“Here’s to us, none like us, a band of bold British sea-rovers!” Lewrie intoned. He would have said English, but wasn’t sure where his junior officers sprang from.
“To us!”
Lewrie saw them off into their respective boats, then took the night air on the quarterdeck.
“They sound an eager lot, sir,” Westcott commented.
“And, hopefully, a young but ferocious and canny lot, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie said with an easy smile; though he did cross the fingers of his right hand along the seam of his breeches.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Once at sea on-passage towards the Old Bahama Channel, Lewrie put his small squadron to exercises. He placed Reliant at the rear of a column in-line-ahead, then signalled them to take stations in a column ahead and to windward or leeward of the frigate, close aboard with only two cables’ separation, as if they were entering an inlet or back-of-the-island bay and expecting action, with the ships with shallower draughts making the attack, backed up by his heavier guns.
In the event that the squadron stumbled across a proper enemy warship, they practiced sheering off from that formation on a bow-and-quarter-line, the lighter ships altering course together while Reliant surged ahead to offer battle, and Thorn, Firefly, and Lizard could take the foe on from her un-engaged side.
He made them practice wearing about in order of succession and letting Reliant cover a withdrawal, if the need arose to flee from a much stronger enemy squadron.
A special signal not in the Popham Code book could shake them out into a Vee formation ahead of Reliant ’s bows for general chase, and they practiced that. Half of each morning, besides the time for small-arms drill or exercising with the great guns, was spent on manoeuvring, before Lewrie would allow yet another signal to be hoisted; which would free them to dash ahead and to either beam out toward the horizons, but still within decent signalling distance, on the hunt.
“I’m sure they’re gettin’ tired o’ this,” Lewrie told Westcott as the “Release” soared aloft, and he cocked his head back to watch as it was two-blocked-below his broad pendant.
Damme, but that bit o’ bunting looks hellish-fine, he thought; I could almost get used to it! Until Spanish Florida was scoured free of privateering, or Reliant was ordered to other duties, he was his own man, “on his own bottom”. His next orders from Admiralty might put him back under a real Commodore, or in some Rear-Admiral’s squadron or fleet, and Reliant would be chained to a column of Third Rates to plod along like a dutiful elephant calf!
“I think not, sir,” Westcott assured him, bestowing one of his savagely brief grins. “They’re doing something useful, for once, and acting like real man o’ war’smen. I’d imagine they’re revelling in it. Getting a shot at serving under an officer with a reputation for fighting, made Knight and Baronet for courage?”
“Well… hmm,” Lewrie grudgingly allowed. It was not the false modesty that he usually felt necessary, but real, for a rare once.
“Serving a man with a broad pendant… other than their former Commodore, too, hmm?” Westcott slyly added.
“Now now, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie gently chid him. “We cannot disparage our seniors or fellow officers. Even if one of them is the laziest, most useless sod in all Creation, with the wits of a flea and the manners of a boar hog. It just ain’t on!” he laughed, savouring the hour of sailing when he had at last hoisted his broad pendant, and had wondered what Francis Forrester was spluttering at the sight. Had he gone puce in the face? Cursed and stamped his feet in rage?
Lewrie certainly hoped that he had!
He strolled to the binnacle cabinet to fetch his own telescope and peered forward past the spread of the inner, outer, and flying jibs to watch his three small ships scuttling away, now free of manoeuvring exercises, and allowed free chase ’til sundown. No wonder the pirates of old had prized the Jamaican or Bermudan sloops, for they were fast and weatherly; Thorn, Firefly, and Lizard had spread more sail and were already more than a mile off in the short time since he had released them. By Noon Sights, they could be out on the horizon, with only top-sails showing!
“I’ll be below for a bit, before Noon Sights, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie told the First Officer.
He barely made it to the bottom of the windward ladderway when he heard a series of yips and barks, and spotted a shaggy tan-and-white dog dashing for him, its long-haired tail whipping.
“Where did that come from?” Lewrie snapped. “Mister Westcott?”
“Don’t know, sir!” Lt. Westcott answered, looking down to the ship’s waist from the quarterdeck nettings.
The dog whined and circled round Lewrie, tongue lolling, with what could be deemed a grin on its face, bounding up on its hind legs as if to encourage petting.
“Well, he wasn’t aboard when we left England, nor Bermuda,” Lewrie snapped. The dog was sniffing at his boots and knee buttons. It barked once more, then sat on its haunches for a brief moment before leaping once more. “Silly bastard,” Lewrie growled; “where the Devil did you spring from, hey?”
He was answered with a whiny “yah-yeow” and another bound. He put out a hand to pat it on its head, and the next second, the hound had both paws on his chest, as high as it could reach, grinning fit to bust, and squirming with joy to be petted.
“Oh! Ah…!”
Lewrie looked forward to the hatchway to the gun-deck and saw Midshipmen Munsell and Rossyngton, looking extremely sheepish.
“Did you bring this dog aboard, young sirs?” Lewrie snapped.
“Sir, he’s ahh… the mascot of our mess, sir,” Rossyngton answered, after a gulp or two. “Get down, Bisquit! Here, boy!”
The dog looked up adoringly at Lewrie’s face, gave him a look as if to say “see you later”, and bounded off to the Midshipmen.
“You two snuck this dog aboard?” Lewrie asked, putting on his “stern” face. “Without permission? Found it starving on the streets of Nassau, did you; and took pity?”
“Oh no, sir!” Rossyngton corrected. “He came off the Mersey, sir. It was her Midshipmen that found him first, but their captain and officers ordered him gone. They’ve a pack of hunting dogs aboard, well… half a dozen or so… and didn’t want a cur mounting their bitches when they came in heat.”
“Put him back ashore twice, sir, but Mersey ’s Mids always found a way to sneak him back aboard,” Munsell breathlessly added. “Honest to God, sir, their captain was so angry they’d done so that he ordered Bisquit drowned in a sack, sir, and… it was take him as our mascot or see him killed!”
That sounds like Forrester! Lewrie thought in sudden anger; He always was a cruel bastard!
“He and his officers hunt on shore a lot, do they?” Lewrie asked.
“It would seem so, sir,” Rossyngton told him, petting the dog which was pressing and nuzzling at his free hand for attention.
“We’ll feed him from our rations, sir; he’ll be no bother,” Midshipman Munsell assured.
“That’ll be the day!” Lewrie scoffed. “The Midshipmen’s mess’d eat hay, and kindling wood, to get their fill! Even double rations are not enough for growing lads. That’s why you purchase ‘millers’ from the Jack-In-The-Breadroom.”