King`s Captain

the forecastle; 'round the belfry, then down the starboard gangway, aft to the quarterdeck and the traffrails, to begin another circuit. To be seen by his men, unruffled, calm, and serene, no matter his predicament; to point out things needing trimming or re-roving, a lick of paint or tar, to the mates and leading hands; reinforcing his authority… and eliciting information.

'Mornin', Mash… bearin' up?' He would brighten whenever he encountered a face he could put name to in his raw, new crew. 'Mornin', Landsman Furfy… mornin', Landsman Lucas… Bannister. Christ, what an eye, man! Run into a rammer in the dark, did you?'

'Run outta money, sir…'en run into th' wrong drab, sir,' the sailor griped, daubing at his impressive 'shiner' with a soggy neckerchief.

'Knocked 'im flatter'n a flounder, sir,' Middle Grace chuckled. 'Ah, a fearsome woman. Not one t'cross, Cap'um, sir,' he said with a jut of his chin towards the blowsy blonde who'd mocked Lewrie before.

'Nancy, sir,' she named herself, swaying her broad hips at him as she paced over near the bottom of the gangway lip below him, putting on a lascivious air (out of hard-drilled habit, Lewrie suspected).

'Aye, I put him down, the 'skint' pup!' she boasted, hands on her hips, and leaning forward to sport her ample bosom at him. 'Ya give me a dozen lashes, Cap'um? Or a dozen o' somethin' else 'd be yer pleasure?'

'And my dear wife'd black both my eyes, Nancy,' Lewrie quipped.

'Give a poor girl a chance, Cap'um!' She pouted, with what she must have imagined was an enticing note to her voice. 'None o' yer lads've two pence t'rub t'gither…'

'You leave 'em anything to rub at all, Mistress Nancy?' Lewrie was quick to reply, enjoying the banter with her. 'Even a nubbin?'

By God, scrubbed up, she don't look half bad! he thought; tad stout, but that's teats an' hips, mostly. Blonde, pretty-ish… Gawd!

She threw her head back and cackled, proud that she'd 'rubbed' at least one, two-a half-dozen of his hands down to 'nubbins' before they'd run out of coin. Brassy, bold, fresh-faced, totally amoral…

Was a time, 'twas my favourite sort, he told himself!

234

I 'Wager you 've more'n a nubbin in yer britches, Cap'um, sir!' she suggested, drawing a chorus of 'ooohs' from the hands nearby. 'Care t' spank me fer bein' mean t'yer men? Handsome officer like yerself, I'd even enjoy it… nor charge ye much, darlin'!'

'Now how could I do that, Mistress Nancy?' Lewrie felt obliged to [pout in disappointment. 'And a firm, spankable bum I'm certain you own too. But… like you say, now the hands are 'skint'… how fair d'ye think it'd be for me to savour what the lads no longer can?'

Damme, bet it is! he all but salivated; now, let's see what they think o' that? Aha! Sage nods… bless me… old 'firm but fair!'

'Dammit t'Hell, Cap'um…' Nancy groaned, swiping at her hair irritatedly, ' 'thout they let me'un t'other girls ashore, how am I to keep meself?'

'Well, you've what you've earned… to spend on the bumboats,'

Lewrie suggested, ' 'til they let you and the rest go. Did you spend that well… there's Bales and the other committeemen. They've still got coin, I'll wager. Planned this for a long time? Probably laid a store o'money aside for it.'

'Them with the green cockades?' Nancy sneered, spitting on the deck in derision. 'Mouths, they got! Fine words. No nutmegs though. Too busy t'even play wif their own cocks!'

Another hearty laugh, this one directed at their 'betters.' Oh, trust a leery, chary English sailor to turn on those over them as soon as they began to put on the 'Qualities' ' airs. There was an inbred deference to your average Englishman, be he tar or rural day-labourer, a costermonger or house-servant. He would doff his hat, knuckle at his forelock, and scrape out a bow to gentlemen and ladies; and most of the time (as long as orders were reasonable) would obey. He had trouble with obedience though, when it came to being bossed about by those no grander than he was-or who had risen from his level to greatness.

Officers and midshipmen, sailing masters, and surgeons were from the Quality, the squirearchy or aristocracy, the upper level of middling rank- used to being obeyed, and the sailors were used to obeying, and even expected 'the Better Sort' to make the decisions. Now, though… Another reason for resentment, Lewrie schemed.

Nancy, encouraged by the laughter her comment had got, hoisted the skirts of her gaudy sack gown to display her calves. They were bare instead of sheathed in the usual cotton or opaque silk stockings… slimmer and more alluring than he'd suspected! Clean, too; not smutted with tar or soot. Rather cunning little feet…!

'Not even a thumb-worth, Mistress Nancy?' Lewrie pretended to gawp in astonishment. 'Not even a nubbin? Less than a nubbin? Damme, ye don't think they traded 'wedding-tackle' for green cockades, hey?'

They made sure that every man had pledged fidelity, gave oaths as firm as wedding vows, and sported the red cockade of rebellion… but then said that red cockades must respect green cockades as their superiors-as good as officers.

Nancy gave out a shriek of mirth, which made the rest feel free to roar their appreciation of his jest too.

'Hoy, then!' another harridan bellowed from below him, this one a much fiercer old bulldog, practically towing a rather pretty younger miss with her by the hand. 'Daughter'un me, fine sir! Damn my eyes, I won't let her spread fer free, nor lift my skirts fer nothin' neither! Th' skipper o' this here barge, are ye? Well then, 'thout you pay us t'stay, give us a boat t'go ashore, ya tight-fisted bastard!'

And then, Lewrie sighed, there were some who'd skipped classes the day they took up 'Deference.'

'I have no control over that, Mistress,' Lewrie told her, taking off his hat and laying it over his heart to show the old strumpet just how sincere he was. And giving the old bat's fifteen-year-old protйgй a good going over with his glims! 'The fellow calls himself 'captain' of 'this-here barge'… for now… is named Bales. You'd have to take it up with him and his committee. You want pay, you'd best ask of them to give you your daily bread… and your daily shilling. Or a boat.'

'What good're the likes o' you, then!' the old woman scoffed.

' 'Til this crew accepts the Spithead terms, the pardon, and returns to discipline, ma'am,' Lewrie informed her, 'there's nought that I can do.. • not with a pistol to my head or a knife in my ribs, I cannot. Me, I'd be happy to oblige you and put you ashore with all your earnings, where you can buy yourself and charming daughter a meal and a bottle, when you wish. But…' He shrugged most eloquently. And sadly doffing his hat and making a departing 'leg' to Hoary Harridan, Bountiful Nancy, and the Unknown but Luscious Little'un, he departed.

With the gay sounds of curses, slurs, demands, and arguments in his shell-like ears!

Another bloody fire lit, he sniffed; now let's just see who gets scorched by it!

Hands who now couldn't afford to put the leg over, but presented with (mostly) desirable pulchritude everywhere they looked; real wives who wished the paid variety off, 'cause their husbands still had money and didn't need the temptations trolling about for tuppence; mutineer leaders maligned, and another resentment, and suspicion, raised against them. Did they really have some hoarded coin and took time from their incessant preaching of mutiny and rebellion to put the leg over one of the whores-especially one of the prettier ones-themselves?

And the disgruntled, 'impressed' whores…?

Oh, we're a happy little ship, we are! Lewrie chortled silently, a 'tiddly' little ship!