Sea of Grey

'Aye aye, sir.'

Lewrie snapped his watch shut and pocketed it as the first bells ending the Evening Watch pealed. He paced the quarterdeck as the roll was called, silently fretting. Many a dead-drunk's face was raised by a slightly soberer messmate to be recognised in the lanthorn's light; many a name was answered with 'Here, sort of, sir' by another's voice.

'Bless me, sir,' Lieutenant Langlie reported several minutes 'they've all returned. All accounted for, and not a man has run.'

There was a rather loud thud on the larboard gangway as Lewrie uncrossed his fingers in relief. Furfy, manfully striving to stand, had finally succumbed to rum and gravity, going face-first to the deck.

'Well, in their condition, Mister Langlie, I doubt they could!' Lewrie japed. 'We'll rig an extra canvas hose in the mornin'. Use it on their thick heads. Hose 'em out of their hammocks, if needed.'

'Ah, aye sir,' Langlie rejoined, stifling a jaded snicker.

'Right then, you lot!' Lewrie called from the hammock nettings overlooking his swaying crew. 'Everyone had a good run ashore? Fine. But ' tomorrow's another day. We're sailing… just in time to outrun the bailiffs and the damage bills, you lucky dogs. We'll also rise and scrub all decks, as per usual, so I trust you'll use your whole four hours of peace and quiet for 'caulking,' not yarning. Or more of your off-key singing! Now, lay below… quietly. Remember to puke in the buckets,' he concluded, 'not in yer hammocks.'

Those who could began to shamble to the companionway ladders, snickering and snorting now and again as they whispered and chortled over their shore doings, despite others shushing them, or the gripes from the M aster-At-Arms and Ship's Corporals, from Bosun Pendarves and his mates. Bodies were sluiced with water from the fire buckets, or the slow-match tubs between the guns. Those who woke were helped to their feet and half-dragged below; those who didn't were attended by the Surgeon Mr. Shirley and his mates, Hodson and Durant, with 'volunteers' grudgingly 'pressed into loblolly duty with carrying boards.

'Just leave 'em on the deck, don't even try to sling 'em in a hammock,' Mr. Shirley could be heard saying. 'Near a bucket, mind.'

Five minutes later, nary a man from either watch other than the men in the skeletal Harbour and Anchor Watch were on deck. Lewrie got his shillings and paid off the disgruntled bum-boatmen, just as other boats neared the entry-port.

'Hoy, the boats!' Mister Adair called into the night. 'First officer of HMS Halifax^' came the reply from a cutter filled with armed Marines, hurriedly dressed, catch-as-catch-can. 'Side- party, sir?' Mister Adair asked, looking for aid. 'There's not enough sober hands t'make a proper showing, no,' Lewrie told him, striding to the entry-port. 'Help you, sir?'

'My captain has sent me to put down your disturbance, sir. Are you the officer of the watch?' the officer said, all top-lofty.

'I'm the bloody captain, and I'll thank you to remember that!' Lewrie shouted back. 'D'ye hear a disturbance, sir? Hark ye to the quiet, why don't you?'

'Well… your pardons, Captain, uhm…?' the lieutenant stammered, after a short span of silence to listen. 'Lewrie… Alan Lewrie.'

'Uhm, ah,' the lieutenant from Halifax said, disconcerted to be in the unfortunate position between two Post-Captains. 'You would be the one some call the 'Ram-Cat', sir? A pleasure to meet you, sir, I am sure. Permission to come aboard, and ascertain for myself-'

'Permission denied, sir,' Lewrie uncharitably growled. 'We do not allow visiting 'tween ships after the First Dog. Hell's Bells, we are sleeping here, sir! There was no mutiny, there was no riot, there was no disturbance. Just high feelings and good cheer, but it's over, and everyone's below.'

'But… but what am I to tell my captain, sir?' 'My sincerest respects to your captain, and tell him to get some sleep, sir. There'll be a busy day tomorrow,' Lewrie concluded, and turned away to go aft to his own bed-cot, leaving the poor lieutenant stewing in his own juices.

Poor shit, his captain'll have a strip off his hide, hut that's his own lookout, Lewrie smugly thought as he kicked off his shoes and breeches, then rolled back into his bedding. Aspinall snuffed a lone candle, and the great-cabins were plunged into darkness once more.

Toulon leaped onto the bed, padded about, and grunted for attention, as Lewrie cocked an ear for the night. All he could hear were the creakings and squeaks of oars in thole-pins as the Halifax's boats were rowed away; the usual slow groans of timbers, the faint flutters as the night winds jangled the running rigging and a myriad of blocks.

If anyone aboard was making noise, it was the officers in the gunroom one deck below as they settled back in, japing and sniggering among themselves after the return of the liberty parties. From forrud, there wasn't a peep out of the normal; just the discordant, chorusing snores, whines, and grunts from a now-sleeping crew.

The staff-captain had quite forgotten his interview with Lewrie; those threatened orders had not arrived 'til days later, and then they dealt with Proteus preparing to escort a small convoy of hired or converted troop ships over to Saint Domingue, to carry Cashman's regiment and Other re-enforcements for General Maitland's command.

That delay had allowed Lewrie to award both watches with spells of shore liberty, twice for each, which had gone a long way to create good. cheer; time enough in port, too, for the ship's people's letters to be put aboard a mail-packet bound for home.

And time enough in port for another packet brig to come in and land mail for distribution throughout the fleet.

But nothing from Caroline-nothing for Lewrie, this time.

'At least they had some good drunks, hey?' Lewrie whispered to his ram-cat, as he ruffled his fur and stroked him to a purring sack of limp contentment. ' 'Fore we go over to that pest-hole. Bound to be more'n a few of 'em never survive the fevers that are comin', hey sweetlin'? Their last joy.'

Maybe mine, too, Lewrie grimly thought.

Officers and gentlemen were not immune. Even so, he had comported himself rather primly, he thought; some grand suppers, more than one overfill of good wines, a rather good session with a surprisingly tasty island-brewed ale, a ball for the 15th West Indies regiment one night, a jaunt out toward Portland Bight to a country house, where he had mounted up and ridden himself half-exhausted-sight-seeing, of all things! And a fine, head-splitting drunk with Cashman one night, just the two of them, reminiscing over a stone crock of American corn whiskey that Cashman liked so much, and of which the staff-captain so strongly disapproved.

Oh, there had been some mild flirtations, here and there, but nothing had come of them. He knew that he still cut a slim and elegant figure, and could shine on a dance floor, as old Marine Captain Osmonde had advised so long ago. He'd seen the fans and lashes in full flutters of admiration, and that had cheered him immensely, to be welcome should he dare make the offer, but…

One-and-a-half stone of ram-cat slung against his stomach as he shifted to his left side, with one arm under his head and the scrunched pillows, as Toulon settled in for the night. Lewrie gave him one last, long stroking that set him purring again. Toulon raised his head and let out a long, stretching yawn. In the faint moonlight coming through the stern windows, the cat's eyes glowed as brightly light green as a lensed fire on the Eddystone Lighthouse, in startling chatoyance, before they slitted in slumber.

' 'Night, puss. Love you, too.'

Murrff' was the shut-mouthed, grunted reply.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

So near, yet so far away.

From Kingston to Saint Domingue was only a little over two hundred miles as the albatross flies, but a real bugger to attain against the Nor'east Trades, forcing Proteus to stand out far to the Sou'east once past the Palisades, tack and jog back as close to the eye of the wind as she could bear, which was