King, Ship, and Sword

Lewrie told him. 'His first ship. I've never very much cared for kin on the same ship.' Lewrie was too busy extracting his precious commissioning document from the safety of his coat to see Westcott's approving nod. He had eyes more for his sons and Sir Hugo, who stood off to one side, as he unscrolled his paper.

'Ship's comp'ny… off hats and hark to the quarterdeck!' Lt. Westcott ordered in a voice that would carry in a full gale.

'By the Commissioners for executing the office of Lord High Admiral of Great Britain and Ireland, and all His Majesty's Plantations and et cetera… to Captain Alan Lewrie, hereby appointed to His Majesty's Ship, Reliant… by virtue of the Power and Authority to us given, we do hereby constitute and appoint you Captain of His Majesty's Ship, Reliant… willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the Charge and Command of Captain in her accordingly. Strictly charging all the Officers and Company belonging to said Ship subordinate to you to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective Employments with all due Respect and Obedience unto you, their said Captain, and you likewise to observe and execute such Orders and Directions you shall receive from time to time from your superior officers for His Majesty's Service.

'Hereof nor you nor any one of you fail as you will answer the contrary at your peril. And for so doing this shall be your Warrant. Given under our hands and the Seal of Office of Admiralty, this Twenty-Fifth day of April, Eighteen-Oh-Three, in the Fourty-Third year of His Majesty's Reign,' he concluded in a matching 'quarterdeck' voice.

The ritual done, Lewrie rolled up the document and looked down at his hands in the waist, on the gangways. 'Men! It seems that that Corsican tyrant… that ogre Napoleon Bonaparte hasn't learned his lesson yet. Like a wolf pretendin' t'be a setter, he'd like t'enter the house… pretend he can grin and wag his tail, and all the while just waitin' to eat up the whole house, and all of Europe, including our island. Your homes, your people, from Land's End to John O' Groats. Only problem is, nobody ever told Napoleon ye can't play-act a trusty setter if ye keep piddlin' on the carpet and shittin' in the parlour!

'We're called once again t'teach him proper manners,' he told them as the laughter that his Billingsgate, not usually heard from a gentleman-captain, died away. 'And if he can't learn t'live peaceful among the world's nations… then it's our job… the Royal Navy… this fine frigate… and every one of you, volunteer or pressed man, experienced tar or raw landsman… true blue hearts of oak… to put him down like a rabid stray, like a ravenin' wolf in the sheep fold that Napoleon is, and stop his business, all French business, for good and all!

'Before Reliant raises anchor and sets sail on the King's Business,' he promised them in a slightly softer voice, 'I, and your officers and mates, will make sure that ev'ry Man Jack of you know all you need t'know to work this ship, to sail her into any corner of the wide world over… as shipmates, as men who can boast that they're the best in the entire world… that they're British tars. Reliants!'

That raised a cheer, even from the dubious first draught of men from the Impress tenders and the receiving ships.

'That's all for now, Mister Westcott.'

'Aye, sir. Ship's comp'ny… on hats, and dismiss. Carry on!' Westcott ordered.

'Ah, those two are ours, sir,' Lewrie said, pointing to Desmond and Furfy, who were just gaining the deck with the first light loads of Lewrie's dunnage and the wicker cage for the cats, who were peering wide-eyed, braced on their haunches with their noses to the wicker to sniff out their new home.

'The cats, sir?' Lt. Westcott dared jape. 'Or the sailors?'

'You'll find my Cox'n, Desmond, and Ordinary Seaman Furfy more use to you, Mister Westcott,' Lewrie drawled back in like humour. 'My cats keep me from turnin' a floggin' Tartar.'

'Very good, sir,' Lt. Westcott said with a grin. 'I'll see to hoisting your goods aboard.'

Now the ceremony of reading himself in was over, the Midshipmen yet aboard Reliant were circling round Hugh very much like a pack of the aforementioned wolves, ready to put 'John New-Come' in his place at the bottom of their pecking order.

