King`s Captain

man atall.'

'They'll hang you, sure as Fate…!' his wife shrilled, pale as death and like to faint with fear.

'Can't slide off an' let th' lads down neither, darlin'… not after 'ey made me one o' their rep-Gawd, ain't h'it a break-teeth word though- rep-re-sent-atives? '

'Then I'll stay with you, Will… me and the boy!' Mrs. Cony shuddered, reaching down and finding a firm Country-English spunk to draw on. 'God help us, Will, but no matter the folly you've got in, if yer that determined… then you must think yerself right. And if you think you're right, then I'll stand by you through thick an' thin, same as we vowed… at our marryin' Bible-oath!'

'Ah, ya can't, Maggie,' Cony muttered sadly. 'Committee said t'put all women ashore, out o' harm's way, so we could keep good order, proper Ship's Discipline… so they don' think us nothin' but drunks an' debauchers. Can't make no exceptions, dear as I'd wish… Maggie, come 'ere a minute. Give me leave, Cap'um? 'fore ya takes 'em back 'ome for me?'

Lewrie saw it was no use and gravely nodded. Will and Maggie went aft towards the taffrails for a last few words of parting, while Lewrie retrieved his hat, then paced away towards the entry-port. And little Will, tears running down his face, aware his dad'd not be with him anytime soon-saw himself being cosseted and dandled on old Mr. Paschal's knee, surrounded by some older petty officers and seamen who had children of their own, making a fuss over him, cooing, making faces to amuse him, though Will wailed inconsolably.

Lewrie felt a presence near him and turned to meet the sheepish gaze of Jester's new Master Gunner, Mister Tuggle.

'You're a hopeless pack of bloody fools, you know,' Lewrie said accusingly. 'And do you get Will Cony court- martialed and hung aside you, then I swear t'Christ, I'll dance on your grave!'

'I s'pose you may be right, sir,' Tuggle confessed, looking a bit lost and hopeless at that moment. 'But the fat's in the fire for sure, sir. There's always a chance they'll give us better'n half what we asked. Be satisfied with that… a bit more'n half, sir.'

'Is there much to this… from that London Corresponding Society?' Lewrie simply had to know. 'Saw some tracts. Priestley, Place… some of that lot. Did they stir this up or did it…?'

'You forgot Mister Thelwall and Mister Binns, sir, a heap of others,' Tuggle said, with a brief, weary smile. 'I'd reckon 'least a quarter o' the new hands-those Quota Men and United Irishmen… pressed Americans- have Thorn Paine's Rights of Man, Part the Second, damn'-near memorised by now, sir. No King, sir? No House of Lords, just Commons… annual Parliaments… fair wages, pensions, decent working hours, and conditions, sir? Right t'vote for any man making Ј6 a year, not Ј100, any who pay 'scot and lot'? Lord, sir! Even gone so far as to preach on giving wimmen the vote, sir! Did ya ever hear such tripe, Commander Lewrie? Has nought t'do with the Fleet; 'tis nothing we wish! As to yer question, sir… though I 'spect we've a few LCS men aboard… wasn't them started this. Seen none o' their tracts. No one ashore stirred the fleet t'mutiny, either, sir. This come from the sailors themselves, sir; and did some of the wild-eyed, radical shite… beg-gin' yer pardon, sir… come up, 'twas rejected by the delegates early on. We're loyal men, sir,' Tuggle insisted. 'Just want better rations… pay, a tad better treatment, sir… that's all we demand. T'be treated like men, sir. We aren't all drunken, brainless animals, sir, like most officers and th' Admiralty think. We'll do our duty for King and Country should we be called to… we're still True Blue Hearts o' Oak at bottom, sir.'

Lewrie opened his mouth to make a reply, but decided against a rebuttal; it could only come out an exasperated sneer, he suspected.

'I trust, Mister Tuggle, that you are sincere 'bout doing your duty should it come- should the French come,' Lewrie said, instead. 'And with Will Cony so stubborn over this, I trust you're all as sincere in your grievances too. I cannot wish you good fortune, you know it. Yet… for Will's sake, if nothing else… I wish that I could.'

