The King's Marauder (9 page)

“That’d be grand, sir!” Lewrie crowed, a tad too loud and eager.

“I will send your orders and active commission documents round your lodgings within a day or so,” Marsden told him, much relieved to have his problems solved. “Once in receipt, drop a note of hand by to pay for the fees.”

There goes better than fifty pounds!
Lewrie thought. Just like the first time he’d been made “Post” and appointed into the
Proteus
frigate back in 1797, he’d always had the droll idea that the quickest way to command of a ship would be to turn up at Admiralty with a full purse, and throw money at someone! The patents of his knighthood and baronetcy had cost a gruesomely high sum, too! Every honour bestowed by HM Government had a high price, one way or another.

“Thank you, Mister Marsden,” Lewrie said, preparing to rise and depart. “I’ve spent too long on the ‘beach’, as has Westcott. Should I send him up straightaway, or have him wait ’til your calendar is…?”

“Oh, send him up,” Marsden said, with a genial chuckle. “Saves a stamp, or a messenger’s time hunting up his lodgings. And I thank you, Sir Alan. It’s damned good of you to take on
Sapphire,
though you’ve proved yourself a most accomplished frigate captain, and had a long run in that class. Seniority demands, though, that men move up and on, sooner or later.”

“Hey, sir?” Lewrie asked, wondering what Marsden was maundering about.
Onward and upward, mine arse!
he thought.

“Why,
Sapphire
’s a Fourth Rate, of the
Antelope
group. Quite modern, really,” Marsden said in gleeful praise, “re-fitted with iron knees, and metal fresh-water tanks. Last of her class built in 1792.”

“A two-decker fifty-gunner?” Lewrie replied, trying
very
hard not to start kicking furniture.

I’ve been had, by Christ!
he fumed to himself;
Is it too late t’beg off? Start limpin’, again?

“I did not mention that? How remiss of me,” Marsden said with genuine regret. “Been on the job too long, I suppose. Can’t say that I won’t miss the office, but one does get older, and it is about time for a younger man to take my place of the First Lord’s, Lord Mulgrave’s, and the Prime Minister’s, choice.”

“Oh, surely not, sir!” Lewrie exclaimed, feigning distress to hear that. “Won’t be the same with you gone.”

“Oh, tosh, Sir Alan,” Marsden pooh-poohed, “I only fear that it will be. I’ve found that Admiralty grinds on in the same old way, century to century, ha ha! Again, sir, thank you for taking on
Sapphire,
and I wish you all success in your new command.”

“Thank you, sir, and good day,” Lewrie replied, shaking the old fellow by the hand, then heading out.

She’s a ship, an active commission, and full pay,
Lewrie forced himself to think;
Plaster “gladsome” on yer phyz, ye gullible clown, and look
pleased
with her! Even if she does turn out t’be Tom Turdman’s barge at Dung Wharf!

He trotted down the stairs to the ground level and the crowd in the Waiting Room, looked towards Lt. Westcott, and smiled broader.

“Good news, sir?” Westcott asked, rising to come meet him.

“For both of us, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie told him, putting the best face on it. “
We
have a ship!
Sapphire,
badly in need of both a Captain
and
a First Officer. I requested you, and we are both now employed!”

“That’s tremendous, sir! Just grand!” Westcott loudly declared; loud enough to set many sets of teeth on edge among the un-employed.

“The First Secretary wants t’see you for a few minutes,” Lewrie told him. “After your meeting, I’ll be in the courtyard, havin’ a tea. Mind,” Lewrie continued, in a softer voice as he walked with Westcott to the foot of the stairs, “she ain’t a frigate. She’s a fifty-gunner, lyin’ at the Nore.”

Westcott made a faint
moue
of disappointment, but cheered up a second later, drolly saying, “The First Officer in a Fourth Rate gets a shilling or two more a day than the First in a Fifth Rate, even so. How did she come to need a First and a Captain both, sir?”

“I’ll tell ye over dinner,” Lewrie promised. “That’ll be something for you and your new girl to celebrate tonight, hey?”

“The idea of my sailing away
might
prove … useful, aye, sir!” Westcott said with a laugh and a wink. “Melts many a girlish heart. And … other things.”

