"I thought it best, did we put our heads together… informally," he began to explain. "Summoning you to my cabins might have raised the suspicions of our so-called… committee. Might have made them refuse to allow it, and…"
"Damn 'em all, root and branch," Midshipman Peacham growled at that, with his glass halfway to his lips. "Ungrateful pigs!"
The committee had elected a dozen hands to run the ship, chosen the Master Gunner, Mr. Handcocks, and his mate, Morley, to represent her aboard the flagship of the mutiny, and had "requested" that watch-standing officers and midshipmen go below, off-duty, and remain out of sight unless there was an evolution to perform.
And had chosen that blackguard, Able Seaman Bales, to be their temporary "captain" in charge of Proteus until the seamen's grievances had been answered, and the mutiny was declared over! And Bales chose a day of "Rope Yarn Sunday" and celebration in place of those chores of lading ship he'd been so insistent upon two hours before.
Leaving the officers with nothing to do and no reason to stay on deck in the presence of their mutinous inferiors.
"Listen to 'em," Ludlow spat, reaching for the half-full bottle. "Cater-waulin' an' caperin'…"
Proteus thrummed to the stamp of feet as their mutineers danced their joy, clapped and sang rowdy songs to the music of the fiddle and the fife, and the songs echoed faintly as far as the gunroom, through those insubstantial screens.
"Quite clever of 'em," Lewrie snapped. "Take a day of rest to cajole the unconvinced. Like we do at a recruiting 'rondy,' to beguile 'em to join in the first place."
"Have 'em all in their pockets 'fore dark," Ludlow gloomed.
"I don't think so, Mister Ludlow," Lewrie disagreed. "That is the reason I'm here, so we may decide what to do tomorrow, when they begin to face reality. Hopefully, they are enough in league with Spithead to remain in a form of discipline, and…" '
"Discipline! Bah!" Ludlow griped most sourly.
"I've seen it, sir. You have not," Lewrie snapped at his First Officer. Badly as he needed the support of all of his officers, Lewrie would most gladly have pitched Ludlow overboard. Being at-table, with a drink in his hand, in his own sanctum sanctorum, was making his First Lieutenant even less guarded with his opinions, he suspected.
"I beg your pardon, sir." Ludlow stiffened, eyeing him owlish and half-seas-over with brandy. "Do proceed, sir."
"We've a new crew," Lewrie ploughed on, trying to ignore that latest jape. "They haven't formed cliques yet. You saw how it was on deck. A middlin' pack of determined men, reinforced by the hands who came aboard from Sandwich. Christ Almighty, we only got our last thirty or so yesterday… and I doubt that Bales is the only one linked to the plot. Any of the others strike you as sea-lawyers? Dressed well… kept their kit, t'make themselves look more desirable as volunteers?"
"Some of the Irish, sir?" Midshipman Elwes suggested in a wary piping, surrounded by other nodding, sage heads too shy to speak up.
"United Irishmen, aye, Mister Elwes," Lewrie was quick to agree with the lad and reward him with a smile. "Sworn to drive us out of their island… waitin' for the bloody Frogs to land and arm them. We have to be wary of that lot. Not all of our Irishmen, I'd suspect. A half-dozen, at best. And the rest following along so far." \
"Uhm…" Lt. Wyman said, raising his hand like a schoolboy. "Would there not be more than a few hands still loyal, sir? But out-numbered and cowed? "
"Exactly, Mister Wyman!" Lewrie congratulated him. "Now, we've not been thrown together with our crew that long either, but I do trust you have already discovered the characters of most in that short time. We have to make up lists. Scribble down those in your watches or divisions you suspect… a second list of those you think might be caught in the middle-those who haven't thrown their lot in with the leaders and could still be swayed. Those we might be able to work on."
"Do they ever give us the chance though, Captain," Lieutenant Ludlow all but sneered. "At their pleasure, dammit all."
"This Bales fellow…" Lewrie said, pacing down the length of the table towards Ludlow 's end. Thinking again about sinewy fingers tightening about some rancourous bastard's throat-most specifically this cavilling bastard's windpipe, and squeeiing…! Glaring Ludlow to a drink-sodden, blessedly cowed silence for a moment.
"He was the one suggested we have to be laden with rations and powder and shot," Lewrie smirked, "for whatever ends he had in mind. And this ship can't proceed to sea 'thout we have the opportunity to train the hands further. Innocent evolutions and drills. Which give us the chance to make out lists… three lists, gentlemen.
"One, of the true ringleaders we most suspect, and those people in league with 'em." He ticked off on his fingers. "Second, a list of those still loyal. The third… the sheep in the middle. A day or two of watchin' close, takin' note of them like you were thinkin' of rating them for a promotion will suffice. Take strolls on deck, for the air if nothing else. Then put your heads together. And we'll convene meetings like this to go over the lists. An invitation to some of you to dine in with me might seem a plausible excuse. Some music?" He grinned slyly. And saw his officers and midshipmen gather a bit of hope in the midst of what seemed a hopeless situation.
"And when we do organise working parties to lade stores, sir," Lt. Langlie snickered, "we'll have even more opportunity to sift them out… separate the sheep from the goats, as it were!"
"Once again, exactly, Mister Langlie!" Lewrie chuckled. "Chat them up. Put on a pleased expression, no matter your personal thoughts. Firm, but fair. Agreeable and affable, as if you hold no grudges over their betrayal."
"Seem to agree with 'em, sir?" Peacham gasped.
"Absolutely not, sir!" Lewrie snarled. "You are to do nothing to encourage or abet the mutiny. No winking at it. No, the best pose to strike, I should think, would be… tolerance and patience. As a father might towards wayward children. Tolerate no dis-respect, any threats. God, report 'em to this Bales character! Stand on your dignity and your rights! Because once this is over, they'll be under your discipline again, and they don't wish to do anything which may be… remembered, hmm? We're somewhat assured that they're going to show respect to officers and petty officers, or discipline those who break that rule themselves."
"Report them to Bales, sir?" Midshipman Nicholas gawped, eyes wide with astonishment and looking more than a little lost. Or, as Lewrie suspected, more than a little befuddled by the gunroom's booze.
"He's declared himself temporary 'captain,' Mister Nicholas," Lewrie sighed. "Whyever not? He's taken the responsibility for any infractions by the crew upon himself for the nonce. Like Spithead, I expect our mutineers will declare that they're loyal and True Blue Hearts of Oak… just waitin' for their demands to be met. Those at Spithead said they'd maintain sobriety and good order among themselves. The yard ropes weren't a threat to officers there, sirs. They hoisted 'em to keep their own kind in line, my old crew told me."
"I'd suspect, though, sir…" Langlie said most shrewdly, "we will be tested sore 'fore this is done. Deliberate taunts and japes. 'Twill demand a power of patience from us all, do you not believe?"
"Amen, Mister Langlie." Lewrie nodded. "From all of us, sirs," he said, trying to lock eyes with all of them in turn. Lt. Ludlow… most especially. But Ludlow was busy picking at lint on his cuffs. "Anger, I'm afraid, is forbidden us. Public threats, taunts, and gibes are denied us as well. We can't curse them back to obedience."