’Don't be flip with me, Lewrie. You'll live to regret it. ’
‘Aye aye, sir," Alan said, on his guard again. ’That's all, then. Dismissed. Get below.’
’About my luggage, sir?’
‘Yes?" Swift smiled, almost pleasant for once. ’Could you give me some men to help carry it, sir?’
‘Think it might be worth a penny for me, Lewrie?" Swift asked. ’Oh… I wouldn't presume.. ‘. ’Take care of it yerself, fer God's sake! Dismissed!" Alan staggered out onto the quarterdeck, glad to have escaped without a physical attack or something direr. Damme, it's hellish-bad enough just being on this filthy ship. Do they have to be so hateful? He looked about the quarterdeck but did not see anyone exactly menial. It was inhabited by a few people in blue coats, red waistcoats, cocked hats and breeches. It was only below the quarterdeck rail that he saw men in checked shirts and redand-white-striped ticken trousers, or short blue jackets, some wearing flat tarred hats. He descended to the ship's waist, into that stirring crowd of men, determined to give as good as he had gotten lately.
Let's see if this junior wammt power works, he thought, bracing the first man he saw. "You there. What's your name?’
‘Bostwick, sor," the man replied, startled and suddenly on his guard. "Oim a larboard waister, sor.’
’Grab another hand and go down to the gun room. I shall want my… dunnage shifted to the orlop," Lewrie ordered, hunting for the right words. ’Roight away, sor!" The man nodded, relieved that the new midshipman only wanted something trifling done. "Here, George, bear a hand, laddy.’
Had Alan not followed them below closely, he would have been lost. They hoisted his heavy chest and he followed them back to the companionways, down another ladder to the orlop deck, and slightly aft to the cockpit. If the gun room had been gloomy, then the cockpit was the netherpit of the deepest, darkest hell. There were two deadlights of Muscovy glass that let in weak beams of light from God knew where. Glims burned in paper holders here and there to relieve the darkness. There was a long mess table with chests down both sides as furniture. Four minuscule cabins not much bigger than dogboxes were set two abeam. The headroom between the thick beams that supported the lower gun deck over his head could not have been much over five-and-a-half feet. There were several midshipmen lounging about, obviously bored, dressed any-oldhow. The air was thick with the smell of pipe tobacco, bilge odor, sour clothing, mildew, salt, tar, and a generation of peasoup farts. All in all, it was a damned sight worse than Harrow even on the worst days Alan could remember.
The hands set his chest down with a crash at an open space near the far end of the table. "Er… beggin' yer pardon, sir," the fellow known as George asked, knuckling his brow. "Does yer want me ter be yer 'ammockman, sir?" Am I being put on, or does that mean what I think it does? he wondered. I heard the Navy was a bunch of bum wallopers, but I thought it was illegal. ’Keep yer togs all spiffylike, sir," George explained. "You already do for the ward-room, Jones," the young midshipman named Ashburn said. "Lieutenants do not get dirty, but midshipmen do. You'd have Mister Lewrie looking like a 'tag, rag, and bob-tail' in a week. Off with you, now.’
’Aye aye, sir.’
’Thank you, Mister Ashburn," Lewrie said as soon as they were gone. "Should I have tipped them something?" This drew a chorus of hoots and laughs from everyone. "Christ, no. They're more used to a rope's end on their fundaments," one young man said, looking up from a book he was trying to read in the light of a small candle.
Lewrie peeled off his coat and hat and found a spare peg on which to hang them. He also unfrogged his new dirk, an especially showy one with an ivory grip and what the shopkeeper had assured him was a heavily gold plated lion pommel. ’Pretty little sticker," Ashburn idly commented. ’Anyone ever use one of these things for real, or just prying open jam pots?" Lewrie asked. ’r d sooner have spent the money on a letter opener," Ashburn replied. "Take off your neckcloth and make yourself to home. Pass that toddy down here before this newly gets his death. ‘
‘Thank you," Alan said, getting comfortable on top of his chest, arms resting on the scarred mess table. ’Let me do the honors," Ashburn said, pouring a battered pewter mug full of steaming toddy. "The bookworm over there is Harvey Bascombe. This is Alan Lewrie, I believe. Bascombe is a total waste of time, and doesn't even have a sister, so he's not worth knowing.’
