The King`s Coat

They counted their linstocks, lengths of slow match, sand, powder horns, firing quills and their condition, gun tools and the general condition of the four-pounders. ’Spankin' new, they are, Mister Lewrie,' Bright told him, unsure how much authority Kenyon had given him. 'Took off one of ours, I guess. Not a year old by the proof marks, an' hardly fired.’

’How accurate is a four-pounder?' Lewrie asked. 'Random shot at a mile, good chance of a hit at six cables.

Not as accurate as a nine-pounder. Might wanta get rid a this junk.’

’What is it?’

‘She's fulla Frog tricks, Mister Lewrie. Canister-cases a musket balls ta clear a deck or a fightin' top. That's star-shot,' Bright said, picking up a round. 'Comes apart inta four pieces held tagether like this. Good for takin' down riggin' and cripple a prize first. No stomach for a close fight.’

’I see we have more swivels.’

’Aye, eight more. I guess they were gonna mount 'em on each beam.’

’We shall have to get the hands used to them. You might make up some cartridge.s, and some canister for the swivels. We might get some target practice at kegs or something with them,' Lewrie suggested. ’Aye, we could.' Bright frowned, thinking how much work it was. ’What are these?' Lewrie asked, picking up an unusual rod of some kind from an entire case of them. It resembled a large iron dart but was wrapped with a tarred cap of cloth and seemed to have small spring-loaded arms attached, neatly folded up behind the head along the shaft. ’Easy with that, them's fire arrers,' Bright cautioned. 'What do you do with them, Bright?' Lewrie asked, turning to look him square in the eye and establish that he was on at least an equal footing with the gunner's mate. Being rated a watch-officer didn't hurt, either. ’They's nasty stuff, Mister Lewrie. Ya shoots 'em outa the swivels. That sets 'em afire, an' when they hits, they snap open so's they can't go no farther. Sticks in the sails and bums ' em up. I'd feel a lot safer without 'em. They're touchy as hell. 'Sides, it ain't Christian to do that. even to an enemy. It's a damn pirate's weapon, not fit for a King's ship.’

’But they have been found to be most effective?’

‘Sir?' Bright asked, not understanding the word and taking the deferential air of an inferior by force of habit. ’Do they work real good?' Alan rephrased. ’Devilish good, sir.’

’Let's hang on to them. then. Bring in a tub of water and make sure they are closed up, and unable to rub and take fire on their own. We just might find a use for them.’

’Aye, sir,' Bright said, almost touching his forehead in a salute. The rest of the inventory went swiftly, counting the French model 1763 muskets, boarding pikes, cutlasses, tomahawks. and pistols, and the gun tools and grindstone that went with them. Since Parrot had no master-at-arms, Lewrie would be filling in in that capacity, and was happy to have so much to play with. The days ahead looked very promising.

A week later, Parrot was in all respects ready for sea. Lewrie was happy with his duties, and with his responsibilities. He had the guns painted, all tackles and breeching ropes snug. There were enough cartridges made up for a good battle, and still a quarter-ton of powder below decks in casks. The round- shot had been filed and sanded and painted and laid out in shotgarlands, while the slightly imperfect hung in net bags ready for practice use. All the small arms were oiled and sharpened, and he had gotten two watches in which to hold arms drill and change the assignments of who got axes or pikes or muskets.

Finally, a gig had flown out to them from the flag, and a stuffy lieutenant had handed over to them several weighted bags of mail or orders, along with their first sailing orders. For the first time the jibs were hoisted, and the anchor broken out of the bottom. The huge fore-and-aft sails rose up the masts and the booms swung out as they filled with wind. Water began to chuckle under Parrot's forefoot as she tacked her way out of the narrow channel to the outer roads and past the shipping anchored there. Once past Cape Shirley they turned east-sou'east for an offing, going hard to windward.

And then, with the island a smudge to the nor'west, they came about to the starboard tack with the wind abeam and began to thrash to the north, hoisting topsails as well, and winging out the gaff sails to use every ounce of wind. By the time they cast the first log they had gotten up to nearly ten knots, and it was glorious, since Parrot could go like a Cambridge Coach with her larboard side down slightly and cool spray bursting in sheets from her bows and creaming down her flanks, spattering the decks and wetting the jibs and fores'ls high over the beakhead.

