"Aye, sir. I'll have a glass o' tea poured fer you, too. Th' same colour, p'raps this Frenchie won't know th' diff'rence, an' won't be insulted," his shrewd cabin servant replied. "Long as ye just sip at it slow, Cap'm," he cheekily added, "an' don't give the game away."
"Point taken, Aspinall," Lewrie laughed. "Off with you."
Back came the launch, to the starboard entry-port this time, as a sign of "honour" rendered, even to a civilian Frenchman. Four hands and four Marines made the saluting-party, and Bosun's Mate Ellison did a pipe on his silver call worthy of a Post-Captain, though it looked wasted on the fellow who scrambled up the battens and man-ropes.
"Capitaine… bienvenu a bord," Lewrie said, going so far as to doff his hat, and receiving a sketchy knuckle to the right brow below the burly Frenchman's knit cap. "Parlez-vous l'Anglais?"
" Oui, I do," the husky fellow admitted.
"Captain Alan Lewrie, His Brittanic Majesty's Navy."
"Jean Brasseur, Capitaine," the fellow answered. "Long ago, we are nam-ed Brass. You' Commandeur Ho… Hogue, oui} … he speak to me, uhm… las' week? Does he mention zis?"
"Not yet, no sir," Lewrie said, mystified. "Brass, did ye say your name was?"
"Long ago, oui, it was Brass," the fellow said with a chuckle of faint amusement. "Now, we 'ave live here so long in Aquitaine, we are known as Brasseur. Long ago, we were English, but now Francais. You are serving ze rum, ze arrack, like ze ozzers, oui?"
"Whatever you wish, Captain Brasseur," Lewrie told him, becoming both fascinated and wary. Was the man a French agent who hoped to dispel mistrust with such a tale, so the Frogs could spin him lies?
"I adore ze fine brandy, Capitaine" Brasseur suggested, with a broader grin. "Aussi, uhm… also, I have ze fine fish to sell."
"Then, pray join me below," Lewrie offered, "where you may have an excellent aged brandy, and we may discuss what you have to sell."
Like all men who grow from boyhood to middle age in the fishing trade, Jean Brasseur was a weathered man, with exposed flesh seared to a dry, tanned leather. His hands were large and callused by nets and sail-tending lines, by oars and hard labour, his fingers blunt and his nails square-cut, with one or two missing. Like Papin and so many of the other fishermen that Savage had come across, Brasseur wore a loose serge de Nimes smock over a plain ecru shirt and faded dark blue slop-trousers.
Unlike the others-perhaps for this meeting?-he was new-shaven, and his long, dark, and curly hair looked fresh-washed, too… and he didn't even half smell of fish!
"Ver' good brandy, merci, Capitaine," Brasseur said with a grin of pleasure. "Zese days, good brandy 'ard to find."
"More than welcome," Lewrie said, playing host and sipping at his tea- slowly, as Aspinall had directed. "You say your kin were once English?"
"All Aquitaine own-ed by les Anglais, three century, Capitaine," Brasseur explained with a large Gallic shrug, hitching himself upright on his chair. "Is 1400s when France take it back, at last. Mafamille come as Anglais soldier… John Brass, peut-etre around ze 1390s? 'E marry local jeune fille, an' reside in Bordeaux for few year, but move to coast when France conquers. Zey change name to be more French, and, were always Catholique. End in ze quiet village Le Verdon sur Mer, away from trouble? And, even if Medoc an' Aquitaine is French, les Anglais come for wines, trade, ze claret, which you Anglais must 'ave, hein?" Brasseur said with a wry chuckle. "We are trade wiz ships coming an' going, last-minute purchases. Enfin, take up ze fishing, wi{small trade in Medoc wines, which are ze bon marche, not like Bordeaux merchant."
"A quiet little place, indeed," Lewrie carefully began to ask, "at least 'til the war began. And, your army began to build the battery on the point."
"Ah, mais oui," Brasseur grumbled, "is no more ze nice, quiet. Noisy worker from Bordeaux, chip-chip-chip on stone, dawn to dark, an' ze mule 'orse, an' ox make so much stink an' merde, oh la!"
"You're quite a way from Le Verdon this morning, though, sir," Lewrie pointed out (rather cagily, he thought to himself). "Do you always fish this far from home waters? "
"Oh, we 'ave more zan enough, before worker and soldier comes," Brasseur breezily dismissed, "ze mussel, s'rimp an' lobster, ze clam? Wiz zo many now 'oo wish, ze beds grow thin, an' I must sail far out for big fish, an'…'ow you call, poach ze beds of La Palmyre for ze oyster, lobster, an' mussel. 'Ave you ever had ze mouclade, Capitaine, ze fresh mussel in white wine? Mmm, mag-nifiqueV Brasseur said, with a kiss of his bunched fingers as he made yummy sounds. "O la, chatsl" he cried as he espied Toulon and Chalky, who had come to see the new cabin guest, slinking almost to scratching range. "Boris amis, les chats. 'Ave some, moi. What fisherman does not, hein? Hawn hawn hawnf Id, minets… ici, venei," Brasseur coaxed, puckering his lips and making "kiss-kiss" enticements, even essaying a meow. And Toulon and Chalky got up enough courage to sniff at his trousers. After that, it was instant adoration, for the man's clothes did bear a faint reek of fish.
"The big black-and-white'un is Toulon. Where I got him," Lewrie told his guest, to answer Brasseur's raised brow. "In '94, at the siege. The littl'un, that's Chalky… Crayeux? Came off a French brig in the West Indies in '97."
"When young man, I am in West Indies," Brasseur declared with a broad grin of pleased surprise as he stroked both cats, who found the aromas on his fingers as tantalising as his trouser legs. "Was in ze Navy wiz Admiral, Comte de Grasse. Battle of ze Chesapeake… zen at Yorktown. Malheureux… unfortunate, was axissi at ze Battle of ze Saintes, where you' Admiral Rodney defeat us." "/was at Yorktown!" Lewrie exclaimed in like enthusiasm to meet a veteran from the opposite side of his early adventures. "We got out the night before the surrender. So, you were French Navy," Lewrie said, with an idle thought in the back of his mind that the man might still be.
"To end of Americain war, oui, Capitaine. Come 'ome, sail wiz merchant trade a few year, but… I visit Le Verdon, 'ave ze rencontre wiz jeune fille I know of old, we marry, an'… she wish zat I no more go away so long, so… give up sea, buy boat, an' fish wiz mon father.
"Brother a moi," Brasseur said, turning sad, "was Navy, aussi. Stay in, make…'ow you call.. .petty ojficier? Helas, at ze Battle of Nile, nous a quitte. .,'e is gone away from us."
"My condolences for your loss, m'sieur," Lewrie dutifully told Brasseur, topping off the man's brandy.
"Was time I think to go hack to Navy," Brasseur said, "when ze Revolution just begin, but…" He heaved a sigh and stuck his nose in his glass for a deep sip. "Many good people 'ere in Medoc are for ze Assembly, end of King Louis's rule, an' become free Republicains like America, but zen…"