, too? Lewrie gawped to himself; this could get as expensive as lawyers!


  "I'll sail out and speak to Commodore Ayscough again," Lewrie somewhat reluctantly vowed. "Who knows? Maybe his Scottish clan is richer than Midas. Maybe he could arrange a whip-round of his wardroom for donations! God knows, if Ayscough has to submit it to Lord Boxham, they both have to refer it to Admiralty, we'll still be spectators off this coast 'til next Epiphany."

  "If Lord Boxham thinks it valuable, sir, he might give us some of his contingency funds," Hogue rather wistfully suggested.

  "He wants what fleet the Frogs might have up by Bordeaux to come out, so he can crush 'em, Commander Hogue," Lewrie gravelled. "Ruining their forts, spikin' guns and all, might scare them out of the idea."

  "There is that, sir, sad t'say," said Hogue, deflated.

  "Perhaps we could bribe these fishermen in other ways, Hogue," Lewrie mused. "Bosun stores, lumber, spare canvas and such? With rum! Ragged as most of 'em dress, slop-clothing might move 'em! Tell our cutter captains we must do it 'on the cheap,' but done it must be. If the French prove t'be too strong t'take on, then we won't become debtors and beggars. If the endeavour does prove practicable, then we've bought ourselves a victory for ha'pence."

  "I shall be on my way, then, sir," Hogue declared after he had finished his cold tea, "and thank you for a most refreshing beverage. I must obtain some lemons from shore, do they grow them here, and emulate you."

  "God speed, young sir, and it was damned good t'see you, after all these years. My congratulations 'pon your promotion, and command, and aye . . . now we work together again, as we did in the Far East, we may raise a parcel o Mischief on the French, hey?" Lewrie said as he walked him to the quarterdeck.

  "I await such with all avidity, Captain Lewrie!" Hogue assured him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Another day, another disappointment, Lewrie glumly decided, as HMS Savage sidled up alongside yet another French fishing boat, nearly five miles off Soulac sur Mer, now better known as "Soo-Lack." He had met up with Capitaine Jules Papin and his Marie Doux several days past, but rencontre with that fish-smelly rogue had not exactly been all that productive in the way of information.

  In other ways, Papin had proved true to his word, for his boat had produced nearly a sling-load of goodies from shore. Papin had promised cheeses and eggs, and he had come through, to the delight of the Midshipmen's mess, and the officers' wardroom, who had vowed to chip in and go shares. Navy-issue cheese came in two varieties; a Cheddar and something else unidentifiable, hard, and crumbly, both of which sprouted mould and simply oozed wormlets after a month or so at sea. These, though, were fresh, and as creamy, sweet, and soft on the tongue as pats of butter.

  The eggs, several dozen of them, had probably not been candled to determine whether the shells hid tasty yolks or un-hatched chicks, but a quick inspection in front of a strong lanthorn could decide that, and, with luck, the broody hens already roosting in Savage's forecastle manger would accept a few extras and keep them warm 'til they hatched . . . resulting in a few more roast chicken suppers for the fortunates.

  Papin had come through with several straw baskets of fruit, as well; apples, pears, and such. There had been middling sacks of sugar and flour, baskets of table grapes, and bags of raisins. Three young suckling pigs, two smallish turkeys, and a kid goat . . .

  "And a par-tri-idge in a pear tree!" Midshipman Mayhall had caroled, to the amusement of all, as he seized a bag of fresh cherries.

  Small baskets of peas and beans, for fresh soups, not the reconstituted "portable" soup the Navy issued in gangrenous-looking slabs; salad greens, carrots, cabbages, and onions, oh my, it was a Godsend!

  And for Lewrie, along with some foodstuffs, had come a case of wine, a mix of Medocs, Sauternes, and white Graves, along with the reds of the region from Chateau Margaux, Chateau Latour, Brave-Mouton and Lafite. There were Batail-leys, d'Issans, Loudennes, Paulliac and St.-Estephe, and, wonder of wonders, a one-gallon stone crock of American bourbon whisky, which bore the stencil-painted mark of the Evan Williams distillery in far-off Bardstown, Kentucky!

  "Capitaine Papin, you are a miracle worker!" Lewrie had told him.

  "Non, m'sieur, I am ze smuggler, miraculeux," Papin had sourly rejoined. "I am ze smuggler 'oo is to he paid, n'est-ce pas? Ze dry smuggler, in need of ze rum, hawn hawn."

  They had repaired below to crack a bottle for Papin, which he'd keep, and a second bottle for his crew, to keep them sweet and silent. Lewrie dug into his coin purse and laid out the reckoning, allowing the Frenchman to see the gold guinea coins that he had placed in it just for that purpose.

  "You are successful in prize-money, Capitaine, kein? " Papin commented as Lewrie laid the purse out of reach . . . but still in sight. Papin licked his lips and gave the wash-leather draw-string purse sly side-of-his-eye glances, and rubbed his still unshaven chin.

  "Rather well, in fact," Lewrie told him. He thanked Papin for the delivery, striving to not sound too profusely grateful, hinting that a working arrangement, once a week or so, would be welcome.

  "And . . . there is another matter, one you raised when we first crossed hawses, Capitaine Papin," Lewrie said, striving, too, for off-handedness; idle curiosity, not avidity. "Concerning information?"