’Hello.’
’That's Chapman, our senior midshipman," Ashburn said, indicating the older man who Alan had rubbed shoulders with on deck. "We all toe the line when Chapman speaks, don't we, lads?" Chapman was a carrot-haired lout with not a sign of intelligence behind his eyes, but seemed kindly. Lewrie got the idea that Ashburn was japing the fellow with his comment, a comment that went right over the man's head. ’The mathematical genius over there with the slate is Jemmy Shirke. Do not trust his sums, ever. And never let him navigate any boat you're in. Young Jemmy, on the other hand, has three sisters in Suffolk, all willing tits, or so he tells us.’
’What a reception you got," Shirke said, putting aside his slate and coming to the table to sit down next to Lewrie. "Were you really wandering about adrift without reporting to the first officer?’
‘Yes, I got soaked coming aboard," Alan said, feeling at his ease for the first time of the day. "Had to go change. ’
‘What was your last ship?" Chapman asked as he helped himself to the battered rum pot, pouring a larger tankard than the others. ’Uhm… there wasn't one," Alan had to admit. ’You don't mean you're a true Johnny Newcome," Bascombe guffawed. "Right in here with us practiced sinners," Shirke added. "Not a whip jack, much less a scaly fish. Now what got you here at your age?" From hard experience with the cruelty of youth (and he had dished out his share of it, so he ought to know), he realized that he was in for a rough time if he did not establish some sort of standing in their order at once. He was totally ignorant of their chosen trade, while they could sport years of experience at sea. lf knowledge could not help, perhaps bravado could win the day, letting them know that he was wise to their games and not to trifle with him… much, anyways. ’It was a bit of a scandal, really," he said with a knowing leer. "There was a young lady I knew who turned up with a jack-in-the-box and all sorts of hell to pay for it. When I refused her, her brother came for me and I had to duel him. Everyone was happy I left.’
’And did you kill your man?" Shirke sneered. ’Honor was satisfied. She and her family weren't," Alan told them cryptically. "Next thing I knew I was buying my kit. ‘
‘But you've never actually been to sea?" Ashburn asked. ’Well, no. Not until necessary," Alan said with a bluff smile. "I think this is going to be fun, don't you?" Bascombe grinned cunningly at the others, and Lewrie realized the game was blocked at both ends. I don't think I'm going to enjoy the next few weeks…
Chapter 2
For nearly a month more, Ariadne heaved and tugged at her anchor while the business of commissioning continued. Warrants were put aboard by the various Navy Boards, powder and shot came aboard to be stowed below, sewn up into cartridge bags. The holds were filled with new casks for fresh water, barrels of salt-pork and salt-beef, barrels of rum, tobacco, purser's supplies, slop clothing, large bags of ship's biscuit, galley implements, muskets, cutlasses, boarding pikes, miles more of cordage for spare anchor and towing lines, standing rigging and running rigging-all the needs of a ship of war that would allow her to be free of the land for months at a time. More hands were recruited, most willingly, but some gathered in by the press-gangs and allotted to the vessels in harbor in need of men, a few at a time.
For Alan, it was a time of learning. He was not going to be allowed ashore, and the ship had no amusements other than reading, so he read, mostly his Falconer's. And if the descriptions seemed vague or made no sense, then he found practical examples in the ship.
He learned the names of the sails and masts, how they and their yards were raised and lowered. He found out what most of the running rigging did, tracing lines from pin rails t
o blocks to where they were terminated aloft. He prowled the length of the ship, plumbing secrets of cable tiers, carpenter's walks, bread rooms, spirit rooms, where the surgeon plied his trade, where the firewood was kept. He learned a bit about how Ariadne was constructed from the carpenter. He learned how to actually sleep in a hammock at night, and how to wrap it up in the required seven turns so it would be snug enough to pass through the ring measure each morning and be stowed along the nettings on the bulwarks. He also learned how to tell if one of his mess mates had taken liberties with how it was slung; one fall had been enough, as well as one good blow on the ears that had left Shirke sneezing.
Ellison, the sailing master, loaned him a book on trigonometry so he could get a head start on solving navigational problems, at the least learning how to handle the numbers obtained from the daily sights they'd take once at sea.
