Here, that’s not so tricky, after all! he marveled. Now when we get there, we don’t want to go this fast, so I should tell them to … ease the stroke, I guess. Easy all stops ’em. Now what do you say to get ’em sticking up? God, I can’t remember and I don’t think my Falconer’s mentioned it. You’re just supposed to know …
As they approached, he told them to ease the stroke, and the speed fell off. The bowman stood up with his boat hook ready. They had to come alongside the stone wharf sideways, Lewrie knew, but how he was going to do it was beyond him. He steered directly for the dock until the bowman began to cough alarmingly, and he took it as a cue to throw the tiller over.
“Toss yer oars,” the bowman called, and all eight oars were unshipped and raised aloft as one, Lewrie realized he was sitting on the stern mooring line, and he raised up and dug it out from under his bottom, but neglected the tiller, and the boat swung away from the dock, and the bowman almost went overboard trying in vain to hook onto something solid. On the second try, he caught a ringbolt and pulled the cutter’s bow in close enough so that Lewrie could grab hold of another ringbolt and pass the line through it. He made a hash of his knot, but he had arrived.
“Boat yer oars,” the bowman ordered softly, and down went the blades, to be stored alongside the gunwales.
“Thalt never make a sailor-man,” a toothless oldster on the dock said with a tubercular cackle.
“Go to the devil, why don’t you? Is this Kenner & Sons?”
“Aye, so it be, young ’un.”
“You come with me,” Lewrie said, indicating his starboard stroke oar. “Who is senior man? Keep an eye on ’em, bowman.” He scrambled to the dock and entered the chandler’s shop.
He found a clerk, presented the list, and began the task of having his men carry the cabin stores to the waiting cutter, noticing he was mostly ferrying wine for the officers to drink. It gave him a thirst for something himself. The only drinks available in Ariadne were rum, Miss Taylor, a thin and acrid white wine, Black Strap, a thin and acrid red, and small beer, which at least stayed fresh longer than the water. What he wanted was a good ale, a stout English ale foaming in a pint mug. There was a keg behind the counter of the chandler’s, and a row of wooden mugs. Why not?
“Here, let me have a pint of ale. How much?”
“Penny a pint, sir,” the counterman said and Lewrie flipped a coin out to jingle on the counter. He got his mug and started to lift it to his lips when he saw stroke oar staring at him with a short look of disgust.
Hell, they did get me here, he thought; and they’ve been at hard work loading those cases.
“Here, man. A pint for every hand,” Lewrie said, slapping down a shilling.
“Thankee, sir, thankee right kindly,” the bowman said for all of them as they began to guzzle and sigh with pleasure. “Nothin’ like a good wet afore rowin’ back to the ship, sir.”
They were halfway into the boat after finishing their drinks before Alan realized that they were a man short.
“Who’s missing?”
“Uh … Harrison, sir,” the bowman said sheepishly. “’E must be takin’ a piss, sir. Not run.”
“Hell he is,” Alan decided in a panic, “you stay here and keep your eye on the rest of the hands. You, come with me, and we’ll search for him.”
Lewrie and his stroke oar began to dart about the dock and the storage areas. There were a million places to hide among all the barrels and crates, a thousand ways out of the dock area into the town. How could he have let him slip away? And how much hell would he catch if he went back a man short? They had warned him; the men were signed on for at least three years of commission with only rare spells of freedom, and it was common for men to pay off one ship and go right into another with no chance to see wives and families. When in port, it was safer to let wives and children come out to the ship and live on the man’s rations and pay until the ship was placed back in full discipline. Let them go ashore and it was good odds they’d run inland as fast as their legs would carry them. Once into “long clothing” beyond the immediate reach of the watch and Impress Service, and they were lost to the Fleet. Most desertions came from new crews in home ports; they had told him to be vigilant.
“There, sir,” stroke oar said, pointing to an area behind the chandlery. Lewrie saw his quarry, a youngish man in a brass buttoned short jacket, hugging a thin and poorly clad young woman. One dirt child clung to her skirts, and she held another still in swaddling clothes.
“Harrison,” Lewrie snapped.
“Comin’, zurr,” the man replied sadly, letting go his woman.
“Coming? So is Christmas!” Alan scoffed.
“’E weren’t run, zurr,” the woman said, fearful for her man. “Juss wanted ta see ’is babbies, zurr.”
“Why didn’t you come out to the ship, then?”
“Ah didn’t have no money, zurr,” Harrison told him. “Ah had no way ta have ’em come out ta the ship.”
“It been a year they been wi’out their daddy, zurr. Just a few minute more?” Harrison’s wife pleaded.
“We have to go. Harrison, go back to the boat with this man.”
“Aye aye, zurr,” Harrison said, giving his wife one last quick kiss and patting the dirty little boy on the head. The oldest child was wailing, and Lewrie wanted to get away from the damned noise. He turned to follow his men, but the girl took him by the arm.
“’Tis a hard service what never pays a man but in scrip, zurr, an’ that two years behind, if ’e’s lucky. Bum boat men an’ jobbers give ’alf what the scrip’s worth. Don’t ’ave ’im flogged, please, zurr.”
“Well…” Lewrie managed, embarrassed by her tears.
“Anythin’ ta keep ’im from bein’ flogged, zurr.”
By God, she’s a pretty thing under all that dirt.
“If ya don’t tell on ’im, I’d … I’d…” She shuddered, pointed to a building across the alley that was obviously cheap lodgings.
God, even I’m not that low, he told himself. Well, maybe I am, I’m a Willoughby. No, I have to go back to the ship now.
“I’ll not make a habit of this,” Lewrie said, digging into his breeches and fetching out coins. He gave her two half-crown pieces and watched her eyes go wide in astonishment. “You get some food for these children and pretty yourself up, and come out to the Ariadne. And I won’t say anything to anyone, if you won’t. Can’t have the hands thinking I’m a soft touch, can I?”
“God bless ye forever, zurr, ye’re a true Christian!”
“Er … right,” he said, and trotted away from her.
Once in the boat he glared at Harrison. “Just ’cause I sported you a pint is no reason to think you can take a piss on my time behind a crate, Harrison, or I’ll have you up on a charge.”
“Aye, zurr,” Harrison said, nodding his relief.
“Out and toss your oars. Shove off, bowman. Ship your oars. Give way starboard … backwater, larboard. Easy all. Now give way all. Row, damn your eyes!”
He arrived back at Ariadne in much better fashion than when he had left, coming alongside gently and issuing the correct commands at the right time, so that they hooked on and tied up properly. He arrived on deck very proud of himself, but no one took the slightest note of his improved performance. He organized a party to hoist the stores up from the boat on his own initiative, and saw them delivered below to the wardroom, just in time to meet Mister Swift.
“Lewrie, where the hell have you been?”
“Mister Turner had me take a boat ashore and fetch wardroom stores, sir,” he said, proud of his accomplishment.