A King`s Commander

Hmm, I could use this, Lewrie thought, though wishing to tear a strip off her hide, as he would the merest menial. No, he decided; jape his way out. Tug at her heartstrings. And her remorse.

'A thousand pardons, Captain,' Lt. Ralph Knolles said, doffing his hat in concern that he might be found remiss. 'I should have assigned a hand to shepherd the lads. A topman, it appears.'

'A topman, indeed, Mister Knolles.' Lewrie grinned. 'Damme… he's a little terror, isn't he? Now we know where the next sailor in the family's to come from, hey?'

'Indeed, sir.' Knolles smiled in return, with infinite relief.

'Mademoiselle Sophie,' Lewrie said, turning to the girl. 'Of course, you're forgiven. Nothing to forgive, really. As you become more familiar with us, you'll learn that Hugh will ever be our mischievous little imp. And a prankster. You must watch out for that, so he doesn't use you ill, as boys are wont to do-with sisters. From Sewallis, well… he's the quiet sort. I'm hoping you'll be a civilizing influence upon Hugh. And an edifying one 'pon Sewallis. As one more beloved member of our house. Dear as an elder sister.'

'Merci, m'sieur,' Sophie replied meekly, all but chewing her lip in contriteness.

'Well, then…' Lewrie concluded heartily. 'My dear, perhaps we should bundle everyone into the buoy-tender before Hugh discovers the powder room, and erects a sand castle out of cartridges.'

It was the perfect note to strike, Lewrie thought; if he did say so himself. Dear as he loved his wife and children-and he did in spite of his dalliances-sweet as it had been to have them down from the country to Portsmouth while jester had recruited and manned, and as tender and passionate as Alan and Caroline's reunion had been-well, damme if I'm not glad to see the back of 'em, he thought, a touch rueful.

'Hugh!' he called, picking up the lad to bring him eye level again. 'You be as good a boy as you can be… consid'rin'. And, I promise you, when you're older… next time I'm home, hey? There'll be all the climbing aloft you want. But not before I say, hear me?'

'I promise, Daddy,' Hugh replied. And thank God he'd finally learned how to pronounce his R's. 'An' then I'll be a sea officer, just like you' the boy cried, wriggling with delight.

'That you will,' he agreed, setting him down. God's teeth, what'd the boy expect, anyway? Second son, and all? It was naval or military service for him. 'And Sewallis?'

'Yes, Father?' his eldest replied, ignored in all the confusion, and almost shrugging into himself as the hands of the after-guard trudged by to stations, as sailors and marines prepared to breast to the capstan bars to hoist anchor. Eyes darting constantly, not out of boyish curiosity, Lewrie was certain, but to see if he would be in the way! There'd been moments of folderol, of high cockalorum between them-but only a few-since he'd been 'breeched.'

Such a grave li'l man, Lewrie thought, with a trace of sadness, as he knelt by his side. 'You make us proud at your school, now, hear me? Mind your mother…'

'I will, sir.' Sewallis gulped, tearing up.

'Help make Sophie feel welcome and one of us.'

'I will, sir.'

'And keep an eye on Hugh. God knows, it takes more than one pair, now, don't it,' Alan joshed.

'Good-bye, Father!' Sewallis suddenly wailed, tears flowing for real, and his solemn little face screwed up in pain. He flung himself at Lewrie, who hugged him close. 'Wish you didn't have to go!'

'Growl you may, but go ye must, Sewallis,' Lewrie told him as he patted his back. 'Hush, now. Young gentlemen don't cry Not in public, at any rate. Talk to your puppies, mayhap, when things are dreadful. They'll always cock an ear to you. That's why I have that damned Toulon. He's a good listener, in the main.'

