"Aye, sir. Ship's comp'ny… on hats, and dismiss. Carry on!" Westcott ordered.
"Ah, those two are ours, sir," Lewrie said, pointing to Desmond and Furfy, who were just gaining the deck with the first light loads of Lewrie's dunnage and the wicker cage for the cats, who were peering wide-eyed, braced on their haunches with their noses to the wicker to sniff out their new home.
"The cats, sir?" Lt. Westcott dared jape. "Or the sailors?"
"You'll find my Cox'n, Desmond, and Ordinary Seaman Furfy more use to you, Mister Westcott," Lewrie drawled back in like humour. "My cats keep me from turnin' a floggin' Tartar."
"Very good, sir," Lt. Westcott said with a grin. "I'll see to hoisting your goods aboard."
Now the ceremony of reading himself in was over, the Midshipmen yet aboard Reliant were circling round Hugh very much like a pack of the aforementioned wolves, ready to put "John New-Come" in his place at the bottom of their pecking order.
"Gentlemen," Lewrie said, going to rescue him. "Allow me to name to you my son, Hugh, who will be going aboard HMS Pegasus tomorrow. And you are, young sirs?"
"Uhm… Vincent Houghton, sir," the oldest and most senior of them quickly said. He looked to be "upwards of twenty," as the Navy required of a fellow who had done at least six years at sea and was able to stand before his first oral examinations for his Lieutenancy. "May I name to you, sir, Mister Entwhistle," a stocky lad about eighteen or so; "Mister Warburton" (that worthy was a slim fellow with dark red hair and a very fair complexion, about fifteen or sixteen, a lad with a "cheeky" expression), "and Mister Grainger, sir." The last was the youngest, about fifteen Lewrie judged, a tad shorter than the rest, and a bit chubbier. "We're two short so far, sir," Houghton said.
"All of you have sea experience?" Lewrie asked, and was happy to learn that Houghton and Entwhistle had at least six years at sea in various ships, whilst Warburton had had one three-year appointment, and Grainger the same.
"Damme," Lewrie chuckled, "someone at Admiralty's erred badly, t'place so many tarry young gentleman in the same ship, 'stead of tossin' us a pack of cods-heads. I'll be countin' on you to make sure we put to sea with a crew that knows the ropes."
"Count on us, sir!" Midshipman Houghton vowed, quickly seconded by the rest.
"Purser aboard?" Lewrie asked further. "The Marine officer?"
"Mister Cadbury, sir?" Houghton said. "He and his clerk and his Jack-in-the-Breadroom are ashore, sir. Leftenant Simcock went ashore with him, t'see to wardroom stores."
"Very well, catch up with 'em later," Lewrie decided. "Which of you have a good copperplate hand?" Two shot up their hands.
"Capital!" Lewrie cried. "I'll put you, Mister Entwhistle, and you, Mister Grainger, to copyin' out my Order Book for six Midshipmen and all officers."
Blank-faced looks from the two volunteers, faint sneers from the others, even a snicker from Warburton. "Carry on," Lewrie told them.
"Uhm, could we look about the ship, father?" Sewallis asked. "Mister Warburton," Lewrie said, stopping him in his tracks. "Would you mind showing my sons about the ship? All the cautions?" "Of course, sir!"
"I'll be aft," Lewrie said, turning to go, but stopping at the foot of the larboard ladderway to the gun-deck to watch his sons get the first bit of their tour; Sewallis a head taller in his usual dark and sobre suit, his hat in his hands, to bare his darker hair, and Hugh, uniformed and kitted out in London before they had coached down, his new-styled narrow-brimmed and thimble-shaped hat still on his head, though with his mother's blonder hair tumbling in its usual unruly way over his shirt collar and his ears.
Would she have been proud of his choice? Lewrie wondered; much as Caroline disliked it… would she have cursed me for lettin' him go to sea? Pushed him to it?
"Damned demandin', what ye read," Sir Hugo commented as he came to join him. "All my promotions and such started out with 'To our Trusty and well beloved'-fill in the name-'Greetings'"!
"Well, ye paid enough for 'em, I should't wonder why the King wouldn't!" Lewrie teased.
Now there was a proper captain aboard, whose privacy and goods must be guarded, there was a Marine private in full kit outside the door to the great-cabins, right aft. He stamped, presented his musket in salute, and roared "Sah!"
