H.M.S. COCKEREL

Chapter 6

'That's a new'un,' Captain Sir Thomas Byard, captain of Windsor Castle and flag- captain of their squadron, remarked with a quirky look as he tugged his nose. 'I must pass it on to our senior midshipmen to try out on the 'younkers.' Much droller than sending them on deck to hear the dogfish bark. And your Leftenant Banbrook is still confined to cabins?'

'Uhm, no, Sir Thomas,' Lewrie replied, now that he had his wits back. 'His close arrest ended after the second dog-watch.'

'Hmm, good,' Sir Thomas approved, then looked around the quarterdeck at Cockerel's frazzled professionals. 'So!' he demanded, in a semi-joshing tone. 'Why could you not have done this well yesterday?'

To that, though, Lewrie could have no answer; nor could any of the officers or warrants.

A little after breakfast in the morning watch, H.M.S. Cockerel had been ordered to close Windsor Castle and take station under the flag's lee, quickly followed by the dread summons, 'Captain Repair on Board.' Off Braxton had gone in his gig, with a thick canvas packet of ledgers and documents under his arm. But, most surprisingly, over had stroked Captain Byard's gig, and, once he had been received aboard with proper honours, and had been genteelly introduced, he had begun issuing most disconcerting orders.

'Strike topmasts, Mister Lewrie,' he had snapped.

'Sir?'

'Strike topmasts, I said!'

For the rest of the morning watch, and through the entire forenoon, Cockerel had been exercised. They had stripped her down to the fighting tops and gantlines in a credible half-hour, then hoisted the topmasts, spars, sails and shrouds aloft once more. They had Beat-To-Quarters, heaved empty kegs over the side, and made passes at them with the great-guns booming. They'd gone through cutlass and musketry drill, officers and hands alike. Then it had been signalling practice, towing the ship with the boats, lowering the larboard bower into a cutter and pretending to anchor to it; they'd passed towing cables to the flagship then cast them free and winched them back aboard with the capstans. An hour had been spent making and reducing sail, reefing down for heavy weather, or setting 'all to the royals,' with stuns'ls on the fore and main course yards. Then they'd practiced fetching-to, wearing, tacking and weaving through the line of slow-plodding line-of-battle ships like a water-walker skittering 'round leaves in a fish pond. There had been fire drills, man-overboard drills, more going to Quarters and shooting at crates thrown over the side.

'Very good, Mister Lewrie, you may set your regular watch-bill.'

'Aye, aye, sir. Mister Scott, you have the watch. Bosun, pipe the change of watch. Larboard division on deck, starboard division to be relieved.'

'Aye, aye, sir!' Bosun Fairclough shouted back from the waist. He hauled out his silver bosun's pipe and began a shrill on the 'Spithead Nightingale.'

'Well done, Mister Fairclough!' Sir Thomas called down to him, after his pipe was done, and he'd bellowed his orders in a voice that could carry to windward in a full gale. 'Still have it, I see.'

'Aye, Sir Thomas, an' grand it be t'see ya once again, sir!'

'You were shipmates, Sir Thomas?' Lewrie asked, trying to find a polite way of mopping his streaming face with a handkerchief, after a long, trying morning of funk sweat.

'Robust, when 'Terrible Toby' had his first warrant, and I was fourth officer, sir,' Sir Thomas chuckled. 'I went shares to purchase his pipe. Damn' good man, is 'Terrible Toby.''

'And still is, Sir Thomas,' Lewrie assured him.

'I am gratified to hear it, sir. What time do you make it?'

'Uhm… half-past noon, sir,' Lewrie replied, after producing his watch from a fob pocket in his breeches.

'My apologies for delaying the hands' dinner, then. And 'Clear Decks and Up Spirits.' Is your Captain Braxton one to 'Splice the Mainbrace,' Mister Lewrie?'

'No, Sir Thomas, he is not. So far, this passage, at least.'

Alan imparted that with a straight face, biting his cheek.

'Pity. I should not wish to call for anything your captain may not allow. But… they did well, I thought. Did they not, sir?'

'Very well, Captain Byard,' Lewrie agreed.

'Then it is my wish that you, this once at least, indulge me.'

'Aye, aye, sir. Mister Fairclough… Mister Husie? Captain Sir Thomas Byard commands we 'Splice the Mainbrace'!'

That raised perhaps the first cheer ever heard aboard Cockerel. The daily rum issue would be full measure, with no deductions for men on punitive deprivement, no 'sippers' or 'gulpers' owed amongst them.

'Three cheer fr th' flag-cap'um, lads!' Fairclough demanded of them, and it was lustily answered: 'Hip hip… hooray!'

Toady, Lewrie thought cynically. Still… maybe he thinks Sir Thomas'll pluck him out of this damn ship. Hmm, might suit! Toby!

'You smile, Mister Lewrie?'

'Sorry, sir,' Alan sobered at once. 'It's just… hard to feature Mister Fairclough having a diminutive of his Christian name.'

'Called him 'Terrible,' 'cause he was a holy terror. Eyes in the back of his head, bad as a master-at-arms, was Toby. Taut hand. Firm but fair, though, once he'd seasoned,' Sir Thomas reminisced with joy. 'I seem to recall… one of our frigate captains told me of you, sir. I believe you have the good fortune to own an acquaintance with Keith Ashburn, of Tempest?'

'Keith, sir?' Lewrie grinned completely, his first of the day. 'Aye, Sir Thomas, I do. Pray, sir, do you meet with him in future, I would be much obliged should you be able to give to him my warmest and most heart-felt regards. And my congratulations he's made 'post.''

'And his to you, sir, had it not slipped my mind until this instant,' Sir Thomas nodded. 'I believe, further, that he told me you had a sobriquet of your own, sir. 'Ram-cat' Lewrie, you're known as? How come you by that, sir?'

'Uhm… my choice of pet aboard ship, sir,' Alan fumbled, feeling that was the safest explanation.

'Ah, I see. Lady Byard's fond of 'em. God knows why. Eat the dormice… heartbreak in the nursery, then! Give me a good hound any day,' Sir Thomas grumped. 'Odd. Mister Lewrie, other man fresh meat on the hoof, forrud in the manger, I can't recall any animals aboard. You do not, this commission, bring a pet with you?'

'Captain Braxton does not allow pets, Captain Byard.'

'Devil you say,' Sir Thomas snapped. ' Windsor Castle 's loaded with 'em. I've a pup of my own, from the last litter. Just the one, o' course, but… pets do wonders to improve the morale of the hands.'

'I quite agree, Sir Thomas,' Alan answered quickly.

'I also note…' the flag-captain said, pulling at his nose once more, 'your crew labours in dead silence. E'en now… yonder. Now they're queued up for their grog, they're quiet as mice. Why?'

'Captain's orders, sir. He prefers it that way.'

'Good practice, perhaps… no bawling aloft and back. A twitch of a halliard is good as a bellow. 'Specially in a raw-blowing gale, a tug on a brace is as good as a wink. Yet… any skylarking allowed, sir? 'Make and Mend'? 'Rope-Yarn' Sundays? Hornpipes in the Dogs?'

'Uhm… the captain is not completely satisfied with them yet, Sir Thomas,' Lewrie squirmed, trying to find a safe answer, yet a way to impart some clue-and wishing, not for the first time, that a junior officer could just blurt out raw truth to a senior. 'One may not presume to speak for one's commanding officer, sir, towards his motives, but… we're a new crew, with most of them landsmen and lubbers. And it may be that Captain Braxton is more used to a well-drilled 'John Company' crew. They have not yet met his standards, Captain

Byard.'