"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!
By the prickin' o' me thumbs, somethin' wicked this way comes? Lewrie thought.
"I believe I've seen her before, sir," Lt. Urquhart carefully ventured. "Something 'bout her sail patches, but… much closer down to Soulac than here, I think it was."
Lewrie peered at her with his telescope a piece more, then took a look about Savage's decks. The swivel guns were manned and ready in the iron stanchion mounts atop the bulwarks, and at least ten Marines and a Corporal were in full kit and red uniforms, following his standing orders for dealing with so many inspections and searches.
She comes alongside, an 18-pounder ball dropped overside would sink her in a blink, he decided.
"She looks as if she wants t'be stopped, Mister Urquhart, so… we'll oblige," Lewrie said. "Fetch the ship to, if you please, sir. Cox'n?" he called out.
"Aye, sor!" Liam Desmond piped up from below the quarterdeck in the waist, where he had been idly chaffering with his mates in Lewrie's boat crew.
"Bring the launch round from towing astern, and be ready to inspect yon fishing boat, Desmond. The usual drill… Marines and a Midshipman… this morning it's… Mister Mayhall," Lewrie ordered.
"Aye, sir!" the Midshipman cried, eager for something to do.
It took only minutes to swing Savage up to the wind, haul round the launch to the larboard entry-port, and get Desmond's oarsmen and a quartet of Marines and Midshipman Mayhall aboard. For a minute or so, it looked as if the fishing boat might try to come alongside, but just as soon as they saw the launch being manned, her captain took in sail and let her rock and toss on the ocean's scend to await a boarding.
"Bottle o' rum in my cabins, Aspinall," Lewrie casually ordered. "Same as usual. And lay out my coin purse. You know the drill."