"And do, daily, belowstairs," Admiral Hood stuck in with a short bark of amusement. "By God, Captain, your concern for your people is perhaps even more commendable than any deed you've wrought the past two years! Well said, sir. Damn well said!"
"I believe it would be impossible to deny such an aspiring and courageous officer the opportunity to ply his profession," Lord Howe assured him. "Active commission it shall be, sir, a Fifth Rate frigate at least! And your personal selection of first officer."
"Lieutenant Percival, sir," Ayscough said quickly.
"Make it so, my dear Stephens," Lord Howe told his principal secretary, who was scribbling away at the end of the table.
It would have been nice for Ayscough to have wanted a share of all the booty they'd taken from the Lanun Rovers, Lewrie thought as the praise was heaped on their shoulders. It would have been nice for him to have included his poorly paid officers in that request for reward.
But Lewrie was not as rankled as might have been his usual wont. His father had been one of the first into the chieftain's personal lair, and had emerged dripping diamonds, rubies, pearls and emeralds, with his bearer, Chandra, grunting under the strain of a small chest of more loot. What Ayscough reported as captured, thence to be given to the Crown as their exclusive Droit, was only about two-thirds of what had actually been there, the rest shared out among the sepoys and officers of the 19th Native Infantry.
Before Telesto had sailed for England from Calcutta, he'd had one final supper with his father. Lewrie had regretted that Draupadi, Apsara and Padmini were no longer in his father's employ, but the loot had restocked his bibikhana most wonderfully well, and it had been the grandest send-off he'd ever had. Sir Hugo had handed over certificates worth enough to pay off his creditors back in England. And, as a final parting fillip, had given Alan a little present or two as well.
A reddish gold necklace set with diamonds and rubies, heavy and showy enough for royalty. And a triple strand of pearls with matching earrings, bracelets and rings fit for a queen. He hadn't had a chance to have them appraised by a Strand or St. James' jeweler yet, but he was sure he was at least five thousand pounds richer.
"And for you, sir?" Lord Howe asked. "Lieutenant Lewrie?"
"Hum?" Lewrie said, coming back to earth from his monetary musings. Come on, you toadying wretch, think of something to ask for, a reward you really desire! No, he countered; ask for something noble-sounding, or they'll know you for the greedy swine you really are!
"Well, there is the matter of Midshipman Hogue, sir," Lewrie began, shifting in his chair. "It would be a hellish come-down for him to revert from acting lieutenant to one more midshipman, milords. If there is an examining board to sit soon, I assure you he could pass it. And were there an officer's berth come available, I know it would please him no end should he gain it."
"Acting lieutenants made on foreign stations have no need to sing for their supper," Hood stated. "Consider him a commission officer."
"And I would desire him aboard my ship, milords," Ayscough added. "As the least senior officer, to season him properly."
"Make it so, Stephens."
"Aye, sir," the longterm servant replied. "Nothing for yourself, Mister Lewrie?"
"Well, there is the matter of my father, Mister Stephens, milords," Lewrie stammered out. " Sir Hugo St. George Willoughby."
"Ah," Lord Sydney replied with a suddenly prim expression, his lips popping together. "Him. You're his… uhm… son, are you?"
"When we left Calcutta, the question of his brevet to colonel of the 19th Native Infantry was still up in the air, milords. And he more than proved his worth, on every occasion."
"He wishes to remain in India, in 'John Company' service?" Lord Howe asked, incredulous that anyone would want such an exile.
"He does, sir. His men adore him. And he… well, whatever his faults, milords, he is a good soldier and a good officer, and he truly does care about the regiment."
"Hmm, s'pose that's best, after all, him to remain out there," Lord Sydney sighed. "I'm told he's cleared his creditors? And there was a Captain Chiswick mentioned in Twigg's report. I assume he is to stay in that regiment as well? A cater-cousin to you, is he?"
"A good friend, milord. We were together at Yorktown. In fact, I shall be going down to Guildford to visit his family next week, to deliver news of him, and some presents for them."
"There wouldn't be a pretty sister, would there, Lieutenant Lewrie?" Lord Sydney teased.
"There is indeed, milord," Lewrie said, blushing for real.
