King, Ship, and Sword

The Third Lieutenant, George Merriman, had shown up, and he had proved to be no threat to Westcott's seniority; Merriman had passed his examinations bare months before the Peace of Amiens, and had lingered on half-pay as a Passed Midshipman 'til the government had decided to go back to war. His name fit him aptly, for he was a cheerful sort.

Their last two Midshipmen had reported aboard, both very young and with only a year or two at sea between them. The twelve-year-old was named Munsell, the thirteen-year-old Midshipman was the Honourable Phillip Rossyngton.

'Rossyngton,' Lewrie had exclaimed at the time. 'I served with a Midshipman Rossyngton in the old Shrike brig, the tail-end of the American Revolution. Any kin?'

'My father, sir!' Rossyngton had proudly said. 'Soon as we knew who commanded Reliant, he said to extend to you his fondest regards. He said I would be in good hands… though at risk of cat scratches.'

'And are you as big a tongue-in-cheek scamp as he was?' Lewrie had teased.

'But of course, sir… I'm a Midshipman, and allowed it!' the lad had rejoined with a laugh.

That had made him feel even more ancient; the last time he had seen Rossyngton, who'd been about seventeen or eighteen, and the lad was his second or third son?

After that, even more people from his past showed up. Reliant's ship's cook, the typical one-legged, lamed gammer who had been a part of the Standing Officers whilst laid up in-ordinary, a Jack Nasty-Face whose idea of 'done' was either burnt black or boiled to the bones, had finally become too feeble to serve, and pled for Discharge and a pension. To replace him, up had popped Gideon Cooke, one of the Beauman plantation slaves Lewrie had freed on Jamaica; he'd cooked for scores of slaves, and when liberated, had taken Cooke, with an E, as his new name, and the crew of the Proteus frigate had sworn they'd never eat so well in any ship.

Then there was Pettus, his former cabin steward in his previous ship, HMS Thermopylae. He'd practically fallen into Lt. Westcott's arms outside the recruiting 'rondy,' so eager was he to sign aboard, explaining that he'd been Lewrie's 'man' before.

'What've ye been up to since, Pettus?' Lewrie had just had to ask. 'Did you ever get back together with that girl of yours, Nan?'

'Thankee for recalling, sir,' Pettus had told him. 'I traipsed about, doing this and that, 'til I landed a place as barman at the Black Spread Eagle. As for Nancy, though… time I finally discovered her whereabouts, and her employment, well… there was another man had her heart,' Pettus had said, heaving a world-weary shrug. 'She'd married and already had a babe, and… ye know, sir,' he resignedly had related. Perking up, though, he asked, 'Still have your cats, sir? Toulon and Chalky? Along with Desmond and Furfy? It'd be good to see them again, sir… if you'll have me as your steward, that is, but I'll gladly sign aboard for anything,' he'd vowed.

'I do, and they'll all be glad t'see you again, too, Pettus,' Lewrie had assured him, and put him to work straightaway.

Pettus had proved very useful, too, in discovering a cook for the great-cabins, and a lad who'd serve as the cabin servant. He knew a man who fancied himself a chef who'd lost his position when the chop-house he worked in burned to the ground a few weeks back, and was yet in need of a new place. Pettus was quick to vouch for Joseph Yeovill and his culinary skills; he even came with his own pots, pans, knives, and utensils, and a middling chest of spices and sauces!

And, from the intake of youngsters who would serve as servants and powder monkeys, Pettus had chosen a likely orphan with a quick wit and a very sketchy year or so of schooling, a twelve-year-old lad by name of Jessop, who, 'til he'd signed ship's articles, looked to be a half-starved street waif, puppy-grateful to be issued clean clothing, have three meals a day, and a pittance of pay, to boot.

Lastly, Lt. Westcott had presented Lewrie with a likely fellow to be his clerk. James Faulkes had been an apprentice clerk to one of Portsmouth's counting houses and had just completed his terms of indenture. Though he seemed to suffer Pettus's malady, for he'd not only been let go from his position when the previous owner died, but Faulkes had recently been disappointed in love, and, like many a heart-sick young cully, believed that the lass, whoever she was, would take pity on him and accept his suit did he run away to sea. No matter, for his handwriting was copperplate and precise, his sums always added up, and he seemed very organised.

