A King`s Commander

CHAPTER
2

Pipes squealing, Marine muskets and deck-officers' swords presented in salute, as Commander Lewrie attained the entry port of Agamemnon, just after Captain Cockburn. The dance of gigs roundabout to line up in order of seniority had almost seemed laughable; had it not been deadly serious to some of the participants.

"Welcome aboard, sir," an Agamemnon Lieutenant greeted Lewrie's safe arrival on the starboard gangways. "Might you join the rest, on the quarterdeck yonder, for just a moment, sir, till…"

"Certainly, sir." Alan smiled, looking forward to an opportunity to speak to Fremantle again, that tall, laconic stalwart; and, to become acquainted with the rest of the captains of their squadron, who had so far been faceless names aboard distant ships.

"Captain Fremantle, good morning to you, sir."

"Lewrie… hey," Thomas Fremantle replied, never known for the use of five words, when one or two would do. "Keep well?"

"Indeed, sir. And free of our admiral, sure to keep better."

An audible sniff to his right, which turned Lewrie's attention to a very young post-captain, a prim, upright, almost delicately handsome sprog with an eager and earnest expression on his "phyz." Though at first glance, a moment before, that "phyz" had borne the not-quite-with-us-yet blandness and perpetual weak-mouthed pout of someone from the peerage, the sort who felt nigh-overwhelmed but was determined not to show it to lesser mortals. Now, a long vane of a nose, with a pug-tilted tip was lifted high in what appeared to be sudden revulsion.

"Allow me to name myself, sir. Alan Lewrie, the Jester sloop." Lewrie beamed with malicious glee to so discomfit such a paragon. "And I believe you are Captain Cockburn, of the Meleager frigate?"

Of course, he'd known; all he'd had to do was see from where a captain's gig had come, and observe the rigid order of boarding.

"It's announced Coe-burn, sir," the young sprog announced in a testy snap, looking Lewrie up and down like a disbelieving tailor.

"Your servant, Captain Coe-burn," Lewrie offered. "And I stand corrected." Beaming on, as if nothing could deter a sunny smile.

"Really, Commander Lewrie, our admiral…" Cockburn's petulant thin-lipped mouth grimaced in disapproval.

"Savior of Corsica, sir," Lewrie asserted quite cheerfully.

"Uhm, yess… though you sounded less than supportive of…" Cockburn frowned, as if disarmed; or at least confused.

"Spot o' bother at home, we heard, Lewrie?" Fremantle interjected quickly, to defuse the situation. "Better now?"

"Quite, Captain Fremantle," Alan said, allowing his intercessor to lead him away, quite thankfully. "Winter agues. 'Twas a near thing but my wife and children have recovered, sir, and thankee for askin'."

He caught a testy sniff from Cockburn, to his rear. Was he one of those hidebound in the Navy who had no use for a married officer, suspecting them of a lack of zeal and attention to duties?

Damn him, then, Lewrie thought quickly; senior to me or no, he's barely a jot over twenty-one. Already made "post" when most his age are lucky to be commissioned, at all? As much the "boy-captain" as Nelson looked at Turk's Island, I swear. Touch of the brogue or burr to him, no matter how "plumby" he speaks, too. Irish or Scottish? Lewrie wondered to himself. No, definitely a burr-maybe Lowland variety. Fair complected like a Scot. Your daddy a trewed Lowland Scot laird, young Captain Coe-burn? No knees for the proper kilt?

As he and Fremantle conversed, he turned a corner of his eye to measure Cockburn; just an inch or so taller than his own five-feet-nine, perhaps no heavier than his own twelve stone. Courtier-slim, elegant in his carriage… aware of himself, too.

Lt. George Andrews, Agamemnon's first officer, joined them, and Fremantle drifted away. "Bit of a rigid stick, hmm? Cockburn?" Alan inquired softly. "Know much about him, do you, sir?"

"Oh, him sir?" Lieutenant Andrews shrugged. "The usual story, Commander Lewrie. A long schooling, like most of us, carried on ship's books without actually serving, till he was fourteen or so." Andrews smiled. "Went into his first ship in eighty-six… passed his board, first try, in

ninety-two, I believe. Was aboard Brittania, with Hotham, when the war began…"

"No wonder he didn't like my scurrilous comments." Lewrie almost winced, beginning to wonder if he'd tromped through the manure again, in his best boots.