It was indeed fortunate that he had not joined a ship ready to go to sea. Safe in harbor, or fairly so, and with none of the daily activity of working the ship to be done in his first few weeks, he had a chance to pick up enough knowledge without killing himself in the process. And he was spared most of the officers' disgust with an ignorant newly-officers did not stand harbor watches except to supervise loading and storing, and what drills or exercises were ordered.
Alan was fortunate, too, that Keith Ashburn was deputized to be his unofficial mentor, since they were both London boys and had come from a station above the usual squirearchy.
When they were not working for the purser, the bosun, the saiIrnaker, carpenter, cooper (and to be honest, the work was either clerical or merely standing around appearing like they knew what they were doing), Ashburn delighted in his duties as guide, for it kept them out of trouble from senior warrants who detested the sight of a midshipman with idle hands.
Not that Ashburn didn't have a cruel streak, himself.
"You're going aloft, Lewrie," Ashburn told him, leaping for the mainmast chains. ’CouId we not wait until tomorrow?" Alan asked, looking up at the incredible height of the mast. It was one thing to stand on deck and follow lines to understand their use. He was hoping that midshipmen would stay on deck and supervise, or something. ’Up you go." Ashburn wore a shark's expression.
The first part wasn't so bad, going up the ratlines of the larboard mainmast shrouds, for they were angled in toward the maintop; not much worse than the ladders down to the holds. It was at the mast that it got frightening, where the shrouds crossed to either side of the top. Marines might get to go inside the crisscrossing and proceed through the lubber's hole to the top platform-real sailors had to grab hold of the shrouds that were now over their heads and angled out to the edge of the top, actually hang on with fingers and toes, and scramble up the outside angle before gaining the top platform. ’Well, that was exciting," Alan said after getting his breath back. "Nice view. We can go down now, right?’
‘Up." Ashburn laughed.
The next set of shrouds were much narrower and set closer together, and they did not lead to another platform where there was much room to stand, but to the small cap and trestle-trees that supported the topmast. Ashburn thrust an arm between the topmast and the halyards and stood on the cap, while Alan gripped the mast with both arms and held on for dear life. It seemed a tenifying distance down to that very substantial deck, far below. And the ship was still moving, and the masts swayed a considerable distance with each slow roll, heave and pitch, plus the snubbing jerk as she tugged at her anchor. And the mast seemed to hum and vibrate on its own in the steady wind. Alan's heart was thudding away in his chest and his limbs felt cold. There was a tingling emptiness in the pit of his stomach, but not in his bladder, and he knew that if he did not get down from that precarious position, he was going to fall and kill himself, or piss his breeches. ’Now we'll lay out on the t'gallant yard!" Ashburn shouted to be heard over the wind. "Do what I do!" Ashburn reached up and scrambled like a monkey onto the small crosswise yard that rested on the cap, and rapidly went out to the end of it. "Oh God, you have to be joshing me," Alan said, feeling sick at the very idea. ’Be a man, for God's sake, Lewrie! Come on!" The yard seemed like a toothpick. "To hell with your nautical humbug, I can't-’
‘Can't? No such word in the Navy, Lewrie. I promise you you'll spend half your life in the rigging. Might as well learn now.’
’I would very much like to go down.’
’And what do you think Mister Swift would do with anyone who had no courage… refused to go aloft because he was frightened?" Ashburn asked, swarming back to the mast, and Lewrie's shaky perch on the cross-trees. "Dis-roting, three dozen lashes, put forward with the common robble! There'll be some dark night when it's blowing a full gale and you don't want to go. They'll drive you aloft and the best thing you can do then is jump and die, because if you don't have bottom, every hand'll be turned against you! Or they could just hang you for refusing to obey a direct order-’
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘He was a carpenter's mate, not a sailor," Ashburn said. ’Now listen to me… grab hold of that yard, use the harbor gaskets to hold on to. Put your feet on the footrope. Now lean into the yard and hook your elbows over it. Whatever you do, don't lean back. Now come out here.’
Alan was panting now. There was not enough air in the whole wide world to fill his lungs. But he did as he was told, and slowly, painfully, trembling like a whipped puppy, he crabbed his way out to the end of the yard, until it was no longer the ship he would strike if he fell, but the harbor. He was one hundred and twenty feet up, with nothing but ocean below his feet.
