H.M.S. COCKEREL

Chapter 2

Very far off, someone was shouting something incomprehensible, which sort of sounded like "Allez, allez, vite…" mumble-mumble "le blah-blah-blah… perdu." Dull thuds somewhere. Something Froggish, Lewrie half-decided, and snuggled closer to the warmth of his girl. "… les Republicans arrivent!"

Bad dream; bugger it. Sweet, soft, warm, smooth shoulder…

More thunderings; up the stairs this time? Or the storm still rumbling… guns still rumbling? What else was new?

"Merde alors," Phoebe muttered crossly in his ear, waking first, leaning across him to listen. Her long tresses tickled his nose, half smothering him, but drew him most unwillingly nearer the surface of his pleasant stupor. He opened one eye, beheld a perky young breast, dark aureola and pinkish nipple staring back, an inch from his lips. Alan gave it a little flick with his tongue, thinking that a marvelous way to be awakened.

"Oohn," she groaned, in spite of herself, with a chuckle deep in her throat.

More bloody bangings on the door, hard and insistent.

"Alain, someone eez…" Phoebe prompted sleepily.

"Hmmphff?" he grumbled, rolling on his back. "What?"

"Alain!" a voice shouted as the door burst open with a bang.

At the sight of a man in uniform, a French naval uniform, with a brace of pistols in his belt, Phoebe gave out with a loud scream of pure Royalist terror as she sat bolt upright!

Lewrie felt his hair go on end for a second, until the dim light filtering through the shutters revealed the man to be Charles de Crillart.

"Sacre…" Charles gawped, his face suffusing.

"Christ, Charles, can't you knock, or something?" Alan carped.

"Alain, I… uhh…" Lieutenant de Crillart stuttered, his eyes swiveling from Lewrie's puffy face to Phoebe's bare charms, then back. "Mon Dieu, pardonnez-moi, mon ami…"

Lewrie sat up, claiming the top sheet to shroud his groin as he put his torso between Phoebe and de Crillart. She dragged the coverlet to her chin, huddling tiny in a corner of the bed by the headboard.

"Alain, ze Republicains," Charles explained, stepping out onto the small landing and half-closing the door. " Fort Mul-grave… c'est perdu. Lost!"

"What?" he barked, leaping from the bed for stockings and slop-trousers. "Lost! How?"

"Ze storm? Early zis morn, zey avant vis ze bayonet, wan most of notre powder waz wet, hein? Zey rout ze Espagnols, an' ze British could not 'old out. Une heure ago, zey at las' retreat, into Balaguer. Ze Republicains now 'ave Mulgrave, all ze canon… ze heights overlook L'Eguillette an' Balaguer."

"Christ, that's the end, isn't it?" he fumed, stomping into his boots, tearing his shirt from a wall peg to slip over his head.

"Zat ees non all ze worse, mon ami," Lieutenant de Crillart said in a funereal tone. "Ze sam' time zey… coordinate? General Lapoype, 'is soldiers… zey march up s'rough Arge-liers, an' zey tak' all ze posts on ze mountain of Pharon. Zey 'ave ze canon zere, too."

"Bloody hell." Lewrie paused, rubbing his face. He turned to share a look with Phoebe, who was white and blanched with fear. "Ah… any orders for us yet, Charles?" He hurried to button up his waist-coat and don his stock.

"Non," de Crillart sighed. "Eet eez still rain hard, an' ver' foggy. No one know anys'ing. Or see anys'ing."

Lewrie stepped out to join Charles now he was decent, and shut the door so Phoebe could spring from the bed and dress herself.

"Damme, Pharon gone," Alan fretted, chewing on a thumbnail for a moment. "Heated shot, and the whole place in range, far as Fort Mandrier, so we aren't safe even in the Great Road any longer. And Balaguer and L'Eguillettes under their guns, too…"

"Oui," Charles replied sadly. "Wan ze powder is dry, an' zey 'ave good view? Phfft. Tout est perdu. All eez los'."

