King's Captain

by Dewey Lambdin

  “Lord, sir!” Aspinall gulped. “Talk like ’at fair gives me th’ shivers!”

  “Your Irish mates forrud … they tell their old tales like they halfbelieved ’em, Aspinall?” Lewrie smirked.

  “Oh, aye, they do, sir. Even Desmond … best-educated o’ their lot, sir. All his songs an’ stories …”

  “You tell ’em our songs and stories, Aspinall,” Lewrie schemed. “Jester and the burial, the seals … the seals off Italy the morning we caught that French bastard Choundas. In the Adriatic, at that pirate isle … Proteus wants out of here, Aspinall, before she’s smeared in shame for all time, and no good … what do they call it? No good cess’ll be in her if she doesn’t … for any man-jack who doesn’t aid her. Or … him, whose name she secretly bears. Can you whisper that to ’em, lad?”

  “Oh, aye, sir, I can,” Aspinall agreed.

  “You and the Bosun, he already knows her nature. Hunt up Bosun Pendarves, Mister Towpenny … they’re West Country men almost good as Irish. You tell ’em for me, Aspinall. I can’t. ’Twould sound like crowing.”

  And get me tossed in gaol as a heretic—or Bedlam as a loonie!

  “I’ll get started then, sir. Iff’n ya don’t need nothin’ else?”

  “No, nothing else, Aspinall. You go visit your Irish friends.”

  God helps those who help themselves, he told himself after his steward had departed; now … which god, well … ! Either one, ya know I’m desperate. And a gallopin’ lie in a good cause is forgivable.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Another day, another harangue, Lewrie thought with a scowl as he pared his nails with a small pocket knife. The boat-parade of delegates had come with a band, flags, their “green cockade” speakers, and another rant, that just might take up half the Forenoon Watch if past performances were anything to go by.

  Must be gettin’ dotty, he told himself; but I’m almost lookin’ forward to the “entertainment!” He sat, most un-captainly slouched, in his personal wood-and-canvas folding deckchair of his own devising … feet up on the compass binnacle cabinet, conveniently near the speaker so he could hear all that transpired … yet far enough away to disclaim any real curiosity—enjoying the wan sunlight and fresh air, should anyone enquire. Lazily, as was his secret wont.

  “Now, hark ye, t’what those cringin’, cowardly tyrant ministers from London have sent us, thinkin’ we’d cringe an’ knuckle under,” the idiot McCann raved from the forward edge of the quarterdeck, brandishing a sheet of paper over his head. “Ahem!” he announced, lowering it so he could read it. “George Rex … ‘Whereas!’” he bellowed, “ … ‘upon th’ rep … rep-resent …’ damme.”

  Lewrie had himself a pleasing smirk of glee over McCann’s nigh illiterate ignorance, well hidden by the shade of his cocked hat.

  “‘ … of Our Lords-commissioners of Our Admiralty respectin’ th’ proceedin’s of th’ seamen and Marines on board certain of Our ships at th’ Nore’ … hah! All ships at th’ Nore, an’ more to come, count on’t, lads! Here, uhm … where th’ Devil was I … ? Ahem! ‘We were pleased to command Our Lords-commissioners of Our Admiralty to signify to th’ seamen and Marines Our gracious intentions, ex …’ hmmph! ’ … under Our sign m … man’—means he writ his name—then, ‘ … bearin’ date at Saint James’s th’ 27th day of May instant; and, whereas … ! Our right trusty and beloved …’ Devil take ’em! He says Earl Spencer, th’ Lord Arden, and Rear Admiral Young are ‘trusty,’ th’ old half-wit. Loony as a bedbug, an’ ever’body knows it! Here, someone with good eyes, read this shitten thing! Brother Bales, you’re a scholard, ain’t ye?”

  Bales, Lewrie noted, was ever eager to step forward and bask at centrestage. A quickly whispered conference, McCann’s tarry finger on the place he’d left off, and Bales began to declaim.

  “ … ‘did cause Our gracious intentions, expressed in Our declaration, to be signified to the crews of Our ships at the Nore, and did require such crews to return to their due obedience accordingly; and, whereas it has been represented to us, that some of the crews of Our said ships have been desirous of returning to their obedience, accordingly, but have been prevented from doing so by violence …’”

  “Who, by Jesus?” McCann howled, peering about the gathered hands as if seeking witches in New England, making the crowd of sailors balk and cringe. “No one I know wants t’return t’duty, by God! Violence … twaddle! We’re free men here, of our own free will for th’ Cause!”

