King`s Captain l-9

by Dewey Lambdin

  "No, hold out 'til we get liberal shore leave, what our brothers at Spithead gave up on!" Seaman Bales shouted, striding out into plain view. "A fairer division of prize-money too. A whole lot more things that Spithead was afraid to demand," he slyly added.

  "Like bloody what, Bales?" Lewrie snapped, hands on his hips and pacing forward to confront them, so more hands could hear the dispute. "You men… did Admiral Buckner come aboard this instant and offer you the same terms as Spithead… how many of you would take 'em and your pardon, return to duty, and have this done?"

  He was gratified beyond all measure to see tentative hands stuck aloft, like schoolboys who thought they might just know the answer to a "puzzler." More than half, Lewrie exulted, more than half, ready to cave in, take the liberal terms the government had made, duck out of sight and notice, before they got dragged into deeds which could get them hanged in wholesale lots!

  Mates and warrants of a certainty wavered. Lewrie nodded as he took a quick count; a fair portion of the Ordinary or Able Seamen, the Marines, and most of the new-comes, the landsmen idlers and waisters… new ship, few cliques, no real complaints against Proteus of her officers, yet… scared men, looking for safety…?

  "You're not part of the ship's committee, Captain," Bales cried. "You have no say in this… nor any right to demand a division of our house, sir!"

  "Turn 'im out!" Yeoman of the Powder Kever shouted. "There's a vote t'take, hoy, brother seamen? Turn all th' officers out!"

  "He's only doing what Admiralty demands of him," Bales quickly disagreed, "not your practiced tyrant… but, don't heed him, brothers! There's no proposal from Admiralty to vote on… not yet!"

  Lewrie cocked a wary eye at Bales, puzzled. Most captains had been sent ashore by their mutineers; he'd be in good company. So why not? What motive could this Bales have for scotching that idea?

  "Follow President Parker, lads," McCann shouted, sticking his oar in, "don't sell yer birthright f r a mess o' pottage. We've but to hold on f'r a piece more; we'll win all that Spithead got and more!"

  "Vow to hold out 'til it's a proper, written Act of Parliament!" President Parker boomed. "Not only for yourselves, but for your fellow seamen at Spithead, Plymouth, Great Yarmouth… overseas…!"

  "Hold out all summer, do we haveta!" McCann screeched. "We got th' ships; we got th' guns! 'Thout us, Admiral Duncan at Great Yarmouth can't do a thing, do th' Dutch come out! Aye, they need us! An' we'll make 'em pay a pretty price for us, you mark my words! We sit tight united as Brother Seamen, 'til Howe'r some other top-lofty lords come wringin' their hands, quakin' in their boots, t'sit down an' deal with us direct! Right, Brother Parker?"

  "Absolutely right, Brother McCann!" Parker firmly said.

  "By God, we'll make 'em sorry they don't!" McCann ranted on. "We could block th' Thames'n Medway an' starve th' city out! What'll th' high-an'-mighty do, then? Why, we could sail up an' shoot Whitehall t'm'nders if they don't do right by us'n th' Spithead lads! Any sign they deal deceitful an' we burn it t'th' ground… Whitehall, Admiralty, all of it! Raise th' whole nation, an'…!

  "But it won't come to that, lads!" Parker cried out to cut off McCann before such rebellious talk went any further. For a fleeting instant, Lewrie could almost sympathise with the poor bugger, saddled with such a batch of firebrands! God knew who sat on the Fleet Delegate Committee- United Irishmen, wild-eyed Republican rebels and Levellers, foreign-paid traitors and schemers…? It probably wasn't much fun trying to ride whipper-in to a baying herd like that.

  "A little more patience is all!" Parker cautioned, "so they see we're serious, and they'll give in to us, come talk to us. They'll have to! We'll get our own terms, winnow our officers and mates, and get our own pardons! A week or more, and it'll be settled. Peaceful!" Parker shouted, rewarding McCann with a warning glare. "And a permanent Act for all the world to see! You mark my words on that! Unity! Unity, lads! Strike up 'All Hail, Brother Seamen,' there…!"

  Then he quickly led them into the beginning of a song, which took their minds off fantasies of torches, stakes, or crucified aristocracy.

  "Go below," Bales yelled, mustering his staunchest supporters and pointing at Lewrie and the officers aft. "No votes for officers… Go below! No votes for officers; go below…!" they began to chant.