'Gentlemen,' Lewrie said, going to rescue him. 'Allow me to name to you my son, Hugh, who will be going aboard HMS Pegasus tomorrow. And you are, young sirs?'

'Uhm… Vincent Houghton, sir,' the oldest and most senior of them quickly said. He looked to be 'upwards of twenty,' as the Navy required of a fellow who had done at least six years at sea and was able to stand before his first oral examinations for his Lieutenancy. 'May I name to you, sir, Mister Entwhistle,' a stocky lad about eighteen or so; 'Mister Warburton' (that worthy was a slim fellow with dark red hair and a very fair complexion, about fifteen or sixteen, a lad with a 'cheeky' expression), 'and Mister Grainger, sir.' The last was the youngest, about fifteen Lewrie judged, a tad shorter than the rest, and a bit chubbier. 'We're two short so far, sir,' Houghton said.

'All of you have sea experience?' Lewrie asked, and was happy to learn that Houghton and Entwhistle had at least six years at sea in various ships, whilst Warburton had had one three-year appointment, and Grainger the same.

'Damme,' Lewrie chuckled, 'someone at Admiralty's erred badly, t'place so many tarry young gentleman in the same ship, 'stead of tossin' us a pack of cods-heads. I'll be countin' on you to make sure we put to sea with a crew that knows the ropes.'

'Count on us, sir!' Midshipman Houghton vowed, quickly seconded by the rest.

'Purser aboard?' Lewrie asked further. 'The Marine officer?'

'Mister Cadbury, sir?' Houghton said. 'He and his clerk and his Jack-in-the-Breadroom are ashore, sir. Leftenant Simcock went ashore with him, t'see to wardroom stores.'

'Very well, catch up with 'em later,' Lewrie decided. 'Which of you have a good copperplate hand?' Two shot up their hands.

'Capital!' Lewrie cried. 'I'll put you, Mister Entwhistle, and you, Mister Grainger, to copyin' out my Order Book for six Midshipmen and all officers.'

Blank-faced looks from the two volunteers, faint sneers from the others, even a snicker from Warburton. 'Carry on,' Lewrie told them.

'Uhm, could we look about the ship, father?' Sewallis asked. 'Mister Warburton,' Lewrie said, stopping him in his tracks. 'Would you mind showing my sons about the ship? All the cautions?' 'Of course, sir!'

'I'll be aft,' Lewrie said, turning to go, but stopping at the foot of the larboard ladderway to the gun-deck to watch his sons get the first bit of their tour; Sewallis a head taller in his usual dark and sobre suit, his hat in his hands, to bare his darker hair, and Hugh, uniformed and kitted out in London before they had coached down, his new-styled narrow-brimmed and thimble-shaped hat still on his head, though with his mother's blonder hair tumbling in its usual unruly way over his shirt collar and his ears.

Would she have been proud of his choice? Lewrie wondered; much as Caroline disliked it… would she have cursed me for lettin' him go to sea? Pushed him to it?

'Damned demandin', what ye read,' Sir Hugo commented as he came to join him. 'All my promotions and such started out with 'To our Trusty and well beloved'-fill in the name-'Greetings''!

'Well, ye paid enough for 'em, I should't wonder why the King wouldn't!' Lewrie teased.

Now there was a proper captain aboard, whose privacy and goods must be guarded, there was a Marine private in full kit outside the door to the great-cabins, right aft. He stamped, presented his musket in salute, and roared 'Sah!'

'Good Christ!' Sir Hugo barked, once laying eyes on the place. It was bare, the black-and-white chequer canvas deck cover was faded and worn; the deal-and-canvas partitions and all the inner faces of the planking above the line of empty gun-ports and the usual dark red paint below the wainscot line-everything was done in a pale blue, picked out with gilt-painted mouldings, replete with wee painted cherubs. 'The last captain ship his wife with him… or did he run a bawdy house?' 'Re-paint… soonest,' Lewrie vowed.