The King`s Coat

the word for Private Cheeks' until Ream had told him it was a butt-fucker's insult, and got even the Marines mad. He had not gone to fetch gooseberries from the foretop, or some of the other dumb japes midshipmen played on each other. He had heard of 'building a galley' and had asked Lieutenant Kenyon about it; it involved one boy being the contractor and the rest being the boat, linking arms in an oval to make the sides, their feet together to be a keel. The one named the figurehead leaned forward until the contractor demanded that he wanted a gilt figurehead, at which point the mark was given a dash of shit in the face with a brush, and everyone else ran for their lives. ’Gun drill tomorrow,' Shirke said, sipping his drink. ’Surely we should be doing more of that.’

’Don't we work enough already?' Alan groaned. ’'Cause we've got people listed for the guns that don't know a cap square from a cascabel, and what do we do if we run into a French line-of-battle ship going down-Channel?' Bascombe asked. ’A cap square,' Alan laughed. 'Is that something you wear? ‘

‘I'd like to see you wear one,' Bascombe snapped. 'Speaking of Country Harrys who can't even steer a damned cutter. ’

‘Hark that from our best bargee,' Alan shot back. 'The great sailor, Tom Turdman. Learned his trade at Dung Wharf!’

‘I'll thrash you for that,' Bascombe shouted, leaping across the mess table. Lewrie sprang to meet him and the brawl was on. With the others cheering (and the senior warrants of their mess absent), it was a wrestling match just to work off tension and excess energy, only half-serious. ’Here, you spilled my brandy, you lout!’

‘Ow, fight fair, you bastard!’

‘Kick 'im in the nutmegs, Lewrie!' Shirke cheered. 'I'll take a shilling on Harvey.’

’Done!' Ashburn said, putting aside his book.

Until Lewrie noticed that he had hold of a silk shirt as he grappled with Bascombe. Bascombe was from a poor family; his kit was of middling quality, and it most definitely did not run to silk shirts. ’Wait a minute! Where the hell did you get silk, Bascombe?’

‘Chapman gave it to me,' Bascombe lied, knowing the fight was about to become serious. In their mess, things were borrowed back and forth to make a presentable showing on deck in front of the officers, but they were mostly asked for, not taken. ’Chapman doesn't have one, and he doesn't look toot stupid!' Lewrie said. 'Have you been in my things?’

‘Me? Why should I dig in your rag box?’

‘Because you're a ragpicker, Bascombe. Now take it off and put it back where you got it.’

’I'll not, it's mine-’

‘Hell, it's yours, you parish waif, now have it off!' Bascombe took a serious swing at Lewrie and caught him on the side of the head. Alan shot a fist straight into his face and bloodied Bascombe's lips and nose, dropping the other boy to the deck. ’Damn you!' Bascombe wiped blood from his face on the shirt sleeve, got to his feet and ripped his waistcoat off, then the shirt, balled it up and threw it at Lewrie. 'Here's your damned shirt, I hope you choke on it.’

’You'll hand it back to me clean, or I'll make it a gift. If the blood won't come out, then ~u'll have exactly one silk shirt-’

‘ 'Ere now, 'ere now,' said Finnegan, one of the master's mates, as he came into the compartment. 'Christ, wot a pack of yowlin' ram-cats; Mister Bascombe, I see summun tapped yer claret. N' nice Mister Lewrie alookin' like Goodyer's Pig'never well but when in mischief.' Wot is it, then, summat seryuss enough fer the captain, er does it stop' ere?’

‘Just a little wrestling match for a glass of flip, Mister FInnegan,' Ashburn said. 'Got out of hand.’

’Rip, ya say? I'll take a measure. Now let's git this cockpit stright fer eatin',' Finnegan ordered, knowing exactly what had happened, but relieved that he did not have to report it, which would reflect on his ability to supervise the midshipmen.