"Good Christ!" Sir Hugo barked, once laying eyes on the place. It was bare, the black-and-white chequer canvas deck cover was faded and worn; the deal-and-canvas partitions and all the inner faces of the planking above the line of empty gun-ports and the usual dark red paint below the wainscot line-everything was done in a pale blue, picked out with gilt-painted mouldings, replete with wee painted cherubs. "The last captain ship his wife with him… or did he run a bawdy house?" "Re-paint… soonest," Lewrie vowed.
"And turn yer cats loose," Sir Hugo added, pointing with his walking-stick at a particularly large rat, with a brace of his smaller brothers, busy gnawing at what might have once been a tufted dark blue pad atop the transom settee. "Yer brothel's got rats, hee hee!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
0nce sending Sir Hugo, Hugh, and Sewallis ashore for a while, as Desmond and Furfy supervised a work-party in setting up his cabins to his liking, Lewrie made it a point to meet the Purser, Mr. Cadbury, and his clerk, the Bosun Mr. Sprague, and his Mate, Wheeler; their Master Gunner, who turned out to be the Prussian Johan Rahl, who had served with him long ago; the Gunner's Mate, Mr. Acres; and the Yeoman of the Powder, Kemp; Sailmaker, Mr. Yearsley and his Mate, Duncan, and all of the people who formed the Standing Officers who lived aboard while she was laid up in-ordinary, as well as those few other petty officers who had already come aboard.
Then he spent some time with his Lieutenants, discussing the ship's history, her material condition, her lacks, and how many hands were aboard; how many were rated Able, Ordinary, or Landsmen, and how many remained to be recruited… by fair means or foul.
"I've spoken with a printer, sir," Lt. Westcott said, "though I have not yet placed an order. Didn't know who to advert as our Captain, you see," he said with a grin. "How boastful to be."
Lt. Geoffrey Westcott was about Lewrie's height of five feet nine inches, a bit slimmer in build, and carried himself with a quick urgency. His hair was dark and cut quite short, almost as short as a fellow ashore who preferred a wig and had his scalp shorn to keep the risk of bugs down. He had a high-cheeked and slightly narrow hatchet face, which on a villain might have looked menacing. Westcott, though, seemed possessed of a merry, if slightly worldly-wise, disposition. He smiled rather a lot, sometimes only the briefest flash of a smile, with a lifting of his rather short upper lip to reveal his teeth.
"We've a partial proof, sir," Lt. Spendlove contributed, showing Lewrie a poster-sized sheet of paper, which featured VOLUNTEERS at the top, the King's royal crest and G.R. III, and a paragraph of type that called for Englishmen good and true, etc. Below that came BOLD ROYAL TARS OF OLD ENGLAND, but the rest was yet blank.
"You've chosen a 'rondy,' Mister Westcott?" Lewrie enquired.
"I have, sir. A centrally located public house, adjacent to the docks," Lt. Westcott assured him. "Though I fear there are many more ships' rendezvous in competition with us, along with the Impress Service's, which will recruit for any ship. I put a deposit down, but… "
"I'll re-pay you," Lewrie told him, liking Westcott's initiative "Well, 'faint heart ne'er won fair ladies,' and we'll not reel anyone in without proper bait. Let's go all-out and not be shy."
Together, they thrashed out the salient points; that Reliant, a Fifth Rate frigate, was spacious; come all loyal sea-rovers who wished action, speed and dash, and the chance of prize-money never to be had aboard a ship of the line! Prime rations, full issue of rum! Bounty to be paid-Ј20 for Able Seamen, Ј10 for Ordinary Seamen, Ј5 for Landsmen and Ship's Boys! And Death to the French!
Even in a hot Press, William Pitt's Quota Acts of 1795 had made the counties offer more and more to fill their required numbers, and the Navy had had to follow suit, raising the Joining Bounty fr
om the pre-war's single Guinea, or Ј5 for Able Seamen, and even then, merchant service was more lucrative.
"Let's use my notoriety," Lewrie decided; which resulted in the blurb that Reliant was commanded by Capt. Alan "Ram-Cat" Lewrie, Black Alan the Liberator of the West Indies, Victor of Dozens of Sea Fights amp; Fortunate in Prize-Money! Confusion, And Death, to the French!
"… True Blue Hearts of Oak, and all who seek Glory and Adventure, ask of Lieutenant G. Westcott at the et cetera and et cetera" he concluded. "Oh, might toss in Cape Saint Vincent, Camperdown, and Copenhagen, too. Should that do it, sirs?"
"Topping-well, sir, indeed," Lt. Westcott agreed. "I will seek out the printer this afternoon and have him polish it up."
