“Admiral Hood informs us he’s to seat an examining board day after tomorrow,” Railsford began, stuffing tobacco into a clay church-warden, while Freeling puttered about striking flint and tinder to get a light for him. “I thought you two might be interested in it. Mister Sedge, what say you?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but I’d not be interested.”
“The devil you say!” Railsford gawked. “You’d pass easy.”
“Aye, sir, I might,” Sedge agreed with a small smile. “I’ve been at sea since I was nine on family ships, sir. But I intend a career in merchant service ’stead of the Navy.”
“But still—” Railsford shrugged, his pipe now lit.
“The Navy don’t pay, sir, and my family needs money to get back on their feet after what the Rebels looted from us,” Sedge concluded in a sigh. “The Navy’s only been temp’rary. Sailin’ master’s high enough for me, and more suited to my future employment, sir.”
“Hmm, if you are sure, I don’t suppose anything I say could convince you,” Railsford acquiesced. “I wish you joy of your career. But after the war, there’ll be a glut of qualified officers once the Fleet’s been reduced. Passing may give you the leg up.”
“Aye, sir, but my uncle and my dad still have two ships, and I’d be at least a mate come hell’r high water,” Sedge told him smugly.
“Thank you, Mister Sedge, that’ll be all, then. Well, Mister Lewrie, what about you?” Railsford asked as Sedge left.
“Yes, sir!” Alan answered with alacrity, sensing escape from his problems. “But only … I don’t have six years on ship’s books, sir.”
“Oh, the devil with that, there’s a war on, and no one gives a tinker’s damn about piddling details, not on a foreign station.”
“Really, sir?” Alan brightened, wondering if he could stand on firmer ground as a passed midshipman, if he wasn’t immediately made a lieutenant. Please, dear God, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut! Please!
“If your records are in order, and you may answer their questions sensibly, they’d have no reason to refuse you, Mister Lewrie,” Railsford told him, now puffing a wreath of smoke around his head.
“Then I would like to try, sir,” Alan agreed quickly.
“You’re fortunate that I can give you a good report, as well as Captain Treghues over in Capricieuse, all in harbor at the same time. And the former second officer and your old commander in your first two ships as well, just in case you didn’t keep your professional bona fides in order,” Railsford maundered on lazily.
“Ah, the first lieutenant, sir.” Alan turned a touch gloomy at the thought of Lieutenant Kenyon, and the very idea of having to depend on him to put in a good word for him now.
“I’ll ask of him for you,” Railsford offered. “Now, there’s not much time to study, so you’d best be about it. Dine with me this evening and I shall fill you in on procedure and what the likely questions are to be. Go through your Falconer’s and especially your navigation texts. Mister Sedge would be a good tutor.”
“Aye, sir,” Alan nodded. God, what if I’m passed for lieutenant? he speculated once on deck again. There must be openings for dozens of officers in all these ships, else they’d never seat the bloody board! Well, maybe a dozen in all. And how many midshipmen to examine? A hundred? In one day, two days? They can’t spend more than half an hour on any of them, could they? Maybe even a quarter hour. I’m not stupid, and I have learned a lot. And there must be plenty of idiots who’ll stand no chance before a board. I could be one of those dozen who pass and receive a posting into a new ship. Even if I don’t get an immediate posting, I could become prize-master the next time we take a foe, and be away from Kenyon again, free as the birds. Or, he concluded grimly, God help me, I could fail and be stuck here.
“Well turned out, I see,” Railsford commented on Lewrie’s uniform as he was announced into the after cabins. “I trust you’re saving your best for the board.”
“Aye, sir,” Alan replied, feeling on tenter-hooks at the sight of Lieutenant Kenyon seated aft on the transom settee with a glass of wine in his hand.
“Take a seat, Mister Lewrie,” Railsford directed, meaning to put him at his ease. “Address yourself to that decanter of claret in front of you. Just in from home on the packet, though I fear it did not travel at all well. Still …”
“Thankee, sir,” Alan replied, clawing a stemmed glass from the towel and pouring it almost full.
