And, with a spryness he did not feel, he scuttled down a steep ladderway to the north-side landing stage and into the barge. At the least, he could sail home to "pay the piper" aboard a sound ship.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
And, what about those eighteen-pounders, Mister Catterall?" he asked, the morning after HMS Proteus had completed her repairs, with a sound rudder and sternpost firmly attached, and a short test sail about Table Bay done to assure them that it was a permanent repair.
"Guns and carriages fully found, sir," Catterall gruffly replied. "Though, any eighteen-pounder frigate or older ship of the line calling at Cape Town has already carried off most of the round-shot. I doubt if there are a dozen rounds remaining in stores, and none of the warships on the station at present mount eighteens, sir."
"And if they did, they'd be extremely loath to share with us," Lewrie glumly decided. He paced about his newly-pristine quarterdeck, now free of piled cable, shear-legs, heaps of hoisting chain, and the carpentry or metal-working implements needed for last-minute tinkering to make the rudder and sternpost fit properly. "It appears that we'll be forced to sail a brace of guns short, then. Dammit."
HMS Proteus was a 32-gunned frigate of the Fifth Rate, a classification that could be misleading to the uninitiated, who might think that thirty-two guns meant thirty-two heavy guns, sixteen mounted on each beam. She had only mounted twenty-six 12-pounders, and the grand total included six 6-pounders; four on the quarterdeck, and two forward on the forecastle for chase-guns, and carronades didn't count.
Now, Lewrie had only twenty-four 12-pounders he could trust, the two "dinged" ones stored on the lower-most hold with the ballast, with the two midships gun-ports yawning empty.
"We could shift two carronades to fill in," Lewrie mused aloud. "But, then we'd also have to shift stores aft, again, to compensate, so our new rudder has its proper 'bite.'"
"Well, sir," the burly Lt. Catterall suggested, "the new rudder is actually broader than our old'un, fore-and-aft, and that with only one fir sacrificial strip on the trailing edge, 'stead of two or three as the old'un did. Might not be completely necessary to push her stern down to the old seventeen-and-a-half-feet draught we had before, sir."
"Seventeen'd do it, then, Mister Catterall?" Lewrie asked. "Or slightly less? Hmm."
Lewrie paced a bit more, all the way aft to the taffrails for a peek over the stern, with Lt. Catterall following a few feet "astern" of him whilst he did some mental calculations.
Four "long twelves " in my cabins, now, he thought, Shift two of 'em to the midships ports, that'd lighten her astern by better than four tons, right there. Ah, but ships are meant t 'be stern-heavy. Makes 'em quicker on the helm, does the rudder have a deeper bite. Though, with a broader rudder, like a Dutch coaster…?
He turned and peered forward along the freshly-washed and "holystoned" length of the quarterdeck, now restored to almost a paper-white neatness. There were two 6-pounders on each beam, and two carronades, the short, stubby "Smashers," not very long-ranged pieces, but capable of throwing a heavy 24-pounder solid shot, or be loaded like a fowling gun with grapeshot, langridge, sacks of musket balls, scrap crockery, or any sort of hard objects to maim and kill when up close alongside a foe. They weren't meant to take the powerful powder charges needed in a "long" artillery piece, so they, and their slide-carriages, weighed less than conventional artillery.
"Any carronades in stores, Mister Catterall?" Lewrie asked the Second Officer. "And twenty-four-pounder shot?"
"Oh, aye, sir!" Lt. Catterall said, brightening. "The Indiaman, Lord Clive, mounted twenty-four-pounder long guns and carronades. Vice Admiral Curtis's people salvaged her guns, but little else, after she went aground."
"I want two of 'em, Mister Catterall!" Lewrie declared. "We'll shift two twelve-pounders from my cabins to amidships, the after-most pair, and replace 'em with a pair of 'Smashers.' They'll almost make up the weight and balance diff'rence. Get 'em for us, sir, no matter what it takes… beg, borrow, or steal!"
"Aye aye, sir!" Catterall cheered. "Er… how, sir? If they won't give 'em up, that is," he asked, more soberly a second later.
"You know where they are?" Lewrie pressed. "You've seen 'em?"
"Aye, sir, 'board the stores ship, but…"
"Just go ask for 'em, Mister Catterall!" Lewrie exclaimed with a sly grin. "With my chit in hand, o' course. Take our largest boats and sufficient crews. By now, our people should know all about shiftin' heavy loads, as should you. In the meantime, I'll go aboard the flagship and request 'em, formally. With the list of expenditures to date t'repair our ship. We've not made much demand 'pon naval stores, yet, and, 'a penny saved is a penny earned,' as the old Rebel Benjamin Franklin used t'say. Salvaged guns goin' t'waste, free and clear of Prize-Court folderol, well…! Muster your boat crews, sir, but spare me my gig's hands and Cox'n. I'll have you a note for the stores ship in two shakes of a sheep's tail! Get me those guns, and as much round-shot as you can manage, another fifty or sixty, do they have 'em. Cartridge flannel, gun tools… Hell, take the Master Gunner with you and let him 'shop' to his heart's content. Slide-carriages, new breeching ropes, he'll know what's needful. Go, get ready!"
You steal or borrow, old son, Lewrie told himself as he trotted below to his desk for pen and paper; I'll do the begging!
"My word, sir," the Flag-Captain said, rolling his eyes over a neatly-penned list of out-of-pocket expenses to put Proteus right. "As much as that, what?"
"The local Dutch, as they say, sir, 'saw me coming,' and made the most of our predicament," Lewrie uneasily explained, shifting one leg over the other as he sat before the senior officer's desk, thankful that the flagship's transom windows didn't face the stores ship, so that worthy couldn't see his boats scuttling 'cross Table Bay with the first of the requested goods. "Not so much in materials, mind, but in labour, and hires, sir. The waggons and ox teams and su…"
"And you contracted all this without consulting me as to which part of it Sir Roger might authorise, sir?"
"I fully intend to present my sums to Admiralty, in London, as soon as we return to England, sir," Lewrie purred back with a blandly reassuring smile. "Proteus sailed under orders from Captain Treghues, sir, and is not, strictly, the responsibility of the Cape Station, so, I did not wish to impose my monetary needs upon Sir Roger, d'ye see."
"Ah, well," the Flag-Captain mused. "Hmm. Not under our flag, as it were. A transient in need of repair, aha! Aye, it'd be proper to submit your expenditures to the Navy Board, 'stead of us."
" Which'll be my problem, sir, since so much of the costs came from my own purse," Lewrie told him, shifting uneasily once more; the very idea of how much his personal funds had been depleted was enough to break a sweat; a local bank now held a hefty note-of-hand that they would draw from his account at Coutts' Bank in London, a hefty sum he prayed Admiralty would reimburse… someday this century.
"Well, I must own to a sense of relief, Captain Lewrie, that we are not bound to offer recompense to you… or foot the bill, entire, to the local chandlers and such, ha ha!"
"Never even crossed my mind, sir," Lewrie assured him, tossing in another disarming "shit-eating" grin.