A King`s Trade

be a rough night.

'Deck, there!' a foremast lookout shrilled. 'Flagship's lightin' 'er lanthorns! Convoy's lightin' 'eir lanthorns!'

'Thankee, aloft!' Lt. Adair shouted back through his brass speaking-trumpet.

'Mister Adair,' Lewrie said, 'light our own taffrail lanthorns, foc'sle lanthorns, and binnacle cabinet. Be sure all masthead fusees and signal rockets are near to hand, as well.'

'Very well, sir. Permission to call masthead lookouts down to the deck, Captain?' Adair responded.

'Not 'til we've reefed down for the night,' Lewrie told him as he paced aft to take a peek into the binnacle cabinet, to see that the proper course was being steered. 'Pipe 'All Hands On Deck' to reduce sail.' Even as he ordered that, another much cooler gust came sweeping up from astern and to the starboard quarter. 'Additionally, sir, I'll have 'quick-savers' rigged on the fore course, and all three tops'ls, and… should any lurking Frog upset things, make certain that 'quick-savers' are borne aloft to the tops for rigging on the main course, and the t'gallants. Just in case,' he said with a shrug.

'Aye aye, sir.'

Quick-savers 'crow-footed' over the faces of the squares'ls to keep them from blowing out into tatters in a hard blow were a last-ditch re-enforcement of ropes to gird the sails' canvas.

With 'growl ye may, but go ye must' groans, Proteus's achy crew went aloft to perform their duties, knowing that soon, once this last hard chore was over, they'd be piped below to their suppers; a little after that, 'Down Hammocks' would be piped, and half of them could turn in for a few hours of sleep.

'Aye, t'will be a wet and windy night,' Mr. Winwood prophecied.

By the time sail was taken in for the night, and the precaution of the 'quick-savers' had been rigged or stored aloft for future use, it was already raining, and the evening had gotten darker. Squalls of rain swept like curtains over the convoy from the East-Sou'east to the West-Nor'west, even blotting out HMS Jamaica and the lead ships of the short columns for brief moments. The seas were rapidly making up, and Proteus began to ride them in a more lively manner, performing a long, slow pitching motion, along with a leeward roll. The nearest ship to them, the Festival off their starboard bows, was pitching as well, and heeling her larboard shoulder to the seas; they could witness her taffrail lights swing down left from horizontal in slow arcs, and see her forecastle belfry lamp rise up above the taffrail lanthorns for a bit, then sink ponderously below them and out of sight as the old merchantman made heavy work of the night. Beyond her, other pairs of taffrail lights wanly glimmered, as the other six India-men struggled to remain on course to the Nor'west, and in line-astern of each other, trusting to 'follow the leader' like sheep following the bellwether, and hoping that the lead ships knew what they were about.

Another half-hour and it would be the end of the Second Dog, and the watch would change once more, this time for a full four hours, which would let Lewrie go aft and below to his own supper. For now, he stood in tarred tarpaulins on the quarterdeck, stifling inside the supposedly impermeable hooded canvas coat, with wetness trickling down the back of his neck, and his old slop trousers soaked from mid-thigh down to his boots. He would dine alone this night, saving himself a few shillings by not entertaining officers, warrants, or midshipmen. Meagre though a typical solitary supper usually was-reconstituted 'portable' soup, the last of his fresh shore greens for a salad, toasted stale rolls of what had been fresh bread, and a rice-and-biltong stew-he found it hard to wait that long. He wanted to be dry, to open a bottle of that spaetlese German hock he'd found at the last minute in Cape Town, then soak those stale rolls into the soup and slurp up something warm, for the rain was a chill soaker, when it was whipping 'cross the decks!

And it did not help that the last savoury smoke from the galley funnel got swirled as far aft as the quarterdeck, bringing lip-smacking aromas of boiled pork to him, along with the sound of fiddle, fife, or Liam Desmond's uillean lap-pipes, and the rough good humour of sailors hunched over mess-tables, half 'groggy' from the last rum issue.

'What in the name o' God is that?' Lewrie yelped, like to leap out of his boots as an unholy, piercing wail arose from below.