"I'll go ashore with you, Mister Westcott," Lewrie announced as he got to his feet. "As you can see, I badly need new paint in this… boudoir, and you may fetch it back aboard as you return from the printers. Have Desmond supervise the painting. I'll also lodge ashore for tonight, to see my son off early tomorrow, then will be back aboard by Eight Bells of the Morning Watch."
"Very good, sir."
Their last supper together at the George, though quite tasty and filling, was not without its uneasy moments. There were many Navy men and their wives dining there, and Hugh was enthralled by the sight of them, all but preening in his Midshipman's uniform and excited about the beginning of a naval career. Sir Hugo told amusing tales about his military antics (the clean ones, it must be noted!) to raise Sewallis from his gloom and disappointed mood, when not discussing more practical matters. Lewrie mostly kept a sombre silence through their repast, knowing what Hugh was facing from his own experiences as a lowly Mid, and… fearing all that weather, the sea, combat, or stupid accidents could do to such an eager and callow thirteen-year-old. Would he lose a child as well as a wife? All of a sudden it struck him that once he saw the lad off in a boat to his new ship, it was good odds that they might not see each other ever again, and even if Hugh prospered, took to the Navy like a duck to water, grim Duty might demand three or four years' separation before rencontre, and what sort of stranger might his youngest son be when they did manage to re-meet? He felt every bit of his fourty years, and wondered where so much of them had gone!
"But why can't I fight the French?" Sewallis was asking, fetching Lewrie from his dreads. "It's so unfair that Hugh gets to go, and I can't. And I want to, so very much."
"You're eldest, Sewallis," Sir Hugo gently told him. "It's the way it is. Ancient right o' primogeniture, ye see. The way things are done in English families."
"I didn't ask to be first, it's…," Sewallis protested; as much protest as he'd raise in such a distinguished supper crowd, and as much as his usual reticence allowed.
"First-born sons always inherit everything, Sewallis. The others have to make their own way," Lewrie explained. "It's your place to be the elder to Hugh and Charlotte… provide for them through good management of my estate, which goes to you if I fall."
"If Uncle Phineas takes our house and farm, we won't have an estate, would we?" Sewallis cleverly, though pettishly, pointed out.
"My investments in the Funds, my savings, and your grandfather's place, eventually, is my estate. Our estate, rather," Lewrie told him, wondering what had gotten into him. "T'do that means ye have need of more education, and business sense, so ye don't go squanderin' it all, or make foolish decisions. Don't mean ye can't have a career of your own besides those duties… "
"As much a duty t'yer family as Hugh's duty to his service and his ship," Sir Hugo stuck in before waving for a top-up of claret.
"Finish at your school… perhaps a year or so at university," Lewrie went on. Sir Hugo rolled his eyes heavenward to show what he thought of that, and Lewrie took a moment to shrug agreement with him. "Or ye might wish t'speak with our solicitor, Mister Mountjoy, about learnin' more about the law. Learn the cautions. After terms, there is my barrister, Mac-Doug all, who might advise ye about entering one o' the Inns of Court. Once you're of an age t'live in London on your own, mind, not before."
"Ever given thought what ye might wish t'be, lad? What career… a civilian career, that is… ye wanted t'take up?" Sir Hugo asked him.
"Well… I once thought of becoming a churchman, like our vicar at Saint George's," Sewallis hesitantly stated, "going up to Oxford or Cambridge, then taking Holy Orders, but… " He shrugged to silence.
That idea made Sir Hugo sit up like someone had goosed him, and blare his eyes. Lewrie was forced to squint, and fight the grimace that threatened to bloom on his phyz. Sir Hugo coughed.
"Well, and that's an honourable profession, I'm bound," Lewrie was quick to say, though shifting uneasily on his chair. "And there's many a churchman the eldest of his family, with his own income, beyond the manse, the glebe, and his share of the tithes," he pointed out.
"But, since Mother was murdered, I only want to fight and kill Frenchmen," Sewallis said with unaccustomed firmness. "I don't think I could ever take Holy Orders with that in my heart. If not the Navy, could I not go into the Army, grandfather? You once offered your influence at Horse Guards to help Hugh obtain a commission."
"Know why they call downwind a 'soldier's wind,' Sewallis? Because any fool can do it!" Hugh took that moment to interject, laughing at his own jape.
"Don't taunt your brother, young man!" Lewrie snapped. "It's not the best time-you're going, and all of us not knowing when we'll clap eyes on each other again." Hugh, though, was irrepressible, only pretending to be subdued. Turning back to Sewallis, Lewrie said, "First-born sons' lives are never intentionally placed in jeopardy, me lad. Like yer grandfather just said, your familial duty is to grow up to be the heir, and carry on the family name and properties."
