A King`s Trade

speculated, once at St. Helena, they'd take aboard wood and water, then turn the bulk of the escort force on a course for England, leaving but one ship of the line and perhaps no more than two lighter ships to see them all the way to Cape Town; and there was the strong possibility (a hellish-gloomy one!) that Treghues would choose his frigate to be his goat. Had not Twigg as much as said that he was on his way-all the way!-to Africa? And, had that perversely mischievious man sent a letter to Treghues of Lewrie's need to be far away from England, perhaps had intimated the why of it, and had chortled over the thought of a primly-outraged Treghues deciding to make Lewrie's life under his authority a living Hell? He wouldn't put such dastardy beyond Mr. Zachariah Twigg… damn him!

'And… belay ev'ry inch of that!' Lt. Langlie bellowed, satisfied with the set and angle of the sails, at last, bringing Lewrie back to a somewhat pleasing reality. HMS Proteus now had a 'bone in her teeth,' her cutwater, forefoot, and bows smashing a mustachio of white foam below her bowsprit and jib-boom, the seas creaming either side of her hull, and spreading a wide, white highway in her wake. In comparison to the plodding merchantmen and other escorts bound closely to them, Proteus seemed the only vessel under way, with the slow ships looking as if they merely tossed and wallowed in place. The convoy's best speed-the speed of the slowest to which all the others conformed-was no better than five or six knots, while Proteus was in her element with the Trades on her best point of sail from nigh-astern. A quick cast of the log showed her already making nine knots, easily able to better that at the next cast, and attain ten or better. East India Company captains were even more conservative than most civilian merchant masters; they had priceless cargoes to safeguard, and paying passengers (some of them rich, titled, and well-connected, and Members of The Board, to boot!) who demanded coddling, so 'dash' simply wasn't in their Sailing Directions. They plodded mostly under 'plain sail' in daylight, and dramatically reduced canvas after sundown, and drove him to testily impatient, leg-jiggling fits.

Savour it, savour it, Lewrie chid himself, determined to take as much fleeting joy of their temporary freedom as possible.

'Will ye take a cup o' tea, sir?' Aspinall enquired, making his rounds aft from the galley with his ever-present steaming pot.

'Tea'd be capital, Aspinall, just capital!' Lewrie replied with relish, allowing his body to loose the Treghues- inspired tension of his back, neck, and jaws. Once he'd gotten a battered tin cup of tea in his hands, he turned aft to look astern, going so far as to slouch like the veriest lubber against the bulwarks. The freshness of the stern winds kissed his cheeks; and, there was the gladsome sight of HMS Grafton as she slowly dropped astern, going hull-down in Proteus'?, wake.

'Mister Langlie?' Lewrie announced in a quizzical tone, and with his head cocked to one side.

'Love a cup, sir,' the First Lieutenant replied, mistaking that quizzical tone as an invitation, and grinning cheerfully wolfish.

'Oh, that, too, but…' Lewrie added, 'once we're the requisite five sea-miles alee of Horatius yonder, instead of reducing sail again, I think we should weave a zig-zag course under full sail. We could cover a wider swath of ocean that way.'

'Of course, sir,' Langlie said, holding a cup for Aspinall as he poured it brimful. 'Ah, thankee kindly!'

'And, before Bosun Pendarves overhauls the chafing gear, let us also see to the dead-eyes. On this tack, we may re-tension the shrouds on the lee side, first, then wear and tighten the starboard shrouds as they become the lee stays.'

'Very good, sir,' Langlie said with his hot cup just below his lips, and blowing to cool his first sip.

'We've not had a chance to exercise at the artillery of late, either,' Lewrie further decided. 'Once we're all ataunt-to, I'd like the rest of the Forenoon be spent at live-firing the windward guns of both broadside batteries, depending on which tack we stand. A little more work to run them out up a sloping deck, but good practice for our people, don't you think, sir?'

'I do indeed, Captain,' Langlie dutifully responded, as if he'd ever demur with a hearty 'Hell, no, what a daft idea, sir!,' no matter what a captain might dream up. 'Good physical exercise, too, sir,' he added.