"Your gunners, Charles… they've families in Toulon?"

"Oui, some of zem."

"Best tell them to fetch 'em. Here to the guardhouse, for the nonce," Alan decided. "Your family, too. And warn them… don't try to carry away too much of their belongings… do you get my meaning?"

"D'accord," de Crillart nodded firmly.

"I'll go up to headquarters; you take care of your own, for now," Lewrie offered. "We may not have long before the weather breaks, then not much time to arrange shipping. Surely, though, we'll try to get the troops away. And as many Royalists as want to go. I'll try for a ship."

"I will go now," Charles agreed, turning to descend the stairs.

"Charles, the girl…" Lewrie called softly to hold him. "While I'm at headquarters… do you return first? She was Mister Scott's, uhm… girl? Do you keep her safe with the other families. I promised her I would get her on a ship, when the time came. Just didn't know it'd be this bloody soon."

"Oui, I remember 'er, Alain. She eez putain, but…"

"Aye, she is," Lewrie stiffened.

"Alain, mon ami… even les putains 'ave right to live. I keep her safe, until you return."

"Thankee, mate. Merci bien."

Admiral Lord Hood, Major General Dundas, Admiral de Langara and Lieutenant General Valdez, Forteguerri the Neapolitan, Rear Admiral Gravina, Sir Hyde Parker, Prince Pignatelli, Chevalier de Revel and Sir Gilbert Elliot held a quick counsel of war, as the sounds of battle and barrage faded away to nothing. For the moment, the Republicans were as spent as anyone else. Except for a few spatters of musketry as patrols in Toulon discouraged looting or sans culottes acts of patriotism, there was little to indicate a crisis had come.

Except for the people in the streets, the handcarts laden with household goods and valuables. Waggons streamed downhill from the outlying districts to the quays, piled up in confusion. Rain continued to fall, a chilly, drizzling misty rain that shrouded the Heights of Pharon and the surrounding mountains, almost cut off any view of de Grasse peninsula. Frightened as they were, the Royalists endured with a stoic calm, waiting for news, waiting for evacuation. Waiting for a ship to board.

It was the foreign troops who were the most unruly, those routed from the heights, the peninsula, those who should have still garrisoned the remaining posts, but who drifted back into town, looking for ships of their own. Neapolitan soldiers were already filtering aboard their line-of-battle ships, Tancredi and Guiscardo. British troops remained disciplined, as did the Spanish. It was they who maintained order in the ranks. Even if they had to threaten the Neapolitans with cannon to make them march out of their positions, turning their own guns on them. There had already been some shooting in Neapolitan lines, where terrified men had panicked and fired off their muskets at any affright, killing or wounding dozens of innocent civilians who'd streamed past on their way to the harbour, thinking them a French advance out of the fog.

Headquarters was not very informative. It was a beehive of men dashing about, of stacks of papers being sorted, of piles of rejects on pyres, and chests and campaign trunks being packed and slammed closed. The sight almost made Lewrie glad he had so little by way of possessions to worry about. He felt more mobile-and quicker when it came time to flee. It made him faintly sour, too, to see the many valuables being carted off. Silver plate, gold ornaments, clocks, an entire crystal chandelier, crates and barrels of rare-vintage wine, cognac… Toulon had been a very rich city, and it now appeared that it was being looted by the defeated, to deny the victors their proper spoils.

"Anything for me and my men to do?" he asked once more of a junior officer.

"For God's sake, sir, no!" the man shouted back, over his shoulder in passing. "How many times do I have to tell you, I have no orders for anyone in the Navy at this time!"

They had had orders, all contradictory. First, he'd been warned to ready his boats to aid in the evacuation of Balaguer, but before he could get that in writing, they were cancelled. Then it had been word to prepare to evacuate the batteries at Cape Bran and Fort St. Margaret… but others thought that a bad idea, for it would expose every ship in the Great Road to enemy fire, were they not held to the end.

