It pleased everyone, even Capt. Sir Tobias Treghues, Bart., for brisk winds and high seas precluded any more of that scandalous traffick 'tween ships, most especially to Festival, which he had referred to as "that demned hoor-ship!" It ended the bare-steerageway crawl of the nights, which was always pleasing to one who deemed himself a seasoned salt and "tarpaulin man." And, Lewrie happily considered, the weather had reduced the necessity for Treghues to speak face-to-face with those fractious, nigh-rebellious captains of the other ships in his squadron to virtually nil! Which Lewrie also deemed a blessing of another kind from his point of view, and he was mortal-certain that Capts. Graves and Philpott felt much the same!
For, "condign" punishment for those who had misbehaved had been interpreted more leniently than Treghues might have wished, or exacted aboard HMS Grafton's malefactors.
For the most part, Lewrie had awarded more subtly grievous punishments: five days' biscuit and water for rations, denied their hearty morning burgoo, sugar and butter, their duffs, cheeses, pease puddings, or "portable soups," with the eight-man messes temporarily shifted, so that all twenty-two offenders ate together and could not beg or borrow even a morsel from their usual messmates who might not have run amok.
What had drawn the most groans, though, had been his decree that for an equal five days, none of the those twenty-two sailors would have leave to smoke or chew tobacco, or purchase or borrow from the Purser or their shipmates, and, horror of horrors!, for five days those men would get no rum issue, either! No "sippers" or "gulpers" presently due for past favours, and none to be snuck off innocent mates for a present or future duty or favour pledged during their time in Hell!
Those "cats" he'd had Mr. Pendarves make up had mostly been put away in the Bosun's locker, and only three had actually been "let out of the bag" to use on Landsman Humphries, and Ordinary Seamen Grainger and Sugden, who had been witnessed striking petty officers, Masters-At-Arms, or Ship's Corporals from other ships at the tavern brawl, as the roving shore parties broke the melee up, or for being so drunk they had tried to fight their own petty officers as they were brought aboard. A dozen lashes apiece, bound to the upright hatch-gratings, the minimum, since those were their first offences. Enough, Lewrie hoped, to drive the message home so they would not be disputatious with their seniors the next time, but not enough to make it seem vindictive, and ruin the men's morale or loyalty to what had been, 'til then, a fairly "happy ship." Who they fought ashore on their next rare dry-land liberty he could really care less!
Under Grafton's lee to shout across a verbal report, Lewrie had taken sly advantage of Treghues's lust for strictness, by declaring his intent to work the Devil out of his hands, as well, with which, at that moment, Capt. Treghues could form no dissenting opinion. That resulted in holding the gun-drills that Treghues had earlier peevishly curtailed.
The light 6-pounder chase-guns fore and aft, the carronades, and the long 12-pounder great-guns were manned, run-in and loaded, run-out to the port sills, levered about to aim, elevated by use of the quoins below the breeches, then "fired" in dry drills, first, then actually lit off for real later, once the "rust" had been scaled off his hands, for with so much fairly peaceful passage-making of late, and more time spent in various harbours, there'd been little reason or opportunity to keep his gunners from turning slack. He and his officers began at the very basics, as if introducing new-comes to their duties, stressing safety, caution with their dangerous charges, and attention to duties.
Lewrie, who had fallen in lifelong lust for artillery as a most angry-to-be-there Midshipman in his early days, the winter of 1780 on his first ship, finding in the power of the guns the one, perhaps the only joy a displaced dandy (as good as "press-ganged" by his own father for his own damned lust for soon-to-be-inherited funds!) relished in an ordeal that had seemed at the time as miserable a drudgery as a long prison sentence! He had, therefore, high standards, higher even than those of the experienced officers who had taught him Navy gunnery.
Lewrie was disturbingly surprised by just how "rusty" his men had gotten, but promised himself that by the time they reached the Cape he would have them back up to "scratch," even re-acquainting them with the rarely used light swivel-guns and 2-pounder brass boat-guns to be mounted in the bows of the gig, cutter, and launch.
"Oh, they'll come up to par soon enough," Lt. Adair, their Scot Third Officer, cheerfully opined, swiping a hand through goat-curly and dark brown hair as he raised his hat to air out his scalp in the rain and the warmly-moist, green-smelling winds that blew from the far-off shores of Africa.
"Par, d'ye say?" Lt. Catterall, the Second Officer, scoffed. "Whatever the Devil's that, some Gaelic word? Par-broiled makes some sense. Par-tici-pate, par-fy? But half a real word, Mister Adair? "
"It is a golf term, Mister Catterall," Adair impishly replied. "And what the Devil's golf?" Catterall hooted in his bearishly burly way. "Once more ye've lost me, sir."
" 'Tis a game we play at home, Mister Catterall, and great fun, actually," Lt. Adair explained. "A game which requires great patience and skill… well, perhaps it might be lost on Englishmen, sir," he said with a twinkle. Then Adair proceeded to describe "golf " to him-tediously and minutely.
"Mean t'say," Lt. Catterall querulously asked, minutes later, "you take yer 'mashie' with a 'whuppy shaft' and whack a 'sma' leather-bound rock… that never did harm to anybody… 'cross yer 'braes,' rain, fog, cold, or snow no matter… 'til it lands in a rabbit hole, then do it all over again? Why, I never heard the like! Is there a prize in it? Does the rabbit keep the rock, or do ye haul the rabbit out of its hole, take it home, and jug it for yer reward? Sounds daft t'me, but, I s'pose 'tis amusing to Scots… who have so few amusements."
"Par means 'average' for getting there, Mister Catterall," Lt. Adair said, biting off an exasperated sigh, as he usually had to do in dealing with "Sassenach" heathen Englismen in general, or the sardonic Lt. Catterall in particular. "The number of whacks necessary."
"Then less than yer 'par' is doing worse}" Catterall chuckled. "Better, Mister Catterall," Adair insisted, with a slight edge to his voice; he knew Catterall's cynical humours, knew he was being twitted, but never could help himself. "The fewest strokes win a…"
"Well, that's arsey-varsey, then," Catterall snickered. "Over average is worse, under average is best, and someone actually keeps a score of it!"
"Then 'par' will never do, gentlemen," Lewrie commented, after listening with amusement to their typical bantering from his post by the windward bulwarks. "I'll not be satisfied with average gunnery, not after our experiences in the Caribbean. I'll settle for two shots per gun, every three minutes, but I'd rather we get off three in that time. In the early minutes of engagement, at any rate, when the hands are not fatigued… and well-aimed 'twixt wind and water. Remember what that American captain from Georgia said…"