Alan tossed Bascombe the shirt with a sly smile and watched as Bascombe dashed out of the compartment to fetch some seawater to stanch his nose and lips. ’You really know how to make friends, Lewrie,' Ashburn said in a low voice after they had sat down away from the others. ’He took that shirt from my chest, didn't he? He'll not have my blessings to take what he wants, when he wants.’

’But you don't have to rub his nose in it,' Ashburn replied. 'There's no harm in him, he just had to look good to attend the Captain's gig this afternoon. I'd have loaned him one but all mine were dirty.’

’He could have asked.’

’He doesn't know you well enough to ask. Besides, your usual answer to sharing is 'no,''' Ashburn said. 'My family could buy up yours a dozen times over, most like, but that don't make me as purse-proud as you! You haven't gone shares on anything in the mess yet.’

’It's still stealing,' Alan insisted, blushing red. ’Not stealing… borrowing.’

’Aye, if the hands 'borrow,' they get flogged for it, but if we do, it's Christian charity,' Alan said sarcastically. ’For your information, Harvey 's the son of a country parson. I doubt he's got two shillings to rub together and no hope of more. His father probably makes less than thirty pounds per annum. ‘

‘Shit,' Alan said. 'I didn't know. But what's mine is mine. I have to protect it. I don't have enough to keep a gentleman in the first place and my family won't part with another pence for me, not if it was for a coffin. Let's say the splendor of my kit was a very firm goodbye.’

’Just be civilized. Lewrie. You'll get by with us a lot better. Now Bascombe's going to get his own back on you and I don't know what he'll do, but it won't be hurtful… much. Don't take it to heart. We don't need a Scottish feud down here.’

’Damn you, Ashburn,' Alan muttered. 'You always find a way to make me feel like such a low bastard.. ‘. ’That's because you are. Mind now, I like you, Lewrie, I really do. You're a ruthless, uncivilized young swine, and I doubt you'll ever be buried a bishop, but you're an interesting person anyway. You'll go far in the Navy. Like me.’

Supper was decent, since they were still close to shore and had the opportunity to send for fresh meat and vegetables. And when Ashburn raised the suggestion that they go shares on some cabin stores, Alan did offer to help out, so they would have some drinkable wine and some livestock of their own in the forecastle manger to delay the day when they would have to live totally on issue salt-meats.

Before Lights Out at 9:00 P.M. Lewrie took some bum fodder in his hand and made a postprandial journey to the heads up by the beakhead under the jib-boom. At sea the heads would be scoured continually by the sea, but in harbor no waves reached high enough to relieve the odors, or remove their source. At least at sea, there would be no Marine sentry standing over him to prevent desertions over the bow, as one now patrolled in port.

He returned to the cold orlop deck that was buried in darkness, for after Lights Out, no glims could burn except where permitted by the ship's corporals. He found his hammock by touch, slipped out of his clothes and rolled in, drawing the blanket over him gratefully. ’Oh my God,' he muttered, feeling the cold and sticky semifluid substance against his legs and buttocks. 'They've shat in my hammock!' He raised a hand to his nose, expecting the worst, and detected a sweet odor tinged with sulfur. 'My hammock is full of molasses.' From the darkness came a furtive snigger. ’Bascombe, I swear to God I'll murder you,' he shouted into the dark, bringing snorts of laughter from the others, and shouts from the senior warrants to shut up and let them sleep.

Chapter 3

Their last moming had dawned grey and miserable with a fine, misty rain that swelled the running rigging until it would have difficulty passing through the blocks and sheaves. But the wind had come around to the northwest, and Ariadne was in all respects ready for the sea. The ship was still about twenty-five men short of full complement but that could not be helped in wartime. Captain Bales evidently did not have private funds for recruiting at taverns, or for paying the crimps to deliver warm bodies with all their working parts in order who would wake and discover they were in the Fleet. He must have heaved a great sigh of relief that he was in shape to sail at all, for if a captain could not gather enough men to crew his ship out of harbor, he could lose his commission (and his full pay) and some other captain would be given a chance, while the failure went on the beach at half-pay, there to remain for the rest of his natural life. Those men he had gathered had been pummeled into