King`s Captain

such, and other foodstuffs specially prepared for a Sea Officer's life at Fortnum Mason's, shopping at Frybourg And Treyer's in the Haymarket. And shopping with the children, shopping with Caroline and Sophie… it was a hellish sudden outlay. But fun. Mountjoy had been happy to inform him that another Ј900 had come in from the Mediterranean prize-courts, less taxes and deductions, less prize-court fees, and his own; a tidy sum to be sure, and half of it gone in a twinkling, but the rest enough to keep his family with real style for at least another five years!

They'd taken in a military parade in Hyde Park, listened to the bands and cheered, attended the theatres in Covent Garden and in Drury Lane, eaten out both evenings, gotten a spell of decent weather on the first night and strolled Covent Gardens, and danced. The second night there'd been a subscription ball to celebrate the up-coming nuptials of King George's daughter Charlotte, the Princess-Royal, to the German Prince of Wurttemburg. Caroline had been glowing in a spanking new gown, with some of Grannie Lewrie's jewelry and some of that loot which Alan had brought back from the Far East in '86; some of it they loaned to Sophie for the two evenings. Both were as be- gemmed as any royal, and Lewrie had nigh worn out his shoes in dancing almost every dance with them.

Though after her second turn 'round the chalked floors of that huge salon, Sophie had had all the male company she might have wished, all eager to make the acquaintance of the intriguing young woman who had danced with the naval officer with the medal on his breast. She'd been coyly ecstatic, hiding her eye-rolling and her little chirps of glee behind her fan when on the sidelines, yet archly imperious and seemingly uncaring for even the handsomest partner upon the floor.

There'd not been much sleep that evening to be sure, what with dancing 'til nearly one, a cold collation with champagne after, then a coach-ride back to Willis's, and Sophie simply had to laugh out loud, purr, or titter (and damn' near shriek! at times) over her success with Society, with her and Caroline chortling over the night 'til all hours.

Lewrie awoke after a brief four hours of sleep a tad dry-mouthed from all the champagne and wines he'd taken aboard, woke to a bustling as loud (it seemed) as a 12-pounder being hauled 'cross the deck to run-out position, as their household went about packing up for the coach trip to Chatham. Everything in a rush, a search for mis-placed shoes, hats, and last night's fineries which had been flung 'will-he, nill-he,' the slamming of chest lids and the patter of children's feet at a scamper, too excited to; be shoved into proper clothing. Andrews was there with the sea-going stores stowed away aboard a hired cart, and Padgett was there, shyly avoiding being trampled. Aspinall was back and eager to re-prove his worth, whetting Lewrie's razor on a strop, frothing up shaving soap, proffering a towel, a bowl, and pitcher of hot water on the wash-hand stand… babbling away a mile-a-minute as he got out that fresh shirt and stock, blacked Lewrie's best shore-going boots, and stood ready to shove him into order once he'd sluiced his admittedly thick head, face, and neck, shaved himself half-raw, and slugged down a single cup of chocolate.

Then down to a boisterous breakfast in the common rooms, everyone chattering and nattering, and the place filled with commercial travelers and chapmen, all eager to chew up something and swallow it, then be out and doing. Pay the establishment the final reckoning. 'Mummy, I have to, uhm…!' Into the coach, and they were off by half-past nine. Down to the Thames and across to the south bank. 'Mummy, I have to…!' for another stop by the semaphore telegraph station at New Cross and Dept-ford Dockyards. 'Are we there, already?' from Hugh, who'd prefer to take a walking tour to look at all the ships under construction.

Greenwich Naval Hospital went flying by, then the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich, and the testing of an artillery piece-a rather heavy-caliber and loud piece-set them to howling with delight. Putting Lewrie's teeth on edge, it should be noted. He really did need a nap about as bad as any man born by then, but the excitement of the day kept him alert, to point out Gallons Reach and Barking Reach in the Thames to their left-hand side. Halfway Reach and Purfleet, the Long Reach-'Why do they call 'em reaches, Daddy?'-'What ship is that, Daddy?'-'Why do they call it Fiddler's Road, when it's not a road at all?'-'Is that your new ship then?'-'Uhm, Mummy, I have to…!'

