“That’ll be most satisfactory, sir,” Lewrie told him, smiling with delight at that news. His smile engendered one upon Darling’s face, too. “She handles well?”
“Quite well, sir,” Lt. Darling proudly said. “Under fore-and-aft sails, with stays’l and jibs only, she’ll go about quick as one can say ‘Jack Ketch’, and she’s tolerably fast, to boot.”
Lewrie put his hands in the small of his back and went stoic and silent for a moment, taking in Thorn ’s material condition, as if judging her. In reality, he was counting up supper guests:
Me, the Sailing Master, Mister Westcott, Bury, Darling and his First Officer, that Lovett fellow yonder on Firefly, that makes seven, Lewrie tallied up; Whoops, there’s Lizard ’s other Lieutenant, Rainey, that’ll make eight. I’ll place him or Child at the foot, “below the salt ”. Somebody junior’s got t’give the King’s toast!
“I’d admire did you and Lieutenant Child both dine with me this evening, Mister Darling,” Lewrie said, as if coming up from the depths of a serious musing.
“Delighted to accept, sir!”
Lt. Oliver Lovett’s HMS Firefly would be the smallest of their squadron. Thorn was about ninety feet on the range of her deck, Lizard about eighty-five, whilst Firefly barely managed to attain seventy feet. She was fore-and-aft rigged, with only one crossed yard on each upper mast to spread square sails. Her armament was made up of eight old 6-pounders, with only 2-pounder swivel guns on stanchion brackets for bow or stern chase guns. Unlike Thorn or Lizard, which had a Commission Officer to assist their captains, Lt. Lovett had only one Midshipman, and was his own sailing master or purser. None of them rated a Marine complement, either, and all had but two small ship’s boats, a gig and a jolly boat each. That would have to be rectified, somehow, Lewrie determined, if they came across a privateer encampment, though he did not know how to whistle up suitable boats at short notice, right off. He could not afford them out of his own purse, might spend years explaining issuing Admiralty chits, and doubted if Forrester would allow them a spare bailing bucket. Could he steal some, he wondered?
Lt. Oliver Lovett was another “odd bird”, though nowhere near as solemn as Lt. Bury. Lovett was an inch taller than Lewrie, slimly built, but leanly muscular. He had a large “beak”, as big and cranked as a Cornishman, dark brown hair that he wore long and curly on both sides of his head, in an un-manageable mop over his forehead, with the “surplus” bound at the nape of his neck in an old-time sailor’s queue as thick as the tail of a border collie. When Lewrie went aboard, Lt. Lovett was dressed in stained breeches, Hessian boots, and a weather-tanned linen shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Give him a waist sash and an eyepatch, and Lovett could do a fair impersonation of a pirate; the young fellow nigh-vibrated with pent up, and boundless, energy.
“Bless you, Captain Lewrie, sir, for you bring deliverance from utter drudgery!” Lovett loudly exclaimed, with such eagerness that he seemed impatient that they would not be off, instanter. He would also be delighted to be dined aboard Reliant this evening, though he did make apologies for how shabby his turn-out might appear, and hoped he would not disappoint.
“It’s more a working supper, nothing grand, Mister Lovett,” Lewrie assured him. “Come alongside a bit before half past six.”
After a quick tour of Firefly, Lewrie had himself rowed back cross the roadstead to the deeper anchorages in the West Bay, and his mid-day meal, feeling quite satisfied, so far. He had two vessels of ten-foot draught, and one, Firefly, that only drew nine, all of them able to prowl quite close inshore, or into the many inlets and rivers too shallow for his frigate. He had a slew of 6-pounder guns available, did they operate together, and even if Thorn ’s carronades could not reach out very far, or aid in the bombardment of privateers’ shore camps, when put up against the light wales of a privateer at the usual range, Lt. Darling and his stubby guns could shoot clean through them!
Lewrie turned his attention back to his oarsmen, instead of musing on the shore, and noted that they seemed… antsy, constantly looking over their shoulders towards Reliant.
“Anything wrong, lads?” he asked.
“Oh, no sir!” one replied.
“Well…” Patrick Furfy carefully spoke up. “If ye wouldn’t moind, sor, might ye be tellin’ us th’ time?”
Lewrie pulled his watch from his pocket and opened it, grinning as he twigged to their concern. “It’s twenty minutes past eleven… and I do believe we’ll all be back aboard in time for ‘Clear Decks and Up Spirits’. If we get a goodly way on, that is.”
“Hear the Cap’m, lads?” his Cox’n, Liam Desmond, snapped. “Git a way on, ye lummoxes. Set a hot stroke, Pat.”
“Pull!” Furfy cried, digging in with his oar. “And… pull!”
All in all, a good morning’s work, Lewrie happily told himself.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
With his cook’s, Yeovill’s, help Lewrie aimed to make the supper a succulent and filling affair to introduce his new subordinates to each other, and to himself. Though the various courses were toothsome, he had promised a working supper, so, over the spicy shredded chicken broth soup, the grilled shrimp and vegetable medley, the mid-meal vinaigrette salad, and the requisite roast beef, roast potatoes, and peas, he quizzed them on their backgrounds and past experiences. Darling was the most loquacious and amusing, Lovett gruffer and more modest, and Bury the most enigmatic, but Lewrie was secretly satisfied that all three younger men had come up from the orlop cockpit at slow paces with years as Mids or Passed Mids before gaining their Lieutenancies. Both of the Lieutenants off Thorn and Lizard, Child and Rainey, mostly kept proper and deferent silence, much like Midshipmen allowed to dine aft with their superiors; though they did tuck the victuals in heartily, and knew enough to laugh or smile when past merriment was mentioned.
“Clear for the sweets, sir?” Yeovill asked, taking note of the empty plates and crossed tableware. “’Tis a key-lime jumble, though I fear the meringue’s a failure.” Yeovill gave Pettus and Jessop the nod to begin serving the light white wine to accompany dessert.
“Thankee, Yeovill, aye,” Lewrie agreed, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Now we’ve come t’know a bit about each other, gentlemen, I think it’s time to fill you in on what we’re to do together. One hopes ye’ll find it more exciting than patrolling the Bahamas.”
“Anything would be, sir,” Lt. Lovett exclaimed.
“Come across many French or Spanish privateers among the islands, do you?” Lewrie asked.
“Uhm, hardly any, sir,” Lt. Darling said, “for there’s not all that much to prey upon, with the bulk of the shipping American or neutral.”
“Not much in the way of really valuable cargoes, either, sir,” Lovett added.
“There’s not much prize-money in hunting privateers, but somebody’s got t’do it,” Lewrie said, after a sip of his wine. “Head or Gun Money on crew and armament, and perhaps, if a vessel’s big enough and in good shape, she might be bought in after surveying, to do the sort of duties you’re performing, but… there’s little profit in it. Which explains why our Navy doesn’t put much effort into chasing them,” Lewrie said with a faint grimace.
“More glory in close broadsides, frigate to frigate,” Lt. Bury almost gloomily agreed with a slow nod.
“Why even stir out of, port, if there’s not fame in the offing?” Lt. Darling cynically asked, and Lewrie noted the secret grins shared between Darling and Lovett, and their junior officers.