Thermopylaes will splice the main-brace one last time!'
That raised a great cheer.
'I don't know if we can trust the Corsican tyrant, Bonaparte, to keep the peace for long, lads,' he went on, 'but if England does face a future conflict, I can't imagine a surer way t'keep that snail-eatin' bastard awake nights than for him to know that the men of Thermopylae are at sea, and that eager t'rip the guts out of the best his navy can send against us!
'Wherever you light, you can be proud of what you accomplished here aboard Thermopylae' Lewrie told them after another great cheer had subsided. 'I'm proud of you, and proud that even for a short time I was permitted to be your captain. Don't let the job-'
'Three cheers fer Cap'm Lewrie, hip hip!' interrupted him.
'A cup for you, sir?' Lt. Farley asked, for this once, the rum issue had made its way to the quarterdeck.
'Aye,' Lewrie eagerly agreed.
And once the ship's crew had settled, Lewrie concluded, 'Thank you kindly, men. I was about t'say, don't let the jobbers cheat you… Don't spend it all the first night… Make sure the doxy doesn't have three hands and pick your pockets blind… and go see your kin before you let yourselves get crimped!
'To Thermopylae… to you… and to us!' he shouted, lifting the wee brass rum cup to his lips and tossing its contents back whole.
Don't… cough! he chid himself, for the neat rum, with but a ha'porth of water to 'grog' it this time, almost made his eyes water.
'Dismiss the hands, Mister Farley,' Lewrie ordered, once he had control of his vocal chords again.
'Aye aye, sir! Ship's company… dismiss! Good luck and Godspeed to one and all!'
Taking leave of his officers, warrants, and midshipmen was much more genteel; handshakes and doffings of hats, a brief jape or two to the 'younkers,' and wishes for good fortune, promotion, another active sea commission soon, and hopes to serve together again someday.
'My Jack-in-the Breadroom's made arrangements for your cartage, sir,' Mr. Pridemore told Lewrie, 'and there will be a good-sized barge alongside within the hour for all your dunnage.'
'Might have to make it two barges, Mister Pridemore,' he had to confess. 'The dockyard won't accept the stoves, and thinks I must send them on to Captain Speaks at mine own expense.'
'Oh, really, sir?' Pridemore said, brightening. 'If that is so, sir, might I suggest that you leave all that to me, for I have Captain Speaks's address, already, and made arrangements for most of his goods to be sent on to his home in Yorkshire months ago.'
Just knew it'd be a long, long way off! Lewrie told himself.
'In point of fact, sir,' Pridemore went on, 'two of them would be more than welcome whilst we're laid up in- ordinary this winter. If I… lease them from Captain Speaks for my comfort, and the comfort of my fellow ship-keepers, it goes without saying,' the Purser quickly added, 'and, so long as we purchase our own coal, the dockyard people can have no objection, d'ye see, sir?'
'That leaves me two t'haul off,' Lewrie glumly replied.
'Well, not really, sir,' Mr. Pridemore schemed on, 'not if Captain Speaks authorises me to sell them for him. So many warships laid up in-ordinary… so many shivering ship- keepers right here in Sheerness, or a quick sail up to the Chatham Ordinary? I'm certain their usefulness, and their rarity, shall allow me to turn a good profit, to the benefit of Captain Speaks, and myself, of course. All that is needful is for you to sign a chit consigning Captain Speaks's property to me, and all's aboveboard, so to speak.'
'Really? That'd do it?' Lewrie marvelled, though there was the dread that Pridemore was a Purser, a skillful man of Business and Trade after all, and undertook nothing without a scheme to 'get cheap, then sell dear.' Pursers were not called 'Nip Cheeses' for nothing!
'Do it admirably, sir,' Pridemore assured him. 'And, whilst we are at it, I believe the Russian gentlemen gifted you with nigh half a bargeload of dainties and luxury goods? Should you wish to dispose of some of them, and save yourself the carting fee to the London market, where you are certain to be 'scalped,' I assure you, Captain, for I am a veteran, and a victim, of sharp practices in the city.'
'Not a big market for Roosky vodka, Mister Pridemore,' Lewrie said, now sure that he might be being 'scalped' on his own quarterdeck, 'nor for caviar and pate in Sheerness, I'd think, though. And, there is some of it I'd like to haul along home.'
'But of course, sir!' Pridemore said with a little laugh, 'for so would I. The bulk of it, though, I could purchase from you.'
'With the bill of sale, though…,' Lewrie said, reminded by the word bulk, as in 'breaking bulk cargo'; unlawful for a warship to do aboard a ship made prize, and the penalty for landing captured goods. 'There are the King's Custom Duties to be paid. Do you undertake to pay them, once the goods are transferred to your possession, and note such in your bill of sale… '
Did I just pinch his testicles? Lewrie had to wonder, to see a brief wince twitch Pridemore's face.
'But, of course, sir, it shall be as you say,' Pridemore agreed.
'Let's go below and sort it all out, then,' Lewrie suggested, 'and have my clerk, Georges, draw up the paperwork, with copies to all before I depart.'
Whew! Lewrie thought; once bitten, twice shy. Maybe with age wisdom does come. The last thing I need is another brush with the law over smuggled goods!
Admiralty in London was very crowded with so many ships being decommissioned at once, so much so that it had been necessary to make an appointment for a set date and time to begin the process of turning in all his ledgers, forms, logs, punishment books, and pay vouchers. Thankfully, a fortnight shy of Christmas, Lewrie met with the Second Secretary to Admiralty, William Marsden, not his nemesis, Sir Evan Nepean, and the whole thing was a fairly business-like and pleasant affair, not the ordeal Lewrie had expected.
Well, there was a half-hour stint in the infamous Waiting Room on the ground level, but the tea cart was set up in the courtyard and doing a grand business, with its tea lads whipping round with hot pots, mugs, and sticky buns, right-active. Lewrie had even found a pew bench seat right off after but a single glare at a Midshipman, who'd gotten the hint and sprung from his place to accommodate a senior officer.
Is he the same snot-drizzler I saw, the last time I was here? Lewrie asked himself, for the Midshipman bore a strong resemblance to the mouth-breather with whom he'd shared a bench in February. Damned if he ain't! Lewrie marvelled with a faint grimace of distaste to see him snort back a two-inch worm of mucus, then gulp. Has he been here every day since? Lewrie wondered, shaking his head at the no-hope's persistence at seeking a sea- berth, even as two-thirds of the Navy was being laid up. Don't he know there's a war… off? Lewrie japed.
To make more room for Lewrie a Lieutenant shifted over a bit, a very tall and painfully thin young fellow with dark hair and eyes, and dressed in a shabby and worn uniform coat, with a very cheap brass-hilt smallsword on his hip. Must bash his brains out on ev'ry overhead beam, Lewrie thought; maybe one too many already? he further decided as the gawky 'spindle-shanks' stared off into space, lips ajar, and damned near mumbled to himself with a gloomy, vacant expression on his phyz.
'Good morning,' Lewrie said, to be polite-and to see if the fellow was truly addled. Will this'un drool? he thought.
'Er ah, hem… good morning to you, sir,' the Lieutenant said with a grave formality, then returned to his dark
