Dewey Lambdin - King`s Captain
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Nigh to dusk and HMS Proteus lay fetched-to a scant five miles off Herne Bay and Whitstable. They'd come across a Margate lugger two hours before, had had to run her down and fire a warning shot to bring her up, then perplexed the very Devil out of her captain by having Elder Grace call over to her, for he'd known her identity as soon as her patched sails were close enough to fill a telescope.
"Hoy, Jemmy Vernish! Ye want t'make some money?"
Aye, Captain Vernish did and had come aboard to haggle out the price for carrying prisoners, despatches, and whores into Whitstable: prisoners dumped on the local magistrate, whores wafted upriver behind the Medway booms to Sheerness in shallow oyster dredgers owned by men whom Middle Grace recommended.
"Glad you have 'em chained, Cap'um Lewrie"-Vernish had smiled- "for my own piece o' mind… and, for the constable at Herne Bay. Not one you'd call a capable feller, God help him."
Despatches! Lewrie and Padgett had scribbled away in a fury, and a flurry of ink to get them all done in time. He wrote to Admiralty, Admiral Buckner, even the King, as he'd promised, praising the loyalist hands who'd stood by him, naming those who had wavered but rallied to his side-and damning the prisoners, citing their crimes. He urged for Langlie, Devereux, and most of the others sent ashore to be sent posthaste to Whitstable, swearing he would patrol close offshore, to await their arrival as long as he could.
As for Lieutenant Ludlow and Midshipman Peacham, he strongly hinted at their assignment to another ship, since their brusque and abusive dealings had been partly responsible for stoking the fire of mutiny in the first place, despite his cautions to modify their behavior… the reassignments and acting-promotions he had made, being very short-handed…
And, short-handed though he was, and his crew inexperienced or not, he wrote that, barring orders to the contrary "… it is my intent to remove my ship as far from mutinous assemblies as possible, 'til my taint is scoured away by dint of routine Discipline, and Instruction in seamanship restores her people to complete Obedience. Therefore, once my officers are aboard, I shall sail at once for the Texel to bolster what few ships Admiral Duncan has got, shorn as he is for the moment of two-deckers. I see this course of action as my bounden Duty, in such parlous times, with the threat of battle or invasion ever before us…"
God, but I'm a toadyin' wretch! even he groaned as he read his prose; what a canting bastard! But it will read well with those who count, he told himself. And I didn 't trowel it on too bloody thick!
Recommendations for his "distaff" re-enforcements, his whores; a draught on his funds to his solicitor, Matthew Mountjoy in London, to pay them, or their representatives, a certain sum each. Hmm, Lewrie thought; and a rather handsome sum it was too! Thirty-two women, at Ј5 per… that atop the pound note he'd slipped each one after they'd made it to sea, and the five shillings per for passage with Vernish… and the money Padgett would carry to buy their further passage back to Sheerness too! And if Padgett thought he was going to enjoy his short voyage with 'em, then God help the poor lad!
Finally it was done, and all but the personal copied into his letter books, with Padgett aided by Mr. Coote's Jack-In-The-Breadroom clerk, who would spell Padgett until he could return aboard. He still had to update his watch-and-quarter bills, of course, but that could surely wait… Lewrie rather hoped he'd get Langlie back as his First Officer quickly… then he could saddle him with the drudgery! That's what First Lieutenants were for, by God, Lewrie could gladly contemplate!
Proteus heaved and clattered slowly on a slack sea, now that the tide had turned for the night and sundown reddened the western skies; laying cocked up to weather near Captain Vernish's dowdy old lugger-which went by the grand name of Marlborough. Proteus's boats were hard at it stroking over to her filled with iron-bound men. Some waited on the larboard gangway for their turn in the boats. Pleading…
"Sir, Captain Lewrie, sir," Mr. Handcocks smiled sheepishly with his wrists before him. "Hope ya put in a good word for me, sir. Didn't mean no harm, ever. Stood up for sailors' rights, sir, same as ev'ry other hand. Didn't wish t'be a delegate, sir, but th' lads chose me an' I couldn't say no, now could I, sir? Keep' 'em on th' straight'un narrow?"
"It's over, Mister Handcocks," Lewrie grunted, having no wish to bandy words with the man. "You, a man with years at sea, Admiralty Warrant… God help you, Mister Handcocks, for I can't."
"But, sir!" Handcocks began to beg, then broke off as he got his pride up, biting back what else he might have said, gnawing on his cheek lining, as stoop-shouldered as a man already convicted.
