“Barges alongside, nets deployed, and ready to go, sir,” First Officer Farley reported.
“Aft there, strike the hoist!” Lewrie yelled, ordering the Execute. “Sailors, man the boats!”
Oarsmen, Cox’ns, Midshipmen scrambled over the bulwarks to swarm down the boarding nets to their waiting boats, followed by bundles of weapons with which to guard the barges and the landing beach once the Marines advanced inland.
“Land the landing force!” Lewrie shouted, cuing the Marines to go over the side to enter the manned and waiting barges.
Lewrie turned his attention to the Coromandel, peering closely at her activities; he was sure that his sailors and Marines had it all down pat by now. What he saw made him frown.
There in the ocular of his telescope was Lt. Dickson and Sub-Lt. Clough, dashing from one side of their quarterdeck to the other, peering over the sides with some urgency. His sailors were in the barges, and the soldiers of the 94th were going down the nets, but for one wee group, larboard side aft, who were still gathered along the bulwarks and sail-tending gangway, not moving at all.
“Shove off, there! Line-abreast, and … stroke!” Lt. Rutland was ordering Vigilance’s barges to get under way, and Lewrie spared them a glance, taking note that the waters ’twixt the ship and the beaches looked a little rougher than he’d expected, but nothing that they had not experienced before.
No, Lewrie’s attention was rivetted to Coromandel, where those soldiers were still on deck, as were sailors in the right numbers to make up a barge crew, standing and shrugging at each other in dumb show. Her boats were stroking away from her side, at last, delayed by some confusion that had Lt. Dickson in a howling dither, flailing his arms and yelling something. Three boats from Coromandel’s starboard side were slowly making way, sorting themselves out in line-abreast, then resting on their oars for the rest to come round her bows and join them. One came round, then a second, then … nothing.
Lewrie did a quick count, swinging his telescope to eye the one nearest. Five barges and …
“Why’s that boat being rowed by only six oars?” he pointed out to his quarterdeck staff. “There’s two men near the bows sittin’ on their bloody hands, by God!”
“Two, three, four, five … where’s the sixth?” Lt. Farley asked aloud. “Oh, don’t tell me they’ve gone and lost one of their boats!”
Lewrie did another quick count, gawping in dis-belief.
“You cack-handed lubbers!” he roared, hoping that Lt. Dickson could hear him cross the quarter-mile separation. “You’ve gone and lost a barge? Mine arse on a bloody band-box!”
“Mean t’say I won’t pass the exam, teacher?” Lt. Greenleaf, ever a wag, sniggered. “And I studied so hard! What’ll pater say?”
“You miserable, incompetent, ‘no sailor’ babes!” Lewrie cursed, astonished. “My bloody cat keeps better watch of his toys! Comin’ out o’ your bloody pay, Dickson, hear me? If it was rainin’ soup, you’d have a bloody fork, and you’d drop that! You jumped-up … Arrh!”
He wanted to be aboard Coromandel instanter, so he could seize Dickson by his coat lapels and shake him like a dust rag, but he had no means to do so. All of Vigilance’s boats were away, rowing hard for the beach, and were still at least an hundred yards off before the line of breaking surf. It would be minutes before the Marines and armed sailors exited them and freed one up to return to the ship.
“Well, I never,” the Sailing Master said, sadly chuckling.
“Just going to say,” Lt. Farley chimed in, breezily, holding in outright laughter with some difficulty.
“There’s not a boat in sight, sir,” Lt. Greenleaf said after a long scan seaward with his telescope. “God only knows when in the night that it went adrift. Might spot it when the sun comes up,” he added hopefully. He shouted aloft to the lookouts in the cross-trees, but after a long moment, they could not spot it, either.
“As soon as our boats are grounded, hoist a signal for one boat to return aboard, Mister Farley,” Lewrie said, managing to put a lid on his anger, for the moment, at least. “I’ve a bone to pick with Coromandel’s commanding officer. A monumental bone.”
“Aye, sir,” the First Officer said, taking note that Captain Lewrie’s usually merry grey-blue eyes had gone the iciest Arctic grey.
Lt. Farley had seen that odd change only a few times serving under Lewrie, in the Thermopylae frigate back in 1801, and rarely at all in Vigilance. Thankfully, the Captain’s anger had never been directed at him, but Lt. Farley was mortal-certain that Lt. Dickson was going to get the roasting of his life, and a well-deserved one, too.
