Two cups, and half an hour, later, and there was another twitter of calls from the gangway, the thud of a boat coming alongside, below the entry-port, in the midst of their reading and scribbling. Not one minute later, and Mr. D'arcy Gamble, their smartest and eldest Midshipman, was announced by the sentry, and entered the cabins.
'Captain, sir,' Gamble reported with his hat under his arm. 'A messenger from shore is come aboard with orders,' he said, eyes bright with excitement for new adventures and new horizons.
'Have him in, then, Mister Gamble,' Lewrie instructed.
'Aye aye, sir!'
A smartly-dressed and languidly-elegant older Midshipman entered next, all but yawning in boredom with his work-a-day duty, all but sniffing in disdain at such casually, comfortably garbed officers, so unlike himself.
'Captain Lewrie, sir?' he asked, as if he had to be convinced before he would turn over his precious documents to just any 'hobble-de-hoy.'
'Last time I looked, that would be me,' Lewrie said from behind his desk, still seated, taking an instant dislike for the fellow, even if he
'I do, sir,' the young man replied, reaching into a tarred and waterproofed canvas haversack slung from one shoulder, and producing a ribbon-and-wax-sealed letter. 'Just come from Admiralty, sir,' Mr. Midshipman 'Top- Lofty' formally intoned, as if uttering the magic word 'Admiralty' made him a grander fellow.
'We done, Mister Langlie?' Lewrie asked his First Officer, who sat across from him, legs crossed, in one of Lewrie's leather-covered collapsing chairs, looking eager as a hound when the gun-cabinet was opened.
'Done to a turn, sir,' Langlie replied, gathering up the last of his 'bumf' into a neat pile; one copy for the ship, one copy for the yards.
'Then perhaps Mister… whatever your name is…'
'Catlett, sir. Midshipman Cat…'
'… would be so good as to bear all these back ashore for us, hey, Mister Langlie? Kill two birds with one stone, seeing as how he is on his
'Uhm, nossir,' the crestfallen Midshipman replied.
'Well, there you are, then!' Lewrie said with a bright grin as he indicated that Langlie should hand Catlett the paperwork. 'Do stay dry as you can, on the row ashore! Wouldn't want 'em smudged!'
'Very good, sir,' Catlett intoned, sketched a brief bow, then departed, escorted by an equally disappointed Mr. Gamble, who had been hoping for at least a hint as to their new duties, and destination.
'A 'no-sailor' tailor's dummy,' Lt. Langlie softly commented in dismissal of their visitor.
'Stay, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie objected, waving him back down. 'This concerns you as much as it does me,' he said, breaking the seal and unfolding the large sheet of paper. He laid it on the desk-top, smoothed the crisp folds flat, and hunched over it under the slightly swaying lanthorn for the best light.
'Oh, buggery,' Lewrie uttered at last. 'Mine arse on a band-box! He's
'Sir?' Lt. Langlie hesitantly asked, his brow furrowed.
'Convoy duty, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie told him, looking up and sitting back into his chair. 'We're to make all haste up-Channel for the Goodwin Sands, meet up with a 'Trade' of East Indiamen, and escort 'em at least as far as the Cape of Good Hope. Saint Helena, Recife in Portuguese Brazil, to Cape Town.'
' Africa, sir!' Lt. Langlie enthused. 'I've never been there.'
'Haven't missed much, then,' Lewrie told him.
'Uhm, far be it from me to presume further, sir, but…
'Captain Sir Tobias Treghues,' Lewrie bleakly said, 'Knight and Baronet. One of my old captains in the American war, when I was still a Midshipman aboard HMS
'Grim, d'ye expect, then, Captain, sir?' Langlie asked.
'Far be it from me to slur senior officers, Mister Langlie…' Lewrie gravelled, though recalling that yes, yes he always
Lewrie took note of Lt. Langlie's 'bland' expression; was that worthy trying to keep a straight face, or was he wondering whether his own captain was consistently 'up to snuff'?
'Why, next you know, Mister Langlie, Admiralty might even be so desperate they'd offer
His First Officer responded as junior officers should: grinning and issuing a silent chuckle over a senior's self- deprecating wit.
'Where stands the wind, then?' Lewrie snapped.
'An hour ago, 'twas a 'dead muzzier' from the South, sir, but I did feel a pinch of veer to it,' Langlie answered. 'By dawn, it could be more Sou'easterly.'
'Damme, by dawn, there might be enough Easting for Treghues and his 'trade' to set sail,' Lewrie gloomily speculated, conjuring up a sea-chart in the mind's eye. 'We
'Best pass the word to take in kedge anchors, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie ordered. 'We'll swing to our bowers 'til it looks as if we may fall down to Saint Helen's Patch, safely, then…'
'Aye aye, sir, directly,' Langlie replied, getting to his feet, and tucking his discarded hat under his left arm.
'Pass word for Mister Winwood, as well, sir,' Lewrie said as he strode to the chart-space up forward against the main-deck bulkheads. He stopped short, though, looking into Aspinall's tiny day-pantry and wondering just how much he had in the way of personal stores, and estimating how short-commons he'd be by the time they reached St. Helena Island, much less Cape Town! 'And I'd admire did you pass the word for Mister Coote, to boot. I run out of wine, Mister Langlie, and I might turn as mean as Treghues can, hah?' he added, feigning surliness. 'Tea and water, and I'll