"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?"