The King's Coat

by Dewey Lambdin

  “Bosun, hands aloft and take in stuns’ls,” Treghues called. “Mr. Gwynn, stand by to try your eye with the number one gun.”

  Desperate turned off the wind, as master gunner Gwynn fussed over his foremost starboard cannon. Once the quoin was out and he was satisfied, he put up his fist and stood clear, looking aft. Treghues must have waved to him, because the linstock came down to the firing quill in the vent, and the gun lurched inboard with a flat bang. The ball splashed short but directly in line with the brig’s bowsprit. The brig responded with a full broadside of six guns, aimed high. Lewrie could hear the shot as it moaned overhead through the rigging. A sail twitched, and a block and halyard snaked down to thud onto the larboard gangway.

  “Stand by the starboard battery!”

  Alan looked aloft again. The stuns’l booms were still rigged out, though the sails were mostly furled. Now would be the time to wear, he thought grimly, and this broadside will be wasted. It’s nearly five cables’ range, anyway. This is just what they want of us …

  “As you bear … fire!” Treghues shouted.

  The guns began to belch and roll back to the extent of the breeching ropes, and the well-drilled crews leaped on them to sponge out, to clear the vents and begin ramming down fresh powder and shot.

  Thought so! Lewrie told himself. The smuggler brig had hardened up her braces and sheets and was wheeling to present her stern to them, wearing through at least ninety degrees to the nor’east.

  “Goddamn and blast the bugger,” Monk called out as though he had just had his purse cut loose, and Treghues chafed him for blaspheming.

  “Hands to train and sidetackles!” Lewrie shouted. “Snug ’em down tight and prepare to come about!” A second later that same command was shouted to them from Railsford on the quarterdeck. Waisters ran to the braces to cast them off the belaying pins while the forecastle captain prepared to heave on his heads’l sheets. But they had to wait until the men aloft had laid in from the yards after securing the stuns’ls, and the brig was gaining time to windward, no matter how the officers aft shouted for the topmen to speed their work.

  “Hands wear ship!” came finally. “Put yer helm down!”

  “Haul, you people, haul!” the bosun roared.

  “Vast hauling and belay!”

  Desperate turned up into the wind as steady as a needle on a pin and settled on her new course. The chase was still on her starboard side, now settled just over their windward cathead, and had regained at least half a league of distance on them. It would take the frigate at least two more hours to beat up to windward against that more weatherly brig, at which point it would be near the start of the First Dog Watch.

  “Gun crews, stand easy.”

  Lewrie climbed onto the jear bitts once more to look to the suth’rd for their first prize. If Forrester had two brain cells to rub together he would wear onto the wind now, as soon as he saw what was happening. A schooner, even a loaded one, could go to windward much better than either the brig or Desperate, could cut the corner off and with even one gun manned, could threaten their chase into heading north once more.

  There was no sign that Forrester had the requisite number of brain cells, for she plodded along for long minutes on her original course. A signal went up Desperate’s mizzen, which went unseen.

  “Blind fucker,” Lewrie muttered just loud enough for the nearest hands to hear. “He’ll not stand a chance now.”

  By the time the schooner came about she was not just downwind of the chase but downwind of Desperate as well.

  Desperate stood on for three hours before coming within range once more. The captain of the brig must have been a nacky man himself, because he hauled his wind to head due north, and as soon as Desperate began to parallel her course and open fire once again, he tacked, this time crossing the eye of the wind. He ducked out of the way of the broadside and headed off into the gloom of late afternoon to the sou-sou’east, back the way he had come. Forrester stood no chance even to get close. And the brig was not as unhandy on the wind as Lewrie had thought, for she pulled up half a point higher than the frigate, and was actually very slowly drawing away.

  The hands were stood down from Quarters and the galley fire was lit. Lewrie looked at his watch. It would be dusk in forty-five minutes. They would stand to evening Quarters, then, without a prize.

  This evening Lewrie was in what was left of the Second Dog Watch, so he left the gun deck and went up to the quarterdeck to stand by the wheel, where Monk and Treghues and Railsford were conferring.

