The youngest lads, Mr. Pannabaker and Mr. Plumb, were fourteen, and, as was to be expected, had their good days and their bad days as petty officers, given their youth and middling amount of experience. Both could be slyly cheeky and pranskterish, though not of late.
"They are both Captain Speaks's nephews, sir," Ballard related. "He's three sisters, all with large families, and second sons in need of careers. Normally, they're lively and impish younkers, but without their uncle aboard, do you see… they are quite downcast."
"Cossetted, were they?" Lewrie asked.
"A bit, I must admit, sir," Ballard gravely said. "Good lads in the main, and the hands like them. And, obey them chearly," Ballard pointed out. "They are no shrinking violets, or fools. With a firm rein on their sillier moments, and a sharp eye on their performance of their duties, they both show great promise."
As for those who held Admiralty Warrant, both the Bosun Mr. Dimmock, and the Bosun's Mate, Mr. Pulley, were tough older "tarpaulin men," and nothing escaped their attention. The Master Gunner, Mr. Tunstall, the Gunner's Mate, Mr. Shallcross, and the Yeoman of the Powder, Bohanon, were equally capable, and that went for the Carpenter, Mr. Lumsden, the Quartermasters and their Mates, the Cooper, the Armourer, and the Sailmaker, Mr. Cable, and his Mate, Durham, to boot. The captains of the masts, the quarter-gunners,… almost everyone aboard, Ballard could find no real fault with.
Oh, among the Able Seamen, the Ordinary Seamen, and Landsmen, there were the usual drunks, the unwillingly pressed men and scrapings from the county Assizes courts and gaols, due to the Quota Acts, which swept up the dregs that the Army had not gotten to first, but… all told, Thermopylae was crewed by as competent a ship's complement as one could expect in wartime. Growl they sometimes might, but go they would, and, if well-led, they'd do their duty, and more.
"I've only had time to flip through the punishment book," Lewrie admitted as they sat and savoured hot coffee and brandy on the settee and chairs, once the table had been cleared. "I didn't see all that many defaulters' names, nor did I note that many lashes awarded. Was Captain Speaks a Tartar, or merely 'firm but fair,' Arthur?"
"The Captain was, uhm… firm but fair, I would adjudge him, sir," Ballard cautiously stated, for the Navy frowned on criticising senior officers, even ashore, and in strictest privacy among juniors. "He cared deeply for the welfare of the ship's people, and was quite popular with them… though he in no wise ever cossetted or played a 'Popularity Dick.' He was… is a consummate sailorman, strict when necessary, yet a rather easy-going fellow most of the time," Ballard further explained, sounding almost prim in his choice of words. "They recognised his care for them, sir, and responded with, dare I say it, outright affection."
"Ouch!" Lewrie barked with a small laugh. "I've always thought of myself as an easy-going sort, too, but, damme! These are going to be a tight pair o' shoes t'fill. Well, perhaps as we rub together, the hands and I, we'll sort it out. Right, Toulon?"
After supper, and a brief romp with a couple of bottle corks, the cats had come to the settee, where Lewrie sat half-sprawled with a leg up on the cushions, Toulon to snuggle against his chest, and the other to drape himself across his thigh. Except for a brief sniff at his boot-shod legs, with their ears flat, both Toulon and Chalky had quite ignored Arthur Ballard, which was quite unlike their gregarious and curious natures, which again struck Lewrie as… odd. He was as good a fellow as any-Knolles of the Jester, Langlie of both HMS Proteus and Savage-and the arrival of supper guests from a First Officer to Midshipmen to a Marine messenger "passing the word" from a Watch officer was cause for glad, familiar greetings.
"And we'll be ready for sea, when, d'ye reckon, Arthur?" Lewrie lazily enquired, stifling a yawn. It had been a long and busy day, and his new-built bed-cot hanging aft, his usual "wide-enough-for-two" was calling. Pettus had filled some tin cylinders with boiling-hot water in lieu of ember-filled warming pans, and had even spread one of those furs atop the coverlet, so his bed would be toasty-warm.
"All but last-minute stores are aboard now, sir," Ballard said, head cocked over as he calculated. "Once Admiral Sir Hyde Parker issues sailing orders, I expect a full day for livestock, gun-room delicacies and such, to be fetched off… perhaps the coal as well, sir? After that, Thermopylae would be ready to sail, in all respects."
"Good," Lewrie said with a nod. "The Admiral is already here in Great Yarmouth?"
amp;#
"Nelson?" Lewrie asked, faintly scowling.
"His flagship has not yet come round from Plymouth, sir, though he is expected daily." Ballard further informed him.
"Damme, time's wasting," Lewrie grumbled. "The ice in the foe's harbours could be melting as quick as our last snow. Is there anyone senior to talk to?"
"There is Captain Riou, sir," Ballard said. "He is the senior frigate captain present, and is expected to be named Commodore over all the Fifth and Sixth Rates in the expedition. He's in the Amazon."
"The fellow who sailed Guardian back to Cape Town after hitting the iceberg?" Lewrie said in some surprise.
"The very one, sir," Ballard agreed in his usual grave way.
That had been a tale! In 1789, Guardian, a partially dis-armed old 44-gun frigate, on her way to New South Wales with convicts, seeds, and Ј70,000 of stores aboard, had struck an iceberg in the fog east of Cape Town, and had come near to sinking. Despairing that she'd go down despite everyone, sailor or convict, manning the pumps round the clock, Riou had sent off all five ship's boats to try to make it back to Cape Town, 1,200 miles off. One boat had foundered in heavy seas, drowning all aboard, but the other four had managed to row away. One boat had been rescued by a French merchantman; the others had vanished without a trace. Then, weeks later, Riou, with less than thirty brave men still aboard to plug, fother patches, and pump incessantly, sailed Guardian into port, saving ship, stores, seeds, and lives!
"I look forward to meetin' him, then," Lewrie said, allowing a yawn at last. "I'll have another peek at the old Order Book whilst I eat breakfast, and will let you know if there's anything I wish changed, Arthur. Other than that, it sounds as if I've landed aboard a fine ship, with a fine crew."
"You have, sir," Ballard said with a touch of pride.
"And the very fellow I'd request for my First," Lewrie added, lifting his cup of brandy-laced coffee in salute, and smiling widely.
"I will endeavour to please, sir, as I did once before. Well, it's lacking One Bell to Lights Out, and the Master At Arms, Mister Mackie, is a humourless stickler. Would there be anything else, sir? If not, I will take my leave, and let you get a good night's sleep."
"None I can think of, Arthur," Lewrie said, rising. "Do let me know the price of coal hereabouts… and just how often the stoves could be used on your previous winter cruises. I'll consider it."
"Good night, then, sir," Ballard said with a departing bow.
"Good night to you, as well, Mister Ballard," Lewrie replied in kind. "Perhaps our last sound sleep before things get exciting, hey?"
"Indeed, sir," Ballard said. He turned and walked forward to the door, glancing once more… at the dining-coach partition.
"Will you be needing anything else, sir?" his new man, Pettus, asked as he gathered up the last cups, saucers, spoons, and glasses from the starboard-side seating area.
"No more tonight, Pettus," Lewrie told him, yawning again. "I think you and Whitsell can doss down for the night. Oh. The cook, Nettles."
"Aye, sir?"
"Relay to him my thanks for a handsome supper," Lewrie said. "I quite enjoyed it. Is that his customary talent, I expect I'll dine as well as I would at a fine hotel."