Of course Reliant had to resort to the Impress Service, drawn mostly from the Quota Men, a group that most officers, most tars, looked on askance. They were the derelicts, the drunks, the chronically underemployed and desperately poor; the turfed-out farm labourers who had nothing once the crops were in for the winter; the foolish and unwary civilians who had been swept up 'will-he-nill-he' from the streets, public houses, and brothels by Press Gangs eager to make their numbers whether the men they collared were sailors or not; and the petty criminals from the gaols. With them came the risk that they'd been got at by radical, Levelling troublemakers and their French Jacobin ideas, as well as the theft and pilfering that came with them. Some of them surely would be insubordinate, obstreperous 'sea-lawyers,' constant discipline problems, the leaders and enforcers of the sly- boot cliques that would try to dominate their decent mess-mates, prey on the others' rations, tobacco, and rum issue, their better slop-clothing and shoes, with violence or the threat of it.

Given his druthers, Lewrie would have gladly arranged a swap with the Army-his worst men for cash-and spent the proceeds on Joining Bounties or bribes to the Regulating Captain of the Impress or one of his more venal subordinates, but… needs must in war time.

And, as Reliant filled with men and boys, she filled herself to the gills with supplies. A constant stream of barges, hulks, and hoys came alongside beginning at Eight Bells and the start of the Forenoon Watch at 8 a.m. and might not cease 'til the middle of the First Dog at 5 p.m. Clean new water casks first, then thousands of gallons of water from the hoys were pumped below to fill them. Bales of slop-clothing to garb the hands; blue chequered shirts, red neckerchiefs, and white slop-trousers, cotton and wool stockings and waist-length dark blue jackets with brass buttons; bags of shoes and steel buckles; square wood trenchers or cheap china plates and bowls; bales of blankets and bed sheets, piles of thin batt-stuffed mattresses and pillows, and the canvas hammocks in which they'd be placed.

Kegs of salt-beef and salt-pork came aboard from the Victualling Board warehouses, all carefully inspected by the Purser, Mr. Cadbury, to ensure that none were spoiled, rotten, or previously condemned and the brand marks effaced. There was no guarantee, though, that the kegs actually contained eight-pound chunks of preserved meat, and not more bone and gristle than meat… or, folded scraps of old sailcloth masquerading as rations, dropped in to bring the keg up to the proper weight!

Cheeses, oatmeal, small beer (safer to drink than water after a couple of months in cask!), wine both red and white, better known among sailors as 'Black Strap' and 'Miss Taylor,' respectively; vinegar and tobacco, dried raisins, currants, and plums for duffs and puddings, in the rare instances, came aboard as well. And bread! Each man aboard got a pound of it a day (though issued at fourteen ounces to the pound, else the Purser would not profit!) in the form of pre-baked biscuit, a tooth-breaker unless soaked when it was fresh, and a crumbling, dusty slab of cracker riddled by weevils after six months at sea. Salt and pepper, meat sauces, sugar, honey, and ever- desired mustard to liven the taste of the rations, and the flour for the duffs were solely in the cook's possession, though mustard pots could be purchased by each eight-man mess… for a fee to the Purser.

Two complete sets of sails, plus spares and acres of sailcloth for repairs, patching, or whole refashioning came to the frigate, along with tar, pitch, resin and turpentine, miles of cable and rope, from thigh-thick cables for the anchors to small-stuff twine, and enough spare yards and upper masts to totally replace any shot away in battle or lost to weather; all the sail-maker's or the bosun's vital stores, and hundreds of board-feet of lumber for at-sea repairs.

The upper masts had to be set up to Lewrie's and Lt. Westcott's standards, the miles of standing and running rigging roved, and blocks of varying purchase placed at the most efficient locations. Belaying pins in pin-rails and fife-rails had to be sent for from shore once the rigging was set up. Lewrie found that Lt. Westcott agreed with his notion that their ship would be more weatherly if the jib-boom and bow sprit were steeved at a shallower angle than the usual up-thrust boar-toothed manner, and the jibs and upper foretopmast stays'ls were made larger and deeper.

Then came the artillery. HMS Reliant rated twenty-eight 18-pounder great-guns, eight quarterdeck 9-pounders, two 12-pounders for chase guns, and eight 32-pounder carronades, all with the wood