"Ah, hum," Lewrie said. "I'll be below, Mister Farley. Carry on with cutlass drill."

Once seated at his desk in his day-cabin, Lewrie broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

Sir,

Admiralty has informed us that a Cessation of Hostilities between Great Britain and France, as well as all her allies, has been agreed to by all parties. The preliminary Articles were signed in London on the 1st of October, with Ratifications exchanged on the 10th, and our Sovereign, His Majesty King George III, issuing a Proclamation of peace by sea and land on the 12th of this month.

From the receipt of this Letter, you are Directed and Required to commit no Aggression towards any National ships or merchant Vessels of France, or the Batavian Republic, nor any formerly hostile vessels you may encounter. Do you currently hold any Prize, such vessel or vessels must be despatched to an Admiralty Court for a swift Adjudication; should you hold any Naval or Civilian officers or sailors from said Prize or Prizes, they are to be sent in with said Prize or Prizes on Parole, or, from a vessel not made Prize but burned or sunk, they are to be landed ashore with all due honours and all their properties.

(for) Adm. Viscount Duncan

"Oh, Jesus!" Lewrie dared mutter after reading that for a quick second time. "It can't be… it simply can't! Don't those fools in London know we're winnin'? A year or two more, and… Ch-rist! Ye can't trust the French t'keep it. Not for long!"

"Sir?" Pettus said from the wee pantry built right-aft of the chart-space. "You need something, sir?"

"Guy Fawkes, t'torch Parliament, Pettus," Lewrie growled back. "The hen-heads've gone and signed articles of peace with the Frogs."

"War's over, sir?" Pettus said with a gawp.

"If it ain't a sly trick… aye," Lewrie grumbled. "The war's over. Before Christmas, we all might be paid off and 'beached,' does it hold. Mine arse on a band-box!"