“Midshipman Lewrie … SAH,” the sentry said at the top of his voice, crashing the butt of his musket on the deck.
“Enter.”
Alan stepped through the door into a large set of cabins that spanned the entire width of the ship. There was a dining room with some rather fine chairs, table and sideboard to his right, and a study to his left filled with charts and books and a large desk. Far aft, there was a day cabin and another large desk before the stern windows. Lewrie strode up to the desk, and his bulky captain seated behind it. He tried to keep his balance as the ship groaned and rolled and pitched with a life of its own. He came to a halt three paces from the desk, hat under his arm, and gulped down his alarm at the sight of the town swinging like a pendulum beyond the stern windows.
“Midshipman Lewrie reporting, sir.”
“Lewrie, my name is Bales.” The captain frowned, as though disappointed with his own name. “A Captain Bevan offered me your services as a midshipman. Ariadne is at present fitting out and so is shorthanded in prime seamen, warrants, idlers and waisters. And midshipmen.”
Alan didn’t think a reply was in order, but he did nod.
“To be expected in wartime,” Bales continued. “So, I looked on Captain Bevan’s offer quite favorably, to get such a well-recommended young man.”
And I’ll bet someone slipped you some chink, as well, Lewrie thought. What’s place for, if you can’t make money out of it.
“Then Captain Bevan hands me this letter from your family solicitor, a Mister Pilchard of London.” Bates gloomed.
God rot the jackanapes. What sort of lying packet did he send? Oh God, did he mention Belinda?
“He states that you have been sent to sea to make a man of you,” Bales said sourly, “that you have been a wastrel, a scamp and a rogue. So you will understand if I feel that I have been handed a pig in a poke?”
“Yes … aye aye, sir,” Alan all but whimpered.
“Well, I do not intend to allow you to be a bad bargain, for me or for this ship, or for the King, Lewrie,” Bales said. “Beggars can’t be choosers, especially in what’s becoming an unpopular war. We have to take what we can get, by the press gang if necessary, so consider yourself press-ganged if you like, but you’re mine now. This letter goes on to state that you were banished.”
“Aye, sir,” Alan said, hoping the reason was unknown.
“And that you had to leave … Society,” Bales said, making Society sound like an epithet. “Was it a duel?”
“A young lady, sir,” Alan said, pretending contrite apology with perhaps the hint of an ill-starred affair.
Damme, that sounded right good, he told himself; I said that devilish well! Pray God he eats it up like plum duff.
“You may have noticed that we already have the dregs of the hulks and the debtor’s prisons. Perhaps next Assize will flesh us out, Lewrie. Now, we have you. You know nothing of the sea, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“You’d much rather be rantipoling about and playing balum rancum with some whores, wouldn’t you?” Bales posed.
“Well, frankly … yes, sir.”
“Believe you me, you shall know something of the sea before I’m done with you, even if it kills you. England needs her Navy, now more than ever. I wouldn’t count on our Army to pull a drunk off its sister, much less save the nation. And the sea is a fine calling for a man. I shall not allow you to abuse that calling.”
“May I be honest with you, sir?” Alan asked.
“You had better not ever be anything else, boy,” Bales replied, picking up a shiny pewter mug of something dark and aromatic.
“I am indeed banished, sir,” he began, hoping he could win the man over. He could charm when it was necessary. There were even some addled old fools back in London who considered him a manly, upright young gentleman! “I realize that I know nothing, sir, and I shall endeavor to learn, with all my heart. If this is to be my life, then how can I succeed without knowledge?”
“Hmm.” And Bales nodded, studying him over the rim of the mug. “I tell you this, Lewrie. If you apply even a tenth of yourself, we can beat you into some sort of sailor. We can do that with anyone.”
“Aye, sir.” Saying it only once sounded a little more English to his ear; saying it twice was like … “higgledy-piggledy.”
“Your Mister Pilchard goes on to state that you show some promise as a student … some Latin … Greek … a little French … mathematics … had good tutors. If you throw yourself wholeheartedly into your work and your studies, you may make someone much better than your background suggests. And your bottom won’t get half as sore.” Bales grinned.
“I shall try, sir,” Alan responded heartily, all but piping his eyes and breaking into a chorus of “Rule, Brittania.”
“Yes,” Bales said, setting his mug down. “You are seventeen.”
“Aye, sir.”
“You are much too old for the gun room. And I doubt if we want our younger midshipmen corrupted by any habits you might have picked up in London,” Bales said, almost mellowing toward him. “Pity we did not get you sooner. Most midshipmen come aboard at ten or twelve and spend six years before being examined for a commission. At least that is what Master Pepys laid down, though it is not much followed in these times. But since I doubt you have much influence with our Lords Commissioners of The Admiralty, we’ll assume you have six years. We will put you in the cockpit with the older midshipmen, where you may pick up their knowledge the quicker with people closer to your own age. When you see Mister Swift, give him my compliments and that you shall shift your dunnage to the cockpit on the orlop.”
Damn, there’s that word again, he thought. “Aye, sir.”
“Bevan has given me your per annum allowance.”
“Aye, sir?” Alan perked up.
“A hundred guineas is quite a sum—too much, really. I shall hold it for you, and should you have any need for it, you shall request of it through my clerk, Mister Brail. I have deducted five pounds for schooling with the sailing master, and another five pounds for your initial mess charge. As a midshipman you do not receive pay, so I shall ration you to one pound ten shillings per month of your allowance. That should be more than enough at sea.”
“Aye, sir.” Not paid? Nobody told me that!
“Then be so good as to sign to that effect.”
Alan bent over the desk and placed his signature to a sheet of paper that banked his money and allowed the deductions.
“That will be all for now, Mister Lewrie.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Alan saluted and got out quickly. He stopped by the first officer’s door and knocked. Swift bade him enter.
“Ah, Lewrie. Ready to sign aboard now?” Swift asked.
“Aye, sir. Um, the captain presents his compliments and suggested that I be assigned to the cockpit on the orlop, sir.”
“Thought he would,” Swift said, presenting him a large bound book. There were many names entered, many with X’s for men’s marks.
“Here. Copy of The Articles of War. Make sure you learn them. I am assigning you to the lower gun deck should we go to Quarters. Sail-making stations shall be the mizzenmast for now. Brace tending will be on the poop with the afterguard.”
I know it must be English, he thought. I can make a word out now and then.
“See Lieutenants Roth or Harm and get a copy of your quarter bills so you may memorize all the names of the hands in your larboard division, and for the afterguard and lower gun deck, especially your quartergunners and gun captains. Got all that?”
“If not now, then I shall by morning, sir.”
“Don’t be flip with me, Lewrie. You’ll live to regret it.”