"A scurrilous comment 'bout our admiral, sir?" Andrews recoiled in mock horror. "Probably not a jot on what I've already heard, but… then into Victory under Hood as tenth lieutenant. Then into Speedy after a few months. You know the benefits of the flagship's wardroom, and may we all thank God for it, I say. Had Speedy for just a little over four months, and did incredibly good service in her, too. Then was jumped to "post" into Inconstant when Captain Montgomerie had to ask for relief."

"Mercurial." Lewrie sighed.

"A month in her, then into Meleager, Commander Lewrie." Andrews chuckled. "No, I should think mercurial can't quite convey how quickly he's rising! A good enough sort, I've gathered. Captain Nelson thinks the world of him. Sober, high-minded, a taut hand… though a bit of a stickler. Stiff and stuffy, but…" Andrews shrugged again. "Why?"

"Just want to know with whom I'm dealing, Lieutenant Andrews," Lewrie discounted. "After all, we'll be depending on each other…"

"Oh, I get your meaning, sir." Andrews brightened. "Haven't a worry in the world with him at your back, sir. When it comes to combat, Captain Cockburn's a perfect Tartar. Doesn't look the sort, does he? But then, neither does Captain Nelson, were one to judge solely 'pon a fellow's appearance, Commander Lewrie. Though I must say, you appear as… dare I say, sir?… as dashing as your past exploits repute you to be?" Andrews drew a finger down his own cheek, as if to scribe the cutlass scar on Lewrie's. "God help the French, Commander Lewrie, our captain remarked when he learned Jester, and 'Ram-Cat' Lewrie were to be part of our squadron."

It was quite refreshing for Lewrie, now that he was somewhat a "senior" officer, to be toadied to, gushed at, to have a subordinate "piss down his back" as he had over the years to senior officers. All he could do was blush in surprise, scuff his shoes, and make a stab at "shy" noises.

"Ah?" Lieutenant Andrews chirped, when a midshipman came to his side. "Very well, Mister Nisbet. Gentlemen, sirs? Captain Nelson is now able to receive you, and allow me to express his apologies for keeping you waiting. If you will follow me, sirs…?"

Nelson's stepson, Josiah Nisbet, Lewrie gathered, looking that somewhat portly, smug young man over; God help Nelson, he thought; as bad as old Forrester, back in Desperate. And thinking about old times in the American Revolution, he could not help wondering… one of his old captains, aboard Desperate-Tobias Treghues-one of God's Own Cuckoos, he. Offend him once, and you were in his bad books forever. And I think I just offended another of his tribe, Cockburn. Well then, God help me … again!

Stewards circulated, trotting out glasses and wine as senior men took seats near Nelson's desk, and the rest stood as close as they were able. It was a Tuscan red, a tad dry and puckery, but it was as close as Nelson might come to a proper "Welcome Aboard" claret, after a year or more in the Mediterranean.

"Gentlemen, good day to you all," Nelson began once they were supplied. "I should like to start by proposing a toast. To our squadron. To us."

"To us!" they chorused, tipping back their glasses.

"It is a fragile, and may soon seem like an arduous and frustrating, task upon which we have been embarked," Nelson continued. "One, I trust… given your zeal for its performance… which shall not prove to be unrewarding, or absolutely vital to our cause. But one that may seem to pose you on tenterhooks, should this duty be pursued properly. Top-up for you? And then I will reveal it to you."

The stewards came around again, and Lewrie found a place to slouch against a carline post with his second glass in his hand.

"We are, as you may know, under orders to liaise with the Austrian Army, and their allies the Piedmontese, commanded by General de Vins. To be his left flank, as it were, and act as a wing of his cavalry might, at sea, to scout out and discover, then harass and destroy, any attempt by the French to advance eastward along the coast. General de Vins aims to advance west, clearing the French from those ports and fortified towns of the Genoese Riviera, containing French expansion, then driving them back behind their own borders. Eventually, it is hoped," Nelson said forcefully, "he will bring them to battle and destroy them, clearing the way for a second invasion of the French portion of the Riviera and Provence. That task is made daunting by the nature of the country. Inland, there are steep mountain roads, little better than Corsican goat paths, these narrow passes that are easily defended. Suppling his army inland will be most difficult. And equally difficult for the French, do you see," he said, sweeping a hand over a large map on his desk, at which they all craned their necks to peruse.

