The King's Marauder (10 page)

There was the ship’s Second Lieutenant, Arnold Harcourt, a man in his mid-thirties with dark hair and eyes, and a lean and weathered face. The Third Lieutenant, Edward Elmes, was younger, leaner, and blond.
Sapphire
’s Sailing Master was a rough-hewn Cornishman, George Yelland, with a great hooked beak of a nose. There were two Marine officers, First Lieutenant John Keane, a ruddy-faced fellow in his late twenties with ginger hair, and Second Lieutenant Richard Roe, a slip of a lad not quite nineteen with brown hair and blue eyes, who looked to be as new to the sea as a fresh-baked loaf, a right “Merry Andrew” with a possible impish streak, a counterbalance to Keane’s severe nature.

There were a whole ten Midshipmen, led by a burly fellow in his late twenties named Hillhouse, whom the First Secretary had thought to make Acting-Lieutenant before Lewrie had offered up Westcott. He did look salty enough. Behind him were Britton and Leverett, two more men with poor connexions most-like, for they were in their mid-twenties and still had not gained their Lieutenancies. Below them were the usual sort of Mids in their late teens, Kibworth, Carey, Spears, Harvey, and Griffin, then two lads in their early teens, Ward and Fywell.

Sapphire
’s Purser and his clerk, the “Jack In The Bread Room”, Mister Joseph Cadrick, and Irby, Lewrie decided to keep a chary eye on, for though butter would not melt in their mouths on the first introductions, Lewrie sensed a “fly” streak.

The Surgeon was a thin and scholarly-looking man named Andrew Snelling who looked as if a stiff breeze would carry his skeletal frame away. The Surgeon’s Mates, Phelps and Twomey, in their middle twenties, cheerfully admitted that they were medical students who were too poor at present to attend physicians’ colleges, but were happy to serve alongside Snelling, who seemed to know everything medicinal, or surgical, they assured him.

The Bosun and his two mates, Matthew Terrell, and Nobbs and Plunkett, seemed solid and competent fellows, from Terrell’s early fourties to the mid-thirties, with years of experience at sea, as did the Master Gunner, Dick Boling; his Mate, Haddock; and the Yeoman of the Powder, Weaver.

Lewrie would get round to the Cook, Carpenter, Cooper and Armourer, Sailmaker, and their Mates later. His goods were coming aboard.

Pettus and Jessop, Desmond and Furfy, Yeovill and his Captain’s clerk, James Faulkes, had gained the deck during the introductions, and were beginning to direct his chests and crates, his furniture and personal stores up from the hired boats and aft into the great cabins. A pair of slatted crates were slung up and over the bulwarks, one containing Lewrie’s cat, Chalky, mewing and growling in fear, and the other containing Bisquit,
Reliant
’s old ship’s dog.

“Well, hallo, Bisquit!” Lt. Westcott cried in delight to see him as the crate was lowered to the quarterdeck. “Still with us, are you? There’s a good boy, yes!”

“I’d thought t’leave him on my father’s farm,” Lewrie explained, “but, when the waggons were loaded, he kept hoppin’ on and wouldn’t be left behind. When they trotted off, he ran after ’em all the way down to the village, and the lads took pity on him. He just wouldn’t let himself be abandoned by everyone he knew. No, you wouldn’t, would ye, Bisquit,” Lewrie cooed, kneeling down by his crate. “You are a headstrong little beast, yes, you are. God help ye, you’re a sea-goin’ Navy dog.”

Lewrie was rewarded with excited yips, whines, and a bark of two, and lots of tail wags to implore to be freed from his crate that instant. Lewrie un-did the latch and let him out, then stood up as Bisquit dashed to say hello to Westcott, run round the quarterdeck to sniff, then dashed up a ladderway to the vast expanse of the poop for more exploring. Lewrie stood up and caught Pettus’s eye.

“I’d much admire did you hunt up the Carpenter, Pettus, and see to the construction of a sand-box for Chalky, and the proper width of my hangin’ bed-cot,” Lewrie bade him. “We’ll have a shelter for Bisquit fashioned under one of the poop deck ladderways, later.”

“Yes, sir. See to it, directly,” Pettus promised. “We’ll have your office and day cabin set up in a few minutes more, and the dining coach and bed space ready by the end of the Forenoon.”

“Excellent!” Lewrie congratulated him, then turned to Westcott. “What do you make of her so far, Mister Westcott?”

“The ship is fully found and in very good material condition, sir,” Westcott told him. “She’s short of at least ten Able Seamen and about a dozen men rated Ordinary, but her officers and mates have run many of her Landsmen through catch-up instruction over the last nine months she’s been in commission … her former Captain’s idea, that … so a good many of them can hand, reef, and steer. They know their way round a bit better than most ship’s companies.”