  “Still so confident, Mister Lewrie?” Treghues said irritably.

  “He was mighty crafty, sir,” Lewrie replied, searching for something safe to say to a captain who was livid inside. “Most likely a Jonathan captain—”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The French and the Dons don’t handle ships that well, sir. He may have been Dutch, but I doubt it. American-built brig with a rebel captain. She was smartly handled, sir.”

  “Next thing you know, Mister Lewrie shall be giving us lessons in ship-handling,” Treghues said. “Jesus Lord.”

  “I would not presume, sir…”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young sir, or I’ll have you bent over a gun before you can say Jack Ketch…”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Get off my quarterdeck.”

  “I’m in the watch, sir?” Alan quailed.

  “Then get down to loo’rd and out of my face.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Welcome back to the real Navy, Lewrie thought, gazing off to the north as it got darker. There was a spectacular sunset astern, all reds and golds and layers of clouds painted pink and amber and blue grey, and the seas were bright as glittering rubies. At least he could appreciate that without harm.

  Lewrie idled his time until evening Quarters thinking about that brig. She would most likely run to windward until after full dark, then come about north once more, probably wear on a reciprocal course because she did not want to get tangled up with the inshore patrols near St. Barts and St. Maartin. She could go due north outside the island chain. She could not set west—that would take her back into the arms of Desperate and the prize schooner. And on the map engraved in his head, Lewrie saw the Saba Bank. No, she would turn nor’west and run the gap for the other smuggler’s holes in the Danish Virgins, St. Croix as the best bet, Spanish Puerto Rico if she was set to westerly. Lewrie was not sure what Commander Tobias Treghues had planned, but he knew where he would have waited to find her again. But then, nobody was asking him about it, were they?

  * * *

  If he could not dazzle his new ship with his brilliance, he could at least succeed at appearing competent, and that was what he did in the weeks of cruising that followed. He requested that Railsford let him assist in small arms. He let it be known at lunch to the captain’s clerk that he had assisted an acting purser and had worked in the English Harbor stores warehouses. He chatted with Mr. Gwynn and dropped a hint that he loved artillery and the great guns. At navigation practice with his new sextant (thanks to Lord Cantner’s reward) he displayed to the sailing master his skills naturally, and Mister Monk let it be known that he was a dab-hand at navigating. In the course of his endeavor he casually revealed that Lieutenant Kenyon had let him stand Middle Watch with a bosun’s mate, and that he had filled in as an acting master’s mate in Parrot during her time with fever.

  To each of these worthies he also showed a false front, that of a young man lately run to death by duties and happy to be once more a junior petty officer with no major responsibilities. Having been in the Navy long enough to know how hatefully any senior Warrant or Commission Officer regarded idle hands, and knowing that when a midshipman was working some officer was well pleased (and cannily understanding the perverse nature of his fellow man), Alan soon found himself exactly where he wanted to be.

  He assisted the master-at-arms and Marine lieutenant at small arms. He assisted Mr. Cheatham with the ship’s b
ooks and expense ledgers. He and the gunner’s mate and yeoman of the powder room became coequal authorities on the upkeep of the great guns and all their ancillary gear.

  Avery found his niches as well, and they drilled young Carey in terminology and lore until he could spout technical lingo with the ease of a bosun twenty years at sea. Carey also learned how to curse most wondrous-well, it must be said.

  As the weeks went by, Treghues and Railsford learned that there was indeed a new order aboard—midshipmen who were useful, instead of the usual snot-nosed younkers-in-training they had grown accustomed to. There was less snarling from Treghues. In fact, there was a grudging acceptance, then a secret delight in having thoroughly salted and tarred midshipmen who could be trusted to carry out an order smartly.

  Forrester, however, began to pout more, to purse his lips and squint his porcine eyes and curse them roundly. He was being threatened, and he knew it. Oh, he still had Captain Treghues’ favor, since he had long been the man’s star pupil, and their families were obviously cater-cousins. He was one of the original crew when Desperate was commissioned, and it would take an act of incredible stupidity or craven cowardice to break that bond. But when it came to something prestigious to do, his name was no longer the first on Treghues’ lips.

