"First off'cah… SAH!" the Marine sentry by the outer door announced in a loud, thunderous basso, with the requisite thud of a musket butt on the deck.
"Come," Lewrie bade, glad for at least one friendly face.
"Good morning, sir," Lt. Ballard said, hat in hand. "The wind is come round to West-Sou'west. Once the hands have eat, the ship is ready for sea, in all respects."
"Very good, Mister Ballard," Lewrie said. "Coffee?"
"Most welcome, sir," Ballard agreed. As Pettus poured him a cup, Ballard gazed about the great-cabins. "May I say, sir, that your quarters now more resemble the hold of a coasting brig."
"Barely enough room t'swing a cat, aye," Lewrie agreed, grumbling over the rim of his cup, which he held between both hands. "How I am expected t'land all this flotsam and jetsam with 'em, I don't know. Heard from the pilot, have we, Arthur?"
"We have, sir," Ballard replied, all grim business, as was his wont when on duty. For a moment, Lewrie could almost imagine that Lt. Ballard's tone of voice held a note of reproof for the casual use of his Christian name. "He assures us that his boat will be alongside at six, and suggested, in his note of reply, that our best course would be to depart through the Saint Nicholas Gat channel, which will lie to leeward of the winds… and is most-recently re-buoyed and marked, sir."
"I'd dig a channel through the shoals and bars, does it get us on our way soonest," Lewrie said back. "Lord, what a chore they are!"
"Our 'live-lumber,' I take it that you mean, sir," Ballard said with only the faintest smirk.
"One a talkative wind-bag, t'other a gloomy, drunken 'sponge,' " Lewrie griped. "Before Mister Mountjoy departed us, he told me it was part of my 'diplomatic' duty to dine 'em proper… play the tactful host, hah! I'd rather have the other officers and Mids in, and get a feel for 'em, but I can't do that with our passengers at-table at the same time. I can have a few of 'em in each meal, but, only for their amusement," he said, jerking his head aft in the direction of his sleeping guests. He spoke low, as well, so as not to wake them. No matter, for the sounds of hundreds of sailors opening and slamming sea chests, their shoes thundering on the decks and companionway ladders, and the thuds and squeaks of wash-deck pumps being set up and drawing sea water… followed by the rasp of holystones and "bibles" on those decks for the morning's scrub-down to pristine whiteness, which could be conjured as the wheezing breath of a great dragon at times, was sure to awaken them, sooner or later; even Levotchkin, who had been poured into his swaying bed-cot by his servant, Sasha, as drunk as a lord.
"The stoves stowed away?" Lewrie asked, pouring himself half a cup of coffee, to warm up the rest in his mug.
"No fuel added since the start of the Middle Watch, sir, and the embers are now in the process of being cast overside," Lt. Ballard replied. "They shall be dismantled and stowed away on the orlop directly."
"Very well," Lewrie said with a sigh, "Damned shame, really. I fear the people will be half-frozen, by the time we're under way."
"Top up your coffee, Mister Ballard?" Pettus offered.
"Aye, thank you, Pettus," Ballard agreed.
"Whaa?" came a strangled cry from aft, and the creak of a swaying cot as its occupant sat up too quickly. "Stop that noise at once! You disturb my… chort! Yob tvoyemat!" followed by thud as whichever of the nobles fell out and hit the deck. "God damn you!"
"They're such a joy, Mister Ballard," Lewrie said in a sarcastic drawl. "I will join you on deck. D'ye need your manservant, sir?" he called aft in a louder voice.
"Da, send Sasha to me, so… Bulack!" Count Levotchkin yelled, just before all the liquor and wine he'd taken aboard re-arose, and he "cast his accounts to Neptune." Lewrie hoped he had enough wit to find a handy bucket.
"Get a mop, sir?" Pettus asked with distaste and trepidation.