“Well, that’s a partial relief, at least,” Lewrie commented. “How many Quota Men, and gaol scrapings? Many troublemakers?”

“The other Lieutenants and Mids have filled me in on the hands they’re leery of, sir,” Lt. Westcott continued. “You’ll find their names in her former Captain’s punishment book … often.”

“A happy ship, is she, Mister Westcott?” Lewrie asked.

“On that head, sir…?” Westcott said in a low voice, casting his eyes up and aft towards the poop deck. “Perhaps we might go see what Bisquit’s up to?”

They went up the starboard ladderway to the poop deck for more privacy, and strolled to the flag lockers where they could sit and converse with no one else listening in.

“I feel like I’m sittin’ on the roof of a mansion!” Lewrie had to exclaim first, “or, halfway up the main mast shrouds.”

“The poop
is
rather high above the water, aye, sir,” Westcott agreed with a brief chuckle. “A happy ship? I don’t believe I could say that, sir. I’ve only been aboard a week, so I haven’t gotten the people’s feelings completely sorted out, but I can say that she’s of two minds. Maybe three … those who miss Captain Insley and thought him a proper officer … those who sided with Lieutenant Gable, her First … and the bulk of her hands who don’t give a damn either way.”

“Christ, sounds like Bligh and Christian aboard the
Bounty,
” Lewrie said, leaning back against the taffrails.

“Captain Insley was a very formal and strict officer,” Westcott imparted in a mutter, no matter the lack of people within earshot. “A no-nonsense disciplinarian, to boot, and I gather that he was a man who held most people in a very top-lofty low regard. Cold, aloof, and with a quick and cutting wit sharp enough to smart.”

“Rubbed a lot o’ people the wrong way, I take it?” Lewrie said.

“Especially the former First Officer, Lieutenant Gable,” Westcott said, nodding. “Years ago, Insley was a junior Lieutenant aboard the old
Bellona,
and Gable was one of her new-come Mids, just starting to learn the ropes … Insley demeaned everything he and the ‘younkers’ did, had them all kissing the gunner’s daughter for every failure or shortcoming, with Gable his favourite target. Admiralty wasn’t to know…” Westcott said with a shrug and a grimace. “Healthy and long-serving officers of good experience, names on a list, and slots to be filled? That’s all the questions to be answered.”

Like me and
 … Lewrie thought,
well, a lot of people!

“So, when Insley saw Gable, all he saw was the ignorant, cunny-thumbed Midshipman he once was,” Lewrie decided, “and all Gable saw was his old tormenter?
Bound
t’be an explosion, sooner or later.”

“Lieutenant Gable, I gather, saw
himself
as the protector of
Sapphire
’s people from Insley’s ruthless discipline and punishments,” Westcott added, “
and
as Insley’s former victim. He spoke freely of it in the wardroom. Robin Hood? A knight-errant seeking the Holy Grail? On a godly mission, to him, no doubt. Lieutenant Harcourt sneered at his … quest, and told me that Gable was a molly-coddling ‘Popularity Dick’ who let the hands get away with murder. Lieutenant Elmes did allow that Insley was a
tad
too strict, but that’s as far as he’d go to express any opinion. Caught in the middle.

“You’ll see what I mean when you look through Captain Insley’s Order Book,” Westcott told Lewrie. “I brought a copy of yours from
Reliant,
but I haven’t put it into use, yet.”

“We’ll go over my old one and make alterations to account for a much larger ship and crew,” Lewrie said. “Aye, I will look the old one over, and see if any of Insley’s standing instructions are of any use to us. Did Insley have any other admirers?”

“Harcourt; the senior Mid, Mister Hillhouse; the senior Marine officer, Keane; and the ship’s Master At Arms, of course,” Westcott told him, “two or three of the older Mids, too, Britton and Leverett. Most of the other Mids seem sorry that Gable’s gone.”

“We’ll have t’keep a close watch on them, and bring ’em round to ‘firm but fair,’” Lewrie determined, “and, keep a close eye on the hands, as well. As soon as a somewhat more lenient rule is established, they’ll be sure t’test us, the ‘sea-lawyers’, gaol sweepin’s, and the sky-larkers.”

“Sure as Fate, sir,” Westcott agreed with a grin, “but, we’ll handle them, the same way we whipped
Reliant
’s people into shape.”

“I count on you gettin’ that done, Geoffrey,” Lewrie assured him. “That’s why I was so eager t’have you as my First, again.”

“Won’t let you down, sir,” Westcott promised.