By evening Quarters at sundown Antigua was out of sight, and other islands were silhouetted against the sunset far away to the west as they drove to pass Barbuda to their lee side. They were bound for Road Town in the VJIgins on the island of Tortola, thence to Nassau in New Providence, with a final stop at Bermuda. It was a risky voyage, prime hwricane season, but for then, the sea was kind, and the very best of the tropic weather prevailed.

They reefed down for the night and took in tops'ls, but even in the Middle Watch with Purnell a pale ghost near his side, Lewrie was taken by how fast they were going, and how much glorious fun it was. ’I think I am going to erijoy this immensely,' he told Purnell over the sluicing noise and hiss of their hull cleaving the ocean. 'The freedom,' Purnell shouted back. 'God, no line of battle, no admirals, no post-captains. We're free as the wind'‘

‘No sailing master. No screaming first officer,' Lewrie added. ’Good food every time we anchor somewhere,' Purnell went on, making circling motions over his stomach. 'Like tonight.’

Lewrie had to agree that their dinner had been very good; boiled mutton cut fresh from a carcass, and seasoned with God knew what by the West Indian cook, but the old man had created a substantial meal that stuck with you, by God, and was snappier on the tongue than neat rum or plug tobacco. There had been new potatoes and strange red purple onions and a decent French red wine that was a lot more pleasing than Black Strap could ever hope to be. ’Tell you what, I'll be senior for the first two hours,' Purnell said. 'You be my junior, and then at four bells we'll change round.’

’Fair enough. I suppose you want the windward rail?' Lewrie asked, referring to the senior officer's right. ’Yes, if you don't mind.’

Lewrie really didn't mind. The night was too full of stars, of moonlight shimmering on the ocean, of the pleasing motion and the cool humidity of the night to be enjoyed. By God, this is more like it, he told himself at the larboard rail as he stared out at the ocean that glittered like a fairyland. If the rest of the Navy could be like this… Kenyon had allowed them to forgo heavy broadcloth uniform jackets. Now Alan rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, dressed in waistcoat, slop trousers and shirt. And since it was the Middle Watch he soon did away with the waistcoat and neckcloth as well, opening his shirt to the winds so that it fluttered and billowed out as it filled. Spray flew over the rail and smacked him now and then, and he found he looked forward to it each time, leaning far out to intercept it. He was in charge of a ship; maybe not much of a ship, but she was his for a while.

Even if he had to share her with Purnell and the bosun's mate. When it came his turn, he was amazed to see a dark smear to the nor' west. He left the windward side to cross to the binnacle and look at the chart by the tiller. By the feeble glow of the binnacle light he could see that they had already fetched Barbuda. Far inshore there were some faint lights, perhaps houses on the Atlantic side, or fishing boats working offshore. They would pass well to seaward of them, as long. as the wind held steady. He closed his eyes and tried to measure the strength of the wind on his cheek. Had it shifted a point? Backed on us, he decided. Parrot seemed to slow a bit. He could order the quartermaster to adjust his helm, but was afraid to upset the settled order of the night. No, there was something else to do that would allow them to hold the course that Kenyon had ordained. ’Bosun?' he called, and Mr. Kelly, the experienced bosun's mate who was their watcher, was there in a moment. 'Wmd's backed a point. Summon the hands of the watch to veer out a piece on the braces and heads'l sheets,' Lewrie ordered, hands behind his back and looking up at the set of the sails like a real watch officer would. But he found it hard to match Kelly's eyes as he dared issue his first real order.

'''Spect it's about time fer that, Mister Lewrie,' Kelly replied, touching his hat with his fingers and turning away to call the hands.

Damme, that wasn't so bad, after all, Alan told himself after they had eased the sheets to allow the sails to stay full at a proper angle. 'That ought to be enough, Mister Kelly. Belay all that.’

Lewrie made an entry in the log, also his first, noting what he had done, and then they slogged along into the night with the wind now more from abeam, but still holding their compass course, and Parrot giving no sign that she was going to do anything dire after being meddled with by amateurs. And when the end of the watch came, and Mr. Claghome took over for the Morning Watch, Lewrie was almost sorry to have to cede him the deck. As he doffed all his clothing and rolled into his bunk he pondered how fast people