The Captain`s Vengeance

'He wrote you about that, did he?' Lewrie asked, after having a good, guilty squirm to imagine that the tale of his 'accepting' runaway slaves from the despised Beauman family's plantations to take the King's Shilling (as it were) as Freedmen able to decide their own fate.

'Aye, an' he did,' she huffily continued. 'He wrote me letters in 'is own hand, mind. An't no scholard, is me Toby, but he can manage, sure. Writin', readin', an' ledgerin', good as any man, so's we won't be cheated like some'd try.'

'And he said nothing to you of wishing to run, of any scheme to make off with the prize, or…' Lewrie doggedly pursued.

'Nought but four letters from 'im did I get, sir,' she informed him, 'th' last four month ago. Run? Aye, an' what sailor wouldn't?'

'Long before the prize disappeared, hmm,' Lewrie muttered, his spirits

sinking at the thought that he'd been on a wild goose chase all this time. 'Might I be so bold, Mistress… Hosier… as to see the last couple of letters, to see if there's anything… any hint of…'

'Mummy, piddle!' little Tess urgently said from the cabin door. 'Swab it, then shoo that dog out, and-' 'No, mummy! Baby piddled,' wee Tess amended. 'See?' Tess wriggled damp fingers, then the babe within began to carp and wail, so Mrs. Hosier (Whomever) leaped to her feet and scornfully flung her husband's letters at him before entering the house, there to make soothing but frazzled noises.

As Lewrie sorted the crinkly sheets, he could be forgiven (perhaps) for a slightly smug and amused 'tetch' of relief that all of his three legitimate children, and both his by-blows, were long past swaddles, piddles, and poops.

Thet damt Lt. Caterall hoo thinx himsef so Clevver but wat a Buffel-Hed!… Ferst Off. Lt. Langlie [spelled correctly, for a wonder] rites Capts. ward moon-caff in luv Capts. pett so is Lt. Adare [phonetically, he supposed] top lofty too smart by haff afavryte. Capt. Loory [a close approximation] the idel basterd him his catts all spoony over them tho thay Piss on hammok netts we must sleep in them… Mr. Pendarves Towpenny the Bos 'n Mate ar hard men never take calls from ther lipps tis a hard life the Navy dear.

Lewrie wished he could take the letters along or find paper and pen to make some notes, for Jugg had chuckled over the way some of the crew were getting their hands on smuggled rum or American corn whisky and where it was usually hidden; how the assistant and clerk to the Purser, Mr. Coote, the Jack-in-the-Breadroom, was working a fiddle in tobacco twists and sundries that he concealed in the fishroom; all about the breadroom and cable-tier rats being bred, where they were 'pitted' in battle, how they were fed off wardroom flour and corn-meal, thanks to the 'Pusser's' aide, too; how the Marine complement's Trinidad Hindoo mongoose was unfair competition…

What bloody mongoose? Lewrie silently gawped; and how did they smuggle that aboard? We've never been t'bloody Trinidad!

Oh, it was a rare and embarrassing glimpse into the lives of the people 'before the mast,' their complaints and sorrows so well hidden from officers under a mask of rote duty.

Jugg himself… sullen and truculent, embittered against those over him, those with Admiralty-ordained rank, or social position, with inherited money or soft hands. Indeed, he steered a quarter-point alee of mute insubordination, boasted of it to his wife, whether dealing with captain or officers as eagerly as he would with a main-mast or gun-captain with the power to order him about so brusquely.

Toby Jugg, or Hosier, or Warder-whatever he truly named himself- would never be a glad hand, no matter were he promoted to Bosun or Fleet Admiral! Yet Jugg, for all his simmering grievances, his ability to doff his hat, cry 'Aye aye, sir!' and tug his forelock and smile while supping on his superior's shite, evinced no mutinous plots, schemed none, and reported none; nowhere in his letters did he sound like a man who would run. Be-grudgingly, Jugg admitted that he had settled in tolerably well, that Proteus was a competently run frigate whose mates and officers knew their professions, and that she was mostly a happy ship

.

… was rated Able rite off and struk for QwarterMasters Mate hah Me in a red wesket butt Sailing Master Winwood putt my name for 'd am now Rated serving on the helm At lest Proteus is ever in the way of fyteing as all frigates the Capt. betes the Kings Enemmys ever Dear it looks fare to be prime for Prize Monie Capt. tho is madd for Qwim thay call him Ram Catt not for his petts…

Embarrassing, aye, to think how much of his personal, private life his sailors, and Jugg, knew! Jugg had learned about his American bastard son, Desmond McGilliveray, knew all about Theoni Connor back in London and his other by-blow, Alan Michael Connor; how his wife, Caroline, was chewing brass rags over his peccadilloes, and that there was a 'dear friend' somewhere back in Europe (now that narrowed it down, didn't it?) who'd written anonymous your-husband's-a-swine letters, and how the hands-his trusted 'ship's people'!-crammed fists into their mouths to keep from howling and chortling out loud over his doings!

thay reck her a lucky ship tho Dearun for her lawnching was rite Odd she wud not swimm stuck on the ways as Proteus butt gott haffway when thay ferst name her Merlin butt change it an Irish sawyer hiz son whisper to her stemmpiece then she swamm Capt. Loory is sayd to seen Selkies sum say he has there favour sure.

Jugg had also been struck that Proteus was a musical ship when the work allowed, and he'd quite enjoyed that.

Liam Desmond his lap pipes ar capital we hev 3 gudd fiddlers Mr. Rain (?) Saylmaker plays a Dago Gittar even Capt. Loory plays tin whissle lets us hev manie dear gay Irish tunes plays them butt nott well poor man tho he dus not mind step slip jigs nott like sum top-lofty English hoo 'd shutt us up call us mutinuss.

He 'd been coming round, Lewrie sadly thought, letting the note drop to his lap; better the Devil you know, 1s'pose…

Jugg had had a snug berth, promotion and decent pay, shares in Proteus's prize money, acceptable shipmates, and no obvious grievances. Most deserters took 'leg bail' within the first few weeks, or months, aboard, 'til they established a personal investment. There were some who'd 'run' after getting the Joining Bounty, before their kits were deducted, then enlist under a fresh name at another recruiting rendezvous, but Jugg hadn't had that chance. Perhaps wasn't even that sort, after all.

'Damn,' Lewrie dejectedly muttered as Mrs. Hosier came back out to the porch and sat down again. A jutted hand silently demanded her precious letters, and he handed them over. She fondly straightened them and pressed them fiat with a palm, as if ironing them, before she tucked them away in an apron pocket.

'Toby warn't th' one pirated yer ship, Cap'm Lewrie, not him,' Jugg's wife said. 'He'd never, else we'd lose ev'rything we've built up, did he haveta run an' change names, again.'

'I thought that he'd… if he had, that he'd come to Barbados to fetch you and the children,' Lewrie confessed, a little chagrined. 'You're sure you've not heard from him, he didn't…'

'Nary a word since that last letter,' she firmly stated, chin up and sullen at his accusation. 'Nor nary a sight o' him, at least twelve month or more, when the boy was quickened. Huh!' she snorted derisively, 'Had he stole a rich prize, ye think I'd still be grubbin' at this farm, that we'd still be livin' in a pore shebeen like this? I'm cairtain ye already asked, down at th' harbour, an' know neither that prize ship, nor Toby, has come in here. An't it sor

'Admitted,' Lewried grudgingly allowed.