"No, get his bloody manservant," Lewrie said. "I expect his man has bags of experience, cleanin' up after him. I'll breakfast once we are through the Gat, and made our offing, Pettus. A stale roll, with some jam… and a lot more coffee… will serve 'til then."
"Aye, sir," Pettus replied with a relieved grin.
Once through St. Nicholas Gat, past the barely awash barrier isles and shallow belt of shoals and bars, ghosting along under jibs, tops'ls, and winged-out driver, and about four miles offshore, the harbour pilot's single-masted cutter came alongside, and their guide departed, leaving HMS Thermopylae free to make her own way.
"Make her fly, Mister Ballard," Lewrie bade with a broad grin, elated beyond all measure to be back at sea. "Show me what our ship's capable of. All but the fore course, t'keep her bow lifted."
"Aye-aye, sir," Ballard was happy to agree, and began bawling out orders through a brass speaking-trumpet. Lieutenants Farley and Fox, with wolfish grins, cheered the hands on to lay aloft and trice up, with half the Midshipmen scampering up the rat-lines with the topmen to cast off harbour gaskets and brails, and loose canvas.
Half an hour later, at Seven Bells of the Morning Watch, "all plain sail" had been set, and Thermopylae was pounding roughly to the Nor'east over a fine-wrinkled steel-grey sea, flecked with rollers and "sea horses" topped with white spume.
"Eight and three-quarter knots, sir!" Midshipman Privette, the dullish one, cried from the taffrails where he and two men of the Afterguard had plied the minute glass and the chip-log.
"How does she steer, off the wind?" Lewrie asked the Quartermaster of the watch, who, with one of his Mates, manned the large helm.
"Sweet, Cap'm sir," Beasley replied, shifting his tobacco quid to the other side of his mouth, away from Lewrie. "She's a lady at any point o' sail, almost."
"Mister Lyle?" Lewrie asked the Sailing Master. "D'ye think we could free the last reef line of the t'gallants? Or does your experience with the weather in the North Sea suggest against it?"
" 'Tis a fine morning, sir, and no hint of storm," Mr. Lyle replied, looking as if he relished speed as well, after a long spell in harbour. "I see no problem with such."
"Full t'gallants, Mister Ballard," Lewrie ordered, strolling to the starboard bulwarks to take hold of the after-most mizen mast stays and the cap-rail of the bulwark with mittened hands. With the winds almost right up the stern, there was no windward side, at present, to be reserved for him alone. He leaned far out to look forward, beaming a foolish grin of pleasure to eye Thermopylae's wake as it creamed along her hull; a great kerfuffle of white spray where her cutwater and forefoot sliced ocean, a churning, white-foamy waterfall curving back and upwards in a slight swell from the bows to almost amidships, where it sloughed downwards to bare a glittering peek at her coppered quick-work before rising and spreading further aft, where it grew out into a broad bridal train of pale green and white that pointed astern towards the coast as straight as an arrow, so disturbed that it lingered long after the frigate had created it. The ship thumped, thudded, and drummed as it met each oncoming roller, flinging short columns and curtains of spray as high as the anchor cat-heads and the forecastle bulwarks, misting aft in a shivery, cold rain that dappled the quarterdeck like the first, fat drops of a storm.
And it was glorious!
Eight Bells chimed from the forecastle belfry in four twin tings to end the Morning Watch and begin the Forenoon. Almost in unison to the last double-ding, Midshipman Privette's last cast of the log, and his last official act of his watch, was to call out "Nine and a quarter knots, sir! Nine and a quarter!"
"We'll reef t'gallants, should the wind come fresher, Mister Ballard," Lewrie called out over the loud bustle of the sea, and the sounds of creaking masts, timbers, and the groan of standing rigging. "But… does it ease, we'll go 'all to the royals'!"
"Very good, sir," Lt. Ballard soberly answered, though Lewrie's last thought seemed to please the officers and hands who manned the quarterdeck. They had a captain who was willing to press if weather allowed, and let their frigate, of which they were justifiably proud, run like a thoroughbred.