Dewey Lambdin - H.M.S. COCKEREL Страница 15

"Aye, aye, sir?" a tiny midshipman chirped as he popped up from nowhere.

"Escort Mister Lewrie, our new first officer, aft so he may announce himself to the captain."

"Aye, aye, sir," the fourteen-year-old piped, almost bobbing in eagerness. Or relief, Lewrie wondered? What made his arrival such a joyous occasion?

"I'll see to getting your chest aboard, sir," Lieutenant Scott offered.

"Just steer my man Cony the right direction, Mister Scott." He turned to follow the boy to the quarter-deck ladders which led below from the sail-tending gangways to the gun deck.

"Another hand, then? Bloody good!" Scott beamed, cracking his palms together with satisfaction.

Cockerel, like all modern frigates, was flush-decked. Her after fourth was a bare and functional quarterdeck, with no accommodations in a poop cabin. It was broken only by the after capstan heads, the base of the mizzenmast, a double wheel, compass binnacle, chart table and traverse board aft of that, and guns. There were signal-flag lockers right-aft by the taffrail, and a long coach top, a skylight which fed sun and air below to that worthy's great-cabins, between after hatch and the wheel. On either beam, bowsed up to the low bulwarks, were pieces of artillery; two long six-pounders and two shorter-barreled twenty-four-pounder carronades in both larboard and starboard batteries.

Cockerel's gun deck proper stretched 130 feet from bow to stern, with the bulk of it exposed to the sky in the waist between the foc's'le and the great-cabins. There her main armament nested-twenty-six twelve-pounder guns, with some aft in the captain's quarters.

Unlike larger two-decked ships of the line, her officers and men did not sleep, idle or sup jammed between the artillery. Frigates had a second, lower deck (confusingly named gun deck) below the gun deck proper, for accommodations, with hands forrud, Marines aft of them and the commission and warrant officers right aft, under the captain, in the wardroom. A frigate's captain was the only person to reside on the true gun deck, in solitary splendour of the great-cabins, which were as large as the entire wardroom.

Tiny Midshipman Spendlove announced Lewrie to the Marine sentry on guard without the entry door, underneath the overhang of the quarterdeck's forward edge. The Marine hitched a deep breath, and banged the butt of his Brown Bess musket on the oak planks, then shouted out just what, and whom, dared interrupt their captain's musings. "Come." A laconic voice was heard from within. Lewrie entered, hat and orders under his left arm, in past the chartroom to starboard, and a roomy and inviting dining coach which lay to larboard, rich with waxed and varnished table, bulkheads and beams. On a gleaming sideboard there were coin-silver lamps and tea-things, ornate, highly polished brass accoutrements, much like what he had seen in Calcutta or Canton. The dish service was Oriental, too.

He took in the usual black-and-white chequered sailcloth which covered the deck of the day cabin in lieu of formal tiles, and several carpets laid atop it. He'd seen their like before, as well. There were intricately figured trellis-patterned Hindoo and Bokhara, all red and gold and black. And a few pale green, beige or pale yellow Chinee carpets, with their enigmatic glyphs in their centers. To starboard was a seating area, made up of fancy-filigreed Chippendale-Chinese chairs and a real sofa, with ecru silk fabric, and side tables and bookcases of gleaming teak, a large square, glossy black construct he took for a wine cabinet, lightly sketched over with pale gilt scenes. For a moment, he thought he was back in a trader's "hong" in Canton, or his father's luxurious, Grand Moghul of a palace-bungalow in Calcutta!

"Yes?" his new captain prompted at last with some irritation.

"Sir…!" Lewrie harumphed, drawing his wits back to the matter at hand, ending his perusal (and rapid valuation) of his new lord and master's private digs. "Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, sir. Reporting aboard."

"I see," Captain Braxton sighed, sounding a bit put-upon. "And you are to be my new first?" "Aye, sir, I am."

Captain Braxton was seated to larboard, behind a heavy teak work desk, all scrollwork and leaving, inlaid with ivory chips in a "Tree of Life" pattern round the top of the outward-facing sides, and around the edges of the top surface. Braxton rose, careful not to smash his head on the overhead deck beams. Those beams, every exposed wood surface in his cabins, whether permanent structural members or temporary partitions, were highly Unseeded and waxed. Where paint did show, it was a pleasing, restful beige. And the traditional blood red bulwarks below the wainscotting were done in a brighter-than-Navy fiery, Chinee red, too. Against that, the squat black iron twelve-pounders seemed drab.

Braxton was about Lewrie's height, in his middle forties, he estimated. His hair was so very curly, short and iron grey that Alan at first thought he wore a powdered tie-wig. His queue was very short, no lower than the bottom of his collar.

For his age, Braxton appeared remarkably fit, and only just the slightest tad stocky. Most captains in their senior years, once they had gained purses to match their appetites, thickened about the waist. Braxton seemed to have avoided that.

"Your orders, sir," he demanded, creating two deep vertical ruts between his thick, bushy brows. "Take a pew, do, Mister Lewrie."

Alan sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs before the desk, turning to keep a wary eye on Braxton as he paced the cabins and read to himself. His face kept those vertical ruts, making Alan wonder if he always looked so dyspeptic and ill at ease. The Captain possessed a long, square face, with a thin, though jutting, chin. His nose was a weather vane, large and narrow. His eyes were on the small side, however, and set rather close, slightly downturned. And his mouth was down-turned, too, to the left side, as he spoke at last.

