And, as captain of the only other frigate in the squadron, was not Lewrie second-in-command to Nicely, no matter that he had not yet attained the right to wear a second epaulet on his shoulders, and was still a Post-Captain of Less than Three Years' Seniority?

Given Capt. Nicely's knacky wits, and his bellicosity when it came to trouncing the King's enemies, it had promised to be a fruitful cruise… so long as Nicely didn't order Lewrie to sneak ashore as a Spanish grandee or mule-skinner and play spy one more time, that is.

Little wonder, then, that Lewrie had cocked his head over that invitation, had muttered something akin to "Hmmpf, well o' course," and had tossed it into the scrap drawer, and didn't give the matter a second thought, except for what he should serve for a working dinner, and for how many. And, given how badly Capt. Nicely had fared aboard Proteus with Toulon and Chalky whilst Lewrie was away in New Orleans, what he should do with his cats.

It did strike Lewrie as odd that Capt. Nicely came aboard alone, with nary a one of the squadron's other captains in tow, not even his own First Officer, which had prompted two thoughts in Lewrie's head: first, Oh, good… more leftovers for tonight's supper, followed by Oh, shit, he's got some harum-scarum plan in his head, again! A plan which might, indeed, require Lewrie to swot up on his Spanish, Dutch, or French, and quickly master plausible skills at donkey-tending!

Capt. Nicely had proved to be popular with the crew, his recent exploits earning every Man Jack a pretty penny, so it was with happy smiles and waving hats that Proteus' s hands had turned out to welcome Nicely aboard, beyond the formality of the side-party, the shrilling bosuns' calls, and the stamping of Marines in full kit.

"Hallo, lads!" Capt. Nicely had joyfully cried, waving his own hat back at them. "Spent your prize-money, yet, you rogues, ha ha? Or, did you owe your Purser too much for tobacco, what?"