  "Ah, oui, ze information, hawn hawn," Papin said, a hand inside his coarse and filthy smock to scratch his chest. "I do not know zat much, but . . . " He tossed back a deep slug of rum, keeping his eye locked on Lewrie's all the time. "What m'sieur wish to know?"

  "Well, for one, do the gunners at Saint Georges de Didonne keep the guns manned round the clock? Damme, I must sail into the bay and keep watch, but I dislike being shot at all the time," Lewrie said in a forced chuckle. "Savage is a stout ship, but not proof against their fourty-two-pounders."

  Papin smiled back, saying nothing; a particularly greasy smile.

  "Mean t'say . . . ," Lewrie had gone on, feeling lame, "do they have enough troops t'maintain three watches?"

  "Give me guinea, m'sieur," Papin soberly said, holding out his hand, palm up. "Garrison is small. Non 'ave 'eavy guns. Dix-huit, ze eighteens, et ze douze? Ze . . . twelves? Only ze six six-pounders in water battery, below, an' ze swivels. Non as much as you fear. Ze guinea . . . vite, vite?" he insisted, snapping his fingers.

  Lewrie handed over a guinea coin, still unsure if he was being twitted and taken for a fool; it sounded too good to be true. "Not as many as I fear, is it? How many of the heavier guns, Capitaine?"

  "I see zem drill, I 'ave count, Capitaine Lirr . . . m 'sieur," Papin growled as he slipped the coin into a slop-trouser pocket. "Mon Dieu, keep Marie Doux at Royan dock, 'ave home in Royan, an' when zey practice, zey keep all awake!

  "Each face 'ave ze four openings, oui?" Papin explained, leaning forward. "Fort 'ave two of ze twelves, only one of ze eighteens, each face, comprendre? Only 'ave men each gun require, plus ze dozen more for keep watch, hein? Old navire de guerre at Bordeaux, rotted at piers, zey strip an' bring id by ze barges. Ozzer old ships zat cannot sail, I'Armee strip, aussi, tak mos' guns to forts on Channel, to I'Est . . . on German frontier, m'sieur."

  "As they bring the stone for the Pointe de Grave battery walls?" Lewrie asked, pouring Papin another dollop of rum.

  "Out," Papin agreed, leaning back in his chair, legs extended. "Stone mus' come from ze Dordogne, zere is beaucoup trop sand in zis part of Medoc, an' Saintonge, cross river."

  "Many barges?" Lewrie prompted. "Are they ever escorted?"

  " Une more guinea," Papin tantalised, hand out once more. "When you can tell me how many, and when they come," Lewrie said instead, slyly chuckling. "And, if they're escorted. I assume they put into that wee harbour behind Le Verdon sur Mer? "

  "Sometime," Papin slowly allowed, with his own sly laugh. "What does lie behind the point? In the port, bay, and cove?"

  "M'sieur, you do not pay, I do not remember," Papin replied with an avaricious, oily grin. "Wish to know, I mus' go see. Zen you mus' pay me 'nozzer guinea. I do not go to Le Verdon zat often."

  "Try
this, then," Lewrie wheedled, handing over two shillings. "Where could I land boats and gather firewood and water without a risk of being attacked?" He spread a chart for Papin to look over.

  Papin took the silver coins and shoved them into his pocket. "I wish wood an' water, m'sieur, I go ashore on La Cote Sauvage. Spend night, sometime, off beach . . . here. Get to fish before ozzers 'oo 'ave sleep in port. Fresh stream, beau-coup trees . . . almos' no one live zere, an' no soldier. Presque jamais," he con-I eluded with a shrug.

  "Hardly ever, hey?" Lewrie translated, aloud, finding it droll. "Very well, then, Capitaine Papin. Fair enough. Merci for what you have told me so far. And, for all the wine, bread and butter, and the whisky. We must meet again . . . soon. Perhaps then, you will have learned more, and another guinea'd be a fair trade. Perhaps more, if you could learn how many troops there are here, say . . . within twenty miles of Royan or Pointe de Grave?"

  "Bon!" Papin cynically cried, "I 'ave ze devoirs, ze a-sign-e-ment? I am good boy, I win ze prize, hein? Oui, I do zis pour vous . . . even if you are cursed Anglais sanglant, hawn hawn!"

  Papin had thrown back the last of his rum, tucked the bottle in the large chest pocket of his smock, grabbed a second to take for his small crew—felt in his trouser pocket to re-count his money for a brief half-hour's work—and had gone on deck for his boat.

  * * * *

  "Now who's this'un?" Lewrie asked as they sidled up near another decent-sized boat, out fishing beyond the hook of Point Coober."Have we seen her before, Mister Urquhart?"

  They both peered at a single-masted boat of about thirty feet or so, rigged with a small jib and a gaff-hung mains'l. She was worn and shabby, and held but three crew, none of whom seemed alarmed by a British frigate. She and HMS Savage were four miles to seaward of the coast, so there could be no escape for her. Oddly, though, she steered towards the frigate, putting Lewrie in mind of a similar boat full of maniacs and powder kegs, who had tried to blow HMS Proteus out of the water off St. Domingue's north coast during the British invasion of that gory French possession, and the slave-army's rabid resistance. Lewrie almost felt an urge to steer away, let this one go, just in case the Frogs had gotten so frustrated by the loss of commerce that a screeching, hair-pulling official in Bordeaux had asked for volunteers full of patriotism and hatred who'd take a British warship with them!