"Served in the Far East, I see, Mister Lewrie?"

"Aye, sir. Two years."

"Don't recall Telesto" Braxton sniffed, dismissively. " Calcutta, Canton… 'pon my word, I don't. Held command of an East Indiaman, 'tween the wars. Spent years out there, d'ye see."

"I wondered, sir," Lewrie smiled, hoping to ingratiate himself, "when I saw your cabin furnishings, well… it rather took me back, if you get my meaning, sir. Only a China hand'd appreciate…"

"Yes, yes," Braxton cut him off.

John Company captain, were you, Lewrie thought. Gad, 'tis no wonder Cockerel's so well appointed. Those buggers make Ј5,000 for the round voyage! And that's the legal sort. Little speculation in opium and such… sky's the bloody limit!

"P'raps we'll get on together, then," Braxton continued, still frowning, though. "Navy Board must've taken my experience, and yours, into account, for once. Damn fools."

"As if they intended Cockerel to… serve in the Far East, sir?" Lewrie stated, striving to cover his sudden qualms.

Oh, bloody Jesus, is that why they…? Off to all those damn plagues an' shit, again!

"I doubt they've that much sense," Braxton snorted with derision as he came back to his desk, flung Lewrie's orders atop it, and took a seat. " Indian Ocean, China Seas, full t'the brim with Frogs and their proxies. Half the princes, Chink or Hindi, eager to revolt. But…! Considerin' the Admiralty's poor parcel of collective wit, sir… well, I more expect we're off to Nova Scotia. Beyond orders to outfit and man, I've no word yet where we're bound."

"I see, sir," Lewrie replied evenly, though with a great deal of relief.

"Says you've had independent commands." "Aye, sir."

"I trust you didn't develop any bad habits, Mister Lewrie. Such as getting so used to doing things your own way, you can't cope with an order." Braxton all but sneered. "Not at all, sir."

"That was the last fellow's problem, why he didn't last under me. I will not have my orders questioned, ever, I'll tell you straightaway, Lewrie. I've captained a King's Ship, captained Indiamen, before you were 'breeched,' I expect. I will be obeyed. Hear me?"

"Of course, sir," Alan agreed by rote, though mystified. "I run a taut ship, sir," Braxton informed him. "Officers and men, no matter. I'll brook no dumb insolence, no insubordination. I give a command, an order, I expect 'em to be carried out to my satisfaction, instantly. Can't abide being second-guessed. No schoolboys' debatin' society, no sir, not for me. Not from you, not from anyone. As first Lieutenant, you're my voice, my eyes. My whip, if it comes to it. Is that clear, sir?"

"Well, absolutely, sir," Lewrie said with half a grin. "Those all go, pretty much without saying, in the Fleet."

"Good," Braxton nodded, relaxing a bit. "Good, then."

"Might I inquire how long Cockerel has been in commission, sir?" Lewrie asked, eager to get on more mundane matters.

"Six weeks," Braxton shot back, sounding as if he was boasting, yet scowling as if it were one of Hercules' Twelve Labours. "And, no thanks to that incompetent fool, Mylett. Your predecessor, d'ye see? Slack, idle, cunny-thumbed as a raw landsman… how he ever gained his commission, I cannot fathom. Could have been done in four, sir. Four weeks, I tell you! Were it not for his dumb insolence, his belabouring of ev'ry matter. His idiocy. There's a war on, but Lieutenant Mylett'd not be stirred to energetic action. And obstreperous with me, to my ev'ry instruction! Like it was peacetime, hah!"

"I must say, though, she's…"

"Another thing I'll tell you straightaway, Mister Lewrie," the captain grumbled, like far off broadsides. "It is my wish, nay… my abiding order, that Cockerel distinguish herself in ev'ry instance. Sailhandling, gunnery, stationkeeping… in action, should it come our lot. Cockerel shall be the most efficient command in the Fleet, or I'll crush those who fail her, like cockroaches! And the ones who fail me, d'ye see, sir?"

"Aye, aye, sir," Lewrie all but gulped at Braxton's almost fanatical devotion. Damme, he thought; don't think I'm going to enjoy this.

"She will be the triggest vessel, the cleanest, the best!" her captain announced with righteous heat. "Her crew the keenest, officers the most unerring and watchful. Or I'll know the reason why."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"She's full of raw landsmen, idlers and waisters. Pressed and turned-over hands. Her professionals 've spent too long in-ordinary, too long swinging 'round the best bower-rode at peacetime slackness. Frankly, Mister Lewrie, there're people aboard, commission and warrant, who need hard stirring. They've set too long, like treacle. Mister Scott, that burly popinjay… frankly, sir, there're men aboard need afire lit under their fundaments. Too few upon whom I may completely rely. I trust you will be one of those, sir. Indeed I do." Braxton leaned over his desk intently.

"I'm certain you may, sir."

"We shall see, won't we?" Braxton smiled of a sudden, relaxing and turning cheery. "For the nonce, get yourself settled in, make the rounds, get to know the senior people. You'll find my Order Book in your cabin… unless Mylett added theft to his long list of crimes. You will find my ways demanding, sir. But they are my ways, and they work. As for our needs concerning hands and such, I strongly adjure you to get on good terms with our second officer. He stood in as acting first lieutenant the last week. I' d hoped… well. If Cockerel is near-complete in her recommissioning, you have his efforts to thank for it. Once we discovered what a total disaster Mylett was. You'll find his insights more than useful."