“Thankee, Mister Terrell, and I do,” Lewrie said, relieved to hear that. “Desmond, see that her boat’s hauled up alongside. Mister Britton, I’m going to allow the Spaniards t’go ashore. They can take their sea-bags and keep their clasp knives. We’ll put a bag of bisquit and a barrico of water in her. Mister Roe, do you see her captain below to his cabins and let him pack his traps, keepin’ a sharp eye that he doesn’t get away with anything else incriminating. Search all that he wants to take. And let him keep his passage money.”

“Aye, sir,” Roe replied.

“Tell ’em I’m settin’ ’em free before you go,” Lewrie added.

Roe rattled off some rapid Spanish, which prompted another bout of whining, cursing, insults, and perhaps a few sincere expressions of gratitude. They crossed themselves, pulled crucifixes from under their dirty shirts to kiss, the youngest ones bobbing their heads in thanks that they would not end up in Gibraltar’s prison hulk.

“Once they’re gone, we’ll send the Marines back aboard our ship,” Lewrie told Midshipman Britton, “and fetch the Carpenter and his Mate t’cobble up her planking. Care t’take command of her and see her safe to Gibraltar, sir?”

“Me, sir?” Britton exclaimed, much surprised. “Aye, I would!”

“Good man,” Lewrie said. “Go back aboard with the Marines, and pack your sea-chest. How many hands d’ye think you need to manage her? I can’t spare my Cox’n and my boat crew, mind.”

“Hmm, no more than eight, sir, in two watches,” Britton said after a moment’s thought. “I could use Crawley and his hands in the pinnace, they’re all good men. If I take the pinnace back, they can gather up their chests and sea-bags, too.”

“See to it, then,” Lewrie told him. “I can’t say how long you will be away from the ship, Mister Britton. Once in port, you will be livin’ aboard this barge ’til arrangements can be made for you.

“As soon as you get to Gibraltar, you’re to go ashore and see Mister Thomas Mountjoy, at the Falmouth Import and Export Company and turn the boat over to him. If I can find pencil and paper aboard, I’ll write you the address of his offices.”

“Not to the Prize-Court, sir?” Britton asked, confused.

“Definitely not to the Prize-Court, Mister Britton,” Lewrie insisted. “Trust me, it’s a Crown matter which requires a vessel such as this’un. The less said of it, the better.”

“I think I see, sir. Aye, I’ll see to it,” Britton replied, now more curious and bemused than mystified.

“Very good, then,” Lewrie told him with an encouraging smile. He turned to other matters with his Cox’n. “Desmond, did I hear Lieutenant Roe say that this wreck has sausages and coffee aboard?”

“Aye, sor, I believe he did,” Liam Desmond replied, grinning at the prospect of doing a little pilfering.

“Chalky and Bisquit need sausages, so they don’t run short, and I could use a sack o’ coffee beans,” Lewrie told him. “See if you can gather up some, and anything else ye come across that might be good.”

“Might be about all that’s good aboard her, sor,” Furfy said, with a grimace of distaste. “Spanish beer’s as sour’z horse piss, an’ th’ wine’z worse’un ’at cheap Blackstrap they sold us in th’ town, sure, sor.”

“Sampled it, have you, Furfy?” Lewrie asked in a purr.

“Uh, me, sor? Nossor, I’d never, arrah,” Furfy protested, hat snatched from his head and laid on his chest to prove his innocence.

“Does anyone know what ‘cous cous’ is? Anybody?” Lewrie asked.

“Ehm, permission t’speak, sir?” Ordinary Seaman Deavers spoke up. “I ate it ashore, on my liberty, sir. It’s a pasta, I was told, wee fine rolled beads smaller than bird shot. They give me a bowl of it, with a stew atop, On its own, it ain’t much, but with stew and gravy, it’s filling, sir. Cheap, too. Said it was like A-rab oatmeal, and comes from Tangier or Tetuán.”

