"I'll get my quill dipped sooner'r later, no fear, Alan. Venice is still there for me," Rodgers countered, coming to pour them both up to brimming "bumpers." "From what you an' Charlton told me of it, it's not all it's reputed to be, though. Though th' sportin' ladies do sound fetchin'. Griggs?" He called to his manservant. "Trot out another o' this claret 'fore supper. You'll dine aboard, o' course, Alan?"
"Only if you swear you won't get me thunderin' drunk, Benjamin," Lewrie scoffed. "How could I start our rumour and do all you expect with a thick head tomorrow?"
"Seen you in action afore, sir. Thick head or no, you'll be up for it. Griggs, damn yer eyes? Smartly, now!"
CHAPTER 4
Corfu was another mountaintop risen from the sea, so close to the Albanian, Ottoman-ruled mainland that the eastern pass by the old fortress of Kassiopi, which guarded Corfu's northern strait, was within heavy gun-range of the Balkan shore. They went south, skirting along the western coast instead, all the way to Cape Asprokavos before sailing north again for Corfu Town..
The island was shaped like an irregular hammer; the northern end and Mount Pandokrator formed the peen. It then tapered, trending southeast in an undulating series of wiggles, before the final eastward hump round Cape Asprokavos. In the middle of the island's eastern side was a cockspur, and upon that easterly-jutting cockspur's tip was Corfu Town, well sheltered from the fierce Boras of the Adriatic and those shrieking Levanters out of Turkey.
The harbour proper was on the north side of the cockspur peninsula, further protected by a massive breakwater and fortified seawall, under the towering battlements and gun-apertures of the New Fort, which lay on the harbours west. At the very tip of the peninsula was another fortress-the Citadel. The town lay between those two forts, crammed between the hills and the fortress walls. It was walled, itself, along the sea sides, and probably walled on the west and sou'west, too-quite sensibly-due to the island's importance to Venice for hundreds of years, and its proximity to their ancient foes just across the narrow straits.
Pylades, with her prizes, stood off-and-on in Garitsa Bay, south of the town and cockspur, slowly idling along under reduced sail as far south as the southern cape and back. She stayed well outside that newfangled three-mile limit of sovereignty that Venice claimed.
There were two small ships anchored in Garitsa Bay. And, did the colours they flew not lie, they were both Venetian traders-one a very shabby European-style brig, and the other a much older down-at-the-. heels felucca. Neither seemed alarmed to see British warships on the offing.
Jester entered harbour under reduced tops'ls, jibs and spanker, ghosting along on a light zephyr of a morning wind that barely gave her steer-ageway. In port, along the ancient stone quays, lay more vessels: more feluccas, more dhowlike coasters, a clutch of single-masted boats for inter-island travel to Ithaca and Paxos, called caiques. And there were fishing boats, of course. Another brace of Venetian merchant ships, too. And three foreign ships, one a Batavian Dutchman, a supposedly neutral Dane, and the last an outright French merchantman! These did show alarm as Jester came in between the harbour moles; even more alarm as she rounded up to the wind, which bared her starboard sides to the town and the ships as if she were about ready to open fire on them.
Lewrie smirked at the sight of them. And what was coming!
"Mister Crewe, open your starboard gun-ports!" He called down to the waist. "Ready, the salute! Eleven guns, no more."
"Aye aye, sir! 'Leven guns! Ready, number one starboard?" Mister Crewe shouted back. "Fire! If I weren't a gunner, I wouldn't be here… number two gun.. .fire! I've left my home, my wife an' all that's dear… number three gun… fire!"
The governor-general of the Ionians, what the Venetians termed the provveditore di Isoli del Levant, rated no more than an eleven-gun salute-the proper reply to what they might take as a 6th Rate would be a salute of eleven back. Noisy, stinky… but hardly dangerous.
"Christ, lookat 'em scamper!" Will Cony hooted, nudging Andrews in the ribs. "Like puttin' up a flock o' partridge, hey?"
"Fin' 'emselves a safe place ashoah, I'd wager, Will!" The cox'n grunted in like humour, to see the crewmen of the three merchant ships dash about like chickens with their heads cut off. And a fair number were discovering vital errands they suddenly had-in town!
"Mark that Dane, sir." Lieutenant Knolles snickered. "Her sailors are just as shy of us as the Frog sailors. A dead giveaway they're up to no good, too!"
"Aye, Mister Knolles." Lewrie chuckled. "We'll ask of her when we go ashore. Ready to let go, forrud! Hands aloft there! Brail up, all!"
"Hands on the braces… back the fore-tops'l, back the main tops'l!" Knolles contributed. "Lower away fores'ls… smartly, now!"
And Jester came to a stop, her sails disappearing quickly, just as the last gun of the salute barked forth, the tops'ls trying to wrap themselves round the masts as they braked her 'gainst the light winds.
"Let go!" Knolles added, followed by the roar and rumble of the best bower cable thundering through the larboard hawse-hole, the splash of the heaviest anchor as it plummeted into the harbour depths. Boats were being hauled to the entry-ports to larboard or starboard-to row out a kedge anchor from the stern, a slightly lighter cable mated to it. Deckhands stood by the after capstan-head, the heavy pawls in place, to drum her round once the kedge was set. Jester then faced the town with her starboard side, aligned lengthwise in the long west-to-east harbour channel between shore and breakwater, instead of lying foul of other traffic.
Gun-port lids were lowered and secured, the guns swabbed out and bowsed secure to the starboard side once more with tompions in. The bower cable was wrapped round the fore bitts, frapped and stoppered to it with lighter line, and the messenger cable to the fore-capstan was put back below on the cable-tiers. Sails were by then completely furled and gasketed, bound neatly to the jib-boom and bowsprit, or the lower boom of the spanker, aft on the mizzen. Sail-tending lines were flaked or flemished, or hung in huge bights along the pin-rails and fife-rails. A quick glance aft showed their cutter returning, with Mr. Hyde waving to signal that it was clear of the sagging bight of the kedge-cable. The men at the after-capstan could begin to haul it in and swing about the stern, which had paid off sou'west and eater-cornered.
"Well, damme…" Mister Buchanon swore. "Again! Slower'n treacle! Where's our salute, I ask ye?"
Neither fort-the New Fort nor the Citadel-showed the slightest sign of activity. It was Trieste all over again. Worse. At least at Trieste they'd gotten a reply to their salute-late and clumsy as it had been performed. Corfu, it seemed, couldn't even be bothered with replying. The only things that stirred atop their walls were the flags!
"Ship's proper-anchored, Captain," Knolles reported about fifteen minutes later. "Your gig's below the starboard entry-port."
"Thankee, Mister Knolles." Lewrie nodded to him, doffing his hat in salute to Knolles's lifted hat. "I'll go ashore, then. Wish I had Mister Mountjoy aboard. At least he could speak some Italian."
"All that's wanting is to rig quarterdeck awnings, sir. And I'll see to that, soon as you've left the deck," Knolles promised.
"Very well, Mister Knolles. You are in charge until I return. Whenever that might be. I'll send word 'bout the prisoners soon as I get permission to land 'em," Alan told him, tugging his clothes neat. "Assuming there really are some Venetian authorities to talk with."