Sea of Grey

man in his middle thirties, couldn't meet his eyes, but darted his glance about or found the grain of wood deck planks intriguing, his flat, tarred hat pulled low over his brow.

'Well, lads, you're caught, fair and square,' Lewrie told them. 'False certificates so badly done, if you paid more'n a shilling each for 'em, you got swindled. What names you use? Your own, or aliases?'

The young one, at least, perked up to that statement, glancing at the sneering man in alarm for a second.

'Don't signify,' Lewrie went on, naming himself and his frigate. 'You're runnin' from debtor's prison, termagant wives, or whatever, I don't care. We've had fevers, and we're short-handed. You're British, no matter how you protest it. You all wish to be 'John Bull' or 'Billy Pitt,' so be it, 'cause I've more need of you than the authorities back home. 'Tis becoming a tradition aboard, for people to take new names when they sign on. The pay's less than merchant service, but the rations are fair measure and decent quality. We don't flog unless you're a total bastard, and as you've seen this morning, we're lucky with prize money. A man… a boy, could do worse. How much is that Yankee captain owing you?'

'N-nigh on twelve pounds, sir,' the youngest said in a shy voice. Merchant captains were infamous for 'crimping' off their crews near the end of a voyage; when met by a Royal Navy vessel In Soundings of home waters, they'd gladly give up all but the merest few required to work into port, and pocket their pay-sometimes with connivance with officers of Impress Service tenders.

'I'll screw it out of him, and it's yours, lad,' Lewrie vowed, 'and pay a willing volunteer the Joining Bounty… no matter which name he puts down in ship's books. Oh, it'll go to pay for what kit you don't have, but we'll fetch your sea-chests aboard so you'll have most of what you need already, and save a bit with our Purser, Mister Coote. He's a fair man, can you believe that of a 'Nip Cheese.' So, what's it to be? Volunteer and make the best of it, or be pressed, and begrudge me to the end of your days?'

'Willy Toffett, sir, and I'll volunteer, then,' the teen said with a relieved smile. 'Main topman, I was.'

'And you, sir?' Lewrie asked the second, who still glared, but with a resigned and bitter air of helplessness.

'Press me and bedamned,' he gravelled, halfway surrendering to Fate, but determined to go game. 'And put me down as Toby Jugg. With two 'Gees,' ' he almost snarled, but with a sardonic smile to excuse it-

'Your choice, then,' Lewrie allowed. 'Rating?'

' 'Twas an Able Seaman, aboard Sycamore.'

'Then Able you'll be rated, here, with the extra pay that goes with it,' Lewrie promised, though that did nothing to mollify the man.

'Had a woman and girlchild on Barbados,' Toby Jugg groaned. 'Never see 'em again, now. Poor as church-mice and…'

'Your Joining Bounty could be sent on to them,' Lewrie hinted.

With tears beginning to well in his eyes at the thought of not seeing his woman and daughter for years, his face clouded and taut, he nodded his assent, still unable or unwilling to accept his lot. A man who might have been pressed before, Lewrie suspected, unwilling to give his right name for fear of punishment for desertion.

'And you, sir?' Lewrie asked the third, who still could not meet his eyes except in brief, darting glances.

'Ships is ships, I reckon,' the man said with a defeated sound. 'Aye, I'll sign on, volunteer. Me name's George Gamble, and I was an Ordinary Seaman…' he muttered in a Midlands 'Mumbletonian' accent.

'Landsman, ya were,' Toby Jugg snorted in derision, 'and cack-handed, at that, ya lubber!'

Gamble raised his head and hat brim high enough to glare daggers at his 'shipmate' for a second. 'Damn' captain cheated me, he did! I'm rated Ordinary, and well ya know it. Just 'coz he already had all the seamen he needed, and too cheap t'pay me due ratin', was the reason.'

'Coulda signed aboard another ship,' Jugg quibbled as if Lewrie wasn't there.

'Oh aye, an' me broke as a convict, and all me pitiful advance gone t'pay off me crimpin' landlord for his rat- hole lodgin's-'

'Some other time,' Lewrie interrupted 'We'll try you as an Ordinary Seaman, Gamble. I'm Landsman-Poor, at the moment. Do you have any certificates from past captains to show your rating?'