"Active duty, naturally," Hood intoned, lifting a wary brow. Officers of bis generation were extremely leery of younger men who contemplated marriage too early in their careers- they were forever lost to the Sea Service, in their opinion, and even the hint of an imminent attachment was suspicious to that worthy. "I trust, hmm?"
"Active duty, yes, milord, that goes without saying," Lewrie answered quickly. That was the response they expected, much as he wished he were brave enough in the face of this exalted gathering to tell them what he really thought: that if he was truly as rich as he dared hope, they could have his resignation and bedamned to all the nautical deprivation he'd suffered since his father had damned near press-ganged him into the Navy as a midshipman back in 1780! After the last bit, he'd had nearly enough, and no public thanks or fame from it, either!
But that could never be said, he realized. And shaming himself before Ayscough, Hood and Howe by such a declaration was a thing he didn't have the courage for. He could only hope that they would file him away for future employment, hopefully very close to home for a change. Else they'd allow him a few months' shore leave and forget their promises, as great men were wont to do, and let him fester most happily on the half-pay list to the end of his indolent days!
"I once, milords, awarded Lieutenant Lewrie command of a small brig of war off Cape Francois," Admiral Hood said, turning to face his fellows. "The war ended before he could make his mark with her, but he more than made up for it with little Culverin this time. I am convinced he would be wasted in some other captain's wardroom."
Oh, sufferin' shit! Lewrie groaned to himself, aghast that they would send him right back to sea. It was peacetime, after all! The Waiting Room below his feet was crammed to the ceiling with half-pay officers so eager for employment they'd crawl from Whitehall to Limehouse Reach on their hands and knees, in a dog-collar, if they could crawl up a ship's gangway when they got there!
Lewrie's throat was already dry, and he essayed a cough. The artificial soon became the genuine article. Maybe, he mused, if they think I'm going to expire right here in the Board Room from the flux or something, they'll delay it, at least. He dug out his handkerchief and began to bark into it.
"Are you well, Mister Lewrie?" Lord Sydney inquired with some alarm on his face. "A glass of something, perhaps…"
"The change in weather, milord," Lewrie "struggled" to reply. "All this cold and rain here in England, after the tropics…"
He cut that statement off, paling at what they might do about it. Idiot! He could have kicked himself. No! Wrong thing to say, you damned fool! Goddamn their solicitous little hearts, they'll probably ship me right back where I just came from, and think they do me a blessing! Dear Lord Jesus, just a little help here, please?
"A small vessel below the Rates," he heard Lord Howe instruct Mr. Stephens. "In a somewhat healthier and warmer climate than the Channel Squadron, I should think. What do we have at present?"
Pray God they've all sunk! Lewrie hoped, turning a wild gaze on Stephens. Stephens had been first secretary to the Board of Admiralty for years, the Lords Commissioners for the Office of High Admiral, surviving one First Lord after another. More than any other man in England, he was the one who truly had his fingers on the pulse of the Fleet such as no senior officer or appointee had. Stephens executed more administrative power in an hour of scribbling and reading of files than most fighting admirals did in an entire career of bloody battles. He knew of
every opening, every promising officer, every fool and every little scandal.
Stephens gazed back at Lewrie, sizing him up, cocking his head to one side as if reading his career file from memory. Lewrie ducked a little; Stephens most probably knew of his every scandal, too!
"Nothing suitable immediately, milord," Stephens said after pretending to glance through a sheaf of documents. "There is a possibility coming due in a few months, though. Lieutenant Lewrie shall find it familiar, I believe. A ketch-rigged gun-boat shall be ending her commission and returning from the Mediterranean station at Gibraltar. We had discussed sending her to the Bahamas, after her refit, you may recall, milord?"
"Ah, yes," Howe nodded. "We've need of swift, shallow-draft vessels out there, Lewrie. If it's not piracy in the Bahamas, it's our Yankee cousins, violating the Navigation Acts and stealing our carrying-trade, selling their shoddy goods without paying customs due. And the Bahamas are so temptingly close to that new nation, so easily reached from their southern ports. Rather a dull little back-water but for that, as I remember. But just the place for an ambitious young officer to show his mettle, hey? What say you, sir? Ready to conquer the King's enemies a little closer to home?"