  Then why, Lewrie almost chuckled to himself, did Fleet Delegates now travel in very well-armed packs, escorted by weapons-heavy guards!

  “Read on, Brother Bales! Read on!” McCann boomed.

  Bales shrugged, then turned back to face the crew below him in the waist, crowded on the gangways. “Ah … ‘doing so by violence, and others of Our ships in the actual discharge of their duty having been fired upon, and attempts having been made to prevent some of Our ships from proceeding according to the orders of their commanders, and whereas such continued perseverance in rebellious and treasonable attempts … against Our Crown and dignity …’” Bales began to mutter and frown at those words, and Lewrie perked up his own ears; “Rebellious” and “Treasonable” were not words idly bandied about!

  “Louder, damn ye; we can’t hear!” some hands demanded.

  “Uhm, ‘ … after repeated admonitions and offers of Our gracious pardon, render it necessary for Us to call on all Our loving subjects to be aiding and assisting in repressing the saime!’ Listen, mate, we best not …” Bales fretted, turning to McCann, as if pleading to leave off.

  “Go on, Brother Bales … louder! What’s it say, then?” McCann insisted, oblivious to the consequences. Bales dashed a hand ’cross his brow as if sweating lead pistol-balls. He peered about the deck for a bit of help, it looked like, someone with sense he might appeal to.

  Lewrie lowered his feet, blew breath on his now-trimmed nails, and sauntered a few feet further forward, suddenly filled with hope as he realised that the King’s letter was an ultimatum!

  Bales heaved a petulant, despairing shrug, then continued where he had broken off. “‘ … We have thought fit, by the advice of Our Privy Council, to issue this Our royal proclamation, and we do hereby strictly enjoin all Our admirals, generals, commanders, and officers of Our forces by sea and land, and all of Our magistrates whatsoever, and all others of Our loving subjects … that they in their several stations do use their utmost endeavours, according to the law, to suppress all such mutinous and treasonable proceedings, and to use all lawful means to bring the persons concerned therein, their aiders and abettors to … to justice!’”

  Some few still dared to boo or hiss like geese; the rest stood rooted by alarm; it was an ultimatum: His Majesty’s patience had come to an end!

  “‘ … and We do hereby strictly enjoin and command all of Our loving subjects whatsoever not to give any aid, comfort, assistance, or encouragement whatsoever, to any person or persons concerned in any such mutinous and treasonable proceedings, as …’” Bales paled, “‘as they will answer the same at their peril; and also to the utmost of their power, and according to the law, to prevent all other persons from giving any such aid, assistance, comfort or encouragement. Given at Our court at Saint James’s, the 31st day of May, 1797, and in the 37th year of Our reign! G … God save the king!’”

  “What?” McCann erupted in spittle-flinging fury. “God-damn th’ ol’ bugger, is more like it! Listen, Brother Bales …”

  “It’s what’s written here, you fool!” Bales screeched back at him. “See it? It’s how any royal proclamation ends, damn your eyes!”

  Glorious! Lewrie felt cause to exult in his heart; oh, thankee Jesus … maybe Lir, too! They should never have read that to the mutineers!

  When the Crown spoke of Rebellion or Revolution and portrayed the mutineers as Treasonable … ! That could get hundreds hung higher than Haman! And to order the entire nation to deny any mutineer aid, comfort, to deem anyone who did as
co-conspirators!—like the Romans Lewrie could recall from his schooldays—exiles had to leave the furthest border of the Empire and never return, shunned as lepers and denied all aid on the way—“neither fire, nor food, nor forage,” he thought the phrase was—or end up nailed to a cross, exile and aider alike!

  The King demanded that family, neighbours, friends, wives, even shopkeepers, publicans, and whores shun the mutineers now; the children flee from their father’s sight, lest they be tainted and taken up!

  Opportunity! Lewrie exulted; look at ’em waver, even the stout radicals … grim as a cartload of condemned men on the way to Tyburn and the gallows!

  “Empty threats, I tell ya!” McCann ranted, too stupid to realise the harm he’d done his cause. “The common folk are with us! We got th’ North Sea Fleet, in spite of any royal decree! Thirteen ships of th’ line, strong enough t’sail right up t’London Bridge, smashin’ all th’ forts along th’ way! Take th’ arsenal at Woolwich, all th’ guns, shot an’ powder … gather up th’ soldiers too, just ripe for comin’ over to us, and don’t ye doubt it, brothers! They’re tremblin’ in their boots!”