'Uh, nossir. Lost 'em 'tween ships, or somone stole 'em whilst I was sleepin' ashore.'

'Sold 'em for drink, more like,' Jugg scoffed.

'Enough!' Lewrie snapped. 'You'll volunteer, Gamble?'

'Aye, sir… s'pose I'll haveta,' the man replied, ducking his head again.

'Very well, then. Once we've a way on her, see the First Lieutenant, Mister Langlie, and he'll enter your names in our ship's books, then draw your issues from the purser,' Lewrie told them, pleased that all but one of them seemed docile. He suspected that Gamble might be a King's Bad Bargain, and nothing better than a Landsman, after all; from the sound of his former shipmate, and the simpery grin on the young Willy Toffet's

face as they had their little tiff, he suspected that Gamble might end up making more enemies than friends among the crew, by shirking duty. But Bosun Pendarves and his mates, with their starters, could light a fire under his shifty, idle arse.

He returned to the quarterdeck as Proteus began to pay off from fetched-to to larboard tack, and began to gather way for a reach down the Leeward Passage to Pillsbury Sound. Lt. Langlie had reduced sail, since there was no more need for 'dash' to catch a prize. The winds were cooperating, too; veered to Nor'east-by-North, and weakening as the morning warmed. There might be two or three hours more of gentle sailing before the tropic heat created stronger gusts, and fresh veers or backings. By then, they could be back off Ram Head and beyond, in deep water and miles from any shores or shoals.

'Deck, there!' a lookout called down as Proteus neared the mouth of Pillsbury Sound. 'Smoke round the headland, four point off the weather bows! Small boats under sail, too, d'ye hear there?'

The smoke was as thin as a pipesmoker's for a minute or so, then quickly became a belching gush of darker, thicker smoke on the far side of Ram Head, flame-driven upwards by a catching conflagration. Lewrie began to worry and fret about the safety of his boarding party. It had been too long for the French to have fired the ship to prevent seizure, but hours too late for Catterall to have done it, he thought.

'Two boats, sir, under lug-sails,' Langlie prompted, turning his attention closer in. 'Ours, I do believe.'

'A point of lee helm and close them, then, Mister Langlie.'

'Aye, sir. Quartermaster, helm alee one point.'

Within half an hour, Lewrie could feel a true sense of relief, and one of accomplishment, too, for the boats were theirs, and in the ocular of his glass, he could make out faces and put names to them in quick inventory, realising that every man jack he'd disembarked would return safe and sound, and with no sign oн blood or bandages to mark any wounded, either.

Lieutenant Catterall was standing up in the stern-sheets of his boat, whooping and hollering, waving exuberantly as Proteus and her prize brig fetched-to once more. Catterall pointed astern, threw out his chest proudly, and polished his fingernails on the white facings of his uniform coat, beaming fit to bust.

His boat swung round to the starboard, lee entry-port, where he was first up the man-ropes and boarding- battens to give his report, taking the salute due him from the side-party offhandedly, and almost swaggering as he doffed his hat.

'A Frog privateer, right enough, sir,' Catterall boasted, 'the Incendiare, she was called. Quite apt, now she's lit up like a pile of winter deadfall, haha! Crew of ninety, all told, before she struck the shoal, and mounted eight six-pounders.' He related the important facts of her demise; for captured privateers, the best most crews would receive from a Prize Court would be 'head and gun money,' mere shillings paid out for each crewman and each piece of artillery. 'No prisoners, sorry t'say, Captain. She was well and truly stuck on the rocks 'til the Final Trump, and nigh awash aft, when we gained her. The Frogs had departed in their own boats for the island. But they were in such a rush they abandoned all her paperwork. Not her Letter of Marque, sorry, but her box of correspondence in her master's cabin. There's more than enough proof of her being a privateer. Why it took me so long before we lit her off, and headed back to sea, d'ye see, sir? Since I can make out French rather well…'

'Oh, aye!' Langlie muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

'Well, I do, Anthony,' Catterall objected, 'though I don't say it well as I read it. I decided that goin' over her with a fine-tooth comb for documents'd be best. Glean some insight into what the Frogs are intending, where they operate, and such.'

'Exactly as I would have, Mister Catterall,' Lewrie praised him. 'Good, quick thinking, that. Let's get your party