The Captain`s Vengeance

polish. Hell was said to be alluring, Lewrie considered as he took a deep breath and heaved a sigh; from the outside, at least, before one got past its portals. He tugged his waist-coat, shirt cuffs, his sword baldric and neck-stock into pristine order, even gave the short ribbon-bound queue atop his collar a nervous tug before knocking.

The double doors resounded with a sound not unlike Doom… Doom!

'Go the bloody hell away!' someone inside shouted.

'Gladly,' Lewrie replied without a thought, feeling as if he was back in public school (one of many he had attended at one time or another) and had come for a well-deserved caning, only to discover that the headmaster or proctor was sick! 'May I take my frigate with me when I do?' he could not resist quipping.

There came a muttered something, mighty like a suppressed curse, then an aggrieved growl of 'Enter!'

Lewrie pulled on the ornate brass handles and swung the doors back, revealing that dread office, that heaped desk awash under working papers, the bookshelves spilling over with loose stacks of it, and several wineglasses, all used since sunrise… Wait a bit!

'Mine arse on a band-box!' Lewrie expostulated.

The shelves were neatly stacked, all correspondence bound up in various coloured ribbons; the desktop could actually be seen; the books and ledgers were arranged in what Lewrie could only take for a proper order, and the only potables in sight was the coin-silver coffee set and tray on a sideboard 'neath the large North-facing windows, a set of porcelain cups, three candles burning under a more plebeian black-iron pot.

'So you finally turned up, have you?' scoffed the Post-Captain, standing behind the desk, minus his uniform coat.

'Captain Nicely?' Lewrie gawped in utter surprise.

'Unfortunately,' that worthy said, waving a weary hand over the neat-but-daunting stacks of paperwork. 'Come in, come in, Captain, and pray do pour yourself a cup, do you enjoy coffee. Take a pew, sir.'

'Er, thankee, sir,' Lewrie said, feeling much more at ease. He did pour a cup of coffee, stirred in some local sugar, and sniffed at the cream, then poured in a dollop of that, as well, taking an appreciative sip before seating himself, with his canvas-bound packet on the other chair. 'Hmmm,' he added, smacking his lips.

'Hope you don't mind goat's milk,' Nicely said, 'but it's fresher than cow's… just out back, d'ye see, drawn off the teat this dawn, so it has no time to go over. Does the sugar run low at sea, there's nothing like a dollop of sweet goat's milk.'

'Up 'til now, I'd always thought it too sweet, sir, but…'

'Leave off the sugar, use a level teaspoon's worth, not a heaping,' Nicely suggested, seating himself behind the desk and perking up brisker. 'And what have you brought me, Lewrie… more paperwork to read, initial, pass on, and file? My, ain't you the fine gift-giver!'

In their brief acquaintance, Lewrie had quite liked Nicely; he was so aptly named! He was a squarely built older fellow, one of those gentlemen who simply oozed confidence, competence, and reliability. Nicely was a bluff older sea dog, but one with a wry and infectious sense of humour-or irony-to go with his merry blue eyes. Brisk, efficient, yet droll, he was a most congenial sort. Nicely had done Lewrie several kindnesses at Port-au-Prince before the evacuation of the Army from Saint-Domingue, when Nicely aboard HMS Obdurate had held temporary command of that harbour. And, after all, Lewrie had come in with complaints from Capt. George Blaylock of HMS Halifax . Nicely and Blaylock had been nigh mortal enemies since their midshipman days, and, since 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' applied to Royal Navy politics, Lewrie and Nicely had turned out to be 'cater-cousinly.'

'Sorry, sir, but I fear I must,' Lewrie said, setting aside his coffee to hand over his bundled packet. 'We've been under 'independent orders,' at the behest of some people from the Foreign Office, so…'

'Heard all about that,' Nicely breezed off, 'so I fear that you wasted a deal of ink and paper documenting your doings. Sub rosa they were, so they'll remain.'

