I am certain he broke it. I'd be happier with him in Barfleur, sir. They have an excellent surgeon aboard, I'm told, d'ye see.'
'Well, until he read himself in, he's not one of ours yet.' Alan nodded in agreement. 'And since he's in the boat and ready for transport, that'd be best. Mister Rossyngton?'
'Aye, sir?' the midshipman asked.
'Be so good as join the doctor in accompanying the captain back aboard Barfleur,' Alan directed, handing Rossyngton the injured officer's orders. 'My compliments to the flag-captain, and return these to him.'
Alan felt his face tightening with a grin he fought to suppress. 'Please extend our apologies to that worthy, and inform him we require another master and commander for Shrike. We… urn… we seem to have broken this one.'
'Um, ah…' Rossyngton replied crisply, trying to keep his own visage free of the humors that tickled him. 'Aye aye, sir.'
'Christ, I hope this… whoever he was, wasn't a particular favorite of the admiral's,' Alan prayed aloud once the boat was under way. 'I'd hoped to get out of the Navy with a whole skin. They'll probably hang me in tar and chains after this.'
'Wasn't your fault, sir,' Caldwell assured him. 'Don't see as how they can go blaming you for his clumsiness. Or Pitt. It was probably for the best. Maybe Shrike didn't like the cut of his jib, or something. You know, sir, ships get souls after a while. Looked like a hard man, to me. Maybe the ship knew he wouldn't do right by her, or the people.'
'Pitt surely didn't like the cut of his jib,' Alan agreed.
'Might have done it for all the cats aboard, sir,' Caldwell went on. 'Some officers don't like pets of any kind, and would have 'em over the side to drown. Maybe things work out for the best, sir, after all.'
'Signal, sir,' Edgar called. 'Get under way!'
'Thankee, Mister Edgar! Bosun, hands to the braces! Get the way back on her! Mister Caldwell, keep us on the larboard tack, near the flag, for now.'
For the next hour, Shrike paced alongside the flagship as she caught up the squadron, like a calf will plod alongside her mother. And then came a signal for them to fetch-to once more, and the gig came back, the doctor and midshipman Rossyngton aboard, but no sign of a new officer to command the ship. Evidently, after the last wave of promotions, suitably senior lieutenants in favor were thin on the ground.
'This is for you, sir,' Rossyngton said, presenting Alan with a canvas-bound sheaf of papers once he had gained the deck and come aft. 'We are instructed to close with Commodore Affleck's flag, sir, the Bedford. Admiral Hood has deferred to him to choose another officer for us.'
Alan took the bundle, a little irked at the smile that tugged at the corners of Rossyngton's mouth. 'Mister Caldwell, alter course to close with Bedford,' Alan directed, while turning away to break the still-warm wax seal on the packet.
'Sufferin' shit!' he muttered as he began to read.
My dear Lt. Lewrie;
The vagaries of Fate, and the fickleness of Dame Fortune conspire to alter my Intents, good sir. I had hoped to reward Lt. Ishaell Sharpe for his long and meritorious Service as my 4th officer, with Command, but it seems it is not to be.
In response to your generous, heart-felt, and commendable concerns anent your former captain, Lt. Lilycrop's, Future, and, having had converse with Capt. Nelson, a young man whom I hold in the highest Affection and Admiration, regarding both your cares and his view of the matter, allow me to bid you allay your worries.
While my surgeons are not sanguine about his ability to hold a further Sea Commission, they assure me he shall heal well enough that future Service is not out of the question, perhaps as a Dockyard Superintendent, or officer of the Impress Service, should he desire active Employment. I shall take Lt. Lilycrop under my aegis, and make the strongest Advertment in my power to Our Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to that effect.
'Well, thank God for small favors,' Alan smiled in relief. He turned the letter over to read the rest of it.
Regarding the vacancy in command of Shrike, basing my Decision upon the favorable notice you have elicited in past by your gallant, resourceful and honourable past Service; having myself formed an admiration of your Abilities during the affair in The Chesapeake, and your plucky conduct during your escape; and, having had further converse with the gallant Captain Nelson, and receiving from him an whole- hearted approbation of your Character; I did most recently consider taking you into Barfleur as 6th officer, from which post of favour you might find an opening for Advancement. But, after greeting your Lt. Lilycrop, and soliciting his own recommendations after Lt. Sharpe's recent Misfortune, I trust that command of a small brig of war shall suffice. Be assured that in future you should not be in any way hesitant in considering me your admiring Patron, or in availing yourself of any kindness I may be able to extend to you.
Yrs;
Sir Saml Hood
R. Adml. of the Blue Squadron
'Jesus Christ,' Alan breathed with a shudder partly of delight, partly of dumb-struck consternation. 'I'm going to have to start taking all this nautical shit a lot more seriously!'
He had always thought Admiral Hood a poltroon, for his inexplicable behavior in hanging back at the Battle of The Chesapeake. Even the empty defensive victory at St. Kitts had not changed his opinion much-they lost the island anyway, hadn't they? And now this!
The man must be more of an addle-pate than I thought, Alan told himself, his hands trembling as he scanned the second sheet of paper in the packet and saw what it represented. Anybody that'd give me command of a King's ship has to have his buttocks where his ears ought to be. Mind you, I ain't arguin' much.
He looked up at the people on the quarterdeck; Rossyngton with his slight smile because he knew the secret first; Caldwell on tenter-hooks to find out what it was all about, and sweating that it perhaps might represent a chance for him to keep his acting lieutenancy.
I'd better do this before they change their bloody minds, he thought, feeling an urgency to read himself in before that new officer from Bedford came aboard. They still had at least a mile to go before they were close enough to hail her, and a cutter from Barfleur had not even reached her yet.
'Mister Caldwell, assemble the ship's people if you would be so kind,' he ordered.
'Aye aye, sir. Ship's company!' Caldwell boomed. 'Muster aft and face the quarterdeck!'
Once they were gathered, wondering what this new summons was about, Alan folded out the sheet of vellum and scanned it so the words would not be unfamiliar and trip him up at this unbelievably fortunate moment.
'Issued aboard HMS Barfleur, flagship to the Leeward Islands Squadron, this 20th day of March, in the year of our Lord, 1783. From Sir Samuel Hood, Rear Admiral of the Blue. To Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, Royal Navy. Sir; it is my wish and direction that you take upon yourself the charge and command of his Majesty's 12-gunned brig of war, Shrike…'
He paused and looked up, feeling as if someone would shout over to them that they were 'just kidding!' But there were no signs of laughter from the hands-no pulled faces or sidelong glances of aiarm. They stared back at him, nodding as though his superseding to command in place of a real sailorman was his due.
So he savored every syllable, every nuance as he finished reading the document aloud. Shrike wasn't much, too small, and below the Rate, for a more senior officer, he realized. And she had been brought in as prize on a foreign station, so the dream could end the day after the war ended, and that blessed event could occur at any moment. Even if she stayed in service, there was only a year left of her original three years' commission. But for now, she was his.
