"Well, then…" he reiterated. "You know what they say 'bout changing ships. The best men you serve with once, honour them as examples the rest of yer life, and never see again. The dross show up like creditors… one commission after the other. I'd be proud to be with you, every last man-jack o' you! I'm as proud o' you as a captain can be! So you take pride, wherever you light! In what you did together… proud of her, our ship. Proud that for a wondrous three years, you were Jesters! Goodbye, you rogues. G… goodbye, Jesters. Now give us three cheers for the best ship in the Fleet! And the best crew in the Fleet! A ship and crew any captain'd be glad to command!" He added, for the benefit of that impatient spectre waiting overside, "Hip, hip…!"
A quick bustle, a final shake of hands, a last formal "leg" to the senior officers who had had enough human decency to not peer at their watch-faces to spur him to hurry (and who were most-like familiar with the pain he was experiencing in losing a ship), and he was at the gangway entry-port, while cheers still resounded from the crew.
He doffed his hat in salute, shared a nod with Marine Sergeant Bootheby and his elegantly turned out side-party, then turned to go… down those fresh-sanded and tarred boarding battens, gripping virgin-white new man-ropes strung through the battens' outer ends, so brightly served with ornate Turk's-Head knots and bound with colourful red spun-yarn trim. Then into the waiting barge and step aft to take a seat on a thwart near the tillerman, among all his chests, kegs, crated cabin furnishings, and canvas-bound goodies.
A matching barge stood nearby, idling "off-and-on" under oars in slack water, also piled high with possessions; a barge in which stood a young man in a Commander's uniform, his boat-cloak thrown back to show his epaulet. Glowering at Lewrie for taking so long, making him wait to claim his new ship; a grim "thanks for nothing, you bastard," grimace on his phyz for making his leave-taking too personal, poisoning his arrival in the afterglow of that intensely emotional farewell. A purse-mouthed, mean-lookin' "git," Lewrie thought, resenting the hell out of him for replacing him. For "stealing" Jester from him!
Were you smart, you d have waited 'til this evening after I was long gone, Lewrie glowered back just as stonily, as his Coxswain, Andrews, and his servant, Aspinall, clambered into the barge.
"Shove off then," Lewrie pronounced. And the new captain was stroking forward to take his barge's place below the entry-port in an eyeblink. As he drew close though, as they passed, Lewrie thought he saw the new man begin to beam in appreciation, his face turned upwards, bearing that ineffable look of a man gone "arse over tit" in love… that wide-eyed crinkle of joy that all sailors bestow upon only those loveliest of vessels. The new man, most likely less-senior, had the presence of mind to doff Lewrie a cautious salute with his hat before clawing eagerly at the man-ropes.
Eager to claim the hands, Lewrie smirked to himself; lay hold of 'em before the vultures from the dockyard did! With the new captain in his barge were a half-dozen seamen, just as eager to board her and continue their favouritism and seniority under their patron.
"Portsmouth Point, sir?" the tillerman enquired.
"Aye, Portsmouth Point," Lewrie glumly agreed, facing the town, unable to bear the tweetle of bosun's calls welcoming her new captain.
"Ain't gonna like dot new cap'um, sah," Andrews commented. " 'E didn't give 'em time t'give ya yer presents proper-like."
"What presents?" Lewrie gloomed as the barge turned, the older waterman by her mast beginning to hoist her single lugsail.
"Dere's a letter, sah," Andrews told him, untying a canvas packet and handing it over. "Model o' de ship… and d'is, sah."
Lewrie read the letter quickly, coughing to cover his chagrin. Every man-jack had signed it or X'd his mark (except for Mr. Howse and LeGoff, of course), thanking him for being a tolerant, firm-but-fair captain; vowing, should they have the chance, they'd be glad to ship with him again; wishing that he didn't have to leave Jester…
Lewrie squinted over that, feeling his eyes mist up as the barge sailed out oi Jester s shadow into bright sunlight. "Ah, hummm!" was all he could manage to say, clearing a prodigious lump in his throat.
"Ain' often po' sailormen git a good cap'um, sah," Andrews told him, showing him the ship model. It was about two feet long, as fine a rendering as any Admiralty model run up to present to the King himself, with Jester's every detail precisely and meticulously reproduced, every line, brace, clew, slab, or buntline strung spider-thin aloft. Months, it'd taken, he thought. . 1 started before Lisbon and his glad news?
"Dey's 'is too, sah," Andrews offered.
A coin-silver tankard, pint-sized, engraved with a scroll of seashells and chain round its base and upper lip, with a profile sail-plan of a sloop of war in all her bounding glory, and a scroll-board claiming her to be HMS Jester engraved below her. There was a suggestion of the waves, a boisterously erose dash at her waterline, inverted Vees about one side… and a pair of leaping dolphins, the enigmatic heads of two smiling seals, and a forearm stretched forth from the deeps ahead of her bows, wielding a sword as if pointing her way onward. Seals and a sea-god-a cryptic meaning known only to one who'd been there, 'board that ship, in that crew, and only during that commission.
"My, God, it's beautiful, it's…" Lewrie mumbled in appreciation. "T'other side, sir." Aspinall winked. "Read t'other side." He turned the tankard, so the handle was to the drinker's right, discovering a dedication which would ever face the drinker:
Presented To Commander Alan Lewrie, R.N.
From a Grateful Appreciative Ship's Crew
"Model got done aboard, sir," Aspinall revealed eagerly. "Cup, well…'member Bosun Cony's runs ashore once we anchored? Took up a donation from ev'ry hand, he did."
"And I spoiled the moment for 'em," Lewrie groaned. "Too hot t'flee 'fore I…"
He'd vowed he'd not look back, but he did, even while the other new man was reading himself in, shouting his orders so everyone would hear and understand, from taffrail to jib-boom tip.
"… directly charging and commanding the officers and company belonging to the said sloop of war subordinate to you to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective employments with all due respect and obedience unto you, their said captain…!"
The crew's attention was bound inboard, yet he stood, his head bare, raised the letter high in one hand, the silver tankard high in the other. A few men upon the starboard gangway spotted him, nudged each other, and attracted the surreptitious attention of more. They waved hats and hands below the bulwark, smiling fit to bust, so the new captain would not spot them.
And when the new man finished reading himself in, there came a thunderous-undeserved-cheer.
Ruined it for him, Lewrie thought, a silly ass's smile plastered on his phyz, but with tears coursing down his cheeks at last; well, what of it? Just bugger him! And he 'd better treat 'em right!
CHAPTER TWO
There came a second hard leave-taking for a sailor; standing atop Ports-down Hill as the overloaded diligence coach toiled up to the crest and the passengers, as usual, got down to walk the muddy track to ease the horse teams… to gaze back and down at the wide sweep of Spithead and the Solent, past the Isle of Wight, outwards to the flood of the Channel as the tide turned. The harbours, so full of warships, a forest of masts… and savouring his last noseful of kelp, fish, and salt breezes… as if saying farewell forever to a dying lover!