“I must tell you that when I informed Captain Treghues of your intent to attend the examining board, he was delighted at the idea,” Railsford related, seating himself at the dining table. “Mister Kenyon, do come join us for a companionable drink before supper is served.”
“Aye, sir,” Kenyon said. When he sat down, Alan was pleased to note that, though the night was relatively cool, the first officer wore a sheen of sweat on his brow and his upper lip, and beads of moisture trickled down his cheeks.
“Little did you realize, Mister Kenyon, that our prodigy here would be presenting himself for the chance at a commission in your lifetime, hey?” Railsford began with a small jest.
“Indeed not, sir,” Kenyon chuckled with a superior little drawl, like a gambler whose hole-cards will take the game as soon as he shows them. “I’d have expected more like another year or two of seasoning. Spent five years a younker before I stood a board.”
“The full six for me,” Railsford reminisced.
“Two years and a bit, though.” Kenyon frowned, warming to his theme. “Well, that’s cutting it a bit fine, even in wartime.”
“But we were callow little cullies of twelve or thirteen.” The captain laughed, which made Alan dart a thankful glance at him. “Mister Lewrie was more mature when he first put on King’s coat, and a cut above the average midshipman in intelligence to begin with.”
“Seasick in Portsmouth, and adrift in old Ariadne. In harbor,” Kenyon added with relish. “Took an hour to report to our first officer after he stepped below.”
“Still, he learned quickly,” Railsford said, chuckling at the image of Lewrie “casting his accounts” over the side of a ship safely moored in Portsmouth. “Some learn faster than others. I’ve no qualms about his prospects, if you don’t.”
“Did I not learn, sir?” Alan interrupted, directing his gaze to Kenyon. “So many things. About the Navy. And people.”
Damned if he was going to sit there being discussed like a thing, and damned if he was going to let Kenyon lay doubts about him. Kenyon almost choked on a sip of wine at the last comment.
“Enough to stand before a board, I’ll warrant,” Railsford went on, oblivious to Alan’s little verbal shot. “Captain Treghues sent me a packet for you, Lewrie. Letter of recommendation, and a list of some questions you’ll likely be challenged with. Ah, here’s the one about outfitting a ship from truck to keel. And some other posers he’s heard about over his years.”
“I’m most grateful for any aid from him, sir.”
“Didn’t exactly love you when you first joined Desperate, did he?” Railsford shrugged. “Our late captain did not hold with dueling, and our Alan here had just put some Army bastard’s lights out.”
“Yes, I heard about that,” Kenyon said. “Even if the girl was your admiral’s niece, I’d not have approved, either.”
“Well, I can say it now he’s got his new command and is gone from us,” Railsford stated. “Captain Treghues played the most devilish favorites, sometimes for the worst people. It was feast or famine for everyone, and no sense to it, no way of knowing how one may have offended.”
“His cater-cousin, Midshipman Forrester, sir.” Alan grimaced.
“Thank God we left the surly turd at Yorktown,” Railsford said with a laugh. “Yet, prejudiced as he was in the beginning, he came ’round to appreciate Mister Lewrie, so his praise is doubly blessed.”
“To everything there is a season, so to speak, sir,” Kenyon replied. “Approbation or shame. But did your captain shun the worthy and praise
the unworthy by seasons, sir? Then perhaps … well, if he had learned of young Alan’s past, and if he was, as I’ve heard, a perfect Tartar on religion and proper behavior, who’s to know why Captain Treghues would recommend him now so highly. Or is it more of the same?”
“You speak of Mister Lewrie’s antecedents, sir?” Railsford bristled a little at his first officer. “Our purser’s brother straightened that out for him. There’s no shame in having a shady past, or a Corinthian brothel-dandy for a father, if one may rise above it, sir. Excuse me, Mister Lewrie, if I portray your father in that light.”
