"Desperate, hey?" one of the others said, beaming almost pleasantly. "Saw your fight with Capricieuse. Damned fine stuff. Your Captain Treghues has a lot of bottom, what?"
"Aye, sir."
"Well, don't stand there like death's head on a mop-stick, give me your packet."
Alan handed over his letters and bona fides, and the flag-captain in the center of the board looked over them, reading aloud salient points to the other members.
"Joined January of '80, Ariadne, 3rd Rate of sixty-four guns. Only the two years of service?"
"Aye, sir."
"Mentioned honorably. Took charge of the lower gun deck after both officers were killed, credited with getting the guns back in action and thus saving the ship. My, my, we have been busy, have we not?" The flag-captain chuckled. "I remember you, I believe. You were the lad escaped Yorktown with some soldiers. Turned a brace of river barges into sailing craft. Fought your way out too, as I remember."
This ain't so bad after all! Alan thought with relief. Was there some "interest" on his behalf of which he was unaware working in his favor-was it from Admiral Hood, or his flag-captain here? "Aye, sir, we did. But as for the boats," he informed them, "I had two fine petty-officers who did most of the creative work. Mister Feather and Mister Queener. Both dead now, unfortunately."
He congratulated himself as he saw the tacit approval of his comments on the captains' faces; it never hurt to share out the credit and sound a little modest, while still implying you were a genius anyway.
So they went through his records from Parrot, his staff work for Rear Adm. Sir Onsley Matthews, with Alan dropping the blandest sort of hint that he and that worthy, who was now in London controlling these captains, were still in affectionate correspondence. Then his service in Desperate and all her heroic exploits in which he had taken part, including being a prize-master; the raid on the Danish Virgin Islands, Battle of The Chesapeake, Yorktown, his promotion to master's mate, the fight with Capricieuse and his service as acting lieutenant. By the time they reached the present, he was damned near swaggering. It was going splendidly, and he could see by one board member's large watch that they had spent over ten minutes just being pleasant and approving.
I could walk out of here without one question, if they have that herd out there to examine today, he speculated. And most of those sluggards haven't done a tenth of my service.
"Sit or stand, Mister Lewrie?"
"Sir?"
"Do you prefer to sit or stand for the examination?"
"Um, I'll stand, sir," he replied, all the cock-swagger knocked out of him, knowing he would not get off scot-free.
"Think better on your feet, hey?" Captain Cornwallis chuckled. "Mister Lewrie, you're first officer into a seventy-four-gunned 3rd Rate at present laid up in-ordinary. Your captain orders you to prepare her to be put back into commission. What steps are necessary, and what orders would you give?"
That's one of the questions Treghues sent me, to the letter, Alan realized, striving to dredge up the proper answer, or even get his brain to function. But he took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and launched into the long, involved reply. He was only half-way through it, though, when he was interrupted by one of the captains.
"Good on that. Now, this same seventy-four is on a lee shore under plain sail, wind out of the west and you are on the larboard tack as close-hauled as may be. Shoals under your lee, eight cables off, almost embayed by a peninsula to the north'rd, extending nor'west. Do you have that in mind so far?"
"Aye, sir."
"The wind veers ahead suddenly by six points, and freshens to half a gale. What action would you take, sir?"
"Excuse me, sir," Alan asked, stalling for thinking time. "How far off is that peninsula you mentioned?"
"Makes no difference," one grumbled impatiently. "Half a league?" Another shrugged, and the rest seemed it as good a predicament as any.
"I would endeavor to tack immediately, sirs," Alan began. "I would shift the head sheets and the spanker with the duty watch, at the same time summoning all-hands, as I would be laid aback and in irons. Get her head about, even if the square-sails would be flung aback. I would lose all headway until I could free the braces and shiver the yards, but I would be on a safer tack."
Do you want more? he wondered, as they sat there staring at him. He no longer felt any confidence at all.
"Ah, hmm, your cooks were preparing dinner during this emergency, and the galley fire has been scattered by your sudden evolution," Captain Cornwallis demanded. "What do you do to combat this fire below decks, and how many hands may you spare, as you are still attempting to tack your ship and square away your yards?"
Jesus, are these buggers serious? he quailed. Barely had he gotten a fire party together, rigged out a foredeck wash-deck pump as a fire engine, than another captain added the complication of jammed brace-blocks aloft on the main yards, and a sprung main top-mast that threatened to come crashing down from the wind pressure on those laid aback tops'ls. Alan decided to send two men aloft and cut the upper weather brace so the yard could swing a'cock-bill to save the mast.
One hypothesis came at him after another, mercilessly swift and demanding, and his answers showed no signs of mollifying anyone. They all frowned and leaned forward, savoring his roasting, much like Grand Inquisitors from Spain watching a particularly enjoyable auto-da-fй and wanting to hear the bleats of the torched victim better.
His shirt was clinging to him, his breeches felt clammy, as if he had just been dunked over the side into the sea, and his face streamed so much perspiration it was all he could do not to reach up and try to mop himself dry, before it all ran down into his eyes and made him blink and squint. He had the distinct impression that he had begun to babble like a two-year-old, instead of sounding like a young man with the prospects to be made a lieutenant!
Am I making any sense anymore? he wondered. Jesus, just a little good fortune here, please!
"Hmm, alright, Mister Lewrie," the flag-captain said finally, which brought a pent-up sigh of relief to Alan's lips before he could control himself. "You'd probably have lost that top-mast eventually, but the ship might have been spared being wrecked on a lee shore. As for that fire, you forgot about it, but I'm sure someone would have come and told you if it got out of control. Gentlemen?"
"Fair enough," Captain Comwallis said, shrugging affably.
"Agreed, then?" The flag-captain peered down the table for a consensus. "Passed for lieutenancy, then. That'll be all."
"God!" Alan blurted in total stupefaction.
"Well, if you'd rather not be…" a post-captain laughed.
"Oh, nossir, thank you, sirs. I mean, yes sirs!"
"Hush. Take your records and go before we change our minds!"
"Aye aye, sir," Alan agreed, stumbling over the chair again on his way out. He stepped into the breathless hush of the cabin full of nervous aspirants who still had to endure their own ordeals.
"My God, you were in there near twenty minutes!" one gawped.
"What did they ask?" another demanded.
"It was…" Alan began, and then began to cackle in hysterical relief. "I can't bloody remember! Dismasting, and a fire… I think."
"Fire," someone said, opening his Falconer's to see if there was an approved fire-drill.
"On a lee shore, mind you." Alan grinned, unable to stop shaking with laughter and relief such as a felon must feel pardoned at the foot of the gibbet. "Bloody daft on 'em, they are!"
"Well, did you pass?"
"Passed!" Alan beamed at them, drawing a deep breath. "Yes!"
"Bloody Christ, not one in five," came a sorrowful moan.
"Best of luck to you all," Alan said, meaning every word of it. He pulled out his watch and consulted it, trying to calm down. "Ah, what good timing. I shall be back aboard just in time for dinner."