Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Commission

• Название: The King`s Commission
• Автор: Dewey Lambdin
• Жанр: Морские приключения

1782 First officer on brig o'war . . . Fresh from duty on the frigate Desperate in her fight with the French Capricieuse off St. Kitts, Midshipman Alan Lewrie passes his examination board for Lieutenancy and finds himself commissioned first officer of the brig o'war Shrike. There's time for some dalliance with the fair sex, and then Lieutenant Lewrie must be off to patrol the North American coast and attempt to bring the Muskogees and Seminoles onto the British side against the American rebels (dalliance with an Indian maiden is just part of the mission). Then it's back to the Caribbean, to sail beside Captain Horatio Nelson in the Battle for Turks Island. . . .Naval officer and rogue, Alan Lewrie is a man of his times and a hero for all times. His equals are Hornblower, Aubrey, and Maturin--sailors beloved by readers all over the world.

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The sword that hung on the pegs on the wall next to a shabby grogram watch coat was a heavy, older straight sword more suitable for an infantry officer in a Highland regiment. Evidently, Lieutenant Lilycrop did not have two farthings to rub together other than Naval pay, and that none too good for a lieutenant in command of a small ship below the Rate. Come to think on it, mine's low enough at two shillings six pence a day. Alan grimaced. What does he get, four or five at best?

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom of the cabins, he could see that there were more cats present; a lot more. Cats of every color and constitution, some old and grizzled from fights and amours, some spry and young, and at least four kittens being nursed by their mother on the captain's berth. And there was a barely perceptible-odor.

"Ah, you've done a lot in a little over two years' service," Lilycrop finally commented, laying down the documents. "But not much more practical experience than a half-cooked midshipman."

"Aye, sir. Sorry if I do not please, but I shall endeavor to do so as we progress together," Alan said, on guard at once but making keen noises.

"A fledglin' just outa the nest. Nay, more a chick fresh from the shell," Lilycrop maundered. "My last first officer… oh, now there was a tarry-handed young cock… 'twas sorry I was to lose him. But, we do what we can with what we're given, an' if the flag says you're to be first lieutenant into Shrike, then growl I may, but agree I must."

Damme, I ain't that bad, Alan thought sourly. And if he don't like the cut of my jib, can't he toss me back for someone else to catch?

"Aye, sir," he replied, noncommittal.

"Well, sir." Lilycrop left his sulks and got suddenly and alarmingly business-like. "Shrike is Dutch-built, took by my last ship off St. Eustatius a year ago. She's eighty foot on the range of the deck, ninety-eight foot from taffrail to bow-sprit, an' you'll note she's beamy, like most Dutchies-twenty-seven foot abeam. Barely ten foot deep in the hold, of two hundred and ten tons burthen. She wasn't a fast sailer 'til I had her jib-boom an' sprit steeved lower, an' larger fores'ls cut. We added the horse an' the short trys'l mizzen to the main-mast to make her more weatherly, so she's a snow, now, tho' still rated as a brig-rigged sloop. Started out a tradin' brig, made of good Hamburg oak. She don't work much in heavy seas, don't need much pumpin' out, an' bein' just a quim-hair under ten-foot draught, an' her quick-work flatter'n any English shipwright'd loft her up, she can go places another ship'd dread to go. You'll find her a fiddler's bitch close-hauled, but she'll weather and head reach on any fuckin' frigate that ever swum, an' off the wind long's you keep her quartered, an' not 'both sheets aft,' she'll run to loo'rd like a starvin' whore. But I warn ye now, take your eyes off her to play with yourself just a second, an' she'll scare hell out of you if you let her have her head. Flat down wind, we've had her surf up her own bow-wave in a half-gale, an' that with the main course brailed up, and if you let her get away, she'll broach on you faster'n you can say 'damn my eyes, ain't my fault.'"

"I see, sir." Alan marveled at the change that had come over Lieutenant Lilycrop as he got on professional matters.

"We've two little four-pounders on the fo'c'sle, all she'll take for end weight, and only twelve six-pounders for the main battery, and two of those shifted aft into my quarters to get her stern trimmed down so the fuckin' rudder'll bite, so she's not so crank. So she'll tack right smart now. She looks en flute, 'cause there were two more guns aft once, but they wuz bronze trash I'd have no truck with, so I had 'em put ashore. Two gunports right forward on the weather deck're empty, too, to lift her bows proper. Damned Yankees, tryin' to make a sixteen-gunned privateer out o' her. Silly fools. Yankee Doodles. Ya know, the Jonathons, the Rebels," Lilycrop explained as he used the nickname with which Alan was not familiar.

"Aha," Alan nodded.

"Pierced for sweeps along the gangways above the gun deck, too. You'll find 'em damned handy for workin' outa harbor, or off a lee, but with so little quick-work you'd best not try 'em when it's too windy or she'll get away from you under bare poles. Ever use sweeps?"

"No, sir," Alan had to admit.