* * *
Under a lighter grey sky, with only the faintest hint of colour below the eastern horizon, Lewrie took the salute of the side-party at Coromandel’s entry-port, doffing his hat to the flag aft, then to the assembled officers.
“Good morning, Mister Dickson,” he began.
“Sir Alan,” Dickson said, bicorne doffed high and half bowing from the waist. His face was flushed with embarrassment.
“Lost a whole barge, have you, sir?” Lewrie asked as he placed his hat back on his head. “And some oars, too, I noticed?”
“I simply don’t know how such a thing could happen, sir…” Dickson tried to say, but Lewrie cut him off.
“No, I don’t know how that could happen, either. Sir!” Lewrie drawled. “Let’s go aft, shall we?”
“Aye, sir,” Dickson said, looking like a hanged spaniel.
In the privacy of the cabins, Dickson tried again.
“Before we left harbour at Milazzo, sir, my Acting Bosun made an inspection, and assured me that everything was in order,” Dickson said. “The boats secured for towing astern, everything needful in the barges bundled together, and … may I offer you something, Sir Alan?”
“No,” Lewrie firmly said, glowering. “You may not.”
“As I said, sir, everything was seen to,” Dickson repeated.
“You did not inspect yourself, sir?” Lewrie demanded.
“I trusted my petty officers and Bosun, sir, and feel badly let down by their slip-shod…” Dickson almost stammered.
“’Tis a poor workman, blames his tools,” Lewrie snapped. “It’s all your responsibility, Mister Dickson. The ship, your people, and the details of an important exercise. Had this happened during an actual landing against the enemy coast over yonder, it might have proved t’be disastrous. Sir. Was no one posted to keep watch over the tow during the night?”
“Ehm, no, sir,” Dickson had to confess. “We assumed…”
“Well, assuming was a dead bust, wasn’t it,” Lewrie sneered. “It’s standing orders aboard my ship that the Mids casting the chip log on the half-hour keep an eye on the tows, and sing out at once if something’s amiss. Slip-shod, d’ye say? Aye, all that in spades, sir!”
Lt. Dickson’s chin was protectively tucked snug against his neck by then, and he badly needed a drink of something wet to cure the dryness of his mouth, but could not indulge if Lewrie wouldn’t.
“I am most heartily sorry to dis-appoint, Sir Alan,” Dickson said, almost grovelling. “My fault, entirely.”
“Aye, it is,” Lewrie sternly rejoined. “At the least, you got five barges manned, and landed the troops on the beach. Most of ’em. We’ll cancel the exercise. Do you hoist your number, and Recall to your boats ashore. Then, once everyone’s back aboard, you can spend the rest of the day, and night if it takes that long, swanning about to find your missing boat, and recover it before the local pirates make off with it and call it Christmas Day. Sir.”
“Aye aye, Sir Alan,” Dickson answered, almost venting a long breath of relief. “Sorry.”
“Indeed,” Lewrie frostily pointed out. “I’ll remain aboard to watch the return of your barges, and the troops. My barge can stay below your starboard main chains ’til I depart. God knows, there’s room for it.”
“Aye, Sir Alan,” Dickson said with a nervous nod. “I will see to that signal, directly.”
That stopped Dickson in his tracks and spun him about to face Lewrie, again, worry about his career plain on his phyz.
“I’ve four very competent Lieutenants in Vigilance’s wardroom, Mister Dickson,” Lewrie threatened, “all experienced with the work we do, and sound seamen, all. Perhaps Coromandel might benefit from an exchange … unless taking you aboard might be to my ship’s detriment, hmm? Go. Hoist the signal.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Dickson said, goggling, swallowing nervously, before stumbling out to the quarterdeck, fearing that it might not be his quarterdeck much longer, and cursing his patrons for placing him here, under his breath, thinking himself a total fool for taking the bait of a ship to command!
Lewrie followed him more leisurely, mounting to Coromandel’s poop deck from where he could see all.
The requisite signal was quickly two-blocked, and a matching one was wig-wagged from shore to indicate that they saw it and would obey. Down Coromandel’s hoist went to order the Execute, and soldiers from the 94th began to trudge back to the beach, and armed boat crews got out their oars, ready to depart.
Here now, that’s … odd, Lewrie thought as he studied the men still aboard, going about their duties; Damme, are they grinnin’ like schoolboys?
