"Bosun, pipe 'All Hands'!" Bales shouted. "Don't stand there with yer mouth agape, Mister Pendarves. Don't look to Captain Lewrie when I give you an order, damn yer eyes, he's not in charge here. I'm in temporary command. Pipe 'All Hands,' then 'Hands to Stations For Getting Underway!' "
Sounds like an officer, Alan thought; where'd he learn that?
Pendarves was looking up from the waist to the quarterdeck, in a quandary as to what to do. Sitting and waiting for the mutiny to be settled was one thing; getting up the anchors and making sail sounded like a dangerous escalation of this crisis!
" 'Vast, there, Mister Pendarves!" Lewrie barked. "Bales! You will not endanger my ship by getting sail on her. That's beyond your brief. By God, sir… explain yourself and be quick about it!"
"Aye, I'll explain myself, sir," Bales shot back, stung to the quick for a rare once; his smirky, superior demeanour pierced. "The ship is ordered to shift her anchorage into the Great Nore."
"Not by any authority I recognize, Bales," Lewrie hooted. "She stays where she is."
"Damn you, Pendarves… pipe 'All Hands On Deck!' " Bales roared, as he and his minions stalked from the gangway to the quarterdeck.
"That's Mister Pendarves, Seaman Bales," Lewrie corrected, with a great deal of glee for an opportunity to gall the man. "I do believe your Fleet Delegates ordered you to show respect to superiors. Surely, you're capable of following a simple directive…?"
"Mister Pendarves, pipe 'All Hands,' " Bales was forced to amend, reddening with anger, "and my pardons to you."
"Sir?" Pendarves said, looking to Lewrie still.
"Proceed, Mister Pendarves," Lewrie allowed lightly.
The more witnesses, the merrier, he silently smirked; t 'see this shitten louse get taken down a peg'r two. I've got to him at last, in public! Stung him so deep, he might make another error?
The Bosun dutifully sounded the call, and the hands below, with their hung-over "wives," came shambling up into the fresh air, looking as if sunlight and a fresh breeze didn't much agree with them.
"Lads, the Fleet Delegates've sent us a message!" Bales cried.
And Lewrie was pleased to note how much they lacked enthusiasm for that news this early in the morning! Too many special messages, he hoped, too many excuses for ranting speeches, stirring orations, or declarations already?
"Ahem…'… to temporary "Captain" Bales, in command of HMS Proteus.. . you are required and directed to shift your anchorage from Garrison Point to a position among the Nore Fleet, exercising all due care and caution in the selection of your anchorage •••,'" Bales read aloud.
"Dangerous ground, Bales," Lewrie loudly sneered, "your Fleet Delegates parroting real orders… they've no power to 'require or direct.' Nor do you. Pretending to be Admiralty or government will cost 'em dear… cost you dear, and any man who pretends to obey such…!"
"We'll take that risk!" Bales snarled back at him, just as loudly. "Fleet Delegates wish us to shift to the Great Nore; then that is where we go… sir! Beyond the reach of the fortress guns and such!"
"Out where men who disagree with you and your floating 'Parliament' can't desert, you mean!" Lewrie shot back.
"Go below, Captain." Bales flushed once more, striving to keep his temper. "You've no say in this, no vote."
"You'd shift this ship without putting it to a vote!" Lewrie retorted with a tongue-in-cheek twinkle. "What say you, lads? Do you want to be that far from shore, on his mere say-so?… Fire on civilians ashore later? Sail to bloody France later, just 'cause he… !"
"Enough, damn you!" Bales screeched, prodded into fury at last and instantly regretting it, for the low murmur of shock that arose on deck from the waiting hands. "Mister Handcocks," Bales said, calming, "men to the quarterdeck to see the Captain below! And see he remains there 'til I give him leave!"
"Here now, Bales," Pendarves called up from the waist, "ya lay hands on a Commission Officer, and everyone's doomed t'hang alongside ya. Ya swore this'd be peaceful, respectful…"
"And it is, Mister Pendarves!" Bales countered. "But for this… but for the Captain's objections. It's my responsibility. I take it on myself. We're peaceable, so far. I ask you, though… who among us is the one trying to stir us up, turn us 'gainst each other, except for the Captain? Any dispute amongst us 'tis his doing! Now, Brother Seamen! We'll go to stations… get the anchors up, make sail!"
Handcocks had summoned half-a-dozen hands, the hardest, meanest, and most dedicated to the Cause. Lewrie contemplated further resistance, of taking a cuff or two, perhaps a full beating from them, to spur his crew to mutiny against the mutineers, if that's what it took!
"You'll need the officers," Lewrie suggested slyly, yielding not a single inch, "if you're determined to move this ship."
"Nossir, we do not!" Bales snapped. "We've senior mates aboard, experienced sailors. I've served as Quartermaster and Master's Mate before. I think we're perfectly capable of sailing two miles and taking a new anchorage… without the help of you or your officers! Now, pipe 'Hands to Stations,' Mister Pendarves! Jump to it, lads! Sir… Captain Lewrie, sir, I'll thank you to leave the quarterdeck. Else whatever befalls you will be your own fault," he added, much softer.
"And none o' yours, of course, Seaman Bales!" Lewrie sneered, secretly gloating that he'd finessed this nigh to the crucial confrontation that would break the back of the crew's apathy, put steel into the spines of those wavering… "Well, if you and the rest of your mutineers are so damn' capable, why don't you put us ashore before you guarantee the noose around your bloody neck!" he hissed with pleasure.
Bales did the very worst thing then, to Lewrie's lights. That subtle bastard regained his composure, stepped so close that Lewrie could smell the reek of his unwashed shirt, and smiled quite malevolently.
"So that's what you wish, is it, Captain?" he whispered. "Well, you'll not get it. Oh no, not you, most of all. I've plans for you, I have! No matter how the mutiny falls out. Now, would you be so good as to get your arse off my quarterdeck? Out of the way of sailors who know what they're about? Mister Handcocks, see 'im below. Be gentle with 'im, but not too gentle, hey?"
Of all the low lifes they could have clasped hands with, there was Haslip with Handcocks's party of enforcers, with his hand upon the hilt of his (so-far) sheathed clasp knife, with an expression of pure hatred and revenge on his phyz for his ravaged back.
Taking a cuff or two, getting his eyes blacked, or spouting claret from a smashed nose, well… that was one thing. Getting his gizzards spilled by a mutineer's knife was quite another! For one, there'd be no opportunity to savour his testimony, or the joy of watching these people go for the high jump from the gallows! For the first time, he felt a frisson of pure fear! This mutiny could end a lot bloodier than anyone intended or expected. His blood, in point of fact!
"Will ya go below, Cap'um, sir?" Mr. Handcocks asked, seeming about as shaken as Lewrie was that he was offering a threat of violence to an officer. " 'Fore, uhm…" he gulped, shifty-eyed.
"For now, Mister Handcocks," Lewrie allowed after glaring hot (and taking several temporising, restoring deep breaths). "For you, sir. You've done nothing worthy of hanging for… yet," Lewrie lied.
"Aye, sir. Thankee, sir," Handcocks muttered, sounding almost grateful. "We should go, sir," he prompted, as Pendarves and Towpenny reluctantly piped the call which Bales had bade them, amidst the scamper and thunder of feet heading for the capstan, the messenger cables, the nippers, and the shrouds which led aloft to the yards.