Dewey Lambdin - H.M.S. COCKEREL

"Cony, she makes three inches in eighteen hours, why hadn't she already sunk at her moorings?" Lewrie gaped.

"Well, sir, my guess be," Porter stuck in, " 'long as she's light-draughted, she'd be fine. Suck in slowlike. But this many folks an' tonnage aboard, full casks and all, she's back on 'er proper waterline… maybe an inch'r two over h'it. We laded 'er deep, sir."

"I see," Lewrie fumed, clasping his hands in the small of his back again and pacing off his sudden fretfulness. "Nothing much we may do about it. Can't go back to the basin and swap for another, can we, now? Is she wormed? And how badly?"

"Aye, sir," Porter confided. "First time we pumped her dry, we checked, and they's some soft patches, sure, but she was mostly sound. 'At Froggie bosun, 'e told us she'd been careened, breamed, an' copper redone in May. Thought she'd weeded too fast, but I took mat for sittin' idle, 'stead o' sailin' h'it off. An' then, we found 'ese. Show th' cap'um, Cony."

Cony offered them a handful of nails to look over. By the light of the binnacle lantern, Alan could see that some were copper and some were iron. Some were bent, as if they'd been driven badly, and pulled.

"Oh, Christ," Lewrie said.

"Sacre-bleu," de Crillart moaned.

" 'As right, sirs," Cony agreed, with a disgusted expression over shoddy workmanship. "Aye, they recoppered 'er, but we foun' these all mixed t'gether, so we think… they got sloppy an' used iron nails, to drive through copper platin', when they laid on fresh stuff, sirs."

"But ev'ryone know, copper an' iron ensemble, in sea-water, zey eat each ozzer," de Crillart cried. "Merde alors, I know ze peegs are lazy, mais not… not stupeed! Paysans connardes, cons comme la lune! Zut! An' now some of ze copper fall away, oui? Expose ze cloth, an'ze caulking? Zat eez ware ve leak, hein? Ils sont dйbiles!"

"Uh, yessir, I guess that'd be h'it, Mister de Crillart," the bosun nodded with an uncomprehending shrug to Charles' stream of invectives. "Uhm, 'bout th' caulkin', Mister Lewrie, sir? Been probin' down below. Like I say, ain't got no big leaks, just seepin', so slow we can't spot it. But some o' th' lowest down, 'long th' keel members… looks like h'it wuz a dirty job o' work, an' they didn' put much effort to h'it."

"Scrimped on oakum and tar, paying the seams, Mister Porter?"

"Aye, sir."

"Damn my eyes," Lewrie spat, putting a hand on his hip, staring aloft. Then realised how foolish he looked. "Right, then, we made four inches of seepage in… well, no, yesterday noon 'til noon today… and it's almost…" He pulled out his cheap replacement watch to add up the hours. But it had stopped. "Buggery, damned clock," he grunted, giving it a shake. "French, I ask you-oh, sorry, Charles."

The forecastle watch bell chimed; six bells of the second dog-half-past seven in the evening.

"Let's say, thirty-two hours to make four inches, that's an inch in every eight hours. Do we work the chain pumps for, say… one hour every eight, and should the seepage not get worse, pray God… we may be alright."

"The hands, though, sir…" Porter winced.

"I know, they've enough on their plates as it is. But we do have all this idle soldiery aboard. The Royal Irish, the French…? Put it to 'em nicely, and we could use them on the pump levers. Charles, you're so much more diplomatique than I, especially with your fellow Frenchmen. Mm, perhaps you might be the one to spread the word? Quietly?"

"D'accord, mon capitaine," de Crillart said with a wry look.

"Might let 'em drill a bit, too," Lewrie decided on a whim. "Get organised. The Major de Mariel in overall command, Lieutenant Kennedy and your brother as his captains? It might keep them out of mischief. And make 'em feel as if they're earning their passage. Appoint some as masters-at-arms, too. Sentries, like Marines. Especially on the magazine and such. Found children dashing in and out of there this afternoon, wild as red Indians. That'll spare our ordinary and able seamen, French or British, and our experienced landsmen too much work."

