King`s Captain

is the Almighty truly 'almighty,' He can do anything, even for the weakest and most powerless. It has been my experience though, sir, that… was a man adrift at sea in a small boat amid a raging gale, the Good Lord might look down more kindly on the sort who'd strive in league with Divine Assistance, not lay whimpering in the bilge, sir. Though I must confess the Bible is replete with examples of the utterly hopeless being salved at the last moment, through no action on their part but deep, abiding faith and a fervent prayer.' He puffed away quite contentedly, wreathing himself in aromatic blue fumes, after delivering what to Lewrie sounded mightily like a paradox: 'This, but on the other hand…'

'Take the case of Abraham, sir, and the offering of his beloved son on the altar in the desert wilderness…' Mr. Winwood began to expound. 'You've prayed fervently on this, I take it, Mister Winwood?' Lewrie asked him.

'Well… aye, sir!' Winwood admitted, as if surprised that anyone might suspect that he had not.

'And I take it that all of you gentlemen, as Christian, English gentlemen, have prevailed upon the Good Lord for guidance and succour, for victory over our foes, and a way out of our… wilderness?'

'Oh, of course, sir,' they mumbled back, as if by rote, though looking a bit cutty-eyed that they had perhaps not, but were making the 'proper' noises.

'Then we cannot fail.' Lewrie thinly smiled, tossing in a stab at 'Hardy, Noble Christian Gentleman' himself. 'And, with Divine aid, we will retake Proteus … God willing,' he piously concluded.

And thus endeth the epistle, he sourly thought, having no time for Win-wood's parson-like pontificating: or is it 'here endeth'?

Damme I must pay more attention next time I'm in church! 'But… how, sir? Now that…' Lieutenant Wyman waffled. 'Aye, they're encouraged, Mister Wyman'-Lewrie grinned at him- 'I'll grant you, for the nonce. I doubt though that these new- come ships are as radical as some. They've not been cut off from news from London and know of the Royal Pardon and the Acts. Their arrival here at the Nore is, I suspect, a temporary thing… their way of assuring themselves they're included in the terms, showing support for the Nore sailors who might appear to be excluded for the moment.'

Don't know that at all, he admitted to himself; whistling past the graveyard… spinnin' fairy-shite!

'Doubt there's been much communication 'tween Great Yarmouth and the Nore either… they haven't had a chance to take their measure of our mutineers. Once they see what a pack of radicals they are, there's more than a good chance it'll make 'em queasy. We're still anchored out in the seaward row, close to the Queen's Channel. The new-comers are crowded in on either end. We're still dealing with the two ships anchored closest to us. And one of those came within a quim-hair of overpowering their mutineers. Now granted, the other one fired into us, but… if we continued sail-drill, making up to short stays before backing and filling, we can lull them to think nothing of it, just as we originally planned. We've most of the Marines on our side now… ready to act the next time.'

'Sir, are you sure they're still with us now the mutiny's reenforced and their spirits lifted?' Mr. Coote worried aloud.

'A day or two's excitement,' Lewrie said dismissively, hoping that he was right, feeling forced to be optimistic, if only to prevent his officers from sinking into the 'Blue Devils.' 'A day or two more and they'll be back to their doubts and mis-givings, thinking of the courts-martial and gibbets. Here's what we should rumour about: The North Sea Fleet is here so they can be included in the Spithead terms and nothing more. There's no contact allowed with them either, so our hands won't know the diffrence.'

'But they would, sir,' Mr. Adair plumbed the fault to it quite quickly, 'the Fleet Delegates will swear they're in agreement with all their terms.'

'Unless they already are, sir,' Midshipman Catterall gloomily pointed out.

'You are quite the font of cheer, Mister Catterall,' Lewrie said rather frostily, delivering a withering glower. 'Right, then… we say they've been deceived, now they're here, 'cause they've no wish to be against Crown and Country or be part of a Floating Republic forever! They're ready to sail to aid Admiral Duncan, even if the delegates, in the pay of foreign powers, wish to prevent it. Plausible?' he asked.