"Does anyone have a clue what's happening?" a frustrated post-captain shouted after the Army aide-de-camp in exasperation. There' d been a constant stream of officers from the ships in harbour, captains and commanders, first lieutenants coming and going-mostly with word to shift their anchorages to the Great Road or the Bay of Toulon, wait for further orders, to prepare all their boats. But mostly, to wait.

"Christ, not in this raree show, there ain't," Lewrie muttered.

"Anything but indecision," a post-captain near Lewrie agreed in some heat. "Anything but delay. High as I esteem Admiral Lord Hood… but perhaps the situation requires deliberate action. Careful thought and planning, else the evacuation will be a disaster."

"Can't imagine why they'd start thinking now!" Lewrie sneered softly, his face bearing a sardonic grin. "A bit late, that."

"They are still our superior officers, sir," the little fellow stiffened. Christ, it was Captain Nelson! "In our hour of travail they deserve our unstinting support, sir. I know you, do I, sir?"

"Alan Lewrie, Captain Nelson," he replied, stiffening himself in sudden wariness. "Of the Cockerel frigate. Currently…"

" Naples!" Nelson smiled of a sudden. "I heard of you from the Hamiltons. My predecessor to that delightful port."

You get stuck into Lady Emma too, did you? Lewrie thought.

"Before that, sir, during the Revolution."

"God, yes. Off Cape Francois?" Nelson enthused, recalling.

Dewey Lambdin

'Turk's Island, Captain Nelson, just a few weeks before the end of hostilities."

"Uhm, yess, Turk's Island…" Nelson frowned. He'd come a rare cropper over that one, trying to retake the island from the Frogs, who'd garrisoned it with more men than Nelson had in his entire ad-hoc squadron. A squadron he had no right to assemble or lead. "Brig o' war… Shrike, was it not, sir? And your captain was grievously wounded."

"Aye, sir, still in the Navy, though. All thanks to your speaking to Lord Hood on his behalf. Captain Lilycrop? Lost the leg, but he's in the Impress Service, made 'post.' I never did get the opportunity to express my undying thanks for your kind deed, sir. I do so now, sir." He threw in a bow, leg extended, his hat upon his breast.

And maybe he'll forget the strip he was about to tear off mine arse for mouthing off, Alan hoped to himself.

"And mine to you, Lieutenant Lewrie; for preparing the ground, so to speak, in Naples, with His Majesty King Ferdinand," Nelson replied with an equal bow. He stepped closer and took Lewrie's hand. "Sir William, Lady Emma, Acton, His Majesty-all spoke highly of you."

"They are all well, sir, and thriving? Including Queen Maria Carolina? I did not have the opportunity to meet her, but…"

"Delivered of a healthy heir, sir, I am quite happy to relate, soon after your departure. Aye, well and thriving. Personally, that is. Though our impending defeat here will be no cause for delight with the Neapolitans. Enthusiastic allies… perhaps too enthusiastic to be firm, or steady, allies," Nelson gloomed. "Like many Mediterraneans, possessed of the ability to elate or despair, in equal measure."

"Do we get their troops away with no further losses, sir, then I am certain Sir William Hamilton and Lady Emma may buck their enthusiasms up again," Lewrie grinned.

"Aye, I dare say!" Nelson chuckled, lifting on the balls of his feet with an enthusiasm of his own. "An amazing woman, Lady Emma. So many-faceted, like a precious gem."

He did get the leg over, Lewrie speculated.

"Such perspicacity in a female, such wit and charm, and how well she wields her influence, so subtly," Nelson raved on.

Aye, nailed her!