  Nor could he hold his superior social position in their mess, because if he struck out at Carey, he had Avery and Lewrie to contend with, and he could not push his weight around with either of them. He did try, but Avery was a most inventive fellow when it came to filling the young man’s shoes with molasses during the night, nailing his chest shut when he was on deck, starting small rips in his hammock with a shaving razor that would tear open and leave his wide arse hanging out in the air by the start of the Morning Watch; substituting smaller sizes of slop trousers so that Forrester had to appear on deck with a distinctly pinched look about the middle. With all of them on deck during the day at exercises and drills, Forrester found it hard to respond with his own brand of trickery, since they all watched him close in a cabal sworn and dedicated to drive him to distraction.

  Lewrie was a little more direct. When Forrester was caught trying to sabotage Avery’s chest one morning, Lewrie simply told him that if he caught him at it again he would kick him in the balls. And when he caught him trying to open his own chest the next day, Alan made good on his threat, which made Forrester crouch for a week.

  After the loss of the smuggler brig, Desperate made up for it … there were still dozens of islands engaged in illicit trade and hundreds of ships crossing the Atlantic on the Trades. Not a fortnight went by that they did not send a prize crew into port with the Red Ensign flying over the striped colors of the Rebels, the flag of Spain, or the golden lilies of France.

  Their prizes were small—brigs and snows, brigantines and schooners, luggers and cutters, but the value of the cargoes and bottoms lost to the American Rebellion mounted steadily. Powder, shot, carriage guns, stands of arms, crates of swords and uniforms, blankets and camp gear for Washington’s army—rice, pitch, spars, indigo, molasses and rum, log-wood, and bales of cotton—it all piled up in Admiralty Prize Courts warehouses in British hands.

  To Lewrie it was as much like a legal form of piracy as any he had ever read about (with not the slightest idea that he would ever be involved), piracy with the right to have a bank account.

  And while Article Eight of the Articles of War specifically stated that all contents of a seized ship were property of the Admiralty, Desperate could continually feed herself on casks of salt-meat “condemned” as unfit, firewood, water, coffee and cabin stores from the officer’s messes, “split” flour sacks, “rat-infested” bread bags, crates of wine that no one thought to list in the prize manifests, livestock that had “died,” spare cordage and sailcloth and yards and spars … everything they needed to continue cruising. They ate well, they drank well and they maintained their ship in prime condition at their enemies’ expense, and the prize money piled up for eventual payout.

  After two months Desperate was becoming seriously undermanned for fighting, much less for working the ship. One at a time she had been forced to part with quartermasters and mates, bosun’s mates, both master’s mates, half a dozen hands into this prize, ten into that one, until all the midshipmen, including Carey, had been called to stand a deck watch with no supervision.

  The turnover in an active frigate that spent so much time on the prowl, and had had such good luck with prizes, was nearly fifty percent a year, but it made grand chances for able men. Able seamen constantly rose to more demanding acting positions. And they could always hope that the man they replaced was not languishing ashore, waiting to be recalled, but had been appointed into another ship, leaving them the possession of their new berth and extra pay.

  The man sent off could not expect to return to his own ship, and stood a good chance of rising in the service in a new vessel, but perversely, they usually preferred to return. Desperate and her ways were a known quality, with a firm but fair captain and for the most part decent officers. Who knew what the next ship would be like?

  Finally, Desperate was forced to put about and head for Antigua, as miserly manned as the seediest merchantman with a skinflint for a master.

  Chapter 12

  There was more bustle in English Harbor when Desperate arrived. Admiral Hood and his flagship Barfleur, along with his fleet of larger ships of the line, filled the outer roads, and the port worked alive with rowing boats and supply ships.

  Treghues was rowed over to Glatton to report to Admiral Matthews, and then was taken to Barfleur to dine. Forrester accompanied him, to everyone’s disgust, while Lewrie and Avery were handed the cutter and the pinnace and told to start heading for the inner harbor.