There he stayed for long minutes. The footrope was not all that bad, if he hooked the heels of his shoes along it, and if he kept leaning forward. ’How do you work up here?" he asked with only one eye open, and that directed at Ashburn, not down. Anywhere but down! "One hand for yourself and one for the ship," Ashburn singsonged. "The trick is to reach over the yard, keep your arms or elbows across it. Even with a full crew, work aloft is like church work, it goes slow. No one but a fool would rush things if it's blowing hard.’
’Can we go down now?’
‘Take a look around," Ashburn suggested. ’Jesus!’
‘Have to climb higher for that. Look around. You can see down-Channel fairly well today. And there's a lovely frigate beating down past us.’
There was the Isle of Wight, the grey waters of the Solent, the harbor mole and the old forts, and the Channel beyond. There was a frigate, taking advantage of a favorable slant of wind to make her way west down-Channel, her sails laid as close to the wind as she could bear and well heeled over. ’Are you well?’
‘Just thumping wonderful, thank you very much for asking…" Alan sneered. ’That's my bully buck. We'll make a sailor of you yet. ’
‘Mine arse on a band-box!’
‘Got to set your mind to it or you won't get on in the Navy. Not just reading about it, but doing it, like this. Turning into a real tarpaulin man.’
’Like Chapman?" Lewrie asked sarcastically. ’Well, Chapman," Ashburn said. "There's a blank page for you. He's failed the exam twice now. A good sailor but sharp as an anvil. I expect he'll always be a midshipman.’
’Can one do that? I mean, that would be awful-’
‘You're an educated type, Lewrie. You're miles ahead of most of us, you know. Social skills, good tutors. Can't expect eight-year-olds to come aboard as a captain's servant and learn much more tOOn the sea. Think how you and I shall stand out when we become officers.’
’What about Rolston?" Lewrie asked. He had been plagued by the little bastard, showing off his skills and knowledge, finding subtle ways when they were working together to belittle Alan's small contributions, or toady to the officers and warrants and shine at Lewrie's expense. ’Now that's a real Welsh mile, he is! I feel sorry for whatever crew gets him as a post-captain. Well, let's go down. ’
‘Thank God.. ‘. ’Make your way back to the mast without killing yourself, and we'll go down one of the backstays.’
> ’Why can't we just climb back down the way we came up?’
‘Not seamanly. You'll have to cross your legs over the stay and let yourself down hand over hand.’
’You keep finding new ways to scare hell out of me. ’
‘If! beat you down to the deck I'll make you climb back up here and do it allover again.’
Lewrie was closest to the mast, so he reached a backstay first, but took a moment to decide how to proceed. With a death grip, he had seized the stay, levered himself out into the open air, flipped a leg around the rope and cocked it behind his knee. It was then that he discovered that standing rigging is coated with tar, which can be slippery. He could not hang on, and he could not remain in one place. Even with both legs about the stay, he was sliding slowly down, gaining speed as he went! There was nothing to do but try to go down hand over hand, but in a moment he was moving too fast to brake his descent with his hands, which were burning on the hemp rope. With some heartfelt (and very English) words of pain and terror, he screeched his way down to crash feet first onto the quarterdeck and tumble in a heap, his hands on fire. ’On your feet there, young sir," Captain Bales said angrily. "I will teach you that I will have no blaspheming in my ship. Bosun's Mate? Half dozen of your best for Mister Lewrie. At once, sir!" Alan Lewrie finally met the gunner's daughter, bent over a quarterdeck nine-pounder and slashed on the buttocks by a Bosun's Mate with a stiffened rope "starter." Once chastised, Bales ordered him aloft again, to climb each mast in succession and layout on each topsail yard in turn until Bales was satisfied with his progress. And Bales had a great deal of patience in watching him.
"Mister Lewrie," Turner, one of the master's mates, called to him as he paced along the starboard gangway above the waist, one damp and dreary afternoon. ’Aye, Mister Turner.’
’Captain Osmonde 'ere wants a boat ter go ashore an' fetch out cabin stores fer the wardroom. Yer it," Turner told him, standing rat-scruffy next to the elegantly uniformed Marine officer. ’Me, sir?" They hadn't allowed him outboard since he had joined, and he knew nothing about boats. ’O' course, yew, sir, now git wif it.’
The King`s Coat l-1 Page 5