"Well, shit," Lilycrop grumbled.

"Sorry, sir, you were saying?"

"Like most ships commissioned from prizes on foreign stations, Shrike has her share of no-hopers." Lilycrop frowned. "Most of her warrants are a bit spavined, but with lots of practical experience. My crew was as scrofulous a lot as I've ever seen, even after my former captain let me have ten prime hands from old Bonaventure, the usual surly and slack-jawed louts you'd expect, with more'n average her number of Island Blacks, and half of those probably runaway slaves in the first place. But we've pulled together, and I'll touch 'em up sharp when needed. I'm not a Tartar when it comes to plyin' the cat, but I by God'll flay a man raw when he needs it, not like some of these Goddamn psalm-singin' hedge-priests in disguise you see clutterin' up quarterdecks these days. I don't splice the mainbrace nor cosset the people 'less I see a choir of angels to larboard announcing the Apocalypse. You're not a hedge-priest are you now, Lewrie?"

"Hell no, sir." Alan grinned. "Ow!"

Henrietta had made up her mind that his leg, encased in brand new silk stocking, was a scratching post.

"Ah, she's takin' to you, good girl," Lilycrop said softly, laying his head to one side in admiration of his cat. "Let her have a little lap to make friends with you. Go on, pick her up. She'll purr like a snare drum. Now, you ain't a Tartar, either, are you?"

"No, sir," Alan said, gingerly lifting the cat from his side to sit in his lap, where Henrietta began to lay down her head and rub to mark him, scattering a handful of black fur on his snowy-white breeches. "Firm but fair was the motto I was taught, sir."

"Good for you, then, laddie," Lilycrop nodded agreeably. "Now, as to the people. Caldwell is a sour little shit-sack, but a good master, a bit of a hymn-singer and in another life he'd turn evangel on us, so don't plan on getting much joy out of him in the wardroom. Walsham, well, he's a tailor's dummy, God help him, but what can you expect from Marines. His sergeant is good, though, but deaf as a country magistrate. Master gunner Mister Cox is a sharp'un, and Fukes is a good bosun, but we're thin in mates. Mister Lewyss the surgeon is competent but a horrid drinker, bein' Welsh, and if I hear that damned harp and his quavery fuckin' voice lollopin' out those mournful dirges in the mess past eight bells o' the second dog, I'll kick your young arse so you can kick his. Mister Henry Biggs the purser is the biggest weasel I've ever come across, and that's sayin' somethin' after fifty year at sea, man and boy. You'll watch him like a hawk, and if you discover how he prospers, you'll be the first. Midshipmen're just about what you'd expect, one stupid as cow-pats and t'other too clever for his own good."

"That would be Rossyngton, the clever one, sir?" Alan said as Henrietta draped herself over his chest like a warm blanket and began to vibrate and snore, her paws kneading his shirt front with sharp little claws.

"You're smart as paint, Lewrie. T'other, Mister Edgar, is not too long off the dung wagon, and I s'pect if it was rainin' claret he'd have a colander to catch it in, and he'd drop that. Clumsy young bastard. Stepped on Pitt's tail t'other day."

"Who, sir?"

"The ginger torn lives forrard."

"We've met, sir," Alan stated.

"Worst disposition in a cat I've ever seen," Lilycrop confessed. "Know why I named him Pitt, hey?"

"No, sir."

"Because I absolutely despise the bastard!" Lilycrop boomed with a short bark of laughter at his own wit. "Rapacious, sir, most rapacious mouser I've ever seen. Got the soul of a master-at-arms, though. Come to think of it, those are good traits in a Prime Minister, too."

"With so many cats aboard, I should think Shrike would not be plagued with rodents like other ships, sir."

"Their tribe stand no chance of prosperin'," Lilycrop boasted.

"Then what do the midshipmen eat, sir?" Alan asked.

"Ha ha, you're a wag, sir!" Lilycrop boomed again. "I can tell we'll get on, if there's a brain hidden behind all that dandy-prattery. Well, I'd expect you'd like to get settled into your cabin and get all squared away. You'll find my Order Book and all that bum fodder to look over, and then I expect you'll go over the ship and make your acquaintances, see what we have to work with, God help us."

"Thank you, sir."

"Got any questions, see me on the sly," Lilycrop commanded. "Can't let the people or the warrants think you're slack-witted or not experienced enough. Would you like a kitten?"

"Um, not right now, sir."

"You're not one of those people who can't abide the little darlin's, are you, Lewie?" Lilycrop looked at him sternly.

"Oh, no, sir," Alan assured him quickly. "It's just that none of my other ships ran to pets, and I do want to find my feet first."

"Well, keep it in mind, we've four new'uns ready for weanin' in a week or so. That'll be all, Lewrie."

"Aye aye, sir," Alan replied, standing up and trying to disentangle Henrietta from her death-grip on his shirt. She finally scaled his back, scratching him on the nape on her way down to the chair where she re-ensconced herself and began to wash.