“I’ll have t’get a note to Pettus, Yeovill, Desmond, and Furfy, with a note of hand, for them t’pack up instanter,” Lewrie deliberated, thinking of all he still would need to purchase in London while awaiting their arrival. “It’ll take me the better part of ten days to a fortnight before I can read myself in.”

“As soon as I receive my commission documents, sir, I can coach down to the Nore and lay the ground for your arrival,” Westcott offered. “I don’t have all your encumbrances, and could set out Monday.”

“If you can tear yourself away from all your passionate leave-takin’s that early, I’d be deeply in your debt, Geoffrey,” Lewrie said in gratitude. “Aye, that’d work out best.”

“Once I’ve seen the First Secretary, is there any reason for us to linger in this ‘Pit of Despair’, sir?” Westcott japed.

“Christ, no!” Lewrie hooted. “I’ve a favourite eatery over in Savoy Street, off the Strand, a truly
grand
place. When you are done with Mister Marsden, we’ll whistle up a coach and celebrate!”

“Be right with you, then, sir,” Westcott heartily agreed. “See you in the courtyard, then we’ll hoist sail and get out of here!”

BOOK ONE

Britons, you stay too long;

Quickly aboard bestow you,

And with a merry gale

Swell your stretch’d sail

With vows as strong

As the winds that blow you.

“T
O THE
V
IRGINIAN
V
OYAGE
”

M
ICHAEL
D
RAYTON
(1563–1631)

CHAPTER EIGHT

She’s a ship, an active commission, and earns me full pay again,
Lewrie had to remind himself as his hired boat approached HMS
Sapphire,
moored at least two miles from shore in the Great Nore at Sheerness.

She was 154 feet on the range of the deck and 130 feet along her waterline, just a few feet longer than his last Fifth Rate frigate, but she was so damned
tall
with that upper deck stacked atop the lower one!

The hired boat was bound on a course to pass before
Sapphire
’s bows, veer to the right in a large circle, and come alongside her starboard entry-port, but Lewrie looked aft to the tillerman and expressed a wish to cross under her stern, instead, so he could give her a good look-over before boarding.

“She’s a clean’un, she is, sir,” a younger boatman who handled the sheets of the boat’s lugs’l commented. “Shiny’z a new penny.”

“Aye, she is,” Lewrie grudgingly had to agree.

Sapphire
’s hull was painted black, sometime recently, at that, for the gloss had not yet faded. Her two rows of gun-ports showed a pair of buff-coloured paint bands, what was coming to be known as the “Nelson Chequer”, and her waterline at full load sported a thin red boot stripe just above the inch or two of her coppering that was exposed. White-painted cap-rails topped her bulwarks and trimmed her beakhead rails.

Sapphire
’s figurehead was the usual crowned lion carved for any ship not named for some hero from the classics; a male lion done in tan paint, with a bushy mane streaked with brown and black highlights, red-tongued and white-fanged, with only its crown gilded. The lion’s front paws held a bright blue faceted ball against its upper chest, a gemstone that some shore artist had flicked with streaks of silver and white in an attempt to make it appear to shine. It looked fierce enough, but for its odd blue eyes!

Several of the ship’s boats were floating astern in a gaggle, bridled together and bound to a tow rope, to soak their planking lest the wood dried out and allowed leaks. There was a wee 18-foot cutter or gig, a 25-foot cutter, a 29-foot launch, and a 32-foot pinnace, all painted white with bright blue gunn’ls.

The hired boat had to circle wide to clear those ship’s boats, giving Lewrie a long look at her stern, which was not as ornate as he had expected. There were white dolphins and griffins along the upper scroll board in bas-relief against black, above what would be his stern gallery, which gallery sported close-set white railings and spiralled column posts. Below the gallery were the several windows of the wardroom right-aft on the upper gun deck, then a bright blue horizontal band below that, on which was mounted the ship’s name in raised block letters, painted white and gilt.

Somebody has a deep purse,
Lewrie thought;
or had.

Post-Captains with enough “tin” could afford to have gilt paint applied, figureheads custom made, and improve the lavishness of their ship’s carving work. It appeared that
Sapphire
’s recently departed Captain had been one of those men.