"So talented. Were you a guest at Palazzo Sessa, sir? And view her 'Attitudes'? Oh, you had to sleep aboard your ship… too bad. The Hamiltons were most gracious to me. The Duke of Sussex was to visit in Naples, his guest suite was prepared, yet they lodged me in it. And Sir William informed me… I was quite thunderstruck by this… that in all the years he'd been plenipotentiary to the Kingdom of Naples, I was the very first naval or military officer ever granted such of his hospitality, can you imagine?" Nelson blathered on, seeming to preen.

The short ones always do, Lewrie thought, keeping a straight face: Nelson, that Frog Buonaparte. God, I'd love to get those two together-it'd be a cat fight, no error!

"And I avow, sir," Nelson said with a determined, wistful air, "as I wrote to my dear wife Fanny… that Lady Emma is a credit, sir, to the station in life to which she has been raised."

Ah, no… he didn't, after all, Lewrie smirked in secret.

"Captain Nelson, do you have any notion where the Cockerel frigate may be? We've been detached ashore since mid-September, with no communications with her. Under the circumstances, we should be…"

"Standing-off and -on, without Cape Sepet, the last I saw of her, Lieutenant Lewrie," Nelson informed him. "But that was days ago. You mean to tell me, your captain, in all that time, has not communicated with you? But I've seen her lying at anchor in the Great Road, quite nearby! Oh, she was off with Admiral Gell to Vado Bay, with the Royalist French Squadron, but she returned days ago, after the Austrians… well. The Austrians." Nelson sighed petulantly, pulling at his long, fair nose.

"Dear as I'd wish to return to her, sir, well, there're the Royalists I have with me," Lewrie explained, summarising his recent duties with de Crillart and his gunners, the families now assembling, dependent upon him, their crying need for evacuation.

"Ah, word at last, perhaps," Nelson broke off as the doors to a large salon opened, and the senior officers were summoned inside. "Do come with me, Lieutenant. It is sure to be informative."

"Gentlemen, it is unanimously resolved," Admiral Lord Hood began to speak-tall, beaky, hunched and weary-looking, wearing a floured periwig with elaborate horizontal side curls tumbling past his ears, a famous nose, riper and fuller than even Il Vecchio Nasone-"by all the allied representatives, and by the Committee for War which represents the native Toulonese, that our enterprise here is doomed to failure."

He went on to encapsulate the present situation, the command the Republicans now held over the forts, the harbour and the roadsteads.

"A few months ago I wrote London that, had I but five or six thousand men, Toulon could not only be held, but could serve as base of operations for an invasion of the entire Midi, the south of France. The Republicans, however, have… according to the intelligence which we have gleaned from various deserters or prisoners… over 45,000 men opposing us. And sadly, even should we, through force of arms, claim back those redoubts which were lost last evening, well… the situation in which we find ourselves would be no less parlous, anent another assault upon us from the French of even greater strength. So… we must evacuate Toulon. Orders are being drafted now for military units. Pray, allow me to refer to the map… the redoubt and lunette of Pharon, below the French positions, will be abandoned. Troops there are to retire to the forts of Artigues and St. Catherine, and will hold them as long as is humanly possible, to deny the Republicans entry to the town. The major redoubts of both the Great and Little Antoines on the nor'west mountain shall also evacuate. As will the St. Andre", the Pomet… Fort Millaud and the powder mills. And once the guns are toppled or spiked, all troops at Forts L'Eguil-lette and Balaguer will cross the Gullet to Fort La Malgue and St. Louis, at its foot.

"At present, Fort Malbousquet and Fort Missicy still daunt Republican troops from entering the city from the west. They shall be held," Admiral Hood insisted with a stern glower at the clutch of senior Army officers to his right. "All outlying posts to the east will be abandoned. We intend to begin evacuating the wounded from the Infirmarie and the Hopital de la Charite at once. First to Fort La Malgue, thence down to the water fort, St. Louis, and embark in cutters and barges to such vessels of the Fleet as have space for them and the means to care for them. We may have a day or two as a grace period." Hood spoke with faint hope, even so. "The Republican assaults resulted in many wounded among their troops. The weather is abominable, and the trails and goat tracks are slick and wet, everywhere they met with success. It may be some time before they are able to shift heavy guns in numbers sufficient to threaten our ships. Or mount another assault, so soon after the first, upon the city itself."