And there was Seaman Bales… Rolston, really. Lewrie had yet to dredge up his Christian name, after all these years, when they had been midshipmen together aboard HMS Ariadne, under Captain Bales, so long ago in 1780! Bales, even in chains and shackles, still exuded an air of coolly aloof superiority, a sneering "damn yer blood" glint to his harsh phyz. Even without the beard, Lewrie would have had no clue as to who he was. Perhaps someone else in the Navy might've. Lewrie had made sure that his report had contained Bales's secret identity… with what few hints he'd gleaned about his prior service, the boasting he'd made when first they'd shifted Proteus to the double crescent anchorage, that he'd once been a Master's Mate.
Bales/Rolston glared daggers at him. Lewrie felt happy enough to return him what was known in the Sea Service as a "shit-eatin' grin."
"You really plan this, Rolston?" he idly enquired, taking a few steps closer. "Right from the start, did you? One of the schemers in Sandwich?"
"Why should I tell you anything, Lewrie?" Rolston sneered back. "Keep wondering… and the Devil take you, as I'm sure he will sooner or later."
"Rather think he'll see you first, you dog." Lewrie continued to grin, enjoying goading him. "Did you really come off a frigate up at Chatham… Hussar, was she?"
Bales sniffed in derision, but nodded in the affirmative.
"Just an Able Seaman… after all these years," Lewrie taunted. "Found your proper level, I s'pose. Yet a naval career begun with such promise… my, my," Lewrie snickered, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Keith Ashburn… you remember Keith, don't you, Rolston? Post-Captain into the Tempest frigate. And that was in '94 in the Med, so he's sure to have risen higher by now. Young Shirke, I heard he got command of a brig o'war last year… made Commander. Even Bascombe, that idiot, he's a Lieutenant too. Yet you, on the other hand…"
"You ruined my career for me, you sonofabitch!" Rolston growled, lifting his shackles as if he still wished to strangle his tormentor but was held by the Marines as his side.
"Ruined it yourself, Rolston… when you pushed that topman off the tops'l yard."
"I never pushed him; he fell!"
"Gibbs, that was his name, aye," Lewrie chirped. "Been ridin' him for weeks, puttin' him up on charges as I recall, threatened he'd be flogged, were he the last man off the yard again…"
"He fell. He was clumsy, I tell you! You were the one called it murder, starting your vicious rumours, backbiting in our own mess…!"
"Never a bit of it." Lewrie frowned, though that was close to how he recalled it, for he'd taken an instant dislike to Rolston, the moment he'd shown up with Ariadne's boat to fetch him out to the ship his first morning in the Fleet. "You were guilty as sin."
Never came right out and said it, mind, Lewrie qualified; but I did beat all 'round it! Take him down a peg… got out of hand.
"By God, I'll settle for you yet, Lewrie! You always were the worst sort of bastard!" Bales snarled.
"Aye, and you tried, right after Captain Bales chid you to take better care of your people aloft! Came at me with your dirk… in the midshipman's mess, 'fore a half-dozen witnesses!" Lewrie retorted, in sudden gloating heat. "Tried to murder me, by God! That's what got you broken Rolston. That's what cost you your career! Signed aboard another ship under another name, did you? Rose to Master's Mate, did you crow well, what stupid, criminal thing did you do there to end up nothing but an Able Seaman? You try to murder someone else?"
"Go fuck yerself… mate." Bales chilled, closing down against any more abuse. He glowered at his wrist shackles for a moment, shook them as if seeing them for the first time. Lewrie had almost turned away to other things, but was caught by a harsh mutter.
"Whip-Jack sham of a sailor you were, Lewrie. Still are for all I know." Bales spat, shrugging as he realised his defeat. "Come with your rich purse, your allowance, your lordly airs… your nose in the air, and your hands soft and clean! Nothing but sneers for the rest of us, the ones who cared for a commission. God, I can't tell you how much I despise you! You and all your privileged sort! All I ever had was ships and the sea, and hopes to advance, but you scuppered those, didn't you? Ran into your sort all my born days, thinking men before the mast less than animals! Tools that speak, long as they don't dare speak back.1Ludlow, you… you're all alike when you get down to it. Cruel, dismissive, sneering… officers!"