"Aye, sir," Porter agreed.

"I weel tell zem, mon ami," de Crillart agreed.

"Damme, leaks or no, I'll tell you all, it feels mighty good to be aboard a ship again," Lewrie smiled, revealing too much, being too open for a proper captain. But knowing that they felt the same way and would forgive his lack of august aloofness, for he said no more than any of them might, and thus spoke for them all.

Eight o'clock came and went. Full darkness. The skies were now clearer, the winds dryer, though still cold. They should be starting to burn the French ships, he thought, but there was no sign of that. Some brief firefly glitters on the hills around Mal-bousquet, from L'Eguillette and Balaguer, bright, brief little yellow sparks. Musketry, Alan imagined. A fire or two in Toulon proper… sans culottes' looting and revenge? Abandoned Royalists' homes being trashed? There were redder, longer-lasting sparks now, appearing to come from Dubrun or Millaud… a faint drumming. Light artillery, what the Republicans could man-haul to the shore. Musketry sweeping slowly forward like a grass fire towards the arsenals, the warehouses and the dockyards, downhill from Malbousquet and Missicy. From the heights above Toulon.

Nine o'clock, and still no signal to weigh anchors. Brisk little exchanges of fire, even closer to the dockyards. More light artillery winking amber from the shores.

"Ze end," de Crillart moaned at his side, suddenly. "Ma belle France. Pauvre France. I see 'er no more."

"We'll be back, Charles," Lewrie insisted grimly. "A year. We'll beat 'em, and then you can go back. The Vendйe, up in arms…"

"Ah, a year…" Charles grinned sadly. "C'est dommage. I 'ave nozzing zere anymore. Ze France I know, she eez gone fo'ever. An' ze one een 'er place, I do not weesh to know. She be destroyed, beaucoup de poverty, sadness. D'abord, we lose nos titles… ensuite, we lose our land. Our monnaie, phfft, perdu, mos' of eet. Now, we lose our country."

"There's still the Royalist French Squadron, Charles," Alan reminded him. "They'll need officers, captains…"

"Zere be no squadron, mon ami," de Crillart countered. "Votre roi George, 'e 'ave no need for nous. 'E 'ave eez own Marine Royale, an 'e canno' pay for bo'z. Englan', she pay monnaie pour soldats… for armies, not anozzer Navy. Non. An' no place for officeur franзais in you' Navy. I s'ink I am done viz mon service."

"Any plans, then?"

"I s'ink I like to go to America," Charles chuckled. "Oui, America, Alain! Wan I serve een Chesapeake, ware ve battle you an' I… I see beaucoup de fin' land. Empty, America. Room for many. Maryland, I adore, mos' of all. We 'ave la monnaie, un peu, encore. Passage, an' ze bit of land. Work 'ard, save… mak' crops? Grow riche, encore… peut-кtre."

"Didn't think the Rebels cared for royalty, Charles," Alan warned. "Sure you're doing the right thing? And how would Louis feel about it? No one to call him Chevalier, over there, honour his bloodlines."

"Louis, oui," de Crillart heaved a heavy sigh, pulling his nose in Gallic fashion. " 'E may not care for America. So eager to fight… regain eez title? America may not care for eem, oui. Mon Dieu… ze famille! We may not chose zem, on'y abide? As 'ead of famille, I mus' do ze best for zem. But, Louis eez not boy, 'e mus' mak' eez own way, eef 'e disagree. C'est dommage!"

"You could come to England," Lewrie suggested.

"Pardon, Alain," Charles objected. "Nevair fit, zere. Live on ze charitй, tolerated? Scorned? Nous sommes les Catholiques, et enemy ancien. Toujours, we be… suspect. An' remember, Alain… ze Comandanet de Esquevarre, 'ow 'e say Toulonese are cold an'… 'tight-arses'? Not like eez Espagnols? Bien, I am French. To me, les Anglais are tight-arses. You, non, pardon, mon ami. You are not like ze ozzer Anglais I 'ave meet. I sometime s'ink you 'ave made ze grand gentilhomme franзais! Sometime, I talk vis you, I am so amaze you are anglais, les bras m'en tombent, uhm… so amaze, my arms fall off!"