“And used like one would rice, I see!” Lewrie said. “Thankee, Deavers. Desmond, best fetch off a large sack or two. I’m certain that Yeovill can find a way t’use it.”

“Comin’ right up, sor,” Desmond told him with a sly grin. He had just given Desmond and Furfy a license to steal, so long as their pockets didn’t come away too full!

*   *   *

It was late afternoon before the Spanish two-master got under way, bound West, and tacking to make headway into the wind, against the current. HMS Sapphire was back under full sail, too, heading out to the open sea for the night to come. Come dawn, Lewrie intended to turn Northerly, again, and haunt the Spanish coast closer to Málaga, looking for the next item on the list, a large merchantman suitable to serve as a troop transport.

“Not a bad day, all in all,” Lewrie told Geoffrey Westcott on the quarterdeck.

“Aye, sir,” Westcott agreed. “By the way, I’ve spoken with the forecastle Quarter Gunner, and he’s had a word with the gun-captain of the six-pounder. Wiggins has caught enough grief from the others already, but, a chiding never hurts. He’ll take more care with his aim next time.”

“Good enough, sir,” Lewrie said, satisfied. “One more carrot for our ‘Rock Soup’.”

“A beggarly way of going about things, though,” Westcott said, still amused by the term.

“Since we can’t be choosers, and plain begging won’t get us anywhere, what’s left?” Lewrie replied. “It feels … piratical.”

“More sly than piratical, sir,” Westcott softly objected.

“Arrhh, me hearties!” Lewrie hooted in a theatrical growl. “I will have me a sit-down on the poop deck, and admire the sunset, if there’s a good’un. I do believe I’ve earned it!”

He barely set foot on the poop deck, greeting Bisquit with jaw rubs as the dog put his paws oh his chest, before being interrupted.

“Your pardons, sir,” Midshipman Hillhouse called from the foot of the larboard ladderway. “Permission to speak, sir?”

“Aye, come up,” Lewrie said, feigning openness, and once more wondering why such a “scaly fish” as Hillhouse, with years of experience at sea, had yet to pass the oral examinations for promotion to Lieutenant.

Hillhouse trotted up the ladderway, doffed his hat, and made a brief bow from the waist before speaking. “Beg pardon, sir, but I was hoping that you would consider me to take charge of the next prize we take. I am senior to Mister Britton, and the rest, after all.”

“Britton was there, which is why I chose him, Mister Hillhouse,” Lewrie told him, concealing his sudden irritation. “It was not a matter of seniority. If it’s any comfort, Britton won’t prosper from it. That barge won’t be bought in, nor will she even see the Prize-Court, and he’ll be back aboard as soon as we return to Gibraltar. I know you’re ambitious for promotion, as are your mess-mates, but taking that shabby scow into port, then idling for weeks, is not a way to get it.”

“I have no patrons, sir, no ‘interest’,” Hillhouse baldly confessed, seeming irked by that fact. “Beyond Captain Insley…”

“Were we assigned to the Mediterranean Fleet, or the blockade squadron off Cádiz, there would be enough Post-Captains to conduct an examination board. Being a Passed Midshipman’d stand you in better stead, and when we did take a substantial prize, especially a Spanish or French National ship, I would then consider you the senior-most to take charge of her, but … we sail under Admiralty Orders, separately, and for as long as that lasts, I fear you may not gain what you desire from temporary duties, Mister Hillhouse.” Lewrie laid it out for him to digest. “I don’t play favourites. Nor do I deny anyone their chance t’shine for personal reasons.”

“I would still request to be considered, should the opportunity arise, sir,” Hillhouse stubbornly said, looking like a bulldog in a pet.

“Then you will be considered, Mister Hillhouse,” Lewrie promised. “Is that all, sir?”

“It is, sir, and thank you for allowing me to speak,” Hillhouse said, doffing his hat once more, performing another un-necssary bow from the waist, and departed back to the quarterdeck, then the ship’s waist.