Greenhithe and Swanscombe went by, Gravesend loomed up, little Charlotte thinking they'd come back to London by some conjurement and disgusted with the idea of a Grave's End-'What a horrid name!'

Forty miles of it, with a stop for a midday meal at a coaching tavern- and many, many more 'necessary' stops, it goes without saying. The hired cart had no trouble keeping up with the bowling coach, for it very seldom had the chance to bowl along, not more than a quarter of an hour, at the most, before there was another call to halt.

Just as the scent of the Medway came to his nostrils, signifying nearly an end to their journey, Lewrie was most heartily sick of the lot of them and wondered why he'd ever suggested they all come along, this far along-

Could o' left 'em in London. He sighed taut-lipped; could've had a good nap by now. Deed done. Sophie rescued-head turned and sure t'be entranced by other young men by now. Caroline just'z pleased with things had we parted after breakfast. Though we didn 't get a goodbye tumble, for all the sky-larkin'… Fatherhood, Christ! What man of a right mind'd abide it, did he know goin 'in…!

'Are we there yet?' Hugh bellowed, leaning far out the coach windows for a first sight of the river 'round a bend in the rpad of the close-by conurbation of Rochester and Chatham just across the way and the steamy, smoky, coal-grate fug of civilisation.

'Aye, by God… we are!' Lewrie roared back. Half in exasperation, having about all he could stand of 'family closeness'; half in joy that, by the sight of spires in town and the soaring erectness of mast tips at the dockyard just downriver, they were, finally, there!

'Dear, must you be so short with him?' Caroline chid, clucking her tongue like she was calling pullets to the food-pail. 'He was but enquiring.'

'Does he not just, my dear,' Lewrie rejoined, feeling a bile rise as he was forced to swallow what he really had wished to say. Scream, rather! He threw in a sickly smile to show his good intentions.

'Uhm, I must own…' Caroline whispered, allowing a tiny smile to play at the corners of her lips in spite of her statement.

'Quite.' Lewrie nodded, just as Hugh came lumbering back from the coach window to tumble into his lap, step on his right foot, and reach across to draw Sewallis's notice to the sight he had out of his window. 'Ow, God…!'

'Mummy, look!' Charlotte piped, ashiver with bliss. ' London!'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Commissioner Proby, in charge of Chatham Dockyards and uncrowned king of the Medway all the way downriver to Sheerness, allowed him in for a preparatory meeting. He was, for a very busy man, all affability and hospitality. 'Always happy to greet an officer come to take charge of one of our ships, Captain Lewrie.' He beamed quite cordially.

'Proteus was refitted here, sir?' Lewrie asked, over a very good cup of coffee. 'Or, built here originally, d'ye mean?'

'Just completed,' Proby told him, pleased to enlighten him.

'My pardons, Commissioner Proby, I thought no more 5th Rate, 32-gun frigates were to be built… especially the 12-pounder 32s. Most of the Fleet prefer the 18-pounder 36s now. So she's new? Brand- new? Oh, my word!' Lewrie beamed back, most beatifically, soon as he saw how fortunate he was.

'One of the very last to be ordered, and one of the last of her sort constructed.' Proby chuckled. 'A variation on the Thames class, with but some minor alterations to her forefoot and entry… borrowed from the French. The Nicholson shipyards built her on speculation for a new class of light frigate, later purchased as a one-off under private contract with the Navy Board, sir. Just 'cross the river they are, at Frindsbury.'

'A private yard then…' Lewrie sobered.

'Nought to fear, sir,' Proby boomed in good humour. 'They are completely competent. Nothing done 'at the