There were many hooded looks and winks, sailors leaning close to whisper to each other and silently snigger. And, as the barge crews came up the boarding nets at last, damned if they acted that way, too!
It’s a Goddamned silent mutiny! Lewrie realised.
Coromandel’s brow-beaten, herded, threatened, and even lashed people had had enough of Lt. bloody Dickson and his ways, and had at last found a way to scupper him! A poorly tied tow line on the last barge astern of a trot of three, oars misplaced from another.
I’d wager a month’s pay they’ll find ten oars in that missing barge! Lewrie told himself, stifling his amusement, for it wouldn’t do for a Post-Captain to show that he was in on the immense joke!
“Boats secured, nets taken in, and all hands accounted for, sir,” Sub-Lt. Clough reported to Lt. Dickson, who took the report, and then turned to Lewrie for further orders.
“Make sail for Milazzo, Mister Dickson, discharge the troops, then make sail, again, to hunt down your missing barge,” Lewrie told him. “The last time I was with Captain Middleton in Portsmouth, and outfitting the other transports, the cost of a twenty-nine-foot barge with ev’rything all found, was over one hundred fifty pounds, so … good luck recovering it, or you might have to answer to Admiralty for its loss.”
“Aye, sir,” Lt. Dickson tautly replied, looking miserable.
“Once back in harbour, I will give you my decision. Sir,” Lewrie told him, leaving Dickson under an uncertain threat.
“Aye, sir,” Dickson managed to rasp out, and Sub-Lt. Clough raised his brows and peered about, wondering what that meant.
Christ, but that felt damned good! Lewrie told himself, once he was seated in the sternsheets of his barge; Now, who can I spare? Grace, Greenleaf? We’ll just have to see. But, Dickson aboard my ship? He’s pure poison! His attitude towards the hands might make my Vigilances mutiny!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Even before Vigilance got within sight of the other transports anchored off Milazzo, Lewrie had finished a letter to Adm. Sir Thomas Charlton informing him of his decision to temporarily relieve Dickson of his command and replace him with one of his officers. It would be a dicey act, for though Lewrie was in command of all the squadron, he had not been appointed a Commodore’s authority, and was under the command of Charlton, wherever he was at that moment, hundreds of miles away. He hedged his bets by asking whether Charlton thought he had the authority to do so, or if Charlton thought that there might be a better solution to Coromandel’s problem. Dickson had powerful patrons, and Lewrie was already the target of other people’s spite; dare he do something to turn a whole new set against him? If Charlton approved, Lewrie asked for a reply to show that he concurred, or not.
That letter was sanded to dry the ink, but not yet folded over itself to form an envelope; the sticks of sealing wax and Lewrie’s personal seal were still in a drawer of his desk. It lay flat on the desk top, making Lewrie wonder if he would ever mail it.
Cooler head, he told himself; that’s what I need. Spur of the moment, gone off at half-cock like a two shilling pistol? Dickson’s that ship’s real problem, but … can I do anything about him? Just ’cause I despise the bastard? It’ll look un-justified, and spiteful.
With a long sigh, he slipped the letter into the central drawer of his desk and shut it. “I’ll be on deck,” he told his retinue.
Lt. Rutland was officer of the watch, glooming over the windward corner of the quarterdeck, his dour face screwed up in even more dismal thoughts than usual.
“Captain, sir,” Rutland said, touching the brim of his hat as he surrendered that post to stand in front of the compass binnacle cabinet.
“Mister Rutland,” Lewrie acknowledged.
“A shambles, sir,” Rutland commented after a long silence.
“Coromandel?” Lewrie asked with a snort of sour humour.
“Aye, sir. A badly run ship,” Rutland sneered. “Pity.”
“They’re close to competent,” Lewrie told him.
“Their hearts ain’t in it, though, sir,” Rutland went on. “From the top down. Were they better led, well.”
That’s the most I’ve ever heard him say! Lewrie marvelled; He usually has less conversation than a pile o’ roundshot.
A long, uneasy silence followed that. Finally, Rutland cleared his throat and said, “Talked with them.”
“Aye?” Lewrie prompted, wondering where he was going.
“Clough, sir,” Rutland expounded. “He’s not that bad. On the young side, but mostly capable … if he could ever stop jabbering. Her Mid, Kinsey, too, sir. A ‘tarpaulin’ fellow, playing dumb ’cause he doesn’t like Mister Dickson, and won’t go out of his way to help him. Might enjoy riling him.”
