Brasseur laid out a litany of woe, as the initial high hopes of a reasoned, logical, and bloodless call for change had become a revolution, turning more violent and capriciously murderous with each passing month. Locals in the Medoc, in Saintonge cross the Gironde, were torn 'twixt monarchy or its complete eradication. The provinces of Vendee and Charente, not so far north of Medoc, had risen in counter-rebellion in favour of the King, in defence of the Catholic religion, which the revolutionaries had banned and stripped of its riches, which brought blood, murder, plunder, and no-quarter combat, and the people of Medoc had shivered in dread of their own neighbours as the armies of the Directory marched closer, with their drum-head courts and guillotines in tow like siege-artillery. After King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette were executed in '93, and the madmen of the Terror had begun to lop the heads off anyone even slightly ennobled (or who had worked for the monarchy, even serving girls who had styled the hair of the rich and titled!), the Medoc had turned on its own, and long-term spites, grudges, envies, or debts had turned to accusations of being monarchist reactionaries. True enthusiasm for the Revolution had gone away, replaced by fear for one's own safety, and dread of neighbours!
Then had come conscription to raise the world's first enormous army of citizen-soldiers from every class, the levee en masse, so the frontiers could be defended against what had felt like all the rest of Europe.
The levee had swept up Brasseur's eldest son, his younger brother, and both his in-laws' sons. One died in Alsace under Kellerman, one died of the Black Plague near Gaza under Napoleon Bonaparte, one had come home half-blind and crippled from Bonaparte's first Italian Campaign, and… Brasseur had not heard from his son, posted on the Savoian border, in months, and feared the worst.
"May be good, zat zose fools in Paris 'ave been swept aside," Brasseur morosely stated. "All pomp an' silliness, ze men of ze Directory. Revolution counter-coup, fighting among zemselves? Ze new calendar, which make no sense. Centimetres, metres, an' kilometres, ze gram, centigram, an' kilogram bah! Still 'ave church in village, still 'ave priest, but, when fort is finish, an' garrison come, will zey allow notre church stay open? Or, turn it to Temple of Reason !" Brasseur sneered.
He thought it was good that General Napoleon Bonaparte was now First Consul, after his successful coup d'etat that had removed the tyrannical and illogical Directory. Maybe Bonaparte would abandon his military career and sue for peace, then concentrate on righting many wrongs to set France to rights. But Brasseur also thought that the crowned heads of Prussia, Austria, and Great Britain could not tolerate revolutionary, Republican, and successfully militant France… not for very long, if they wished to keep their own citizens in line and docile. Too many cast-iron Liberty Trees had been set up across Europe. With America, now France, to emulate…
"Peut-etre, Capitaine, what 'as 'appen in France will be good."
"So long as France doesn't feel duty-bound to spread revolution round the globe," Lewrie countered.
" Cork is out of bottle, peut-etre?" Brasseur rejoined, smiling in a world-weary manner. "An', peut-etre, France must be beaten, for example, 'ow not to become ze Republic."
Here now, that sounds intriguin'! Lewrie thought; what's this man offerin ?
"How so, Capitaine Brasseur?" he asked.
"Do ze Dutch need guillotines to be ze Batavian Republic? Or, ze Piedmon-tese, Venetians, ze ozzer states in Italy? Zey depose ze royalty, but not behead, or purge zeir peoples, m'sieur. If France is no more aggressive, if France 'as more care for things at home… if France 'as to look West to protect ze coast, au lieu de… uhm, 'ow you call…?"
"Instead of?" Lewrie supplied, wishing he could cross fingers, for his French was awful.
"Ah, oui, instead of, ah… looking to expand east, comprendre?"
"Perhaps a flea-bite along the Biscay coast, every now and then, a repeat of the Franco-British expedition on the Vendee coast," Lewrie carefully posed, "might keep Bonaparte looking over his shoulder, not looking for new conquests into the Germanies?"
Keep the bastard from plannin' an invasion of England, certain.1'Lewrie grimly thought.
"Ze… flea-bite, oui, M'sieur Capitaine," Brasseur gravely replied, with a slow, sage nod of his head. "Ze many flea-bite, hein}"
"Hellish-hard, that," Lewrie told him, " 'less sufficient forces could be scraped t'gether, and a good place discovered to strike, with no intelligence of local sentiments, opposing forces available… all that. One would require a great deal of factual information, m 'sieur."
Brasseur left off petting the cats and leaned forward, elbows atop his knees, and rolling his glass between his hands. "Such facts could be found out, Capitaine," he said in a soft, guarded voice, and with a sly glare in his eyes. "All I suffer… all neighbours suffer… I owe la Revolution nozzing, m 'sieur. Last son a moi is sixteen. Revolution take my eldest… do zey take him, aussi? 'E become gunner at Pointe de Grave fort, or march away to die in faraway Prussia ? Bah! Peu! Peut-etre, a flea-bite 'ere, m'sieurl" Brasseur declared in heat, before calming, and, still hunkered over, sipped at his drink.
"I speak of zis to votre Commandeur Hogue," he added. " 'E say 'e must speak to you, or I speak to you myself."
"If," Lewrie cautiously supposed aloud, "if you were to supply the information which made a 'flea-bite' here possible, might you and your family require a means of escape, M'sieur Brasseur… Jean?"
"It is possible, if ze authorities discover 'oo talk to you," Brasseur cagily allowed, rubbing his chin and shrugging. "But, zere are so many fishermen you stop each day, 'oo is to say which man tell you? What is it you need to know before the flea bites, hein?"
"Your village," Lewrie said, daring to trust him, at last. "I can't see round the point, so… your little harbour, the bay north of Le Verdon, the cove south of the mole. How far along the construction of the battery, how many troops already there… and, how many troops on the south side of the Gironde there are within two hours' march. When you have discovered all I ask of you, stray out to sea again, and… hoist a long pendant from your mast-tip. I note you have none now. I shall pay guineas for what you learn, Capitaine Brasseur. Say, a guinea now, as well?"
"Non, m'sieur," Brasseur replied. "Non ze guinea. Better ze silver shillings. Spend gold coin, an' ze gendarmerie take notice of zis, and suspect. Besides, I 'ave not yet sold you my fish, hein?" Brasseur said with a wide smile and a laugh.
"Done, and done!" Lewrie declared, reaching for his coin purse.
Lewrie ended up with another basket full of a medley of oysters, clams, mussels, and shrimp, along with Brasseur's wife's recipe for the famous Biscay mussel dish, mouclade, which he would serve his officers that very evening. Brasseur had also sold the wardroom and the Midshipmen's cockpit some large fish he had trawled on his way out to sea.