Dockyard officials had been aboard and had ordered the removal of her artillery to lighten her. They had poked and probed, measured and calculated, noting her new tendency to “hog,” to bend down a bit at bow and stern, a sure sign that the keel structure was badly strained, some of her key midship beams weakened. It was supposed that once she could float on her own without aid, she would go into the dock for permanent repair. Though where they’d get the timber …
The wounded were taken off to the hospital; the dead had been buried at sea. Altogether, they had suffered forty-one men discharged dead, and another seventy severely wounded, and half of those stood a good chance of dying yet. That was a quarter of the entire ship’s company, and did not count those lightly wounded that had been returned to light duties.
There were gaping absences in her crew. Turner had been killed on the riddled starboard gangway. The master gunner, Mr. Tencher, had been killed up by the bow chasers. Harm and Roth, of course, were gone from the officer’s mess. Two young midshipmen had died, as well as little Striplin, and his friend Beckett had lost a foot on that last broadside. Shirke was ashore with a broken arm, but looked likely to mend. Chapman, on the other hand, had lost a chunk out of his right thigh from a grape-shot ball, and his future held in a precarious balance, for they thought the leg might have to come off near the groin.
Finnegan and another of his mates had been made acting lieutenants, as had Keith Ashburn, since no officers could be spared from the other ships in port. Indeed, no captain would willingly give up a competent commission officer into such a ship, and no lieutenant would consider such an appointment, since if she were condemned he would be left high and dry without employment.
Captain Bales, once he had made his dire report to the admiral, had kept his own silent counsel aft in his quarters. Lieutenant Church was nowhere to be found, and no one would admit knowledge of his whereabouts. Rolston also had gone, in custody of Marines, from the flagship.
The remaining midshipmen had been run ragged in the days that followed, standing watches, ferrying groaning and crying wounded ashore and bringing back fresh supplies to feed the survivors, lumber to plug shot holes, emptying the magazines and hoisting out the great guns and their trucks, and the tons of round-shot to lighten the ship. They were also involved ferrying the dockyard officials, flag officers, the idle curious and the morbid who wished to come and gawk and marvel, praise or damn, inspect and condemn.
Lewrie clambered up the ship’s side and through the battered entry port, chafing in his uniform. The day was hot, and there was no wind in the harbor. He let Bascombe take his place and went to the scuttlebutt for a measure of fresh water, grateful for the shade of the old scrap canvas that was rigged over the quarterdeck as an awning.
By God, I know it’s unhealthy to bathe too often but I’d admire a dunk in a creek or something, he thought. With so much fresh water coming aboard, no one would miss a gallon in which he could take a quick, cooling scrub and put on some clean linen.
“Mister Lewrie?” the captain’s clerk said to him.
“Aye, Mister Brail?” Alan noted that even Brail wore his arm in a sling; fortunately not his writing arm.
“The captain would like to see you.”
“Me? What have I done?” Alan cringed, by rote.
“I have no indication that Captain Bales is displeased with you, Mister Lewrie. He would be, however, should you keep him waiting.”
Lewrie straightened his sweaty clothing and went aft.
“Midshipman Lewrie reporting, sir.”
The captain stared at him, scowling with those huge eyebrows, and Alan was sure he had committed some grievous and punishable offense without knowing what, or how.
“Mister Ashburn has informed me of your mess’s request that I release some of your money for the purchase of fresh cabin stores. I have summoned you to take charge of it, since the others are away at their duties at present.”
“Whew…” was forced from him, barely audible.
“I will allow each of you no more than five pounds, as the prices here in the islands are higher than normal. That will have to be sufficient. And I’ll not have it all spent on spirits, mind you.”
Lewrie was mystified that Captain Bales sat there, in a ship that could still sink right out from under him, and took care of a small chore that his clerk or coxswain could have handled easily. Had he lost his senses, or could he no longer bear to face the larger issues?
“With the artillery removed, you may consider livestock. Sheep or pigs are your best bet. Island bullocks are too lean and stringy, and usually overpriced. Hard-skinned fruits are plentiful, as are the onions hereabouts. You’ll find cheese dear, as well as tea, but coffee is fairly cheap.”
“We shall try to spend it wisely, sir,” Lewrie lied, knowing that Ashburn was ashore trying to get rooms and a private dining area for a long overdue shore leave, as well as some women.
“As I said in my report, and I shall say it to your face, Lewrie, you did extremely well when put to the test,” Bales said, fingering a stack of guineas on his desk. “Eight months ago I despaired that you would ever amount to anything, and now here you are, the one bright bit in a dismal report. Had you not reorganised the lower deck guns and gotten them firing again there is a very good possibility that every man-jack in this ship would now be dead or a prisoner of war, and Ariadne sunk or a prize.”
“Thank you for your good opinion, sir…” Damme, did I really do all that? And did you really put it that way in your report? If you did, I’m a bloody hero!
“Of such good beginnings are great careers and reputations made in the Fleet. And, you have worked diligently at your studies as well. I predict that you may do very well in the Navy, Mister Lewrie. But watch the course you steer well. There’re a hundred pitfalls for the ambitious officer. No one can rush about blind to hazard, or forget to cover his back. I’d advise you to make caution your watchword and not let this fleeting fame be the high-water mark for you.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Lewrie said, not knowing what the hell Bales was talking about, and a little unsettled at seeing such a stern man muttering to himself between phrases.
Once dismissed, Lewrie went back on deck, just in time to see Keith Ashburn coming through the entry port, and went to join him. His friend was now half a commission officer at least, clad in breeches and stockings, and had replaced his round hat with a cocked one. He wore a new smallsword on his hip instead of a dirk, but his tailor must have been a slow worker since he still had to move about in a midshipman’s short coat.
“Twenty pounds, Keith,” Lewrie said. “Excuse me, Mister Ashburn. Ours, Bascombe’s and Shirke’s, though I don’t see what a parson’s son and a man with one arm in boards are going to do with a bareback rider.”
“He forgot Chapman,” Ashburn said.
“Who wouldn’t?” Lewrie shrugged. “What have you gotten for us?”
“A good dinner for a start, and a suite of rooms, a dozen of wine. That’s fifteen shillings apiece. Only two girls so far, but they have friends. A guinea apiece for them.”
“What are they, blood royal? There must be a whole island full of mutton that’d do it for half a crown, and that’s a whole night of it.”
“These are gentlemen’s doxies, not common trulls. Won’t go for anyone less than a lieutenant, usually. The two I met are quite fetching,” Ashburn promised. Since his promotion to acting lieutenant, he had been acting, all right, acting much more superior, reclaiming those languid airs he had grown up with in rich society. Lewrie was getting a bit peeved with his attitude. It was not a week ago that Ashburn was not above borrowing money from him until his packet arrived.