  And you’re whistlin’ past the graveyard, Lewrie thought!

  “Now, lads, I’ll show ye how our Floatin’ Republic answers those high-flown tyrants an’ butchers! Wrote in plain English, not all that ‘gilt-an’ beshit’ … ahem!” McCann said, producing another letter.

  “Brother McCann,” Lewrie could hear Bales urge, laying a hand on his arm to dissuade him. “It’s too much for them; they’re fearful …”

  “Let ’em stew an’ fester on the King’s writ, Brother Bales? No, they shan’t. This’ll nip fear in th’ bud. Are you growin’ fearful, Brother Bales? Turnin’ cool to th’ Cause, backin’ off like Parker is? Mayhap this ship should elect you, day-t’day, like we do him! Nossir, lemme go … ahem!”

  McCann shook loose of Bales’s restraint, and drew a deep breath.

  “My Lords!” he roared, “‘ … we had th’ honour t’receive your Lordships’ proclamation, for we don’t conceive it t’be his Majesty’s, accompanied by an insipid address from Admiral Buckner. They met with th’ fate they justly deserved! How could your Lordships think t’frighten us as old women in th’ country frighten children with such stories as th’ Wolf and Raw Head, and Bloody Bones … or, as the Pope wished to terrify th’ French Republic with his famous Bull at th’ beginnin’ of th’ Revolution! Know, gentlemen, that we’re men! Men long tried for courage and per … perseverance in a cause not altogether so interestin’ to ourselves as the present. Shall we then now be induced from a few paltry threats t’forsake our glorious plan, an’ lick your Lordships””—he paused to titter—“‘feet! … for pardon an’ grace, when we see ourselves in possession of thirteen sail of as noble ships as any in his Majesty’s service! And men not inferior to any in the kingdom! Do we demand anything but what justice licenses, and preservation approves?

  “‘Th’ few reasonable articles we’ve presented to your Lordships should have been attended to in a respectful manner, otherwise by your deferrin’ it a few days longer, some others may pop up their terrific heads t’stare your Lordships in the face! We have nothin’ more t’say but hope you will take th’ necessary steps to save the country from a Civil War, which may end in th’ ruin of yourselves, and uneasiness in our Gracious Sovereign, to whom we have ever been and will be loyal … whilst there’s a chance of our grievances bein’ addressed.

  “‘With regard to our havin’ fired at th’ San Fiorenzo … be it known to you that we are very sorry that we could not sink her! As, without regard to th’ league she had entered into with us, she basely deserted. We wish your Lordships likewise t’observe that th’ Article Number Six shall extend to all persons condemned to imprisonments, or any other punishment by th’ sentence of th’ court-martial, as well as to prisoners who have not been tried, and that all persons now aboard labouring under any such sentence be from this time entirely free! We have th’ honour t’be, your Lordships’ very humble servants, th’ seamen of th’ fleet at th’ Nore!’”

  God, Lewrie shuddered in awe; now you’ve really stepped in the quag … right up to your eyebrows! I wouldn’t post a letter like that to a dead lawyer! Threatening civil war, my Lord! If the King’s proclamation hasn’t taken the wind from their sails, then that damn-foolery surely did! Of all the belligerent, bone-headed … !

  Chatter was breaking out on every hand again, and the stunned mutterings pro and con swelled up from the gun-deck, out of his sight. Lewrie began to walk forward, into that maelstrom of doubt, sorting his thoughts for a choice, telling phrase or two which would scuttle Bales, McCann, and Proteus’s mutiny once and for all.

  “No, keep him back, there!” Bales cried, wheeling about as one of his minions tugged at his sleeve to point out Lewrie’s intentions. “Not this time, you don’t. See ’im below,” he ordered those supporters on the quarterdeck. “He’s nothing new to say to us, I’ll not have it! All officers, mates, and midshipmen will go below now!”

  And before the crew knew he might have spoken, before most even could espy his presence, Lewrie was seized and hustled aft to the companionway near the taffrails, and down the narrow ladder to his cabins. The arched, cross-hatched timber hatch-cover was slammed down over it a moment later, as Lewrie stood massaging his arms where they’d taken hold of him—though with a lot less violence than he’d expected from them. Fear of the consequences, Lewrie suspected, now the consequences had risen gallows high?