Whistlin' in the wind, Lewrie thought: if they're smart, they'll be at us tonight! And I doubt we cost 'em tuppence.

"This should give us at least one full day and night… to prepare the basin, the arsenals and the magazines for destruction. Accordingly, every French ship which is in any forward condition, armed or able to go to sea, shall be taken from the basin at once, and anchored in the Great Road, there to receive troops as they come off shore. And those French Royalists who may wish transportation away from Toulon."

Right, Lewrie sneered; as if any of 'em'd stay!

"Admiral Don Juan de Langara will be in overall command of firing the Inner Basin and the French fleet," Hood announced. "All the powder remaining will be concentrated in two prize-vessels and sunk, at the last. The destruction of the fleet will not be undertaken until we have safely extricated troops and innocent civilians under cover of darkness."

Nelson's hand shot up at once, and Lewrie could see him quivering with eagerness to participate. Instinctively, he slid a half-step away from him. He'd seen Captain Horatio Nelson at work before, at Turk's Island, and didn't wish to take part in another of his harum-scarums, neck-or-nothing damn-all adventures. He'd had quite enough lately, thank you very much.

"Ahum," Hood frowned, pulling at his florid nose as he gazed in Nelson's direction, shaking his head sorrowfully. "To command the British party from the Royal Navy, which will assist Admiral Langara in his endeavour… I have selected Captain Sir William Sidney Smith."

"Dear Lord," Nelson whispered sotto voce, absolutely crushed he could not take part. He sounded truly, deeply disappointed. "How did he come by that? That…swashbuckler."

"Who's this Captain Smith when he's up and dressed, sir?" Alan whispered.

"The showy one," Nelson sighed, tilting his head towards a man in almost a parody of naval uniform. He was big, bluff me-hearty, Smith was, the sort who wore a perpetual "piss-me-in-the-eye" belligerence, an exuberant sort who positively swaggered, bold as a dog-in-a-doublet. The sort with abounding self-confidence, who knew no fear whatsoever.

"Came in a fortnight ago from Smyrna, on the Turkish Levant," Nelson muttered from the side of his mouth. "Purchased a little lateen rigged boat, called it Swallow. Hired on a crew of Englishmen who had been languishing, out of work, there. Hoisted his own commission pendant, wrote his own Admiralty orders, in essence. And has been perfectly thrusting himself forward since, sir."

Ahead of you, has he? Lewrie deigned to think, with a dart at his putative "host," to see the envy burning in Captain Nelson's eyes. Sir William Sidney Smith wasn't the only enterprising and aspiring captain in the salon.

Hood made some dismissing statements; to gird their loins, stick fast, stout hearts and stalwart will… that sort of thing, just before they went their separate ways. Lewrie tagged along as Nelson approached the admiral.

"I'm sorry, Nelson," Admiral Lord Hood said, giving him a faint grin and taking his elbow protectively. "But I so prize your sterling qualities that I cannot find it in my heart to wager your future contributions upon a rather weak hand. And you have accomplished so much for me already. Tunis, Naples… though I would desire to reward you with a larger ship, a more important command. A 74, perhaps…"

"Milord, I am so completely in your debt, for all your many kindnesses, your espousal of my cause, with the finest, most gracious… and most indulgent patronage," Nelson sighed. "I would have liked to command the party, if only to, in the slightest wise, be able to reward all your goodness towards me with measure for measure, no matter the risk. I am, as always, at your instant command, of course."

"I know you're disappointed, but, after all…" Hood beamed.

"As for a larger ship, milord, I am so very happy with Agamemnon. For a 64, she's the fastest two-decker in the Fleet," Nelson rejoined proudly. "And as I have stated before, milord… no officer has ever been so blessed with such a talented, chearly wardroom as I. Offered Victory herself, milord… I would be forced to demur. I cannot give up my officers!"