“One might add forgerer, thief, bigamist, false witness and bugger, sir,” Alan ticked off cheerfully. “I’m told he only sticks his head out o’ Sundays when he can’t be taken for debts.” “There’s no family so blameless the light of day wouldn’t turn up a rogue or two, Mister Kenyon. All the more reason to wish Lewrie well with the examining board, since he’s risen so far above his own. A captain must not become too familiar with his officers and crew, so I will most definitely not mention the rumors of smuggling and ship-wrecking spoken about the Railsford’s in the past back in Weymouth.” He gave them a look in conclusion that indicated they should laugh.
“I must confess I was not bound for the sea from the time I was breeched, sir, as you were,” Alan said to Railsford. “But, once I did get to sea, and I found my legs, as it were, I must own to an ambition to become a commission officer and serve as best I can.”
Oh God, Alan thought, if I heard another shit-sack like me spout such things, I believe I’d box his ears first and then spew in his lap. Damn Kenyon! First poison about my abilities, now these slurs on Treghues’ opinion, and my past. Surely Railsford can see the bastard’s prejudiced against me! I’ll most likely fail the board and then he’ll have me triced up and ruined if I don’t put him in his place now!
“One would think you harbored some grievance against Lewrie yourself, Mister Kenyon,” Railsford chid his first officer.
“I wish him fortune with the board, sir, though I doubt he’s seasoned enough to be a commission officer yet,” Kenyon countered with a beatific grin that belied his motives. He did look a little desperate, though, as he realized that he had overstepped the bounds of subtlety. He had his own place to earn with Railsford in this new ship.
“Perhaps, sir,” Alan said to Railsford, “Mister Kenyon remembers my first days aboard old Ariadne, when I as much confessed to him that I did not wish to make the sea my calling. But, Mister Kenyon, I remember as well, you once told me that you were not enamored of going to sea when you first joined, but that certain reasons made it necessary. Would your own personal history be reflected upon mine? Ordinarily I would not presume to inquire, but this seems such an informal occasion. Perhaps your beginning might make a merry tale.”
Squirm your way out of that, you whoreson! Alan thought happily.
“Yes, Mister Kenyon. How did you get your ha’porth of tar?” Railsford asked, pouring them another glassful as the salad arrived.
Kenyon had not expected such a frontal attack, and he turned queasy as a land-lubber in a full gale. But, over the years, he had invented a plausible past, and had polished it with retelling, so whatever unnatural act he had committed that forced him to sea “to make a man of him” had been submerged. It should have tripped from his lips without effort, usually. And he began it, but didn’t quite gain that casual, bluff and hearty, tarry-handed air he usually affected.
“Well, sir, boys will be wild animals, you know …” he started with a shaky laugh, taking time to glare evilly at Lewrie in warning.
That carried them through soup and salad. Commander Railsford in his turn related his own entry into the Navy after that, and through most of the main course, unbending from the stiffness, aloofness and anonymity expected of a captain who held the lives and careers of his dining companions in his hands for good or ill.
At least, Alan noted, Kenyon dropped his dirge about Alan being so unready for the attempt at a commission, and watched him with a chary eye for the rest of the dinner, never knowing at what moment he might pop up with another question, or a veiled comment that would expose him.
The man sipped from the same glass of wine all through dinner, and sweated as though he had been forced to stoke the fires of Hell, which gave Alan a great deal of pleasure to witness.
Chapter 5
Feeling nervous as a kit-fox who has just heard the hunter’s horn, Alan Lewrie climbed through the entry port into Barfleur on the morning appointed for his ordeal. The waters in English Harbor had been swarming with boats trying to ply oars as midshipmen from all the vessels currently present had assembled to the summoning flag pendants, bearing their hopeful occupants.
He clutched his canvas-wrapped documents to his breast after he had saluted the side-party and the quarterdeck, feeling an urge to read through them once more to assure his twanging nerves that they were still all there, and that they still sang his praises as nicely as they had when he had first received them.
Treghues had penned a fulsome letter from his new command in Capricieuse. His aptly named capriciousness of mood had indeed turned full circle, and now Midshipman Lewrie had been one of his best junior warrants right from the start, more mature and quicker of mind than any young man he had ever met, etc.