'I take it that Mister Pelham and Mister Peel returned to Jamaica before we did, then, sir,' Lewrie surmised. 'Well, damme!'

'It sounded like high adventures, Lewrie,' Nicely said with a wry smirk. 'Beats fruitless cruising, at any rate. Oh, some snippets of your activities might appear in the Gazette or the Marine Chronicle back home, but the bulk of it…' Nicely gave a shiver of denial. 'A larger question'd be… where the Devil have you been since?'

'Well, that's a tad embarrassin', really,' Lewrie replied and tugged at his neck-stock. He crossed his legs involuntarily.

'Oh, good!' Nicely chirped. 'Do, Lewrie, tell me all!'

When the sorry tale was over, Nicely still beamed, as if he had known some of the affair beforehand or was sitting on a secret as smug as a broody-hen, with an I-know-something-you-don't-know smile.

'Why, damme, Captain Lewrie,' Nicely chid him in mock displeasure as he rose and got himself a fresh cup of coffee, with milk only, and not a dab of sugar. 'You've been… yachting/… you idle fop! Swanning from one liberty port to the next. Sightseeing every island in the Caribbean, and all at His Majesty's expense! Unlawful absconding with Admiralty property, too! Why, my predecessor would've hacked your balls off. Done 'em in sweetmeats, sauce and heavy cream.'

'By the way, sir,' Lewrie enquired, in hopes perhaps that what grief he was about to suffer might be delayed a moment more, like one of those headmaster's canings. 'Where is Sir Edward?'

'Dead as bloody mutton,' Nicely told him with a grimace, spoon tinkling a little louder in his fine china cup. 'Turned as yellow as quince and expired a week later. Physicians suspect 'twas his kidneys and liver, finally rebelled at all the cheap spirits he'd imbibed… since his mother's paps were taken from him, is my guess. 'Bugger all this, mate… it's mutiny,' I s'pose they said to each other, there below-decks as it were. He passed over three months ago, just after we brought the line-of-battle ships back from Halifax, once hurricane season was over.'

'My condolences, sir,' Lewrie soberly said.

'For 'the Wine Keg'?' Nicely scoffed.

'No, for you, sir,' Lewrie amended, 'I s'pose you had to give up Obdurate to take this, well… call it a promotion, at the least.'

'Aye, I did, dammit,' Nicely groused, seating himself once more. 'Best two-decker on the West Indies Station, if I do say so myself… and I do! Staff drudgery, well… something I'd been fortunate enough to miss, 'til now. Sir Hyde gave me no choice in the matter, just said I was best for the post, how career-enhancing it'd be, and all of that flummery, then gave Obdurate to one of his favourite frigate Captains. Then gave said frigate to a junior Captain, shuffled another junior off a leaky sloop of war, promoted a brig-sloop Commander into her, made a Lieutenant into Commander for the brig-sloop… made a Midshipman into a Lieutenant in his flagship's wardroom as a replacement.' Nicely had a bleak look out his windows at real ships at anchor, looking famished. 'Interest and favour… or they all owe the Admiral money. Or he owes their families. But you know how the Navy works.'

Lewrie refilled his coffee, stinting on the sugar this time.

What could be said? he wondered to himself; Shouldn't have joined if ye can't take a joke? It's a cruel old world, and that's its way?

'Didn't bury Captain Charles here, Lewrie,' Nicely further griped. 'Lumbered the old fellow into a beef barrel and filled it up with accidentally salted and condemned rum, then shipped him to his loving family in England. B'lieve it or not, sir, he actually had one!'

Lewrie could not keep his sniggering to himself at that news.

'Speaking ill of the dead?' Nicely chid him. 'You heathen!'

'Springs to mind, sir… how apt it was to pickle him.' Lewrie chortled, setting his cup down before he spilled or broke it as a wave of titters took him. 'And, was there a tinge of saltwater in his keg, that's the closest he'd been to the genuine article in years!'