More cannonfire, as Proteus got a bone in her teeth and began to put on speed, gathering way out into Queen's Channel, beginning to bend her course a touch Sutherly at Elder Grace's suggestions, sailing Large off that North wind, and the sea round her peppered by misses still, but more guns were now involved. And there was a mutineer frigate far up near The Warp, off the North shore, that was speeding down on Proteus to intercept, abandoning her clutch of ten or twelve captured merchant ships to punish a defector.
"Mister Wyman?" Lewrie snapped, turning to his Second Officer. "Aye, sir," Wyman replied, still smiling dreamily over retaking the ship. "You are now my First Officer, Mister Wyman," Lewrie said. "Ah… I see, sir. My goodness gracious!" Wyman sobered. That was an onerous job of work he hadn't thought to expect, sure that Lieutenant Langlie, or even Ludlow, might return aboard.
"Get sail on her, Mister Wyman, quick as dammit!" Lewrie said. "Before yon rebel frigate catches us up. Tops'ls and t'gallants. The foremast first, to lighten and lift the bows.
"Er… aye, aye, sir!" Wyman goggled, then gulped, reset his hat, and cupped his hands round his mouth. "Hoy, there! All topmen aloft! Lay aloft, trice up, and lay out! Free tops'ls and t'gallants! Smartly, foremast… handsomely, main and mizzen!"
Lewrie looked aft. That frigate off his larboard quarter seemed to be gaining slightly, though not yet within range of her foredeck chase-guns. Heavier stuff was peppering about astern though; someone had gotten a 3rd Rate's lower-deck 32-pounders in action at last and three or four round-shot went moaning past Proteus, rustling the air with the sound of ripping canvas, to splash about a quarter-mile ahead of her bows. Turning to follow their flight, and seeing those towering plumes of spray, Lewrie could see several merchantmen far beyond, out to sea, some coastal fishing boats slanting in towards the Thamesmouth or the Medway. Or at least they had been, until they'd seen firing and gotten a fright, for they either fetched-to or broadened profiles even as he watched, steering clear of something they didn't wish to be involved with.
Coasters! Lewrie thought; find myself a coaster, warm him off of theThames, and get him to land my chained mutineers somewhere else… turn 'em over to a civil magistrate, if not a Navy officer. Where's the Impress Services; they'd suit? Harwich, Whitstable, Herne Bay… bloody Margate?
" "Ere!" Miss Nancy was crying, scampering up the starboard ladder to the quarterdeck, with several other doxies in tow. "We're goin' out! We wanna go back t'Sheerness, Cap'um, not t'seaf'
"Aye, what're ya playin' at, sir?" Sally Blue's mother carped. "By God, didya play us false, I'll have yer gizzard!"
"Ladies!" Lewrie boomed, spreading his arms in greeting, just as chearly as anything to placate them. "You did it, by Christ!"
Mr. Winwood could be heard uttering a scandalised groan.
"My undying thanks to all of you!" he pressed on quickly, taking off his hat, making a formal leg to them. " 'Twas a fearsome and brave deed you did in your King's, and Country's, service; and I will be sure to list each of you by name, with the firmest recommendations to Vice-Admiral Buckner, the First Secretary to Admiralty, Mr. Evan Nepean… aye, I'll write 'His Nobs' King George himself, swear I shall! telling them what splendid, patriotic women you are. And honour our pact, I assure you. But…" he said, straightening and pointing astern, "we aren't out of the woods yet. We almost lost again, and it was happenstance that we beat 'em down when the tide was running out, not in. I will set you ashore… promise! But we have to get out of the range of their guns first. Wait 'til dusk, no longer. Swear it."
He didn't think it would go amiss to walk amongst them (though he suspected they still had their impromptu weapons about their persons), bestow kisses on work-hardened hands, buss cheeks on the younger-and cleaner-and speak a few personal words of congratulations and gratitude. Sally Blue responded most eagerly, flinging her arms 'round him again, and he patted (well, perhaps stroked as well) her slim back as she jounced atip-toe and squealed nicely. It seemed to mollify them.
"Oh, give 'im 'is fob back, Sally," Miss Nancy chuckled when they'd untangled from their embrace, relenting to his logic.
"Sorr-eyy." Sally Blue blushed quite prettily. "Habit, like."
"Right, then, Cap'um Lewrie." Miss Nancy shrugged. "We'll wait 'til dark."
"You kill any of 'em, Miss Nancy?" he had to ask.
"Hurt a few, I reckon." She shrugged again. "Aye, one o' them committeemen…'at Kever feller? Ravin' 'bout settin' light to th' powder store, 'fore he'd let th' ship be took, so…" She drew a hand across her throat, though not with as much enthusiasm as Sally Blue had the moment before the counter-mutiny had erupted. "Lost int'rest fer quim too quick; couldn't 'old 'im back."
Lewrie nodded, thinking on how he'd manage Proteus as a fighting ship without Master Gunner, Mate, and Yeoman of The Powder. Oh shit, he suddenly realised; we could've been blown higher'n a kite! I do b'lieve I need me a sit-down. And who slit Kever's gizzard for him? You, Nancy? he wondered. Damme, don't know why I ever thought her attractive. There's some women just too dangerous t'mess with!
He looked aloft, saw the tops'ls on both fore and main drawing, the fore t'gallant heaving upward from the fighting top, almost in position, half-open and flagging like a rattle of musketry. He turned to look back towards the Great Nore. What cannonfire directed at Proteus from the anchored ships wasn't reaching them and was tailing off in a weary acceptance-and it had never been more than half-hearted. The frigate to her North still stood on, though slanting more to the Sou-Sou'west, back into the Queen's Channel, as if she was breaking off pursuit too.
Can't trust their own hands to chase us too far, Lewrie realised with joy; fore they get ideas about escape in their heads too!
"Things well in hand, Mister Winwood?" he asked, walking back to the helm where Winwood was buried in his charts, and the two Grace men were craning their necks and conferring on where the next deadly shoal might be.
"Good as may be expected, Captain," Winwood allowed, not quite sure he liked being counselled by two common seamen; wasn't he Sailing Master, the Admiralty-chosen sage responsible for safe navigation?
"In th' main channel, sir." Elder Grace grinned. "An' clear o' th' worst bars an' shoals, so far. Markers an' buoys'll see us right."
"Very well, Mister Winwood, Seaman Grace. Carry on." Lewrie nodded. "And, thankee… thankee both. Or, all three, that is," he added, as their son/grandson crooked his neck to follow Winwood's finger on the chart, between their legs, seeing a wonder he'd not suspected could be pictured or written down, that lore he'd learned from the cradle, mostlike. "For your loyalty and steadfastness through all our troubles. I believe, Mister Winwood, we'll be needing a replacement for your Irish Master's Mate, Mister Nugent?"
"Well, aye, sir." Winwood frowned.
"Move one of the quartermasters up, one of the mates to replace that'un… and Mister Grace here," he nodded at the elder, "advanced to Quartermaster's Mate?"
"Very good, sir." Winwood nodded, whether he liked it or not.