'For Will Cony's sake then, Commander Lewrie, sir. For Will's sake.' Mr. Tuggle grimly nodded, with only a tiny crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

All Lewrie could do after that was to go aft, to take charge of Bosun Cony's family, and escort them off the ship, back to their carriage-and take them home, their quest a failure.

CHAPTER NINE

Lewrie was feeling particularly helpless, and hapless, after a few more days. No letter had come from Admiralty to offer employment, as he had smugly expected; it was spring planting season, about which he knew absolutely nothing, no matter his few idle half-pay years as a gentleman-tenant farmer before the war-that was Caroline's bailiwick and none of his. He had been known to raise his hat, but nothing green!

His civilian suitings were once more hopelessly out of style as well, and to waste money updating his shore wardrobe at a time when the farm needed every pence in these tight times could appear selfish and 'hen-headed' spendthrift, showing disloyalty to Caroline. Besides, he half-dreaded, to invest in civilian togs might signal a surrender or a willingness to remain ashore on half-pay for the rest of his life! The Fates, he superstitiously feared, took note of such accommodations.

Practically in a Dog Watch, he had been reduced from a powerful warship captain to a mere centurion, mouthing repetitions of his tribune-wife's dictates to their hired labourers, without even half a clue to what they portended or a decent idea of what proper work such orders involved, or how such labour was to be carried out!

On top of that, the household was also feverishly engaged with the dreaded spring cleaning; and did he not wish to be 'press-ganged' into moving furniture or emptying pantry shelves, a man still possessed of his higher faculties would make himself scarce, perhaps oversee the boiling of water, as one did for childbirth at best, and leaving the womenfolk to their 'pagan' rites, rituals, and mysteries.

Simpler societies, such as the South Sea Islanders or the Seminole and Muskogee Indians he had dealt with in '82, had solutions for menfolk and warriors in situations such as these, Lewrie recalled-the Long-House where women were barred. London had its clubs. Lewrie, and Anglesgreen had the public houses.

After a horseback tour of his acres, a word or two with the new foreman and his mates, Lewrie betook himself to the Old Ploughman tavern.

The pub was uncrowded in the morning hours of course; the real farmers who knew what they were about were out busily doing it. Even the more-gentlemanly Red Swan Inn that he rode past, where he was anathema as long as any Embleton still drew breath, only had a coach or two, a saddle horse or two, out front.

Lewrie handed his reins to the Ploughman's newest boyish 'daisy-kicker,' said hello to old Mr. Beakman and his spinster daughter (whom Will Cony had jilted years before, Lewrie recalled with a newfound sadness for his missing Bosun), ordered up a mug of light, sprightly new spring ale to steel himself for a look at the even more troubling world beyond, and called for the newspapers.

Mr. Beakman's own Publican's Advertiser was warmly supportive of the mutiny, and the seamen's cause, but wisely shied away from seeming too 'political'-unless it wished to be suppressed by the government, of course! Last evening's London Courier, and the fresh-come morning Chronicle, were Whig papers and Fox-ite; they hardly even said that the mutiny was even a mutiny yet! Just the 'disturbance at Spithead ' or… oh, Christ, Lewrie groaned! The Chronicle bore the disturbing tidings that the mutiny had now spread to the dozen line- of-battle ships based at Plymouth too! A list of ships that had raised the red flags was included. Hmmm, he puzzled; very few of the frigates were listed… yet. But that made sense; pay didn't matter aboard frigates. It was all prize-money they were after, and frigates were more comfortable ships, with more room per hand, not so crowded… and a lot less dull a life than plodding aboard a 'liner' or swinging at anchor waiting for the foe to come out and challenge them.

For a brief, hopeful time, the mutiny had appeared to be ended, just after he'd come back from Portsmouth. Parliament had been rumoured to be meeting, the House of Commons to debate a bill for supplementary funds that