The side-party formed up once more as the gig attained the ship's side. "Ship's company, muster by the entry-port!" Alan ordered. "Off hats and salute!"
A cocked hat appeared over the lip of the entry-port. A stern face emerged as the bosun's pipes began to trill. The visage was not the old salt that Alan expected. This was a young man, perhaps only a few years older than he, a favorite blessed with membership in the flagship's officers roster. La Coquette needed officers, so officers with "interest" had gone into her. The prize sloop that Resistance and Dugay Trouin had taken needed officers. And now, like a gift from the gods, another command slot had opened up for Hood to fill with one of his protйgйs.
He did not look, though, like someone Alan would prefer to serve, even if he could have looked at him impartially. There was a set to the mouth, a squint to the eyes, that bespoke a "taut hand," a hard disciplinarian, one of those fellows with a harsh manner for all under him. Alan drew a heavy sigh, then drew his sword to give the man his salute. However, the cat William Pitt delivered his own version of salute first.
The cat, drawn by the commotion, had, in answer to the curiosity of his tribe, crossed the deck and wormed his way between the legs of the gathered Marines, pausing to "mark" a likely set of half-gaiters in passing. But at the sight of a stranger, he greeted him as Lewrie had been greeted when he had signed aboard.
There was a challenging yowl of displeasure, a slash of claws that caught the officer across the nose, and a startled squawk of alarm from their new commander. Then, losing his grip on the loose-hung man-ropes, and still vertical along the ship's side instead of leaning slightly into a larger ship's tumble-home (Shrike had none), the new captain dropped from sight as if he had never been there. A second later, there was a rather loud thud in the gig, and a chorus of shouts.
"Oh, shit, Pitt's killed him!" Alan groaned, sheathing his sword and dashing to the entry-port. "How is he?"
"Er, 'e's knocked 'isself h'out cold, sir," the temporary cox'n of the gig shouted back up. "'E don' look sa good ta me, sir."
"Mister Lewyss to the gangway, on the double!" Alan shouted. Lewyss turned up a moment later with a small medical bag and descended to the gig.
"I'll kill that cat!" Caldwell vowed. "Who was the new captain, sir?"
"How the hell should I know, Mister Caldwell?" Alan complained. "He never got a chance to tell us. Somebody pass up his orders. They should be in his pockets. At least," he said in a softer voice to the temporary first lieutenant, "we can determine whom we've murdered."
"Nasty, sir," Mr. Lewyss informed them, regaining the deck with the documents requested. "Nasty cut on the back of his skull, and sure to be concussed. He's out like a light. And I don't like the look of his right arm, either, sir. I am certain he broke it. I'd be happier with him in Barfleur, sir. They have an excellent surgeon aboard, I'm told, d'ye see."
"Well, until he read himself in, he's not one of ours yet." Alan nodded in agreement. "And since he's in the boat and ready for transport, that'd be best. Mister Rossyngton?"
"Aye, sir?" the midshipman asked.
"Be so good as join the doctor in accompanying the captain back aboard Barfleur," Alan directed, handing Rossyngton the injured officer's orders. "My compliments to the flag-captain, and return these to him."
Alan felt his face tightening with a grin he fought to suppress. "Please extend our apologies to that worthy, and inform him we require another master and commander for Shrike. We… urn… we seem to have broken this one."
"Um, ah…" Rossyngton replied crisply, trying to keep his own visage free of the humors that tickled him. "Aye aye, sir."
"Christ, I hope this… whoever he was, wasn't a particular favorite of the admiral's," Alan prayed aloud once the boat was under way. "I'd hoped to get out of the Navy with a whole skin. They'll probably hang me in tar and chains after this."
"Wasn't your fault, sir," Caldwell assured him. "Don't see as how they can go blaming you for his clumsiness. Or Pitt. It was probably for the best. Maybe Shrike didn't like the cut of his jib, or something. You know, sir, ships get souls after a while. Looked like a hard man, to me. Maybe the ship knew he wouldn't do right by her, or the people."
"Pitt surely didn't like the cut of his jib," Alan agreed.
"Might have done it for all the cats aboard, sir," Caldwell went on. "Some officers don't like pets of any kind, and would have 'em over the side to drown. Maybe things work out for the best, sir, after all."
"Signal, sir," Edgar called. "Get under way!"
"Thankee, Mister Edgar! Bosun, hands to the braces! Get the way back on her! Mister Caldwell, keep us on the larboard tack, near the flag, for now."
For the next hour, Shrike paced alongside the flagship as she caught up the squadron, like a calf will plod alongside her mother. And then came a signal for them to fetch-to once more, and the gig came back, the doctor and midshipman Rossyngton aboard, but no sign of a new officer to command the ship. Evidently, after the last wave of promotions, suitably senior lieutenants in favor were thin on the ground.
"This is for you, sir," Rossyngton said, presenting Alan with a canvas-bound sheaf of papers once he had gained the deck and come aft. "We are instructed to close with Commodore Affleck's flag, sir, the Bedford. Admiral Hood has deferred to him to choose another officer for us."
Alan took the bundle, a little irked at the smile that tugged at the corners of Rossyngton's mouth. "Mister Caldwell, alter course to close with Bedford," Alan directed, while turning away to break the still-warm wax seal on the packet.
"Sufferin' shit!" he muttered as he began to read.
My dear Lt. Lewrie;
The vagaries of Fate, and the fickleness of Dame Fortune conspire to alter my Intents, good sir. I had hoped to reward Lt. Ishaell Sharpe for his long and meritorious Service as my 4th officer, with Command, but it seems it is not to be.
In response to your generous, heart-felt, and commendable concerns anent your former captain, Lt. Lilycrop's, Future, and, having had converse with Capt. Nelson, a young man whom I hold in the highest Affection and Admiration, regarding both your cares and his view of the matter, allow me to bid you allay your worries.
While my surgeons are not sanguine about his ability to hold a further Sea Commission, they assure me he shall heal well enough that future Service is not out of the question, perhaps as a Dockyard Superintendent, or officer of the Impress Service, should he desire active Employment. I shall take Lt. Lilycrop under my aegis, and make the strongest Advertment in my power to Our Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to that effect.
"Well, thank God for small favors," Alan smiled in relief. He turned the letter over to read the rest of it.
Regarding the vacancy in command of Shrike, basing my Decision upon the favorable notice you have elicited in past by your gallant, resourceful and honourable past Service; having myself formed an admiration of your Abilities during the affair in The Chesapeake, and your plucky conduct during your escape; and, having had further converse with the gallant Captain Nelson, and receiving from him an whole-hearted approbation of your Character; I did most recently consider taking you into Barfleur as 6th officer, from which post of favour you might find an opening for Advancement. But, after greeting your Lt. Lilycrop, and soliciting his own recommendations after Lt. Sharpe's recent Misfortune, I trust that command of a small brig of war shall suffice. Be assured that in future you should not be in any way hesitant in considering me your admiring Patron, or in availing yourself of any kindness I may be able to extend to you.