  It was promising to see that all their prizes had arrived safe, anchored in a huddle of shipping far out of the way. That meant that there should be a share out of prize money soon. Maybe not the whole sum due each man, but enough pounds and shillings to make his life a little interesting, buy him a woman, some liquid refreshment, new slop clothing, tobacco, shares in some fresh meat or imported delicacies, or pay off his outstanding account with the purser, who could loan money against future pay for slop purchases.

  Lewrie was also happy to note that at least half of Desperate’s missing people were still ashore waiting her arrival; happy that her most capable mates and inferior petty officers and able seamen were available once more; the ship would not be deprived of their experience any longer.

  It was something of an embarrassing shock to see how happy their sojourners were to see him. He had thought they would be glad to be back aboard among their own mates, but here they were, making much of the sight of him. They sounded genuinely pleased to say hello to him and asked him joshing questions about those who had remained behind; how things stood with their acting replacements, was a certain ship’s boy bearing up and behaving, had a piece of gear been overhauled in their absence, had the goat foaled yet, asking him how he kept and had he and Mister Avery been looking after Carey, abusing Forrester … and bragging about what they had done in their free time ashore.

  I don’t know these people that well, Lewrie thought, at a loss to explain the seeming affection from people in his subdivision, his watch. I know names and faces, who works and who hangs back. Maybe I’ve gotten some of them a rating and they think I’m due. I haven’t tried to be popular. Don’t tell me they have any real love for me …

  He tried to be cynical about it, but it was touching all the same, running another delusion about the Navy squarely on the rocks. He had to admit that, for the most part, they were good men, able and well trained, but not the sort he’d have in for a joint and a bottle and a yarn if he were back home in London. Pressed or volunteer, one could no longer tell. But then he wasn’t back home, was he?

  Lewrie soon gave up wondering about it as Desperate restocked. While the dockyard supplied most of the labor, steady men were picked to help out for extra pay in ferrying out fresh food and repl
acements for their depleted stores of bread, spirits and consumables.

  Lewrie took Dr. Dorne and Mr. Cheatham ashore to select several bullocks for fresh meat while Desperate was in port, along with fresh flour, raisins, sugar and fixings for plenty of figgy-dowdys or duffs.

  Dorne was also to make sure that Cheatham purchased cases of fresh hard-skinned acid fruit. Commander Treghues was of the opinion that the rob of lemons, limes and oranges had been the best anti-scorbutic the late Captain Cook had found against scurvy on his worldwide voyages. Dr. Dorne clung to the theory that bad air from the bilges caused scurvy. Had the rate of the disease dropped once Hales’ Patent Ventilators had been installed to air the spaces below the waterline? Yes, it had. But Dorne was not about to question a commander’s decision.

  Dr. Dorne was an untidy man, though fussy about his appearance, and was one of the few men Lewrie had seen who wore a wig in the tropics as a matter of course. Perhaps because he was vain about going bald, he was never seen without his horsehair appliance. But he was considered a good surgeon, able to take off a limb in seconds, never causing unnecessary pain in the process, though he’d had little call for his skills so far. He could lance a boil, tend to rope burns, fit a truss, provide ointment for saltwater rashes and swore his fifteen-shilling mercury cure for the pox was devilish fine. He was also an easy touch for a late-night drink or a good book to read.

  Cheatham, the purser, was a real puzzle. First of all, why should someone leave the Kentish fruit trade for the uncertain life of the sea where the profit margins were so low on issued stores, where any cheating beyond the Victualing Board’s fourteen ounces to the pound would be noticed by the men and complained about right smartly? Even slops at twelve percent profit could not sustain him, and Lewrie had yet to find him listing discharged men as big users of tobacco or sundry other items. Yet Cheatham always smiled, had no more complaints than most, and his books balanced nicely. He had a “lay” somewhere that was paying handsomely, or he had a wish to die poor. Only time would tell the truth.