Lilycrop turned to stare at a large, shallow wooden box by the quarter-gallery and bawled for his steward. "Gooch!"

"Aye, sir?" a wizened little mouse of a man asked, popping out of the captain's pantry by the chart-room.

"Cat shit, Gooch!"

"Aye aye, sir, right away, sir."

I've always believed it, Alan told himself as he pored over the captain's Order Book of set instructions in his small cabin. Not one captain on the face of this earth is dealing with a healthy mind. They're all daft as bats. This Lilycrop makes Treghues look sane as a banking house. What did I do to deserve this? Who did I fuck, who did I not fuck?

The officer's wardroom was not in the extreme stern in Shrike, but aft of the main-mast and ahead of stores rooms. As a single-deck ship, she had to cram all her holds and stores onto one deck, along with all her personnel accommodations. There was a solid deck under the fo'c'sle, broken aft of the galley into a capacious hold to allow her to stay at sea for up to three months. Seamen were berthed above the stores kegs and barrels on a temporary mess-deck flooring, swung in hammocks, with the last two rows furthest aft reserved for the Marine complement.

Aft of the Marines, there was room for the officers and senior warrants, with the main after hatch leading down just before the deal partitions that screened it off from the Marines. The captain was kept in his rather spartan splendor in what was called a hanging cabin under the highly steeved quarterdeck, which had a break much like a three-foot-high poop deck near the taffrail to give him standing headroom.

This cut the wardroom off from all sunlight, even though it was above the waterline, but the only openings to the outside were gunports that were kept tightly sealed unless the ship cleared for action.

Alan's cabin was right aft on the larboard side, hard up against the after bread room, spirit store and fish room, which added to the miasma of cat droppings and the usual human odors.

If he thought that promotion to lieutenant would get him any more splendor of his own, he was sadly mistaken. The cabin was six feet wide, which left room for a wash-hand stand and his sea chest, about six feet six inches long to accommodate a fixed berth raised up high enough to give him some storage underneath. Near the door at the foot of the bed there was a tiny portable writing desk, a three-tiered bookshelf already filled with the accumulated reading of an entire commission, and a stool to sit on while he wrote letters or conducted ship's business. Across from his cabin the surgeon, Dr. Lewyss, was housed. The next two cabins were for the sailing master to larboard, and the purser to starboard. Forward of those, the cabins got smaller to make walking space around the fixed dining table and the hatchway to the orlop stores. Walsham the Marine officer, the captain's clerk, Fukes the bosun, Cox the gunner and Mr. Pebble, the enfeebled carpenter, had those cabins. The spare cabin that completed the starboard tier was wardroom stores and the captain's servant and the wardroom servant swung their hammocks in there above the personal food and drink for the officers and warrants.

The many cats may have cut down on the usual rat population, but the ship teemed with cockroaches; small ones, admittedly, since the cats would chase anything large enough to entertain them.

The only blessing for the crew, who normally had only twenty-eight inches in which to sling a fourteen-inch-wide hammock, was that the ship was not at her full-rated complement of one hundred and ten people, but was six hands short in seamen, and four in servants, and that the Marine party, which would not normally be aboard so small a brig, was only sixteen privates, two corporals, a sergeant, and Walsham. Being rated a fourteen-gunned ship in official records could be a blessing.

Alan lay propped up on his bunk, reading. The surgeon was stoking up his harp and singing some Welsh song of unrequited misery, accompanied by someone on a flute who was as mournful a specter as the doctor. Alan didn't think he would enjoy wardroom life, if that was the best entertainment they had to offer. Besides, Lieutenant Railsford had warned him to stay aloof, hard as it would be on his congenial and garrulous nature. Eager as he was for companionship, and no matter how old the others were in the wardroom, he was senior to them, and could only damage his credibility and authority if he was to join in their simple pleasures. He was the captain's voice in all things, the one who would brook no dis-satisfaction with a captain's decisions or allow anyone to carp or cavil.

No wonder old Lieutenant Swift in Ariadne was such a dry stick, Alan sighed, wondering if he was up to all the demands that would be made on his abilities, getting lost in the knowledge that he was pretty much in charge of all the various punishments books, logs, charts, pay vouchers, rating certificates, prize certificates (damned few of those, he noted grimly), quarter-bills, watch bills, and professional records of the entire crew.

It really would have been much nicer to have been second officer in a slightly larger frigate than Desperate, even the fifth or sixth lieutenant in a ship of the line, where he could hide and enjoy the joyous spirit of a drunken officers' mess without having his young arse on the line at all hours.

The paper work was, as usual, putting his mind into full yawn, and he wasn't through half of it. Once more he felt as if a terrible mistake had been made by a clumsy or inattentive clerk in the flagship, putting such a pompous little fraud as himself into such responsibility. No matter what Railsford had said, he felt like a total sham only waiting for the awful moment of truth when he would be exposed to the world.