"The French aim is to spread eastward, seizing the Genoese Republic, Piedmont… then all of the Italian peninsula. We've checked them at sea, so far, so the army France assembled to retake Corsica has been diverted… to here, east of Toulon. They come forward slowly, depending on coastal merchant ships for supply. Hence the necessity for our squadron in these waters, to harass their trade… and to protect ours. We are, gentlemen, much like a cavalry vedette or piquet-post, a force flung forward-most, at the very lance-tip of contact with our foe. We may help delay, therefore assuring the defeat of, their plans. Or, we may most surely lose this campaign entire. For the time," Nelson told them proudly, "we are the most vital naval squadron in the Mediterranean. Perhaps in all of European waters. Things…" Nelson was forced to admit, sobering, "have not gone entirely in our favor.,."

He outlined the reverses the Coalition had suffered. The Austrian army under General Coburg had been defeated, and run out of Belgium. An Austro-Prussian force across the Rhine had been run back to the east side, which forced the Prussians to split off from the Austrians, and sign the Treaty of Basle with France. Holland had been overrun, its ice-bound navy captured-by French cavalry charging over the ice!-and was now a mostly enthusiastic French Republican possession called the Batavian Republic. And the unfortunate Duke of York's army, mostly Hessian and Hanoverian mercenaries, had been run from Dunkirk into Flanders, then into Holland as it was being conquered, and finally into Germany, where the Royal Navy had fetched off the officers, their baggage, and a large part of the supply train… but the men had mostly been abandoned, and lost. Spain, never much of an ally, anyway, had just signed a treaty with France, and had quit the Coalition!

Closer to home, Austria and Sardinia were still officially in… but Genoa and Tuscany were wavering, and what the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in Naples might do from one moment to the next was… iffy. With Tuscany now neutral, Leghorn and Porto Especia could no longer be considered allied, Royal Navy, bases, though they could refit and victual individually during a limited stay… as could every belligerent's warships! Genoa, directly in the path of both armies, maintained her shaky, but still friendly, neutrality; quite unable, or unwilling to defend her own territories. Or too frightened of the consequences!

"The trade with the French is bolstered by many Danish, Dutch, Tuscan of a certainty, vessels. Perhaps we shall see Spanish vessels seeking to profit, presenting the most plausible, but colorable, papers. Even Genoese ships are suspect. And must be stopped."

Hullo, Alan gawped, slouching a bit less; hell of a way to deal with a neutral… almost an ally!

"This coast now occupied by the French, properly of the Genoese Republic, along here west of Vado Bay…" Nelson said with a sweep of his hand over the map, which encompassed Porto Mauritio in the far west, the harbors of Oneglia, Diano and Alassio, Luano and Finale, as well as a host of lesser ports, fishing villages tucked into almost every sheltered inlet on that steep-to, rocky coast, all the way to the wide sweep of Porto Vado and Vado Bay. Even further west, along the coast of formerly Sardinian Savoia-from Cape Antibes, Nice, and San Remo – the Riviera presented a hundred places where shoal-draught coastal trading ships could shelter, almost take to the shingly, stony beaches overnight, like ancient Greek or Roman galleys. It had more hidey-holes than a well-wormed cheese!

"To be perfectly charitable and humane, sirs," Nelson glowered sternly, "one might expect us to turn a blind eye to the Genoese trying to relieve the sufferings of their own subjects, who have been invaded and trampled under the conqueror's heel, through no fault of their own. Genoa cannot rescue them, free them of the tyrant's yoke. And, we may be certain, with their coastal trade cut off, and the French Army foraging from their larders, they shall certainly go hungry, until such time as General de Vins may liberate them. Short-commons may be the least of the suffering the French bring to them. You understand the callous and rapacious nature of triumphant soldiery… Yet, every morsel of pasta, every swig of wine or cup of flour that might charitably nourish a Genoese, may just as easily end in the gullet of a French Republican soldier. So, hard though it may be for me, and I am certain for you gentlemen, to contemplate… yet must we interdict that trade, completely. Mister Drake, our minister to the Tuscans and the Genoese Republic, and his agents… assure me that such a trade already flourishes."

"Excuse me, sir," Lewrie simply had to say, which drew another reproving sniff from Captain Cockburn, seated close to Nelson's desk and alternately frowning in humane concern, or beaming in rapture at his words. "We're to base here, just off the Genoa Mole, and in Vado Bay. Might we not make the Genoese so angry with us that they order us out? And ally themselves with the Frogs?"