Lewrie remembered the Bahamas as well, and none too fondly. The most fun he'd had there was watching the dogs roll over halfway through their afternoon snoozes. Well, Nassau on New Providence was sporting enough after sundown, and heaps of American Loyalist families had made the place their home after the war ended. Surely one or two of 'em'd have daughters! He swore to be more careful this time.
I really should never set foot in the Admiralty again, he told himself: Every time I do, I come out feeling raped!
With an exuberance he most certainly did not feel, he was at last forced to say, "Words cannot express my gratitude, milords, sir. Naturally, I shall be delighted to serve in any capacity! Lead me to 'em!"
"That's the spirit!" Lord Howe exclaimed approvingly. "That's our sort of lad, Lewrie! I knew you'd be pleased."
Yes, he thought. It seems I'm fated to be your lad for bloody ever, don't it?
Afterword
From some of the fan mail I've received, I may have erred on the side of authenticity when it comes to ship-handling and the jargon of the sea in use in the eighteenth century.
This came from a deep-seated fear that someone a whole lot saltier than I ever hope to be would telephone me in the middle of the night and call me a lubberly "farmer" if I got it wrong. It also came from my abiding love of ships and the sea; I figured that if I was already "there" (so to speak) I might as well learn something for myself as well. And, too, there is the tendency among sailors to speak a language that most landsmen don't readily understand, a language I must admit I have to partly relearn every boating season, but one that makes me one of "the fraternity."
Ships propelled by the wind didn't deal in numbered bearings on their compasses; their crews spoke of WINDWARD or LEEWARD. Going up to WINDWARD, eighteenth-century square-riggers could not get closer than roughly 66 degrees to the apparent wind (6 points of 11!4 degrees each). When sailing as close to the wind as they would lay, they were said to BEAT, to go FULL AND BY, or lay CLOSE-HAULED.
If their destination was up to WINDWARD, it could take forever to get there, sailing aslant in a zigzag that took two or three times the actual straight-line distance to fetch a port.
They would BEAT or proceed CLOSE-HAULED on either the STARBOARD or LARBOARD tack. When the wind crossed the STARBOARD (right) side of the vessel first, and they sailed a course to the left of the baseline, this was called the STARBOARD TACK. When the wind crossed the LARBOARD (left) side of the ship first and they proceeded to the right of the base course, this was called the LARBOARD TACK.
(I warn you now, sailors were, and still are, a contrary lot!)
To zigzag from one side to the other, ships TACKED across the eye of the wind, wheeling the YARDS around from one TACK to the other, shifting the fore-and-aft sails from one side to the other.
To go with the wind abeam was called REACHING. This was also know as a "Soldier's Wind," since sailors have always considered a soldier less capable and intelligent than a sailor.
The side of the ship facing the wind was referred to as up to WINDWARD, sometimes A'WEATHER, while the side away from the wind was the LEE side, or ALEE. Anything below the ship and the source of the wind lay to its LEE. And a ship made LEEWAY going to WINDWARD as well. This
depended on how deep and how long the keel and underbody of the ship were, her QU1CKWORK below the waterline; as well as how hard the wind was blowing and how much she leaned over from upright, how much she HEELED. Too much sail aloft could make her HEEL even more, making her less efficient through the water, as could the distribution of her cargo.
To sail off the wind, with the wind from abaft, is now called BROAD REACHING but back then was termed RUNNING FREE with the WIND ON HER QUARTER. A ship just a little off the wind had a FAIR WIND. One heading steeper down to LEEWARD had a LEADING WIND, and one sailing even more southerly on the chart provided had the wind LARGE ON HER QUARTER or FINE ON HER QUARTER.
To sail directly downwind was to RUN, sometimes to SCUD or to carry BOTH SHEETS AFT, and was also known as a "Landsman's Breeze."
Winds, by the way, are named for the direction from which they blow, not the direction in which they blow. The northeast trade winds in the Caribbean come principally from the northeast; they do not blow toward the northeast.
To change course while sailing off the wind is now called a GYBE but in the eighteenth century was termed WEARING SHIP. It was easier to perform shorthanded, so many captains preferred, even when going to WINDWARD, to make a complete circle in the water, falling off the wind, WEARING the wind from one quarter of the stern to the other, then hardening back up to the wind on the opposite TACK CLOSE-HAULED.
The pointy end up front is called the BOW; that is FORWARD, corrupted to FOR'RD. The wide end at the back is the STERN-AFT.