  "All hail, Brother Seamen, that ploughs on the Main,

  Likewise to well-wishers of seamen of fame,

  May Providence watch over brave British tars,

  And guide them with care from the dangers of wars!"

  "Might be best, after all, sir?" Lt. Langlie posed. "We don't wish to create a regrettable incident, the mood they're in at present."

  "S'pose you're right, Mister Langlie," Lewrie gravelled, loath as he was to be seen to flee. And, admittedly, loath as he was to duck below without flinging them a last, stinging, Parthian shot. He'd never let an insult pass without giving as good (or better) as he got; why change his ways aboard ship, then? But he had no choice this time.

  "At Spithead, Jack, from long silence was roused,

  which wakes other Brothers who did not refuse,

  to assist in the plan Good Providence taught,

  in the hearts of brave seamen that had long been forgot!"

  "Goddamn them!" Lt. Wyman most uncharacteristically blasphemed. "It's all over, can they not see that, listen to cool reason…?" "Evidently, not," Lewrie snarled.

  "Old Neptune made haste, to the Nore he did come,

  To waken his sons who had slept for too long,

  his thund'ring loud voice made us start with surprise,

  to hear his sweet words, and he bid us arise…!"

  "Gentlemen," Lewrie prompted, pointing to his companionway ladder, and they sorted themselves out in order of seniority to descend to his cabins. Lewrie tried hard not to glare them all to scorn for a last stinging defiance. Once more he had been bested, scoffed at! And it stung like the very blazes!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Another bleak morning, another bleak walk after breakfast, upon his usurped quarterdeck, with hands shrinking away from him when he got near them. And, Lewrie sighed in frustration, another damned longboat coming alongside, which had left HMS Sandwich minutes before. And, he feared, another harangue by the Fleet Delegates, another excuse for the crew to sing, caper, and tweak their noses at him! A ragged side-party turned out to welcome the visitor; and Bales, Handcocks, Morley, and Kever turned up to greet him. Hands engaged in the task of scrubbing and sluicing the decks, tensioning the shrouds and stays, paused from their labours to see what the occasion was. Rather blearily, Lewrie thought. There seemed to be even more women aboard than the evening before, more strange new faces yawning over mugs of small beer drunk to cut the alcoholic fog from all they'd taken aboard in the previous night's revelries below decks.

  Thankfully, it was only a minor functionary this time, Lewrie saw, a common seaman bearing a note. He'd barely gained the gangway and handed the note over to Bales, shared a quiet word with him, then he was off once more, back over the side and into the boat.

  "Bosun, pipe 'All Hands'!" Bales shouted. "Don't stand there with yer mouth agape, Mister Pendarves. Don't look to Captain Lewrie when I give you an order, damn yer eyes, he's not in charge here. I'm in temporary command. Pipe 'All Hands,' then 'Hands to Stations For Getting Underway!' "

  Sounds like an officer, Alan thought; where'd he learn that?

  Pendarves was looking up from the waist to the quarterdeck, in a quandary as to what to do. Sitting and waiting for the mutiny to be settled was one thing; getting up the anchors and making sail sounded like a dangerous escalation of this crisis!

  " 'Vast, there, Mister Pendarves!" Lewrie barked. "Bales! You will not endanger my ship by getting sail on her. That's beyond your brief. By God, sir… explain yourself and be quick about it!"

  "Aye, I'll explain myself, sir," Bales shot back, stung to the quick for a rare once; his smirky, superior demeanour pierced. "The ship is ordered to shift her anchorage int
o the Great Nore."

  "Not by any authority I recognize, Bales," Lewrie hooted. "She stays where she is."

  "Damn you, Pendarves… pipe 'All Hands On Deck!' " Bales roared, as he and his minions stalked from the gangway to the quarterdeck.

  "That's Mister Pendarves, Seaman Bales," Lewrie corrected, with a great deal of glee for an opportunity to gall the man. "I do believe your Fleet Delegates ordered you to show respect to superiors. Surely, you're capable of following a simple directive…?"

  "Mister Pendarves, pipe 'All Hands,' " Bales was forced to amend, reddening with anger, "and my pardons to you."

  "Sir?" Pendarves said, looking to Lewrie still.

  "Proceed, Mister Pendarves," Lewrie allowed lightly.

  The more witnesses, the merrier, he silently smirked; t 'see this shitten louse get taken down a peg'r two. I've got to him at last, in public! Stung him so deep, he might make another error?

