By the end of the day, at Eight Bells of the Day Watch and the start of the usually idle First Dog, the holds had been filled. Water butts stowed and firmly wedged in, then filled with fresh water pumped from the ungainly hoys; great casks of salt-meats treated much in the same manner. Chests and bags of fresh-baked biscuit, a vast array of Bosun's stores and spare timbers, miles of spare cordage and replacement blocks all had gone below, settling HMS Savage a few inches lower in the harbour waters. The day after, and kegs of gunpowder, flannel cartridge bagging, gun-carriages, and the frigate's artillery would come aboard.
Last into the ship, late in the day, had come a load of fresh loaves, a bellowing bullock whose hooves had barely touched the deck before he was slaughtered for supper, and a cage of live chickens for the officers' mess. Lt. Urquhart had mopped his brow, nodded to his new fellows, and had gone below to his deal-and-canvas partitioned cabin (rather grand in size after the ones he had bunked in whilst a junior officer!) and had finally had a chance to unpack and sponge himself down before dressing for a proper meal in the wardroom. One where he must begin to enforce his own stamp upon the others. "Firm but fair," sober and nearly humourless, relentless in the pursuit of duty no matter his private nature. He had it all planned out.
Unfortunately, his curiosity got the better of him, for there was too much to learn about his new captain from the ones who'd been with him so long.
CHAPTER THREE
Mr. Maurice Durant, the ship's Surgeon, a rather laconic French emigre finally promoted from Surgeon's Mate (it helped to be a Protestant Huguenot), had made a guarded comment about Capt. Lewrie's pending legal troubles anent some dozen "stolen" slaves, seven of whom still survived among Savage's crew, which resulted in an equally cautious discussion of the how and the when of the matter. And, whether their captain might remain captain for very much longer, or might be relieved to face trial in London, and where would they be, then?
Lt. Urquhart was struck by how fond the others seemed to feel about Capt. Lewrie, despite the notoriety attached to him, the tracts and pamphlets put out by the Abolitionists, and the lurid accounts in the newspapers. The seeming depth of their feelings went beyond the usual dread of serving under a new captain of unknown abilities, temperament, or aggressiveness that might not be equal to Lewrie's when it came to seeking action, glory, or prize-money. Quite expectedly, they would fear dull, humdrum service or anything that took the gloss off the reputation they had made in HMS Proteus.
Some of it, Urquhart suspected, was the comfort of "old shoes," and "better the devil you know…," along with their rightful pride.
Together so long, Savage's wardroom did not exactly follow the traditional narrow strictures on table conversation, either. Captains and senior officers usually were never discussed, except in the most careful, praiseful way. Their foibles and idiosyncracies, "warts and all," were definitely off-limits, but… Savage's officers knew their captain extremely well by then, and seemed to take a perverse pride in his… weaker moments.
A glass more than he'd planned to imbibe had fuzzled Urquhart's wits just enough to mangle his attempt to quash such improper nattering. It came out as "Well, I dare say that Captain Lewrie has made himself a fair name in the Fleet." Said with a sober face, at least, and with the merest hint that they treaded on taboo territory as his brow furrowed. "Such is not, usually, a thing junior officers should bandy about. I will allow, however, that I am not cognisant of every deed which has created such a sterling reputation. I was right proud to receive orders into Savage as First Officer, and… when I learned that Captain Lewrie commands her, I did, indeed, say to myself, 'Aha, I've heard of him,' and thought myself quite fortunate… as I gather that you gentlemen feel, about serving under him. Though I cannot say that I knew much beyond the fact that I had heard the Captain's name mentioned at one time or t'other. What-all have you and the Captain done in your old ship, then? What are the high-water marks you might recall?"
It was off to the races after that.
Alan Lewrie had always been reckoned an extremely lucky fellow, Urquhart was rather eagerly informed by Lt. Adair, the Second Officer, a dark and curly-haired Scot; by the Third Officer, Mr. D'arcy Gamble, who had been an "upwards of twenty" and capable Midshipman aboard HMS Proteus 'til their last battle in the South Atlantic off the coast of Africa; by the elegant Marine officer, Lt. Blase Devereux; by Mr. Durant the Surgeon; and by the Purser, the prim little Mr. Coote. Even Sailing Master Mr. Winwood, a most taciturn and sober-sided fellow of the new "Strenuous Christian" bent, lauded cautious praise for Capt. Lewrie… though with some reservations anent his "extra-curricular" activities.
Lucky, aye, reckoned so by fellow officers, and especially so by the people who shipped "before the mast," from the lower deck, for hadn't Lewrie been blessed with a geas in the Bay of Biscay when he'd captained HMS Jester way back in '94? Why, 'twas rumoured that seals-hundreds of miles from any beach!-had come alongside and spoken to Commander Alan Lewrie at the end of a sea burial of a Midshipman of Cornwall who might've, might've mind, been born a selkie, one of those ancient cursed souls who had angered the mythic, half-forgotten Celtic sea-god, Lir, and were doomed to live lives in the sea as seals, crying for a life on land, then shedding their skins and becoming human just long enough to suffer longings for a life in the sea, 'til the end of time. Silly, pagan, and heretical, but Cornish and Irish tars walked in awe of Lewrie as one of Lir's blessed, to this very day. And how hellish-odd it was that they'd heard other officers eerily recall the barking of seals whenever HMS Jester needed an omen of danger ahead!
Lucky in battle, and in prize-money, too, Lewrie was. How had he gotten Jester in the first place? He'd been First Lieutenant into HMS Cockerel, but had ended up seconded ashore-or in charge of a captured French mortar boat, some had heard tell-during the siege of Toulon in '93, and had been captured by the bastard Frog Napoleon Bonaparte himself when the mortar vessel blew up, but saved by Spanish cavalry. Blown sky-high, but lived! There's luck for you.
Days before the evacuation of the First Coalition forces, he'd been put in charge of a leaky, half-armed French frigate, barely manned and crammed with French Royalist refugees. Chased down by a squadron of two corvettes and a frigate, Lewrie'd not only held his own, but hammered one corvette to ruin, then swung cross the bows of the next, boarded her with a scratch assault force of British soldiers and refugee Frenchmen, and took her for his own!
His patron at the time, Vice-Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, had made Lewrie a Commander once back at Gibraltar, and re-named her HMS Jester 'stead of Sans Culottes or something revolutionary.
"No, wasn't Sans Culottes," Lt. Gamble chortled. "The way that I heard it was, there were some japes 'bout how ridiculous some of the French warships' names were, and Captain Lewrie said that it would not do to have an HMS 'Bare-Arsed' in the Fleet, and Admiral Hood thought him too much a wag, and called hex Jester as his own little joke."