"Perhaps she did, Captain Lewrie," Proby snipped, sounding as if he was put off by Lewrie's cynical comment. "Perhaps she did, at that. And the very oddest thing was, sir, the poor Captain Churchwell and the Reverend Talmidge both, sir… were Anglo-Irish. Son of an Irish peer, Churchwell was, from near Drogheda. And Talmidge the younger son of another, gone into the ministry. Both families were land-owning in the large way," Proby drawled. "The most extensive estates, equal to whole counties, with hundreds, if not thousands, of poor Irish tenants. Absentee landowners, most of the time, with them living well-off in Dublin or London most of the year. Anglo… Irish, sir! Protestant folk. Now were a ship to find her soul and resent her name, it just might be that, does she prefer something Gaelic or Celtic-like some of this fellow Ossian's romancings-she might have resented a Protestant English churchman and a taut-handed Tartar of a captain? Hmmm?"
"Murder, perhaps, sir," Lewrie said, after he'd gotten his jaw re-hinged. "But by someone in the crew. One of those United Irish I'm certain you've heard about. A sea-lawyer Quota Man who'd gotten what he thought was an unfair portion of the 'cat'? Half o' that lot are better off in prison or swingin' from a gibbet at Tyburn. One or more of their poorest tenants come into the Fleet to find him over them and couldn't resist takin' revenge for bein' turfed off their little plots?"
"All those possibilities were considered, Captain Lewrie, but so far, there is no plausible explanation. Oh, but she's a wondrous ship, sir. As lovely as a swan, do you not think? But who ever knows how a ship will turn out? Even more unpredictable than children, sir. And heartbreaking to see them turn off evil, to see them fail to be the sort you'd wished them to be. Ships, sir." Mr. Proby sighed, a bit wistfully philosophical. "I do believe, Captain Lewrie, that ships live, after a fashion. Call it heretical, or pagan… or simple-minded superstition, but being 'round 'em so many years, I've come to believe it. Mariners suspect it, merchant or Navy. As I'm certain you do."
"They're more than oak and iron, Mister Proby, aye," Lewrie was forced to confess. "My last ship, well… there was a spirit to her too. A kindly one. Gad, you make my skin crawl, sir."
"I did not intend to daunt you, sir," Proby insisted, as the barge coasted towards the main-chains, those suspect boarding battens and man-ropes. "There could be a most prosaic explanation for all of the oddities surrounding her…"
Aye, and it could be Lir's work, Lewrie silently scoffed; elves and leprechauns skitterin' about with drawn daggers too! Eeriness, just waitn' for the next… her next victim/ Has he turned on me?
"… either way, sir. This ship has, I must avow, discovered her spirit early. She may be mettlesome, but never dull. And does she have a will of her own, well… it's the most-willful stallions make the best chargers. You'd not take a mare to sea, sir… a dim gelding! No, you'd prefer a fighter!"
Is he tryin' t'sell me a haunted house? Lewrie felt like sneering. Oh, don't mind the old spook by the fire; he's no bother! Ghastly hole in the roof, but I'm sure you 're the sort appreciates fresh air!
"And I'm certain you will have the most splendid fortune with her, Captain Lewrie," Proby concluded, as the barge's bow thumped on her timbers, and the bow-man lanced out with his boat-hook to grab at the chain platform. "And here we are!"
She plan t'murder me too? Lewrie wondered, as he swung his sword to the back of his left leg, stood up, and flung back his cloak to show off his epaulet. / ain 't an Anglo-Irish landowner, so she can forget that score! Callin' me well-churched'd be a real amusement, so that's out. Is she upset with bein' an English frigate, well too damn' bad! Maybe we 'II get on together…?
He eyed the battens: dry as anything, fresh-tarred, sprinkled with grit. The man-ropes rove through the eyes of the battens were as white as snow, served with red spun-yarn, just waiting…
Hell, maybe I'm just as much a pagan as any she could wish! he told himself as he stepped on the barge's gunn'l to step over; I mean, God knows, most people who know me well already think so!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Such a sea of faces, he thought, even with her just partly manned. Seamen, lubbers, idlers, and waisters, petty officers and their mates on the gun-deck below him, a double file of Marines lined up to either hand just aft of them. A scurrilous lot, the most of 'em though, he took time to note: ill-clad, pasty-faced, and filthy, in the "long-clothing" they'd worn in gaols or debtors' prisons, what the seamen among them had used for disguises so they wouldn't be chased by the Impress gangs.
'… by virtue of the Power and Authority to us given, we do hereby constitute and appoint you Captain of His Majesty's Ship' "-he read off, speaking in an authoritative semi-bellow; he paused for one anxious second- " 'Proteus,' " he declared.
And took a breath before continuing, waiting to see if top-masts might come crashing down on him for insulting her. He'd made his way up her side without harm, been saluted on the gangway from the instant his hat's vane loomed over the lip of the entry-port. So far, so good!
" '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…' "
An odd lot, those officers he'd just barely met too; not quite the most promising at first appearance. But then, who ever was, Lewrie sarcastically wondered?
Then here came the phrase he hated the most. Army commissions were almost like love-letters, replete with "Greetings," and spoke of the recipients as "trusty and beloved," in whom the Sovereign reposed "especial Trust and Confidence in your Loyalty, Courage, and Good Conduct." The Fleet, however…
'… superior Officers for His Majesty's Service. Hereof nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer the contrary at your peril. And for so doing this shall be your Warrant. Given under our hands and the Seal of the Office of Admiralty this ninth day of May, 1797 in the thirty-seventh year of His Majesty's Reign.' "
Lewrie carefully slipped his precious commission document into a folio of other papers and handed it to his Cox'n, Andrews, then turned to peer once more into that sea of strange new faces, that ear-cocked, shuffling pack.
"Not many get this chance," he carefully began, weighing words' meanings. "A spanking-new ship to serve in, not a month from the slipways, a ship still in search of her heart, her soul, as young and callow as a spring hatchling."
And we 'II just hope she's not found a spiteful heart, he wished to himself, feeling the urge to cross his fingers behind his back, for luck. He noted the grave nods from the older hands, the long-serving petty officers who knew the nature of ships; from those horny-handed men already clad in slop clothing whom he wished he could mistake for experienced Ordinary or Able Seamen upon whom he could rely.
"A spanking-new captain, too," he allowed himself to say, with no shame in confessing, "from command of one of the sweetest sloops of war ever you did see. You older men… you know better than any what makes a new ship come alive. From your old ships, where you came of age and rate… gladsome ships, for the most part, I trust. Do you miss them, well… you just bring our Proteus that spirit, and we'll get on well. Did you come from ships you're glad to see the back of, did you fetch along bad habits and bad feelings, well… overside with 'em, For I will tell you all that I'm firm… but I do trust that I'm fair, as well. Did some turnover as bad bargains… then Proteus is your place to start over with a clean slate. Do you serve her… and me… chearly, then all that's gone before is so much jetsam. Is that a fair bargain, lads?"