Bisquit, bored with trotting round the poop deck and marking his territory with a squirt or two, came to lay his head on Westcott’s knee and nuzzle for attention.

“There’s a rabbit pelt in his crate,” Lewrie said as he rose to his feet, “and some other of his toys. I think I’ll go below and see what my cabins are like. You two … amuse yourselves for a bit.”

“I think I shall, sir!” Westcott agreed, getting to his feet, as well. “The dignity of my office be-damned.”

CHAPTER NINE

“God, I could play tennis in here!” Lewrie muttered under his breath as he entered his great-cabins, which were divided into a dining coach to larboard, a very large bed-space to starboard, then the day cabin aft of those which spanned from beam to beam and ended at the quarter-galleries, the transom settees, and the door to his outdoor stern gallery beyond. The partitions which delineated the compartments were thin wood, not canvas stretched over light deal frames, painted a pale beige with white mouldings, and double doors led from the day-cabin to the bed-space and dining coach on the forward walls. He had to share his quarters with four of the quarterdeck 6-pounder guns, but otherwise he had
bags
of room for his wine-cabinet, desk and chair, his round brass Hindoo tray table on its low platform, and his settee and chairs set up on the starboard side.

“There’s so much space, sir, we’ve put your wash-hand stand in the bed-space, along with your chests,” Pettus told him as he fidgetted with the angle of the collapsible chairs round the tray table.

“Mus’ be plannin’ on shippin’ ’is woman aboard,” Lewrie heard from the bed-space, where the Ship’s Carpenter and his Mate were hanging up his suspended bed-cot.

“Nah, ’e just likes t’sprawl-like,” he heard Jessop comment. “But ’e’s a terror wif ’em ashore, an’ th’ First Off’cer, too. Been a widower some years, now, th’ Cap’m ’as.”

“A glass of something, sir?” Pettus said, over-loudly to warn them that Lewrie was in ear-shot.

“Aye, Pettus, I would,” Lewrie replied, equally loudly, and winking at his cabin-steward. Nervous coughs came from the bed-space. The Carpenter and his Mate gathered up their tools and slunk out into the day-cabin, where Lewrie introduced himself, learning that their names were Acfield and Stover, and thanking them for their trouble.

He got a glass of rhenish and went out on his wide and deep stern gallery to savour some fresh air. Pettus had already opened the upper halves of the transom sash windows for ventilation, and to make sure that Chalky would not get out of the cabins that way, but the cat was hellish-quick to dash out the door with him, then leap to the top railing of the gallery’s barrier, and Lewrie just as quickly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck before he tumbled overside.

“Bad place for you, Chalky …
bad!
” Lewrie chid him. “It’s not wide enough for you.” He sat the cat down on the deck.

I’ve already lost one cat, and damned if I’ll lose another!
he thought, determining that his stern walk might be an attractive perk but one that he might not be able to enjoy all that much without keeping a wary eye out for Chalky and his antics. Before the cat could jump back up there, he herded it inside and shut the door and went to the settee.

“Take your flummery, sir?” Pettus asked.

“Aye, Pettus, let’s get me back into everyday rig,” Lewrie agreed, shedding his best-dress uniform coat which bore his two medals and the star of his knighthood, then the sash which lay over his waist-coat. “I’ve done all my ‘impressing’ I’m going t’do, today. We’re going t’have t’watch that damned door to the stern gallery, ’less the damned cat gets out, hops onto the railing, and goes overboard.”

“We’ll see to it, sir,” Pettus promised. “Ehm … I had a wee chat with Mumphrey, Mister Westcott’s man? Seems there was a bit of a scramble when Mister Westcott came aboard last week. The Second Officer, Mister Harcourt, had already moved himself into the First Lieutenant’s cabin, and Midshipman Hillhouse had shifted his traps to the wardroom. When Mister Westcott turned up, both of them had quite a come-down.”

“Indeed?” Lewrie coolly sniffed.

“Mumphrey says there’s a cabin off the wardroom just for your secretary, and there’s a day office for him, too, to larboard of the helm, so I expect Mister Faulkes will feel right regal for a change. On the starboard side of the helm, there’s a sea cabin for the Sailing Master, just forward of your bed-space. I hope the fellow doesn’t snore too loudly.”

“If he does, we’ll scrounge up some spare blankets to hang on the forrud bulkhead,” Lewrie chuckled, “or if the hands at the helm take to singin’ in the middle of the night.”

The double wheel and the compass binnacle cabinet were just a few feet beyond the doors to his great-cabins, sandwiched between the day office and sea cabin, and sheltered under the poop deck; a very handy arrangement.