"And you, Lieutenant Lewrie," Hood smiled pleasantly, turning to regard him. "My condolences upon the loss of your gun-boat, Zele. No need to even muster a court, once I read the accounts. How do you keep, young sir?"

"Most excellently well, milord; your servant, as always," Lewrie toadied to his patron, taking a page from Nelson's book on how to sound obsequious.

"Not that excellently, from what he told me, milord," Nelson interceded for him, quickly outlining Lewrie's plight regarding Cockerel, at Naples and the time since. And the refugees now gathering under his wing. "But I suspect Lieutenant Lewrie deemed his own problems too tiny to be of much concern, given the circumstances which obtain."

"You are too modest, young sir," Hood grumbled. "I mind, when your captain came aboard Victory … I gathered the impression he'd been the one who had visited with King Ferdinand, and had spoken so eloquently for an alliance. Now I discover, from Captain Nelson, that such is not the case? Hmmm. And for him to strand you, bereft of any exchange of communications. I once rewarded Lieutenant Lewrie… well, twice I have given him a command. In '83, as you recall, Nelson… at your behest. And in '86. After actions in the Far East so perilous, yet done to a perfect turn… I believe, young sir, that you may serve me best…"

"Excuse me for intruding, milord, but I shall be going now," Sir William Sidney Smith butted in. "1 simply wished to thank you again for the faith you place in me. Which shall be amply rewarded with a conflagration so intense, they'll see it in Paris, milord. My word on't!"

Must not have a jot of brains in his head to rattle, Alan thought: he's actually lookin' forward to it! How'd our British cavalry miss recruitin' this'un?

Introductions were exchanged, Sir William given the briefest thumbnail sketch of Lewrie's qualities, and source of his patronage.

"Gad, just the sort I need with me, milord," Captain Smith said with a tooth-baring bray. "Neck-or-nothin', stick at nothin' fellow! 'Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs o' war,' hey, Mister Lewrie?"

Oh, bloody Jesus, meek an' mild, save me from this I'll be good swear it never rattle another mort me entire bloody…! He prayed most earnestly.

"I am heartily sorry I cannot oblige you in this, Sir William," Admiral Lord Hood said, glancing at Lewrie for an instant, thankfully not seeing the shivers he fought. "I concur that Lieutenant Lewrie's courage would be of inestimable assistance to your endeavour, but… there are other duties I have in mind for him, in this fell instance."

Thankee God, thankee milord, bloody damned right there are!

After Smith had bowed himself away, Hood turned to Lewrie again. "There are ships in the Inner Basin, Lieutenant, nigh-enough ready for sea. This Lieutenant de Crillart of yours… he'd know them best. With his men and yours, you will ready one of them for departure. Warp her to the Great Road, soon as you are able. Provision her, and be ready to take aboard troops, refugees, or both. I recall your own worth, Lewrie. And I'll no more toss you away than I would my invaluable Captain Nelson. I fear this war will be much longer than any of us, at the onset, could have ever suspected. England will have desperate need of you both, in future. Orders will be forthcoming, empowering you to provision and arm to your personal satisfaction, Mister Lewrie. You have but to present those orders, which shall bear my personal signature, and be assured that any reasonable request will be granted you, instanter. Should I not see you again in the days to come before we quit Toulon," Admiral Hood said a bit sadly, "do present to me your compliments, once you have attained Gibraltar."

He offered his hand for Lewrie to shake.

"And I wish the very best of good fortune go with you, sir. God speed, and fair winds."

"Thankee, milord, for your goodness to me," Alan said firmly, as he shook that offered hand. "And for your trust. I will safely bring away all you send me, milord."

"My dear Lieutenant Lewrie, I rely on that steadfast promise just as surely as I expect tomorrow's sunrise."