"Younger sons in the Army," Sir Hugo added, "if there's a title or estate and their eldest brother passes, ye know what they must do? Resign, sell off their commissions, and go back to civilian life t'take his place, take on the late elder brother's duties to his family. Get the title, the lands and rents, and do right by his younger brothers and sisters. Seen enough of it in my time," the old rascal grumbled. "Take their seat in Lord's, or stand for Commons."
"Like Harry Embleton?" Sewallis asked. "But he's in the Army, and he's Sir Romney's eldest. If the King called out the Yeomanry and the militia, he'd get to fight the French!"
"Only if they invade us, Sewallis," Sir Hugo said with a smirk of disapproval for that fool Harry, and the dubious worth of militia or the Yeomanry. "They'll never be called t'go overseas to fight the French, where the French are. Harry's just playin' at soldierin'!"
"Well then, couldn't I join Harry's regiment? At least I could get some military experience!" Sewallis cajoled. "When school term is over?"
Lewrie wryly shook his head. It would be too embarrassing, and take much too long, to explain to Sewallis the enmity that Harry still held for anyone named Lewrie, and why, and how slim his odds were of a commission under Harry Embleton if Harry ran the selection-and just how badly Sewallis would be treated if he did get such a commission!
"Better ye enjoy what's left o' your youth at Dun Roman, with your grandfather, son," Lewrie gently told him. "Coach to London with him and stay a week or so, now and again."
"Stay with your sister, and yer Uncle Governour and Aunt Millicent, too," Sir Hugo was very quick to add, looking as if he'd bitten into a lemon at the suggestion that he give up his pleasurable activities to play "daddy" to the lad, not the avuncular, now-and-again "grandfather"! "Do a summer term at school?" he hastily suggested.
"I know it's the way it's done, but… it still seems so unfair!" Sewallis mournfully said in a chin-down sulk.
Him stay with Governour and Millicent? Lewrie thought in dread; Good God, they'll turn him against me, too? Maybe he should go into one o' the services 'fore I lose all my children!
"Uhm… school, father," Sewallis hesitantly said, looking up. "Headmaster said to tell you that the tuition, uhm… "
"Thought I'd paid it," Lewrie replied after a b
ite of juicy roast beef and a sip of wine. "Ye took my note-of-hand with you when ye returned for Easter Term."
"Not that one," Sewallis told him. "There's the extras for equitation, the swordmaster, the dancing instructor, and all. And there is a summer term. Not too many students attend, and not all of the faculty are there, but… I suppose I could attend, and take only a few courses. That way, I could have long weekends to visit grandfather in London now and then, and there's an interval, round Mid-Summer Day, long enough to go home to Anglesgreen and see Charlotte and the family."
"Perhaps that might be best… this summer, at least," Sir Hugo said after a long, head-cocked thought. "Know how much it'd be? D'ye have a list of the extra fees? I'll foot it. My treat, hey?"
"Thank you, grandfather," Sewallis said to him with warmth. "If I must become half an… an orphan, then I suppose I must be about it as best I can, and gain more education… as you say, father… for fulfilling my lot in life."
Could I feel any lower? Lewrie wondered; any guiltier?
They retired fairly early, since Hugh had to rise so early the next morning; Hugh and Sewallis to one bed, and Sir Hugo and Lewrie to another. And the old bastard snored and made strangling noises like a wheezing ox about to expire! Sending Hugh off to his own uncertain entry into a hard, cruel adult life, abandoning Sewallis to his mournful and shy loneliness, to be batted like a tennis ball between school, his begrudging grandfather, and his bitter kinfolk, was enough to keep Lewrie awake and tossing long into the night, even without his father's snores and the occasional fart. To recall his parting with Charlotte was even worse!
"Pah-pah, why must you go away?" she'd wept at one minute, then, "Why can't Mistress Gower and her husband and my nanny take care of me at our house?" the next. Followed by "Must I move in with Uncle Governour and Aunt Millicent?" Followed by "Will I keep my pony, my dolls, and my own bed? My puppy?" No matter how much Millicent assured her that all her things would be with her, that she could play every day with her cousins-hadn't it been grand, last summer, when she had stayed with them, after all? Hadn't they had ever so much fun? Don't you know we love you like our own?-Charlotte had been disconsolate and utterly bereft "But that was when Ma-Ma was coming back!" she'd stubbornly objected.
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