"A point well taken, Commander Lewrie," Nelson allowed without a trace of rancor. "Indeed, there is that risk. Mister Drake and I have wrestled with that contretemps many an anxious hour. But I believe it a sea officer's duty to not only have the moral, physical courage that our calling demands, but political courage as well. If it is political courage that the Genoese lack, then there is also the possibility that they will accede, temporarily, in the face of the greater good; that is to say, the preservation of their well-professed love of independence."

"But are you not, sir… that is to say, we would be, uhmm…" Captain Cockburn fretted softly. "Acting against orders? I mind…"

"Aye, Captain Cockburn," Nelson confessed. "There are extant instructions from home, which state that 'our warships are to avoid giving just cause of offense to any foreign power in amity with His Majesty's Government.' I am, in fact, acting without not only direct and specific orders and instructions from Admiral Hotham, but I am in some measure acting directly contrary to them."

And good on you, Lewrie thought with rising expectations, feeling his face crease in a wolfish, rebellious grin. Anything that goes contrary to Hotham's edicts is probably the best course of all. Damn' fool!

" Genoa may qualify… loosely… as a foreign power in amity," Nelson all but smirked, "but they have proven too irresolute in defense of their neutrality, and their amity with us is but grudging. We will stop up the trade along the coast entirely. No matter which flag is presented. Horrible as it may be to make innocent civilians pay for a war, as against the honorable and Christian usage of a military campaign this may be, I am sure that I have the support of His Majesty's ministers both at Turin and Genoa… and a consciousness that I am doing the right and proper service of our King and Country."

"Well, sir…!" Captain Cockburn grinned bashfully, sounding as if he had been turned around to a new way of thinking, and was enthusiastic.

"Aye, we are acting contrary to whatever orders might have come from our senior admiral," Nelson further confessed.

Means he didn't think to issue any, that might've, Alan thought.

"Aye, we face the risk of litigation over illegal seizures, of political, diplomatic wrangles." Nelson went on. "No one knows more than I… and Commander Lewrie, I recall?… of how fraught with possible cost to career and purse such lawsuits that might be brought in Admiralty Court against us. Lewrie and I had a rough old time of it in the West Indies, 'tween the wars, did we not, sir? But we persevered, and succeeded in suppressing illegal foreign trade, in upholding lawful Navigation Acts. And in hanging a few pirates, in the end. Of bringing the biggest rogues to book. So, this is what we shall do, sirs…

"The harbor at Vado Bay will become our main anchorage, and where we will fetch all seizures, no matter how small. Mister Drake, here in the capнtol, is arranging agents to inspect and condemn our prizes, to pay the freight, release the vessels, sell their cargoes, and hold the monies for us until a real Admiralty Court may adjudicate them. Neutrals may be released, once emptied, should their papers prove legitimate and proper. But, without cargoes, or profit, thus hopefully deterring them from a second attempt. Vessels of belligerent nations to be kept as Droits of the Admiralty, subject to prize money. As will any ship, neutral or belligerent, found to be carrying warlike stores. Now, here are my specific orders, which you will also receive written…

"You will stop and inspect all ships bound for France, or any port now occupied by France, no matter how inconsequential such ships may be," Nelson ticked off on his fingers. "You will be careful not to give too great an offense, but stop them you will. You will prevent any embezzlement of their cargoes, taking inventory as best you are able against the manifests, should they still be aboard after seizure. The masters will be kept aboard, so they have no certifiable complaints to level against us at some future Court. You may take out of them such people as may be deemed by you improper to remain aboard, either of the crew or the passengers. Most especially those you deem suspect, or who cannot provide proper bona fides. Should they offer any resistance to you, then on their heads be it. As long as your responding force is commensurate and requisite to the situation, I assure you I will uphold you to the utmost of my power, as long as you feel you did your duty honorably, and as best you saw it."

That cheered them up considerably. What Horatio Nelson proposed was fraught with risks; professional ruin, a court-martial, financial disaster and years of litigation so expensive, with possible judgment against error so steep, they'd die in debtor's prison, without even a penny for beer on Sundays!

