"And what they made off with, God only knows… or cares, with all this on our plate," Lewrie chortled. "And the rifles were part of the cargo?"
"Ordered specifically, sir. L'Ouverture's people are mad for 'em. Yours, sir… do you look close, you'll find it engraved with Toussaint L'Ouverture's name, sir. It was to be a present to one of his generals, a man named Dessalines."
"God almighty!"
"We also found three men aboard whose certificates are 'colourable,' sir," Langlie told him. "As English as Bow Bells, and with so obvious a set of frauds, they were pathetic. Should we press 'em, sir?"
"But of course," Lewrie said with a sly grin. "I'll not turn up my nose at volunteers… willing, or no. Muster 'em on the gun-deck, and I'll have a word with 'em. We're making sternway onto the shores of Saint Thomas, and need to haul off. The wind's veered half a point North'rd, and we're on a lee shore. Might have to sail all the way to the western end of the island, then beat back to pick up Catterall and our boarding party…"
"Excuse me, sir," Mr. Winwood suggested, coming to his side and looking to Lieutenant Devereux expectantly. "With the wind veered so, it would be possible to stand back down this Leeward Passage, here, with the wind almost abeam, and be off Ram Head in less than two hours. I, uhm… I must say, Mister Devereux, those are dashed handsome rifles."
"You are welcome to take your pick from the lot, Mister Winwood. As a private, personal hunting weapon," Devereux assured him.
"And a handsome gesture, too!" Winwood actually enthused, come over all a'mort with greedy pleasure.
"Our prize is secure and in good order, Mister Langlie?" Lewrie asked him. "No troubles from her crew or mates?"
"Secure, sir, and ready to proceed. The crew disarmed and our Bosun, Mister Pendarves, and trusted hands to back him up in guarding them," Langlie confidently stated. "Very little real damage done."
"Very well, gentlemen. Let's get under way back down the Leeward Passage. We know it, now, and I know when I've stretched my luck in unfamiliar waters for the day. Better the Devil you know, hey? And not an inch to loo'rd this time. Hmmm… stern kedge anchors readied for dropping, just in case this pass holds a last surprise… right?"
Lewrie reluctantly surrendered possession of his new rifle into Andrews's care, then went down the starboard ladder to the waist where three seamen stood hang-dog, awaiting their fate. Lewrie put his hands in the small of his back and faced them. One, the youngest, hopefully a teenaged topman, stared back fearfully, eyes blared and swallowing in shuddery gulps. One stouter, older fellow dared glare back at him in a sneer. The third, a lanky-lean man in his middle thirties, couldn't meet his eyes, but darted his glance about or found the grain of wood deck planks intriguing, his flat, tarred hat pulled low over his brow.
"Well, lads, you're caught, fair and square," Lewrie told them. "False certificates so badly done, if you paid more'n a shilling each for 'em, you got swindled. What names you use? Your own, or aliases?"
The young one, at least, perked up to that statement, glancing at the sneering man in alarm for a second.
"Don't signify," Lewrie went on, naming himself and his frigate. "You're runnin' from debtor's prison, termagant wives, or whatever, I don't care. We've had fevers, and we're short-handed. You're British, no matter how you protest it. You all wish to be 'John Bull' or 'Billy Pitt,' so be it, 'cause I've more need of you than the authorities back home. 'Tis becoming a tradition aboard, for people to take new names when they sign on. The pay's less than merchant service, but the rations are fair measure and decent quality. We don't flog unless you're a total bastard, and as you've seen this morning, we're lucky with prize money. A man… a boy, could do worse. How much is that Yankee captain owing you?"
"N-nigh on twelve pounds, sir," the youngest said in a shy voice. Merchant captains were infamous for "crimping" off their crews near the end of a voyage; when met by a Royal Navy vessel In Soundings of home waters, they'd gladly give up all but the merest few required to work into port, and pocket their pay-sometimes with connivance with officers of Impress Service tenders.
"I'll screw it out of him, and it's yours, lad," Lewrie vowed, "and pay a willing volunteer the Joining Bounty… no matter which name he puts down in ship's books. Oh, it'll go to pay for what kit you don't have, but we'll fetch your sea-chests aboard so you'll have most of what you need already, and save a bit with our Purser, Mister Coote. He's a fair man, can you believe that of a 'Nip Cheese.' So, what's it to be? Volunteer and make the best of it, or be pressed, and begrudge me to the end of your days?"
"Willy Toffett, sir, and I'll volunteer, then," the teen said with a relieved smile. "Main topman, I was."
"And you, sir?" Lewrie asked the second, who still glared, but with a resigned and bitter air of helplessness.
"Press me and bedamned," he gravelled, halfway surrendering to Fate, but determined to go game. "And put me down as Toby Jugg. With two 'Gees,' " he almost snarled, but with a sardonic smile to excuse it-
"Your choice, then," Lewrie allowed. "Rating?"
" 'Twas an Able Seaman, aboard Sycamore."
"Then Able you'll be rated, here, with the extra pay that goes with it," Lewrie promised, though that did nothing to mollify the man.
"Had a woman and girlchild on Barbados," Toby Jugg groaned. "Never see 'em again, now. Poor as church-mice and…"
"Your Joining Bounty could be sent on to them," Lewrie hinted.
With tears beginning to well in his eyes at the thought of not seeing his woman and daughter for years, his face clouded and taut, he nodded his assent, still unable or unwilling to accept his lot. A man who might have been pressed before, Lewrie suspected, unwilling to give his right name for fear of punishment for desertion.
"And you, sir?" Lewrie asked the third, who still could not meet his eyes except in brief, darting glances.
"Ships is ships, I reckon," the man said with a defeated sound. "Aye, I'll sign on, volunteer. Me name's George Gamble, and I was an Ordinary Seaman…" he muttered in a Midlands "Mumbletonian" accent.
"Landsman, ya were," Toby Jugg snorted in derision, "and cack-handed, at that, ya lubber!"
Gamble raised his head and hat brim high enough to glare daggers at his "shipmate" for a second. "Damn' captain cheated me, he did! I'm rated Ordinary, and well ya know it. Just 'coz he already had all the seamen he needed, and too cheap t'pay me due ratin', was the reason."
"Coulda signed aboard another ship," Jugg quibbled as if Lewrie wasn't there.
"Oh aye, an' me broke as a convict, and all me pitiful advance gone t'pay off me crimpin' landlord for his rat-hole lodgin's-"
"Some other time," Lewrie interrupted "We'll try you as an Ordinary Seaman, Gamble. I'm Landsman-Poor, at the moment. Do you have any certificates from past captains to show your rating?"
"Uh, nossir. Lost 'em 'tween ships, or somone stole 'em whilst I was sleepin' ashore."
"Sold 'em for drink, more like," Jugg scoffed.
"Enough!" Lewrie snapped. "You'll volunteer, Gamble?"
"Aye, sir… s'pose I'll haveta," the man replied, ducking his head again.
"Very well, then. Once we've a way on her, see the First Lieutenant, Mister Langlie, and he'll enter your names in our ship's books, then draw your issues from the purser," Lewrie told them, pleased that all but one of them seemed docile. He suspected that Gamble might be a King's Bad Bargain, and nothing better than a Landsman, after all; from the sound of his former shipmate, and the simpery grin on the young Willy Toffet's
face as they had their little tiff, he suspected that Gamble might end up making more enemies than friends among the crew, by shirking duty. But Bosun Pendarves and his mates, with their starters, could light a fire under his shifty, idle arse.