"You're not the first person to point that out," Lewrie chuckled, thinking of his past in English society. "French or English."

"Now, ze Chesapeake," de Crillart went on wistfully. "Ships an' boatyards, some sea trade for us, n'est-ce pas? Maryland… ver' intйressant people, ze Amйricains, Alain. Ev'ryz'ing zer, new. Zey accept better? Maryland, she eez found' on freedom.

You' Church of England… Catholique, dissenters, Moravians, ze Hughenots, even ze… Queevers?"

"Quakers," Alan offered.

"Oui, Quakers. Tous йgal, all equal. Zere, no one say ze poor stay poor, illiterate stay dumb, 'ere are peasant, zere are nobles."

"Damme, Charles, but you sound like the very worst died-in-the-wool Revolutionary!"

"Ah, mon ami, remembre…" de Crillart laughed out loud, tapping his nose once more. "I waz een le Йtats-Gйnйral, I waz ze rйvolutionnaire! Not zere radical kin', on'y. An', someday, ve grow riche, peut-кtre? Monnaie eez title en America. Become success, et voilа… nous sommes l'aristoc-racie, encore! Peut-кtre, not riche? Zen, we be on'y bourgeois… a leetle land, a leetle trade. 'Ave been bourgeois, en Normandie… even wan ve 'ave titles. All ze same, aussi. Build new, geef maman peace for 'er las' years. Fin' Sophie a fine 'usband, vis land, an' monnaie. Marry, moi-mкme, peut-кtre, once we 'ave sйcuritй."

"About Sophie, Charles, surely you must know she…"

"Ah, oui, j'sais, moi, elle m'adore, mais.:. eez child. Cousine, trop, too… close? Mon coeur waz tak' il y a longtemps… long ago? A neighbour en Normandie. Elle nous a quittй… she go away from us. Ze guillotine. I…" de Crillart hunched into his watch-coat collar and hat. "I no weesh to speak of 'er, s'il vous plaоt, mon ami."

"Well…" Lewrie shrugged, into his own. So much for that, he thought. There was a story Charles wasn't telling, perhaps might never tell another living soul. But it was a closed subject. "Oui."

'Toucher petite Sophie, Alain…" de Crillart said, after some minutes of uneasy silence between them. "Une plus d'emmerdement. You an' Phoebe?"

"Shit."

"Oui, mon ami," de Crillart snickered, sounding as if he enjoyed bringing the matter up. "C'est trиs drфle. Louis, 'e eez furious vis you, zat you lodge Phoebe in ze great-cabins vis people of ze aristocracy… ze Quality, you say en Angleterre? Louis eez insult zat for ze voyage, eez chиre cousine Sophie 'ave to associate vis any personnes а bas naissance… lowborn, hein? D'abord, 'e warr-un Sophie, an' order 'er to 'ave nozzing to do vis Phoebe, tell 'er elle est sale courtesan. Zut alors, en suite, 'e tell maman. Et maman…"

"Christ, her, too?"

"Oui, aussi," de Crillart all but hooted with droll mirth, taking time to get his breath back, snickering and wheezing. "Maman she say eez no more zan she s'ought ze anglais man do, zey all 'ave no morals. Zen, maman eez furious vis me! Zat I associate vis youl Like eet eez catching? Ooh, la… zen Sophie eez ze furious. Sophie eez affectueuse vis Phoebe. S'ink she eez trиs amusante et charmante? Merde alors, she eez scandalise, naturellement, but still like 'er. Not know what to do… An', Sophie eez furious vis Louis, zat 'e dare order 'er 'oo she be vis. Louis say 'e weel not 'ave eez intended… besmirch?… and Sophie eez more furious… she say she eez nevair eez intended! Sophie eez furious vis you."

"Well, why not?" Lewrie chuckled. "Everybody else seems to be."