A ship has two sides. The right-hand side of the ship is always the STARBOARD side. The left-hand side back in the eighteenth century was called the LARBOARD side. It's simple when you're facing the BOW, but when you turn and face AFT, they don't change places!
Sailors back then were more concerned with which side was the WEATHER side and which was the LEEWARD side, depending on where the wind was coming from, anyway. Steering commands were issued with that as the prime concern.
Here we reach another of those pesky posers created by the contrariness and conservatism of seafarers. In the very old days, every ship (they weren't so big back then) was steered by a rudder that was controlled by a TILLER, a wooden bar that sticks out from the top of the rudder like a lever. You still see them on smaller boats.
Boats do not steer like a car. To make a boat turn to the right, to STARBOARD, the tiller has to be pushed over to the left-hand side, to LARBOARD. This angles the rudder so that the force of the water across it swings the stern out in the opposite direction and swings the bows the way you want to go.
That's why Lieutenant Lewrie would order "helm alee" when he really wanted the ship to head up closer to the wind. Putting the helm down turns the bows up! Putting the helm up turns the bows away from the wind: "helm aweather." By his time, most ships had a wheel on the quarterdeck to steer with, but the wheel controlled ropes and pulleys connected to a TILLER HEAD below decks that did the same thing that a small boat's tiller did. When Lewrie said "helm up" or "helm aweather," the helmsman would turn the wheel a few spokes to either the LEEWARD side to put the helm "down" or turn it to the WINDWARD side to put the helm "up" or "aweather." But even if the addition of the wheel made it seem more like driving a car, the deck officer and the man on the wheel knew what they were really referring to was what was happening with that TILLER hidden below decks and what the rudder was doing, not which way the wheel was turning.
There were no auxiliary engines back then, no motive power except the wind and sometimes an "ash breeze," when the ship's b
oats were used to tow a vessel in light air. When the wind came FOUL so that there was no way to work out of harbor, no matter how well drilled a crew was in TACKING, ships sat in harbor until the wind shifted. In the Indian Ocean, South China Seas, and the Bay of Bengal, the monsoon winds shifted FAIR or FOUL by six-month seasons. While it might be fine for a ship bound south and west for the Cape of Good Hope and a homeward voyage, it would be almost impossible for a ship to make a journey in the opposite direction, beating into the teeth of that same wind from the Cape of Good Hope to Calcutta, which lay to the northeast.
Further, no naval captain would willingly cede the WINDWARD advantage to a foe. Staying up to windward and making the other fellow come to you was known as keeping the wind gauge. Choundas could not operate against the principal sea-lanes to and from Canton from LEEWARD. He had to be up to WINDWARD, from which he could strike and then dance away if he ran into some ship stronger than he was. I hope I have related the limitations and advantages of wind position in The King's Privateer.
The harbor I invented at Spratly Island was a right bastard-easy to get into with a southeast trade wind, almost impossible to exit-and I hope I showed how near Lewrie was to losing Culverin in his attempt to get to sea and chase those pirates. Harbors were always carefully selected so the entrance was not blocked with a headwind, a "dead muzzier," most of the time. A ship trying to work its way out, short-tacking across a narrow entrance channel, would end up stuck on a lee shore and pounded to bits by the waves and rocks. That's why most harbors in the Caribbean are on the lee side of the islands-not just for protection from gales.
I could get into a lot more detail shown on the sketch of a full-rigged ship-what the braces, lifts, jears, and halyards did and all that-but that would take an entire book in itself. Let me recommend, instead, "the" guide: John Harland's Seamanship in the Age of Sail, U.S. Naval Institute Press, lavishly illustrated by Mark Myers, Royal Society of Marine Artists, Fellow of the American Society of Marine Artists. The U.S. Naval Institute also has Bryan Lavery's The Arming and Fitting of English Ships of War, 1600-1815 and Peter Goodwin's The Construction and Fitting of the English Man of War, 1650-1850. Interesting, too, is The Fighting Ship of the Royal Navy: 1897-1984 by E. H. H. Archibald. Time-Life's Seafarers series is out of print, I believe, but most libraries should have Fighting Sail, which covers the American Revolution and the high points of the Napoleonic Wars-the Great Age of Sail.
The King l-4 Page 39