'Ah, that'd be our bushbaby, sir,' Lt. Langlie told him with a wince of his own as the high-pitched caterwauling continued. 'I wish we'd known what a racket it could make, before allowing it aboard. A member of the Lemur family, I'm now told. And able to hoot, cry, and screech half like a howler monkey, half like a human infant. Eerie!'

'Eerie, and irritating,' Lewrie growled, already miserable, and that damned thing wasn't helping. 'It keeps that up, it'll end up in a pie, 'fore the next Dog Watch. Eerie, aye, and… ominous.'

T'Hellwith this, Lewrie thought; suff'rin' like this is what lieutenants are for! 'Mister Langlie, you have the deck 'til the end of the Dog. I'll be below.' 'Aye, sir. I have the deck,' Langlie crisply responded. He clattered down the larboard ladderyway to the main deck just as the bushbaby's cries set off the parrot, which began to squawk, and then scream its few English words, which consisted mostly of curses or blasphemies, which squawking frightened the other caged birds atwitter, which tumult made the goats, lambs, cattle, and piglets bleat, bawl, or squeal. And, it really couldn't be, not with Proteus up to windward of Festival, but Lewrie could almost swear that he heard a lion's roar and some baby elephant trumpets in answer!

Ain't a warship, it's a bloody Ark! he fumed as he got near his sopping-wet Marine sentry by the doors to his great-cabins. To punctuate his escape from foul weather, there was a first flash of lightning, and a not-so-far-off roll of thunder. The storm was getting worse, and Lewrie resigned himself to a quick meal, then a whole sleepless evening on deck, sodden to the skin.

'D'ye hear, there!' came a thin cry from one of the on-deck lookouts on the quarterdeck that he had just quit. 'Dark ship on th' starb'd quarter, mile'r two off! Off'cer o' th' Watch, they's…!'

'Deck, there!' the lookout atop the main mast cross-trees added with the same urgency. 'Three-masted ship, four points orf th' starboard quarter! Looks t'be a frigate!'

'Beat to Quarters, Mister Langlie!' Lewrie bellowed after he had slammed to a stop, and whirled about to swarm back to his quarterdeck. 'Now!' he added, as he got to the top of the ladderway by the uselessly-empty hammock nettings. 'Night signals, quick as you can, to warn the convoy. Someone lay aloft and light the fusee on the main truck!'

He jogged over to the starboard bulwarks, stoicism and a serene demeanour bedamned, to add his own eyes to the frantic search as harsh voices and bosun's calls shrilled. A curtain of heavier rain blotted out the sea for a long and frustrating minute, then… there In the split-second flash of another lightning bolt, several lookouts yelped discovery, just as the Marine drummer began a long roll, and the ship began to drum as well to the stamping of running feet, inspiring that bushbaby to even louder cries.

The lightning bolt struck up to windward in the East-Sou'east, a sizzling, actinic blue and writhing fork of fire that silhouetted a lean three-masted ship so thoroughly that her sails momentarily turned ghostly white.

Not a mile off, more like three, Lewrie thought with a shuddery feeling of relief, and fear, under his heart; Big enough a bugger, but we just may have enough time, thank God!

'Topmen aloft, Mister Langlie,' Lewrie said over his shoulder, sure that the reliable First Officer would be nearby. 'Trice up, and lay out t'loose tops'ls, with 'quick-savers,' then shake out the main course to the third reefs. Let's get some speed in hand!'

A second, closer, lightning flash lit up the enemy warship, letting them all see that she was flying full tops'ls, a full fore course and main course, and what looked to be three-reefed t'gallants, along with almost her full set of heads'ls.

'How the Devil did she find us in all this, sir?' Langlie asked in puzzlement, once the requisite orders had been passed, and the crew had thrown themselves into well-drilled action.

'Inshore of us, round dusk,' Lewrie rasped, shrugging his own puzzlement. 'Stalked us as the weather made up in late afternoon, on the front edge of the storm, perhaps? Came closer as the visibility reduced, figuring the convoy would hold the same course all day and all night. Second lookout aloft, Mister Langlie, on the mizen. The last time we met these shits, they were working in pairs. He's t'keep his eyes peeled astern, so we don't get buggered a second time.'