"Ah, but you wished to be an officer, Rolston!" Lewrie snapped, seeing how he could stick the last inch of spite in and give it one last twist. "All you are is envious, not admirable. All your years before the mast and hating every minute of it, every man-jack you had to serve with and play up matey…'cause you were never matey with any one, as I recall, Rolston. You despised 'em most-like; you seethed at being ordered about by mast-captains and mates who didn't have a tenth o' your intellect, didn't you. God help the Navy had you made a commission, for you'd not have been a whit kinder to a ship's people than Ludlow was. You are a Ludlow, deep down, Rolston. Onliest trouble is you never had the chance t'be a bastard! I took joy of suspecting that you pushed Gibbs, aye, 'cause I didn't like you then, and I don't like you now. If that spurred you to try and kill me, then it was the best service I ever did the Navy 'cause it kept you from abusing sailors… maybe even killing more of 'em as the worst sort of officer!"
"Listen, Lewrie, you…!" Rolston blanched.
"Gag him, Private," Lewrie ordered his marine guard, " 'til he's aboard the lugger. I think we've all heard enough of this murderous bastard's guff."
The boats were now beginning to transfer the doxies, leaving the prime ringleaders for one last, well-guarded load. Lewrie went over to say his last goodbyes. Since they were expensive goodbyes, he felt he should get his money's worth! He took a soft, bosomy hug from Miss Nancy, pecked her on the cheek, and wished her well, assuring her that his solicitor would have their money ready for them. And did Nancy actually return to Sheer-ness for a pay-out with the others, he would be damned surprised. He'd heard of honour among thieves, but how far that stretched, well… Perhaps they'd go in a well-armed committee, keeping a wary eye on each other 'til they had bank notes in hand?
"G'bye, Cap'um Lewrie, sir," Sally Blue said, most mournfully, working up tears in her eyes as she came to take her turn down the battens. She'd gathered up her few pitiful belongings in a scraped-bald carpet clutch-bag and was turned out in a fresh gown and hat Lewrie had not seen 'til then. Scrubbed up, too; and even in the nigh-darkness, she looked as chaste and missish as any squire's daughter of a Sunday.
She opened her arms, but Lewrie was twice-bitten and thrice shy by then. Yet the woebegone disappointment on her gamin face caused by his refusal made him relent, despite his fear of being pick-pocketed to instant poverty. He smiled, cocked his head, and held out his arms in welcome. She stepped close and, to his considerable alarm… and sudden thrill, it must be admitted… ground her things and groin against him with a puckish twinkle, bestowing a gentle buss near Lewrie's gawping lips.
"So long, Sally Blue," he said, still trying to stay aware where her free hands might roam. "Take ye joy… Have a safe voyage, and a good life after. Thank you again for all you did to get me back my ship. Never forget you, m'dear… there's a sweet young chit."
"You come back to Sheerness, Cap'um Lewrie," Sally Blue whispered hot and alluring in his ear, enveloping him in a faint hint of a fresh-dabbed scent in her hair, "you come look me up at Checquers, th' public house? Sometime at th' Crown an' Anchor, but that's no place fer a fine feller like yerself… Jus' leave a note. La, yer such a kind an' gallant gennleman don't git much chance t'meet such in my line o' work. What ya said ya wrote them swells 'bout me?" she cooed as she fell back a half-step to lay hands on his shoulders and look up searchingly into his eyes. "Don' forgit h'it's Sally Caruthers, not Sally Blue… same as ya wrote down to yer banker man. Send fer me an' I'll come runnin'… an' I'll treat ya to a wondrous time whene'er yer in port. 'Long as ya don't ask me t'come out t'your ship no more. Kinda lost me taste fer that…" Sally said with a frazzled moue and a gentle chuckle.
"I quite understand, Sally… Mistress Caruthers." Lewrie smiled back as he let go of her, stepping back to doff his hat to her as fine as he would to any lady-guest. "We'll see, perhaps…"
He did not say that most-like he'd never seek her out or send her a bidding note… but then, he didn't exactly say that he wouldn't either, for she was a wee, fetching thing, slim and pretty, like a rose grown on a dung-heap, and sure to be as bouncy and exuberant as a half-broke colt.
His hands felt the need to twitch though, to see if he still had his watch, chain, fob, coin-purse, pocket-knife, loose change, his silk handkerchief, his breeches' buckles, or even his horn comb! She laughed again at his strangled look, a quite fetching titter as she looked him up and down as if to fix him in her memory, biting on her lip.
"No fear, Cap'um Lewrie, sir." She beamed. "Didn' take nothin'… Not this time. You're too fine a man t'pilfer. Well… bye, Cap'um Lewrie. Fer now?"
"Adieu, Mistress Caruthers." He bowed. "Milady."
"A… ah-doo, Cap-tain Lewrie," she pronounced more or less correctly, dropping him a deep curtsy and a graceful incline of her head that would not have been out of place on the Strand, or at St. James's Palace. "… 'til we meet again, good sir," she hinted from beneath her bonnet's brim.