“Boat ahoy!” someone shouted from the quarterdeck.

“Aye aye!” the tillerman shouted back, holding up four fingers to denote that his passenger was a Post-Captain.

The lugs’l halliard and jib sheet were loosed and the sails handed, as the hired boat drifted up to the main channels and chains at the foot of the boarding battens and man-ropes. Lewrie stood and tucked his everyday hanger behind his left leg so he would not get tangled up with it as the younger boatman hooked onto the channels with a long hooked gaff, bringing the boat to a stop.

Lewrie teetered atop the hired boat’s gunn’ls, grasped one of the man-ropes, stepped up with his right foot to the main channel, and swung up with his left foot to the first step of the battens, noting with gratitude that the steps had been painted then strewn liberally with gritty sand before the paint had dried, improving his traction.

At rest,
Sapphire
’s lower-deck gun-ports were about five feet above her waterline, and they were all opened for ventilation, with some of them filled with curious faces as he passed the pair closest to the battens. Once above those, the ship’s tumblehome increased, making his ascent less steep.

All the exercise is payin’ off,
he thought as his head rose level with the lip of the entry-port; he hadn’t even begun to suck wind! And there were the half-spatterdashed boots of Marines, in view, the buckled shoes of sailors peeking out from the bottoms of long, loose “pusser’s slops” trousers, and the trill of bosun’s calls in welcome.

Lewrie placed his first foot on the lip of the entry-port and made a final jerk upon the man-ropes to come aboard with a characteristic hop and stamp. Sure that he was in-board with no risk of going arse-over-tit backwards, he doffed his hat to the flag, quarterdeck, and his waiting officers.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” Lt. Westcott said, doffing his own hat along with the others.

“Thankee, Mister Westcott … gentlemen,” Lewrie replied with a grin trying to break out on his face, despite the traditional formality of taking command. “If you do not mind, I will read myself in, first, before we make our first acquaintance.”

He went to the forward quarterdeck rail and iron hammock rack stanchions, ’twixt the two square companionways let into the deck to allow rigging to pass through, pulled his commission document from inside his waistcoat, where it would stay dry despite foul weather, and not be lost overboard in the climb up the battens, folded it open, and began to read loud enough for all to hear.

“By the Commissioners for executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of Great Britain and Ireland and all of his Majesty’s Plantations, et cetera … to Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, Baronet, hereby appointed Captain of His Majesty’s Ship, the
Sapphire
…”

He paused to look up and forward into the waist and the sail-tending gangways to either beam down the upper deck.

Jesus Christ, but there’s a
slew
of ’em!
he thought, awed by the hundreds of people in the crew, nigh twice as many as he had had aboard
Reliant
! Sailors, boys, and Marines, all gawking at him!

“By virtue of the Power and Authority to us given, we do hereby constitute and appoint you Captain of His Majesty’s Ship,
Sapphire,
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 the 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…” he continued, right through to the date of his commission, and the year of the King’s reign.

He folded that precious document up, again, and stuck it in a side pocket of his uniform coat, then leaned his palms on the railing.

“Just about ten years ago to the month, here at the Nore, I was made Post into my first command, the
Proteus
frigate,” he told his new crew, now that they were all officially his, “and I have been fortunate to command several frigates over the years.
Sapphire
is my first two-decker. She is new to me, as you are, as well … just as I am new to you. It may take me twice as long to get to know you all by face and name than I did the men of my last ship, the
Reliant
frigate, so I ask for your indulgence on that head.

“
Sapphire
may not be as swift and dashing as a frigate, but we … you and me together.…” he continued, “will still find ways to toe up against our King’s enemies and bash them to kindling and send Frenchmen, Spaniards, and Dutchmen, and all who side with Bonaparte, to the eternal fires of Hell! I am not one to tolerate boredom for long, and have always found a way to hear my guns roar in earnest, as I trust you all wish, as well. So, let’s be at it, and ready our ship for great deeds to come!”

He turned and nodded to Lt. Westcott, who stepped forward to bellow dismissal of the hands, then walked over to his waiting officers and Mids. “If you’ll do the honours, Mister Westcott?” he asked.