Sapphire made her identification number to the flag, then hoisted Have Despatches, quickly answered by the flagship’s demand of Captain Repair On Board, and Lewrie was off in the 25-foot cutter as soon as his ship could come within rowing distance, with his boat crew in their Sunday Divisions best. “Welcome aboard, sir,” the flagship’s Captain said once Lewrie had attained the deck of the towering Second Rate. “The Admiral is aft in his cabins. If you will come this way? Ehm … we’ve heard some rumours that a surrender has been arranged?” he hinted, as eager as anyone for news from shore. “I shouldn’t tell tales out of school, sir,” Lewrie demurred, “but aye, there has been. I fear I must leave it to Sir Charles to impart the details, once he’s read it over. Let’s just say that the French will evacuate the whole country, and leave it at that, if you don’t mind waiting a bit more.” “Hmpfh, well … here you go, sir,” that officer said, irked a bit that Lewrie was not more forthcoming.