  The door to the gun-deck slammed open against the partitions of the chart-space, and Aspinall, Padgett, and Cox’n Andrews were hurled inside to join him. In the few bleak seconds allowed him, Lewrie got a glimpse of sailors gesticulating and jabbering back and forth, angry fists being shaken in faces, some making push-off gestures of conciliation as they argued for or against continuing the mutiny, amidst wails from the confused womenfolk.

  And McCann’s voice, which soared over them all, rasping harsh and shrill, so loud his words could clearly be made out even through the thick deck timbers overhead … “Spread th’ ships out so we really give’ th’ lyin’ bastards summat t’think about! We … !”

  “Dey threatenin’ t’flog any mon who goes against de oath, sah. Douse him in th’ sea,” Andrews carped, rubbing his arms as if to wipe the mutineers’ taint off, not to ease bruised flesh. He was scowling hellish-angry; even after years of freedom after running away from his slave-masters on Jamaica, he showed an aristocrat’s loathing for being pawed at.

  “Ssshh!” Lewrie bade him, pointing a finger aloft.

  “ … won’t issue rations; then we’ll take what we need!” McCann was bristling. “Hundreds o’ merchantmen, every day! Navy storeships be fair game too, a feast bound upriver t’London in every bottom! By order of th’ Fleet Parliament, we’ll starve London, swing th’ people … !”

  “Oh, Lord, that’s revolution for sure, sir!” Aspinall gasped.

  “Hush!” Lewrie snapped, all but cupping his hands to his ears.

  “ … anythin’ perishable’s free, but grain, coal, anything else, we’ll stop here in th’ Thamesmouth, lads! Brother seamen in merchant ships, they’ll side with us, o’ course they will! By next week, we’ll be twenty thousand, thirty thousand strong … in a fortnight, we’ll lay our guns on alla London do they not give us our due! Brother Bales … ! Up-anchor an’ make short sail for …”

  The rest trailed off into gibberish, then nothing, when McCann stopped talking for the horde and directed softer comments to Bales. Lewrie dropped his hands to his sides and lowered his gaze to stare at his tiny clutch of loyalists.

  “Oh, Lord, sir,” Aspinall said again, in a wee-er voice. “They really mean’ta start a rebellion. Damn’ traitors they are! Were, all along, sir, an’ just hidin’ h’it ’til …”

  “Hark, sah,” Andrews said, cutting him off, cocking his head to one side. But they could all hear the drum of horny feet on oak decks, the rustle and thump of coiled sail-tending
lines being taken down from the racks of belaying pins and dropped on the deck where they’d feed out smoothly; the preparatory creak of rope as men scampered up the shrouds and rat-lines to the tops and upper yards, the groan of the capstan as it was slowly rotated to free its drum before the messenger cable could be led to it and wound about it so the ship could be heaved into short-stays above her bower anchor. Proteus trembled gently to the movements as Bales and his mutineers prepared her to get underway.

  Lewrie went forrud to the door and pulled it open to look out at what was going on, hoping someone, anyone, might put up strong objections, but … worried as they seemed, they were still cowed by rote duty, cowed by force of arms and the threat of punishment from their rebellious leaders … the habit of obedience drummed or lashed into them … damn’ em.

  “Nossir.” Landsman Haslip leered at him, with a musket held at portarms across his chest. “You stay b’low, sir,” he insisted, taking stance to block Lewrie’s exit. At his shoulder was Marine Private Mollo, also armed with a musket. “An’ no talkin’ neither. Don’t ’ave no need o’ you, sir … none a’tall.” He grinned evilly.

  The deck was its usual bedlam, of course, as gangs of men stood crowded together at jears, halliards, lift-lines, clews, and sheets, and no ship ever had room on deck for all of them to work at once, not with all those men at the capstan, the nippermen along the messenger and the heavier cable. It was shoulder-to-shoulder, as dense as the packing of slaves on a “black-birder” on the Middle Passage, and with so many women, and a fair number of children, aboard taking up precious deckspace …

  “Here, now!” the old trollop with the passable daughter yelled, advancing on the doorway, and Lewrie felt a sudden flood of gratitude that Mollo and Haslip were armed; she looked so angry and full of lust for blood, she’d turned plummy-purple! Daughter, and that Nancy, were close on her heels, followed by at least a half-dozen more ship-wives, all howling bloody murder! “Git out me way, ya God-damn’ bean-pole! I wanna word with ’at useless cap’um, yonder!” the old harridan shrilled.