'And our people are already leery of the Fleet Delegates, and their radical insolence to authority, sir!' Midshipman Adair excitedly chimed in. 'Why, they already take half what they say with a handful of salt! North Sea ships, and ours, deceived…!'

'That's the spirit!' Lewrie nodded with pleasure. He had put a bit of iron back in their spines and had cobbled together new reasons for his ship's hands to despair once more. 'Thank you, gentlemen. I think we should begin spreading our 'moonshine.' And about time for us to conduct sail-making drill, hmm? I'll be on the deck later to see how it goes. Both the sail-drill… and our rumour-mongering.'

Once they had departed though, he flung himself into his desk chair with a fretful sigh and rang a tiny bell for his steward.

'Any coffee left on the candle warmer, Aspinall?'

' 'Nough for a cup, at least, sir. Comin' right up.' Aspinall delivered the cup, atop a new sennet place mat, as intricate as Holland lace.

'Nice work, that… complex,' Lewrie idly congratulated him.

'Aye, sir. Some o' the Irish lads're teachin' me their Gaelic knots,' Aspinall proudly admitted. Under Andrews's and others' tutelage, Aspinall had become quite good at decorative rope-work, fashioning some brooches, bracelets, even rings, as well as place mats and such. 'Some of 'em still know their old ways… what they call Celtic. I'll pare a bit more sugar for ya, sir. Won't be a tick.'

Lewrie studied his mug, the coin-silver, engraved present from his former Jesters, while Aspinall scraped at the bee-hive-shaped lump of sugar in the small pantry. Hmmm…

He stared at the engraving, setting it down to rotate it, with a thoughtful expression; admiring the profile of Jester rushing along with all plain sail set, a bone in her teeth, led onward by that mysterious forearm and sword, with the dolphins and seals dancing…

'Aspinall…' he mused aloud.

'Sir?'

'You associate much with our new-come Irish, do you?'

'Some, sir.'

'Are many of them in on the mutiny, d'ye think?' Lewrie asked.

'Not that many, sir,' Aspinall discounted. 'Most of 'em are as poor as church-mice… just wantin' decent wages and a chance to get by, sir. Not much work in Ireland, troubles and risin's, and most of 'em wishin' a wide berth o' those, like Desmond and Furfy. Count them with any education on the fingers o' one hand, sir. A chearly lot, I must say, though, for all that… singin' and hornpipin' at the drop o' your hat, sir? Full o' grand stories too, sir… why, Irishmen could talk the birds from the sky and not repeat themselves for three days runnin', sir!'

'You ever tell them stories, Aspinall? They pump you for information?' Lewrie pressed.

A captain's steward could be an unwitting font of intelligence for the disgruntled; some stewards traded on their access.

'Lord, sir… get a word in edgewise! Aye, some. 'Bout how we had a lucky ship, sir… and you, a lucky captain.'

'Ever tell them all about Jester?' Lewrie pressed, getting inspired at this welcome news, 'and the strange… fey things we saw?' He swiveled the mug about and pointed at the dolphins and seals and the sea-god's arm, tapping his finger by them. 'And how much do they know about Proteus? They came aboard after Chatham. They may not know all her short history… her launching, the change of her name, the Irish sawyer and his boy who convinced her to take water?'

'Dribs an' drabs, here an' there, I s'pose, sir,' Aspinall said with a shrug.

'That Proteus was an ancient sea-god, Aspinall.' Lewrie smiled. 'A very old, shape- changing sea-god. This ship murdered a Protestant, Anglo-Irish vicar. Drove an Anglo-Irish captain ashore, mad as a hatter. But so far…' he added, rapping his knuckles for luck, 'she has nothing against me. For I've seen an old sea-god. Jester and me, we were a lucky ship, together. A blessed ship, Aspinall. But, by whom?'