  The Bosun dutifully sounded the call, and the hands below, with their hung-over "wives," came shambling up into the fresh air, looking as if sunlight and a fresh breeze didn't much agree with them.

  "Lads, the Fleet Delegates've sent us a message!" Bales cried.

  And Lewrie was pleased to note how much they lacked enthusiasm for that news this early in the morning! Too many special messages, he hoped, too many excuses for ranting speeches, stirring orations, or declarations already?

  "Ahem…'… to temporary "Captain" Bales, in command of HMS Proteus.. . you are required and directed to shift your anchorage from Garrison Point to a position among the Nore Fleet, exercising all due care and caution in the selection of your anchorage •••,'" Bales read aloud.

  "Dangerous ground, Bales," Lewrie loudly sneered, "your Fleet Delegates parroting real orders… they've no power to 'require or direct.' Nor do you. Pretending to be Admiralty or government will cost 'em dear… cost you dear, and any man who pretends to obey such…!"

  "We'll take that risk!" Bales snarled back at him, just as loudly. "Fleet Delegates wish us to shift to the Great Nore; then that is where we go… sir! Beyond the reach of the fortress guns and such!"

  "Out where men who disagree with you and your floating 'Parliament' can't desert, you mean!" Lewrie shot back.

  "Go below, Captain." Bales flushed once more, striving to keep his temper. "You've no say in this, no vote."

  "You'd shift this ship without putting it to a vote!" Lewrie retorted with a tongue-in-cheek twinkle. "What say you, lads? Do you want to be that far from shore, on his mere say-so?… Fire on civilians ashore later? Sail to bloody France later, just 'cause he… !"

  "Enough, damn you!" Bales screeched, prodded into fury at last and instantly regretting it, for the low murmur of shock that arose on deck from the waiting hands. "Mister Handcocks," Bales said, calming, "men to the quarterdeck to see the Captain below! And see he remains there 'til I give him leave!"

  "Here now, Bales," Pendarves called up from the waist, "ya lay hands on a Commission Officer, and everyone's doomed t'hang alongside ya. Ya swore this'd be peaceful, respectful…"

  "And it is, Mister Pendarves!" Bales countered. "But for this… but for the Captain's objections. It's my responsibility. I take it on myself. We're peaceable, so far. I ask you, though… who among us is the one trying to stir us up, turn us 'gainst each other, except for the Captain? Any dispute amongst us 'tis his doing! Now, Brother Seamen! We'll go to stations… get the anchors up, make sail!"

  Handcocks had summoned half-a-dozen hands, the hardest, meanest, and most dedicated to the Cause. Lewrie contemplated further resistance, of taking a cuff or two, perhaps a full beating from them, to spur his crew to mutiny against the mutineers, if that's what it took!

  "You'll need the officers," Lewrie suggested slyly, yielding not a single inch, "if you're determined to move this ship."

  "Nossir, we do not!" Bales snapped. "We've senior mates aboard, experienced sailors. I've served as Quartermaster and Master's Mate before. I think we're perfectly capable of sailing two miles and taking a new anchorage… without the help of you or your officers! Now, pipe 'Hands to Stations,' Mister Pendarves! Jump to it, lads! Sir… Captain Lewrie, sir, I'll thank you to leave the quarterdeck. Else whatever befalls you will be your own fault," he added, much softer.

  "And none o' yours, of course, Seaman Bales!" Lewrie sneered, secretly gloating that he'd finessed this nigh to the crucial confrontation that would break the back of the crew's apathy, put steel into the spines of those wavering… "Well, if you and the rest of your mutineers are so damn' capable, why don't you put us ashore before you guarantee the noose around your bloody neck!" he hissed with pleasure.

  Bales did the very worst thing then, to Lewrie's lights. That subtle bastard regained his composure, stepped so close that Lewrie could smell the reek of his unwashed shirt, and smiled quite malevolently.

  "So that's what you wish, is it, Captain?" he whispered. "Well, you'll not get it. Oh no, not you, most of all. I've plans for you, I have! No matter how the mutiny falls out. Now, would you be so good as to get your arse off my quarterdeck? Out of the way of sailors who know what they're about? Mister Handcocks, see 'im below. Be gentle with 'im, but not too gentle, hey?"

  Of all the low lifes they could have clasped hands with, there was Haslip with Handcocks's party of enforcers, with his hand upon the hilt of his (so-far) sheathed clasp knife, with an expression of pure hatred and revenge on his phyz for his ravaged back.

