"Love a cup, sir," the First Lieutenant replied, mistaking that quizzical tone as an invitation, and grinning cheerfully wolfish.
"Oh, that, too, but…" Lewrie added, "once we're the requisite five sea-miles alee of Horatius yonder, instead of reducing sail again, I think we should weave a zig-zag course under full sail. We could cover a wider swath of ocean that way."
"Of course, sir," Langlie said, holding a cup for Aspinall as he poured it brimful. "Ah, thankee kindly!"
"And, before Bosun Pendarves overhauls the chafing gear, let us also see to the dead-eyes. On this tack, we may re-tension the shrouds on the lee side, first, then wear and tighten the starboard shrouds as they become the lee stays."
"Very good, sir," Langlie said with his hot cup just below his lips, and blowing to cool his first sip.
"We've not had a chance to exercise at the artillery of late, either," Lewrie further decided. "Once we're all ataunt-to, I'd like the rest of the Forenoon be spent at live-firing the windward guns of both broadside batteries, depending on which tack we stand. A little more work to run them out up a sloping deck, but good practice for our people, don't you think, sir?"
"I do indeed, Captain," Langlie dutifully responded, as if he'd ever demur with a hearty "Hell, no, what a daft idea, sir!," no matter what a captain might dream up. "Good physical exercise, too, sir," he added.
"Who knows, Mister Langlie, the crew might even enjoy the extra exertion!" Lewrie said with a chuckle. "Full sail, hearty breezes… and no more bloody… plodding!… might perk them right up. By God, it does me! All of a sudden, I feel as gingery as a feagued horse!"
"Bow to stern, by numbers… fire!" Mr. Carling, the Master Gunner, bellowed over the roar of wind and water, and the starboard gun-captains jerked their lanyards, tripping the flintlock igniters of the starboard battery's 12-pounders one at a time. As soon as a gun fired, the first and second loaders dashed 'cross the deck to the guns waiting down the larboard side. The gun-captains and hands on the tackles stayed at their stations at the starboard guns long enough to overhaul any potential tangles in the recoil and run-out lines; the smoking vents were checked by leather-guarded thumbs as the rammer men swabbed out with sopping wet sheep's wool sponges; once the tubes were safe to handle, tackle-men, who normally didn't handle loading, got a bit of cross-training inserting cloth powder bags and ramming them home to the rears of the tubes, at choosing the best round-shot from the racks about each main deck hatchway or the thick rope shot garlands between each piece. They then ran their guns up to the port sills once fresh shot had been inserted down the muzzles and tamped down atop the powder bags, stoppering the blocks so they would not roll back free, then abandoned the starboard pieces to join the men who had been readying the larboard battery.
"Wear, Mister Langlie," Lewrie ordered.
While the gun crews panted and gasped, the brace, sheet, and sail tenders went to their stations once more, and Proteus was worked 'cross the stern winds, again, the fourth time in a half-hour. And, as those Trade Winds swung round onto the larboard quarter, and the deck began to heel in the opposite direction, Mr. Carling was there to cry for the ready-loaded larboard battery to prime and cock and stand ready.
"Signal, sir!" Midshipman Gamble called from the taffrails. "A 'Repeat' from Horatius.., our number. 'Suspend Action,' and 'Conserve Powder And Shot,' sir!"
"Damn that man!" Lewrie griped under his breath, hands gripped white-knuckled on the forward quarterdeck railings overlooking the gun-deck and waist. "Aw, Dad!" he said louder, for all to hear. "You just never let me have a bit o' fun!" Loud enough for his gunners and sail tenders to hear, which drew a hearty laugh at his good imitation of an adolescent's peevish whine. "Very well, Mister Langlie. Secure guns, seal the ports, and insert tompions. Drill's done. Have Mister Coote fetch a fresh scuttle-butt up from below so the hands can slake their thirsts. We'll stay on this point of sail for a while, too, once you've gotten everything flaked or flemished down. Mister Gamble?"
"Sir!"
"Signal to Grafton.. ." Lewrie began, then paused.
Buss my blind cheeks, ye spiteful bastard, Lewrie considered; Go shit in yer cocked hat an' call it a brown tie-wig?
"Signal 'Acknowledged,' Mister Gamble," Lewrie directed with a weary, and much-put-upon, sigh. No way t'put that in code, he thought.
Six Bells chimed at the forecastle belfry, and ships' boys turned the hour and half-hour watch glasses; eleven in the morning, almost the end of the Forenoon, and a half-hour from when any Forenoon drills would end, anyway, and the rum-issue ceremony would be held.
"Mister Carling?" Lewrie shouted down to the Master Gunner. "I will join you once the guns are secured to your satisfaction, and see what needs doing, in your estimation."
"Aye aye, Captain!" Carling shouted back, and Lewrie was sure that the Master Warrant Gunner would have his people filling that half-hour 'til "Up Spirits" was piped with greasing, sponging, and prissy fussing about tackles and blocks. With Lewrie by his side during the inspection, Carling would most likely find a way to wheedle more goods from Bosun Pendarves's stores, as well, and the much-put-upon Bosun still had that worn-out chafing gear to rig this morning; perhaps that task would fill the better part of the afternoon, if nothing else came up… or Capt. Treghues spotted it and chaffered Lewrie for its lack. Of a sudden, Lewrie was determined that it would be done before Grafton ordered them back within "close-telescoping" distance!
The bosun's calls twittered in unison as "Clear Decks, And Up Spirits" was piped. The red-rum keg with the King's seal painted on it in gilt came up from below, and the hands queued up for their sailors' anodyne, loafing and nattering each other in "matey" camaraderie about sips or gulpers owed, debts already paid, or had they been forgotten. A pair of Lt. Devereux's fully-uniformed Marines, complete with muskets, escorted the keg forrud, behind the young boy drummer beating a jaunty roll to announce its coming. Now that duties were done for a time, and all the hands expected for the following half-hour was their call below to their mid-day meal, it was a welcome bit of idle leisure.
Lewrie paced along the windward quarterdeck bulwarks, from the larboard ladderway to the main deck, to the taffrails and signal flag lockers right aft, his undress coat and hat discarded in his own sort of casual leisure, readying himself for participation in the measure of the sun at Noon Sights, when all his commission officers, and the Sailing Master, and his students, the midshipmen, would ply sextants together, and, at the first chime of Eight Bells ending the Forenoon, record their sums on slates or foolscap paper, then perform the "mysteries" of navigation.
Proteus was still under all sail, cracking along quite nicely, most pleasingly. This far South, the day even began to feel a touch more tropically warm, moderated by the winds, and Lewrie untied his neck-stock and opened his shirt collars. He leaned on his hands atop the taffrails for a bit of lonely peace from the demands of his ship, and his senior officer's pique, right by the larboard stern lanthorn, slowly shaking his head at the far-off convoy.
The lead 74, HMS Horatius, still plodded along at the convoy's head, with only her sails, at times a sliver of her upperworks, visible when pent atop a rising swell. Astern of her lay the four short columns of Indiamen, two-by-two in line-ahead, with only their beige courses, tops'ls, and t'gallants in sight. The entire gaggle was now about five miles off, as ordered, but an equal five miles off Proteus's larboard quarter, and slowly falling to full astern.