Free Kings and Emperors by Dewey Lambdin Page B

frigates off Cabo de Gata, East of Gibraltar. Fine ships, fine crews, gallant captains … with the gunnery skills of so many chipmunks, and he’d taken both on, getting to windward of them and keeping the wind gage through a two-hour battle, forcing one to strike and the other to limp off for the nearest port, sinking an hour later.
    The way things are goin’, I may never see an enemy at close broadsides again! he fretted to himself; Twenty-eight years in the Navy, it’s been, and it’s all been shot and powder stink!
    He frowned heavily again as he pondered the possibility of Bonaparte’s eventual downfall, and peace. What sort of life would he have, then? A decade or so on half-pay with no new active commission, slowly going up the list of Post-Captains, a meaningless promotion to Rear-Admiral of the Blue, then a slow ascent of that list as elder officers died?
    I’ll whore and drink myself to an early grave, damned if I won’t! he thought; Just like my useless father!
    â€œMy, sir … so morose of a sudden,” Mountjoy said.
    â€œSo bored,” Lewrie amended, “and daunted by the prospects. Is there anything in your line that needs doing?”
    â€œCan’t think of anything off-hand,” Mountjoy told him. “And for now, Sir Hew needs you off Ceuta. You know … the duty you invented for yourself to avoid the gunboat squadron?”
    â€œOuch!” Lewrie spat, going for the champagne bottle.
    â€œNow, how far afield you carry that task, that may be up to you,” Mountjoy suggested with a sly wink. “You never know, Sir Hew may send you to Tetuán to fetch the garrison an hundred head of cattle.”
    What that filth would do to his ship didn’t bear thinking about; there’d be cow piss dripping onto the mess tables and hammocks of the upper gun-deck for days, and cow pats piling up as high as the weather deck gun-ports!
    â€œTetuán, hmm,” Lewrie mused aloud. “Ye know, I’ve not been to that port, yet. It might be a good idea t’make myself familiar with it.”
    â€œWell, if you like slave-markets, and insults ’cause you’re an infidel, perhaps,” Mountjoy chortled. “If you ain’t a Muslim, you’ll get the evil eye from one and all, even if they like your money.”
    â€œNot much by way of melons, grapes, or vegetables this time of year,” Lewrie mused some more, “but surely they’d still have grain in storage … wheat, millet, that couscous ? Sheep, goats, cattle, hmm.”
    â€œWhat are you thinking?” Mountjoy asked, puzzled by the sudden change in Lewrie’s mood from despondent to scheming-impish.
    â€œThey trade with anyone, right? Even the Spanish if they’ve solid coin?” Lewrie asked.
    â€œWell, yes, but—,” Mountjoy replied.
    â€œSir Hew’s convinced that Ceuta’s been re-enforced, with more guns, and at least two new regiments of troops,” Lewrie said. “That means more gunners, more mouths to feed. I don’t know how much they had in their stores before the re-enforcements, but I doubt that the ships that sneaked them there, from Algeciras, Tarifa, or Malaga, can keep ’em fed. They can’t sneak in a second time! It’s what, only ten miles by sea from Tetuán to Ceuta? Where else can the Dons get their provisions? I think I’ll wander a bit more far afield, as you said.”
    â€œI stand amazed, Captain Lewrie,” Mountjoy announced, standing up and bowing to him with his arms widespread. “Utter boredom inspires and awakens your slyness!”
    â€œSly? Me?” Lewrie scoffed, goggling at him.
    â€œOr do you prefer … low cunning?” Mountjoy teased.
    â€œI’ll call it curiosity t’begin with,” Lewrie said, laughing, “and if that leads to a little adventure—a successful adventure, mind—I may settle for the low