  Taking a cuff or two, getting his eyes blacked, or spouting claret from a smashed nose, well… that was one thing. Getting his gizzards spilled by a mutineer's knife was quite another! For one, there'd be no opportunity to savour his testimony, or the joy of watching these people go for the high jump from the gallows! For the first time, he felt a frisson of pure fear! This mutiny could end a lot bloodier than anyone intended or expected. His blood, in point of fact!

  "Will ya go below, Cap'um, sir?" Mr. Handcocks asked, seeming about as shaken as Lewrie was that he was offering a threat of violence to an officer. " 'Fore, uhm…" he gulped, shifty-eyed.

  "For now, Mister Handcocks," Lewrie allowed after glaring hot (and taking several temporising, restoring deep breaths). "For you, sir. You've done nothing worthy of hanging for… yet," Lewrie lied.

  "Aye, sir. Thankee, sir," Handcocks muttered, sounding almost grateful. "We should go, sir," he prompted, as Pendarves and Towpenny reluctantly piped the call which Bales had bade them, amidst the scamper and thunder of feet heading for the capstan, the messenger cables, the nippers, and the shrouds which led aloft to the yards.

  They paced aft to that companionway ladder near the taffrails once more, in silence as the afterguard trudged to the kedge anchor cable, to the jears and halliards for the mizzen tops'l and spanker.

  "I don't know what led you to take part in mutiny, Mister Handcocks," Lewrie said in a low voice, "what grievances you had that stirred you to rise up 'gainst lawful authority, or take such a prominent part in it. How long you helped its planning…"

  Handcocks merely breathed hard, his gaze fixed shoreward.

  "But I warn you now, Mister Handcocks," Lewrie whispered, "it is getting out of hand. It's grown a life of its own, and you have no control over it. Do you have any real say in the ship's committee, it might be best did you speak out for temperance. Threatening a captain will lead to blood, sooner or later. First we move out of gun-range. Next time, will it be the Texel? A French port? Out to fight Channel Fleet… now they're restored to duty?"

  "Sure I don't know, sir." Handcocks groaned, sounding strangled.

  "Maybe we're being shifted 'cause Parker, Bales, and their lot're afraid of sensible hands taking the Spithead offer," Lewrie suggested. "So they don't lose control…'cause that's not what their paymasters want… a settlement. Their foreign paymasters, Mr. Handcocks."

  "Sir, if ya pleasel" Handcocks begged as they got to the top of the companionway, all but wringing his hands in abject misery.

  "Mister Handcocks, Bales has m
ore in mind than redress of your socalled grievances," Lewrie intimated, striving to sound "matey" and concerned. "Ask yourself what that could be. His dislike of me, however- though I can't recall ever meeting the man before-one would think he held a personal hatred. Whatever it is, Mister Handcocks, don't be too caught up in it. This could gallop out of control in the blink of an eye! The Spithead offer… it's fair. 'Twixt you and me, I'll say it was overdue, aye. But it's all you're going to get. Don't lose your Warrant… or your head… asking for a jot more. Or let things turn violent, hmmm?"

  "If you'd go below now, sir, Cap'um, sir," Handcocks replied, wincing and bobbing his head in agony. Lewrie gave him a hearty clap of sympathy on the shoulder to buck him up.

  And if that didn 't light a fire under his "nutmegs, " Lewrie told himself, once below and out of sight, / don't know what will. And if he can't take a hint, then to the Devil with him!

  "Brandy, Aspinall… brimmin'," Lewrie called.

  "Aye, sir… comin' directly."

  'Twos a near-run thing I didn't get beaten senseless, Lewrie had to admit to himself; pushed it almost too far, I did. But at least I made Bales an ogre to the hands; gave 'em another think about how dangerous this is. Put caution in Handcocks, a few others…?

  Hmmm… this Bales, now… Lewrie thought as his brandy came.

  He'd revealed that he'd served as a Quartermaster and Master's Mate at one time; might have aspired to Admiralty Warrant as a Sailing Master too? Lewrie pondered, idly pacing his cabins. Must've blotted his copybook though, or lost his patrons when turned over into a new ship… lost his rate when a new captain had come aboard with his own favourites in tow.

  That would explain his grudge against the Navy, Lewrie decided, but… he threatened me, directly! As if I owe him for something from his past? And he'll make me pay, no matter what happens, will he?