Railsford had penned a neat little recommendation, not so laudatory as to stir disbelief; taut and nautical like the man himself. And, Alan still marveled, Kenyon had added recommendations of his own, with no mention of nagging worries that Lewrie might be a little wet behind the ears. Beyond the bare recitation of the deeds in which Alan had taken part and distinguished himself by his conduct and bravery, or his developing knowledge of sea lore, there was little real praise, but it did leave the impression that he was at least somewhat worthy of examination.
Lukewarm Kenyon’s approval might be, but at least he did not disapprove, and Alan thought that Railsford had something to do with that. He might have had to press Kenyon for a favorable letter, but what could Kenyon do, Alan asked himself in a moment of smugness, refuse to recommend his new captain’s favorite? Show displeasure with such a well thought of young fellow with so much promise?
There was also the possibility that Kenyon was hedging his bets, laying groundwork of his own so that when Alan failed the board and came back aboard with his tail between his legs, he could tell Railsford that he had told him so. And if Alan failed, would he lose enough of Railsford’s approval that Kenyon could then begin to lay a stink upon him, carp at failures and bring him down until he caught him out and then proceeded to break him?
“There must be an hundred of us, I swear to God,” a gangly midshipman commented at Alan’s elbow. “And more coming all the time. Every fool with white collar tabs must think he has a chance, this board.”
The speaker was in his twenties, and while all the others that Alan had seen were turned out in their best kit, this one was wearing a somewhat shabby coat, and his waist-coat and breeches were dingy. Was he poor as a traveling tinker, or did he just not care? Alan wondered.
“Let us hope most of them are abominably stupid,” Alan said to be pleasant, still praying, as most of them did, that he would pass.
“This is my third board,” the older midshipman confided with a breezy air. “But I’ll pass this time. Think you I look salty enough?”
“Aye, salty’s the word for you,” Alan said with a raised eyebrow.
“They’ll have a host of little angels in there today, all alike as two peas in a pod, scrubbed up so their own mothers wouldn’t know ’em,” the older lad reasoned. “But when they see a real tarry-handed younker, they’ll just assume they’ve a prime candidate on their hands and go easy on me.”
Alan wished the fellow would go away. He was trembling with anxiety, and all the guidance, set questions and trick posers he had been coached in had flown out of his head. He was sure if he did not have space to think for a while before they started examining people, his brains would
leave him utterly. But he had to respond.
“I should think they would dig down for the most arcane stuff if you show too knowledgeable as soon as you enter the room,” Alan said.
“God, don’t say that,” the young man snapped, losing a little of his swagger. “Besides, I know my stuff, you see if I don’t.”
“Then the best of luck to you.” Alan bowed, wanting to be alone. The quarterdeck was swarming with midshipmen, all furrowing their brows as they re-read their texts once more, casting their hopeful faces skyward, reciting silently the hard questions they had drilled on as though at heartfelt prayer.
“Right, you lot,” an officer shouted above the low din. “Now, who’ll be first below?”
Not a soul moved, shocked by the suggestion of being the first sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.
“What a pack of cod’s-heads,” the officer grunted with a sour expression. “You lads to starboard, then. Lead off. You, the ginger-haired one, you’re the bell-wether, whether you like it or not. They’ve had their breakfasts already, so they might be pleasant.”
That started a parade toward the ladders into the captain’s quarters on the upper gun deck, where clerks met them and took down their names and ships. All the furnishings from the outer cabins had been cleared, so they were forced to stand. Alan was about twentieth on the list; he had reasoned that the closer the examining board got to their mid-day meal, the less time they would want to spend asking damn-fool questions of damn-fool midshipmen, and might throw him two or three posers and then make up their minds quickly, allowing him a better chance to show well without being grilled like a steak.
Like a patient waiting for the surgeon to attend him, he took a place against an interior partition and forced himself to think of something pleasant. It was already too crowded and warm in the cabins, and there was almost no elbow room to dig into his snowy-white breeches for a pocket handkerchief to mop the slight sheen of sweat from his face.
The King's Commission Page 9