"I know it is not the usual thing," Nelson said with a smile on his face, a bit shy, "that a senior officer explain himself so elaborately. But I have found, gentlemen, that hastily issued, unexplained or mystifyingly purposeless orders are never half so diligently pursued as those that are made clear, concise, and the sense, the reason for them, fully shared. I promise you all that I will endeavor to share with you all pertinent information, as soon as I come to know it, which pertains to our situation. So that you may feel free to act with more certainty, knowing that you are in full obedience, and full agreement with me, as well. So that we may diligently, enthusiastically, and cooperatively, function more as a like-minded band of supportive men toward the greater good, instead of at half-guessed loggerheads."

That, too, drew a "good on you\" from Lewrie's thoughts. He'd been clueless too often in the Navy, too compartmented and menial, to suspect why most admirals issued orders, while holding the reasons as close to their waistcoats as whist players with a good hand.

"Well then, gentlemen, a final glass to success in our new endeavor, and we'll be about it," Nelson suggested, summoning his stewards once more. "Written orders that illuminate the points I raised will be given you. The port of Genoa is-at present, mind-cooperative toward port visits and victualing rights. Which ships require supply before putting to sea?"

Half the captains' hands went up, Lewrie's included; victims of capricious, mystifying, and conflicting orders to join the squadron at San Fiorenzo before victualing, before they'd tangled with the French this last time, and San Fiorenzo already short of supplies.

Nelson gave them a wry expression, perhaps verging upon shammed horror; no captain would usually put to sea without every water butt or bread-bag bungful, his stored rations, especially livestock and fresh meat or flour, crammed into any odd nook or cranny available. And well Nelson knew that fear of running short, or of being deprived. He might have urged them to sail with what they had, but seemed to shrug off the "greed" for oversufficiency philosophically.

"In that case, then, uhm… Captain Cockbum?"

The young man perked up, his phyz turned all noble and enterprising, and conscious of being singled out.

"Since your Meleager is better stored than others, you are most ready to put to sea," Nelson told him. "You will cruise off Vado Bay, in company with, uhm… the Tarleton brig, and the Resolution cutter. And in temporary charge. Mister Drake informs me that there is rumor of a Genoese convoy. Keep your eyes peeled for it. Some talk of monies, plate and jewels, to be transported east from Marseilles in Genoese bottoms, the interception and seizure of which, I am certain, would be most discomfiting to the French cause. Along with the grain."

"I would be honored, sir," Cockburn preened.

Could a man swagger, still seated…-.!, Lewrie thought sourly; regretting his own selfish desire to cram Jester with last-minute supplies. Lucky bastard! Still… even though Jester barely drew more than two fathoms, this duty would involve inshore work, cutting out a merchantman in shoal water, from under the very noses of forts, almost in musket range of the cliffs or beaches. Jester had but two boats on her tiers to use for this, and they were both too small to hold a crew of raiders and oarsmen. He reckoned he might use the delay in harbor to chivvy up something larger, something Mediterranean-looking, shabby but stout, to serve as Jester's tender.

Something so commonplace that her arrival in an occupied port would go unnoticed, until… Damme if I'll cheat myself out of a shot at plate, gold, and jewels! Something just big enough to bear the weight and recoil of swivels, or one of the "Smashers"? he mused.

The other captains seemed regretful of their avidity, too, bereft that they'd ceded a chance for untold riches in prize money for the lack of a ha'porth of tar, or a stoupful of water.

"I could…!" Ariadne's captain grudgingly offered, now he saw the fortune he had missed.

"No no, sir," Nelson countered amicably. "Do fulfill your every need first, so your Ariadne may keep the seas without stinting your men and thus reducing your effectiveness once there."

You damn' clever hound, Lewrie realized, gaining a sudden appreciation for Nelson's nacky wits; you want us like-minded and all that-but you want us hungry for loot, too! No better way to light a fire in 'em, than dangle baubles in their faces. Were it just orders, or grain, we'd be keen enough, but now…! He's more than the dashing, heedless bugger I thought him. Hmm…

"Lucky dog, sir," Fremantle crowed at Cockburn's luck, once they were on deck once more, queuing up to depart in reverse order of seniority, and their gigs aligning themselves in a like circle.

"But for firewood and water, sir…" Cockburn simpered, seeming modest; but more than a little certain of how high in Nelson's regard he really was, compared to the others. Stiff, stuffy, aye, like Lieutenant Andrews said, Lewrie thought; but more prissy than prim. Like a woman with a new ball gown. I don't think I'm going to like him very much. All my good fortune and patronage aside, being in the right place at the right time-bein' damn' successful, too!-and he made "post" in a little more'n a Dog Watch, got a frigate… doin' less than half of what I…!

