Then down to a boisterous breakfast in the common rooms, everyone chattering and nattering, and the place filled with commercial travelers and chapmen, all eager to chew up something and swallow it, then be out and doing. Pay the establishment the final reckoning. "Mummy, I have to, uhm…!" Into the coach, and they were off by half-past nine. Down to the Thames and across to the south bank. "Mummy, I have to…!" for another stop by the semaphore telegraph station at New Cross and Dept-ford Dockyards. "Are we there, already?" from Hugh, who'd prefer to take a walking tour to look at all the ships under construction.
Greenwich Naval Hospital went flying by, then the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich, and the testing of an artillery piece-a rather heavy-caliber and loud piece-set them to howling with delight. Putting Lewrie's teeth on edge, it should be noted. He really did need a nap about as bad as any man born by then, but the excitement of the day kept him alert, to point out Gallons Reach and Barking Reach in the Thames to their left-hand side. Halfway Reach and Purfleet, the Long Reach-"Why do they call 'em reaches, Daddy?"-"What ship is that, Daddy?"-"Why do they call it Fiddler's Road, when it's not a road at all?"-"Is that your new ship then?"-"Uhm, Mummy, I have to…!"
Greenhithe and Swanscombe went by, Gravesend loomed up, little Charlotte thinking they'd come back to London by some conjurement and disgusted with the idea of a Grave's End-"What a horrid name!"
Forty miles of it, with a stop for a midday meal at a coaching tavern- and many, many more "necessary" stops, it goes without saying. The hired cart had no trouble keeping up with the bowling coach, for it very seldom had the chance to bowl along, not more than a quarter of an hour, at the most, before there was another call to halt.
Just as the scent of the Medway came to his nostrils, signifying nearly an end to their journey, Lewrie was most heartily sick of the lot of them and wondered why he'd ever suggested they all come along, this far along-
Could o' left 'em in London. He sighed taut-lipped; could've had a good nap by now. Deed done. Sophie rescued-head turned and sure t'be entranced by other young men by now. Caroline just'z pleased with things had we parted after breakfast. Though we didn 't get a goodbye tumble, for all the sky-larkin'… Fatherhood, Christ! What man of a right mind'd abide it, did he know goin 'in…!
"Are we there yet?" Hugh bellowed, leaning far out the coach windows for a first sight of the river 'round a bend in the rpad of the close-by conurbation of Rochester and Chatham just across the way and the steamy, smoky, coal-grate fug of civilisation.
"Aye, by God… we are!" Lewrie roared back. Half in exasperation, having about all he could stand of "family closeness"; half in joy that, by the sight of spires in town and the soaring erectness of mast tips at the dockyard just downriver, they were, finally, there!
"Dear, must you be so short with him?" Caroline chid, clucking her tongue like she was calling pullets to the food-pail. "He was but enquiring."
"Does he not just, my dear," Lewrie rejoined, feeling a bile rise as he was forced to swallow what he really had wished to say. Scream, rather! He threw in a sickly smile to show his good intentions.
"Uhm, I must own…" Caroline whispered, allowing a tiny smile to play at the corners of her lips in spite of her statement.
"Quite." Lewrie nodded, just as Hugh came lumbering back from the coach window to tumble into his lap, step on his right foot, and reach across to draw Sewallis's notice to the sight he had out of his window. "Ow, God…!"
"Mummy, look!" Charlotte piped, ashiver with bliss. " London!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Commissioner Proby, in charge of Chatham Dockyards and uncrowned king of the Medway all the way downriver to Sheerness, allowed him in for a preparatory meeting. He was, for a very busy man, all affability and hospitality. "Always happy to greet an officer come to take charge of one of our ships, Captain Lewrie." He beamed quite cordially.
"Proteus was refitted here, sir?" Lewrie asked, over a very good cup of coffee. "Or, built here originally, d'ye mean?"
"Just completed," Proby told him, pleased to enlighten him.
"My pardons, Commissioner Proby, I thought no more 5th Rate, 32-gun frigates were to be built… especially the 12-pounder 32s. Most of the Fleet prefer the 18-pounder 36s now. So she's new? Brand-new? Oh, my word!" Lewrie beamed back, most beatifically, soon as he saw how fortunate he was.
"One of the very last to be ordered, and one of the last of her sort constructed." Proby chuckled. "A variation on the Thames class, with but some minor alterations to her forefoot and entry… borrowed from the French. The Nicholson shipyards built her on speculation for a new class of light frigate, later purchased as a one-off under private contract with the Navy Board, sir. Just 'cross the river they are, at Frindsbury."
"A private yard then…" Lewrie sobered.
"Nought to fear, sir," Proby boomed in good humour. "They are completely competent. Nothing done 'at the back o' the beach,' like most new-come builders these days. They built 'Billy Ruff n', one of the finest 3rd Rate 74s in the Fleet."
"The Bellerophon, indeed!" Lewrie brightened.
"Well-constructed… if I do say so myself, sir," Proby went on, pouring them a top-up of coffee. "Saw to that. Nothing but good Hamburg or Baltic oak for scantlings, inner plankings, or riders. And Hamburg oak for second and third futtocks-English oak for her keel, first futtocks, decks, knees, and deadwood. 'Tis gettin' devilish-hard to find enough English oak for complete construction, what with the demand for warships in such numbers. No, just launched one month ago and straight into the drydock for coppering and her masts. She's afloat now. And I expect you're afire to see her, hey?" He winked.
"Most thoroughly aflame, sir," Lewrie agreed.
Over the last of their coffee, Proby filled him in on her specifications: that Proteus was 105 feet on her keel, and 125 feet on the range of her gun-deck, about 150 feet overall from taffrail to the tip of her jib-boom. She was three inches shy of 35 feet in beam, at her widest midship span, and would draw three inches shy of 15 feet when fully armed, stored, and laden-or so Mr. Nicholson predicted. She would weigh around 740 tons, when on her proper waterline, and carry twenty-six 12-pounder carriage-guns of the new Blomefield pattern on her gun-deck, thirteen to either beam broadside. She was allotted six 6-pounders for her forecastle and quarterdeck as chase guns, and six 24-pounder carronades for close action.
"Part of her crew is already aboard, all her officers," Proby remarked, as they gathered hats and cloaks to go down to his coach for the short ride to the waterfront. "Short of crew, naturally, but…"
"And her masts are already stepped, Mr. Proby?" Lewrie asked, creasing his brow in thought. "I thought that was a captain's prerogative… to set her rigging up to his own tastes."