'Who knows, Mister Langlie, the crew might even enjoy the extra exertion!' Lewrie said with a chuckle. 'Full sail, hearty breezes… and no more bloody… plodding!… might perk them right up. By God, it does me! All of a sudden, I feel as gingery as a feagued horse!'

'Bow to stern, by numbers… fire!' Mr. Carling, the Master Gunner, bellowed over the roar of wind and water, and the starboard gun-captains jerked their lanyards, tripping the flintlock igniters of the starboard battery's 12- pounders one at a time. As soon as a gun fired, the first and second loaders dashed 'cross the deck to the guns waiting down the larboard side. The gun-captains and hands on the tackles stayed at their stations at the starboard guns long enough to overhaul any potential tangles in the recoil and run-out lines; the smoking vents were checked by leather-guarded thumbs as the rammer men swabbed out with sopping wet sheep's wool sponges; once the tubes were safe to handle, tackle-men, who normally didn't handle loading, got a bit of cross-training inserting cloth powder bags and ramming them home to the rears of the tubes, at choosing the best round-shot from the racks about each main deck hatchway or the thick rope shot garlands between each piece. They then ran their guns up to the port sills once fresh shot had been inserted down the muzzles and tamped down atop the powder bags, stoppering the blocks so they would not roll back free, then abandoned the starboard pieces to join the men who had been readying the larboard battery.

'Wear, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie ordered.

While the gun crews panted and gasped, the brace, sheet, and sail tenders went to their stations once more, and Proteus was worked 'cross the stern winds, again, the fourth time in a half-hour. And, as those Trade Winds swung round onto the larboard quarter, and the deck began to heel in the opposite direction, Mr. Carling was there to cry for the ready-loaded larboard battery to prime and cock and stand ready.

'Signal, sir!' Midshipman Gamble called from the taffrails. 'A 'Repeat' from Horatius.., our number. 'Suspend Action,' and 'Conserve Powder And Shot,' sir!'

'Damn that man!' Lewrie griped under his breath, hands gripped white-knuckled on the forward quarterdeck railings overlooking the gun-deck and waist. 'Aw, Dad!' he said louder, for all to hear. 'You just never let me have a bit o' fun!' Loud enough for his gunners and sail tenders to hear, which drew a hearty laugh at his good imitation of an adolescent's peevish whine. 'Very well, Mister Langlie. Secure guns, seal the ports, and insert tompions. Drill's done. Have Mister Coote fetch a fresh scuttle-butt up from below so the hands can slake their thirsts. We'll stay on this point of sail for a while, too, once you've gotten everything flaked or flemished down. Mister Gamble?'

'Sir!'

'Signal to Grafton.. .' Lewrie began, then paused.

Buss my blind cheeks, ye spiteful bastard, Lewrie considered; Go shit in yer cocked hat an' call it a brown tie-wig?

'Signal 'Acknowledged,' Mister Gamble,' Lewrie directed with a weary, and much-put-upon, sigh. No way t'put that in code, he thought.

Six Bells chimed at the forecastle belfry, and ships' boys turned the hour and half-hour watch glasses; eleven in the morning, almost the end of the Forenoon, and a half-hour from when any Forenoon drills would end, anyway, and the rum-issue ceremony would be held.

'Mister Carling?' Lewrie shouted down to the Master Gunner. 'I will join you once the guns are secured to your satisfaction, and see what needs doing, in your estimation.'

'Aye aye, Captain!' Carling shouted back, and Lewrie was sure that the Master Warrant Gunner would have his people filling that half-hour 'til 'Up Spirits' was piped with greasing, sponging, and prissy fussing about tackles and blocks. With Lewrie by his side during the inspection, Carling would most likely find a way to wheedle more goods from Bosun Pendarves's stores, as well, and the much-put-upon Bosun still had that worn-out chafing gear to rig this morning; perhaps that task would fill the better part of the afternoon, if nothing else came up… or Capt. Treghues spotted it and chaffered Lewrie for its lack. Of a sudden, Lewrie was determined that it would be done before Grafton ordered them back within 'close-telescoping' distance!