Right, add Jealous, to Weak and Venal! he scowled. And had to snicker at his own pretensions. Oh, well.

"Good fortune, sir," Lewrie offered Cockburn, "and good huntin'-" Extending a hand to be Christian about it, jealous or no.

"Thankee, Commander," Cockburn replied stiffly. "One may hope; hey? I'll try and leave something for you."

"That'd be damn' good of you, sir," Alan forced himself to say with ^a smile. You vauntin' turd! Damn' limp hand and wrist, cold an' weak as some…!

"Well, urhm…" Cockburn said, retrieving his hand, seeming as if he felt a sudden urge to wash it. "Before we sail, sir. Allow me to give you the name of a rather decent Genoese tailor." He cocked a brow and gave Lewrie another of those searching, top-to-bottom looks. "Perhaps your delay in port will give you time to obtain the requisite epaulet and lace, Commander Lewrie? One must be properly attired, d'ye see… else our so-called 'neutral' traffickers might not take you as seriously as they ought."

"Kind of you, sir," Lewrie rejoined, stifling the fiery retort he really wished to say back. It was possible that Cockburn was genuine with his offer, that he really was such a stickler for details. Or was such a toplofty sod he didn't understand when he gave offense.

Lewrie, though, had never been more than ready to be chary of other men's motives, and was pretty sure he was being deliberately galled.

"For the nonce, sir," he continued, still with a thankful smile on his face, "I'll have to let my guns be my guinea stamp."

"Ah!" Fremantle coughed with sudden relief. "M'boat. Good day t'you all, sirs. Captain Cockburn… Commander Lewrie. Confusion to the French."

Alan had to admit he was a bit behind the latest Regulations for Sea Officers' dress. But then, they almost all were. The latest directives ordained the addition of a vertical scallop "slash-cuff over the sleeve rings of rank, with the gilt buttons moved inside, and vertical instead of horizontal. And finally, after years of grumbling that the senior naval uniforms were too plain compared to the Army's, they were allowed to wear epaulets. Commanders got a plain, fringed gold-bullion epaulet on their left shoulder. Captains of less than three years' seniority got one on the right, while full post-captains were to sport the full pair. Cockburn had already obtained his, though few of the others had so far bothered, so much at sea where it didn't make one damned bit of difference, on a foreign station out of sight of Admiralty or fussy port admirals.

"My thanks for your excellent suggestion, Captain Coe-burn, sir," Lewrie said, continuing to doff his hat, turning to include Cockburn in the salute he'd just given Fremantle. "I'll toddle on down the queue, if you will excuse me? B'lieve your boat is next anyway, sir?"

"Quite," Cockburn replied, giving him a brief, jerky head-bow.

As Lewrie wedged in astern of Ariadne's captain but before the juniors who commanded the lesser ships, he took time to look over the harbor, searching for a useful boat he could purchase as a tender to Jester. Even with a replacement cutter on her boat-tier beams, he had three small boats to work with. A local-built tartane, lateen-rigged fishing boat or small coaster would best suit his purpose, he decided, something around fifty-feet long, or so, about half Jester's length. A two-master, perhaps, which would be fast enough to chase, shoal-draught enough to go very close inshore… and could pay for herself at least fifty times over, were they lucky.

Another thought struck him, as he was at last being rowed back to Jester in his gig. Were they to wage full-fledged commerce warfare, then why were they limited to the Genoese coast? While Nelson had said little about Savoian ports-nothing, really-hadn't his hands encompassed them when he'd shown them the chart?

Wait a bit, Lewrie enthused, squirming on his padded thwart; he had! "… any ships bound for France, or any port now occupied by the French," he'd directed.

Better pickings, he speculated; easier pickings? Troops all off far to the east, with only small garrisons left in the backwaters, and shipmasters thinking themselves safe as houses that far west. Around Cape Antibes and San Remo, he thought, defenses might be lighter, yet the effect of a raid could hurt the long French supply trains just as badly. Maybe worse; they'd have to divert troops and guns from their march on Genoa to protect those neglected ports, spread their ships too thin, which escorted or patrolled…! And, most profitably, yield the value of contraband cargoes as prize money, with no other British warships "In Sight"!

Confusion to the French, indeed, he thought with a feral grin of anticipation. Eager to be at it. And to get ashore quickly to grab a tender before the others thought of it. And get those changes to his uniforms done, after all; as long as he was at it.