“Well, he fooled me,” Lewrie said. “I thought he was hopeless.”
“Need a better officer in command of her, sir,” Rutland said.
Christ, I haven’t even said anything in front of my crew yet, Lewrie all but gawped; and news o’ what I might do has already made the rounds?
“I could straighten her out, sir, if need be,” Rutland told him, looking far forward at the dip and rise of the jib-boom and bow-sprit.
“You’d volunteer, Mister Rutland?” Lewrie asked, amazed. “You’d leave us?”
“If needs must, sir,” Rutland said, finally turning his head to look at him. “Good of the Service, the good of the squadron. Wouldn’t enjoy it, but…” he concluded with a shrug.
“I’m tempted,” Lewrie confessed, “but I haven’t decided, yet. I may not have the authority. And here I thought you liked Vigilance.”
“Oh, I do, sir, immensely,” Rutland assured him, though his expression did not change from his usual spare sternness. “But, it would be grand to have actual command of something, and make her as smart as paint.”
“A satisfying accomplishment,” Lewrie said.
“Exactly so, sir,” Rutland said, then turned to face forward again, as if that would be all he had to say on the subject.
“I’ll let you know if I do decide,” Lewrie assured him.
Makin’ Coromandel a happy, taut ship’d be an accomplishment, indeed, Lewrie thought; Aye, if Dickson don’t improve.
* * *
Astern of HMS Vigilance by two cables, sailing right up the warship’s wake, Coromandel’s people and the two companies of soldiers from the 94th could almost be thought to be in glad takings now that the exercise was over. Stiff leather collars were undone, and red coats were un-buttoned, with white pipe-clayed straps and bandoliers temporarily stowed below in the four-man cabins. Those who chewed tobacco were gathered round the spit kids, and men who smoked pipes lazed on the lee
ward sail-tending gangways. Soldiers and sailors made free with the dippers at the scuttlebutts for sips of water as the day warmed, and the mood aboard was slyly jovial.
The same could not be said about the mood upon the quarterdeck, however, where the air between the officers almost tingled like the prickly aura of a lightning strike.
“You have badly let me down, sirs,” Lt. Dickson gravelled, his voice a’rasp with warning. “Let the ship down. Made me look like a perfect fool!”
“Wasn’t our doing, sir,” Sub-Lt. Clough objected. “Neither I, nor Kinsey, had anything to do with securing the tow lines, or the missing oars. All was in order before we sailed.”
“Saw to everything myself, sir,” Midshipman Kinsey grumped.
“Quick glances, were they?” Dickson accused. “Someone in the crew shifted those oars somewhere, somebody undid the tow line, and I want to know who they were!”
“Well, it’s not as if someone went down the tow line from the stern in the dead of night, hauled the second boat up to the first, got in it, and untied the tow to the third. It’d take a circus acrobat to get back aboard after doing that, and…”
“Or a topman!” Dickson spat. “Any of those bastards are that agile. We’re going to get to the bottom of it, hear me? More to the point, you two will get to the bottom of it. I want names, and I will have them up on charges. By God, sirs, our idiot Bosun will be up all night, making up cats o’ nine tails for the punishments I mean to hand down! I will make this crew howl before I’m through!”
“Beg pardon, sir,” Midshipman Kinsey dared say, “but that might be too harsh. A few truly deserving, maybe, but…”
“Are you ‘Popularity Dick’ now, Kinsey?” Dickson sneered. “I’d have thought that was more Clough’s line.”
“Sir!” Sub-Lt. Clough exclaimed, stung by the accusation.
“As if you wouldn’t rather josh with the crew than enforce any discipline, or uphold your authority,” Dickson said in heat. “I’ve seen you do it, Clough. This ship’s crew’s a hodgepodge of malingerers, drunks, petty criminals, and ox-heads as stupid and ignorant as so many cows! Dredged up from the cast-offs of a dozen ships, and sent here to bedevil me with their vile, lazy ways! They must be forced to do their duties, properly, efficiently, and have their backs laid open with the lash if they don’t. This ain’t an antic, a schoolboy prank, you fools! It was close to mutiny, and it will be tamped down and eliminated. They will learn to respect and obey their betters, or they’ll pay for it. And if you can’t get to the root of it, then I will write Admiralty and request your replacements!
An Onshore Storm Page 23