Sewallis, perhaps with good reason, had an abiding fear of cats. Old William Pitt, sensing his shy nature, had taken a perverse delight in tormenting him before he'd passed over. Sewallis's happiest words, all during Lewrie's too-short spell in harbor, had been about dogs; specifically the litter of setter pups a stray bitch had whelped in their barn. Toulon, not to be outdone by his noble predecessor aft in the great-cabins, had spent half of Sewallis's times aboard playing panther-about-to-pounce from any convenient high place, or edging in close to stare at him when the family had dined aboard.

'Daddy…!' Sewallis shivered, trying to form a thought that simmered in his little head, some last meaningful declaration.

'There, there, little lad,' Alan said without listening as he let him go and stood up. 'Mind your way down the battens, into the tender. You're big enough, now, not to need a bosun's sling.'

'I'll see to 'em, sir,' Maggie Cony suggested, with a knowing wink. 'Will an' me c'n cosset 'em inta th' boat.'

'Aye, thankee kindly, Ma… Mistress Cony,' Lewrie amended.

Her and Cony's own git birthed, and back on her pins nigh on a year, she was a handsome young wench; thatchy-haired like her new husband, blue-eyed, with a face never meant for true beauty, but a strong, open and honest, and pretty, face after all.

'And I'll keep a weather-eye on 'em, sir,' Maggie promised. 'As Will is wont t'say.'

'And I on your man, mistress,' Lewrie promised in turn. 'Get him back to you, a warranted bosun someday, safe and sound.'

That had been a proud and happy moment, to stand up for Cony in a dockside chapel as he took his bride, at last, four-square in his best rig as boatswain's mate, a petty officer, now. Though his swaddled son, born during their last cruise aboard Cockerel, had not taken well to the festivities, and had wailed through half of it.

'Adieu, m'sieur,' Sophie said, wan and weepy once again, her green eyes brimming. 'Bonne chance.'

'Adieu, mademoiselle… adieu, Sophie,' Alan replied, giving her a hug, too. 'I trust you'll fall in love with little Anglesgreen. And find peace and contentment there. Fall in love with our family, too. As they already have with you,' he stressed, hoping to get one last hint driven home.

'Bonne chance,' she said again, stepping back and dropping him an aristocratic curtsy in congй. 'An', merci beaucoup for aw' you do pour moi, m'sieur.'

She rose, and fixed him with a curious, hard stare for a trice, her fine reddish-auburn hair flickering about her face and the shroud of her traveling cloak's hood, her green eyes intent in her slim and gamin face. 'Poonish ze Rйpublicains zat tuer… zat keel ma Charles, m'sieur Lewrie. Ah pray fo' you' success.'

'Merci.' He nodded. 'Merci, beaucoup. Caroline…?'

He gave her his arm to walk her to the starboard entry port, and a waiting bosun's chair slung from aloft on the main-course yard.

'Alan, should the wind not serve…' she hinted desperately.

'Beat down to Saint Helen's Road, my dear, a few miles, and lay-to, till one comes fair,' he said, a touch of severity in his voice. 'Admiral Howe was lucky he had a favorable slant, t'other day. And then, off for Gibraltar, quick as dammit.'

Out of long habit, he cast his eyes aloft to the impossibly long and curling coach whip of a commissioning pendant atop the mainmast truck. Then aft, to the Red Ensign that flew over the taffrail on the flagstaff. Red, for an independent ship, one sailing free of fleet or squadron, under Admiralty Orders. A few days before, Portsmouth Harbor had teemed with warships; stately lst-Rate 100-gunners, 2nd Rates, 3rd-Rate 74's, and frigates, from the mouth of Southampton Water down into Spithead, west into the Solent as far as Buckler's Hard. Now, it yawned vast and empty. The French were out. And so was the Channel Fleet, under elderly Admiral Howe.

'But, if…'

'Admiralty Orders, dearest.' He sighed. 'With dispatches aboard. 'Make the best of my way, with all dispatch'… Should the wind come useful, we'd cut cables, instanter, and scud out under jibs and spanker, and no one'd mind us losing our anchors, 'long as the dispatches were on their way. I'm sorry. I truly am.'