"I do, sir," Alan replied evenly, showing no fatigue or disappointment at this news. It was all one to him, tired as he was.
"The main thing is to be professional in tone, no emotions at all. Wouldn't want your contemporaries to think you were glory hunting. And none of this 'it is my sad and inconsolable duty to report that so and so passed over,' d'ya see? Tone it down and list the dead and wounded later, preceded by the phrase, 'as per margin.'"
"I list them in the margin, sir?" Alan wondered.
"No, but that is the form most preferred by Mr. Phillip Stephens, the First Secretary to the Admiralty. But you cannot address it to him, as you did, but to your captain or commanding officer."
"Forgive me my ignorance, sir, but I have never had cause to write a report on anything before, even when in temporary command of a prize."
"Well, such a report as yours shall cause a good stir back home, and in the Chronicle, I am sure, soon after, so one must adhere to the forms. I'll lend you my secretary to aid you in couching it in the proper manner, but it must be redone before I may pass it on to the admiral or post it to London."
"Aye, sir."
Admiral Hood entered the cabins at that moment, on his way aft to his own quarters under Barfleur's poop. Alan recognized him from Antigua and felt such a surge of loathing arise after witnessing the inexplicable behavior of a man with a reputation as a fighting admiral that he felt he had to bite his tongue to control his features.
"See me soon as you're through with your miscreant, sir," Hood told his flag captain.
"Not a miscreant, sir, this is Lewrie, the one in charge of those barges we picked up today."
"Ah," Hood said, peering down at him over that beaky nose from his superior height. Alan was five and three-quarter feet tall, and he was having trouble finding headroom between the beams, even here in flag country, and Hood had to stoop to even walk, yet he gave the impression of great height in spite of the nearness of the overhead. "Met you once, I think."
"At Admiral Sir Onsley Matthews' farewell ball on Antigua, sir."
"Oh, that's it. This your report?"
"Needs rewriting, sir, as I was telling him."
"Hmm," Hood said, rubbing his nose as he leaned closer to one of the swaying lamps to peruse the document. "Yes, I dare say it does need a large dose of Navalese. Still, quite an adventure."
"Aye, sir," Alan replied, too upset to worry about toadying for once. He wanted to blurt out a question of why Hood had hung back at the Battle of the Chesapeake, wanted to demand why they had not come to rescue the army, which had resulted in so much misery.
"Welcome back to the Fleet, Lewrie," Hood said, tossing the draft of the report down and walking off aft.
"Well, do your best with this," the flag captain said.
"Aye, sir. Er, excuse me, sir, but would you happen to know if the Desperate frigate made it out as well, or what happened to her?"
"Oh, yes, she was your ship." The captain frowned. "Off to New York for a quick refit, but she made it."
"I would wish to get back aboard as soon as I could, sir."
"Yes, quite understandable." The captain frowned again, as though there were something wrong. "Well, that's all for now, Lewrie. Have that report back to me before the forenoon watch tomorrow."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"I'm free now, sir," the flag captain told Hood in the admiral's day cabin after tidying up the last of the paperwork necessary for the proper nautical administration of fourteen sail of the line and all their artillery, men and officers, their provisioning and discipline.
"Good," Hood said, seated at ease behind his desk. "Before I forget, make a note regarding that young man, what was his name?"
"Lewrie, sir?"
"Yes. Seems a promising sort, did he not strike you so?" Hood asked.
"A most promising young man, sir, indeed," the flag captain said with a pleased expression, gratified that he was such a discerning judge of his fellow man that even Admiral Samuel Hood agreed with his opinion.
Near the end of the month Alan reported back aboard Desperate.
He was free of the Chiswicks, free of the land once more, back in the dubious bosom of the Navy for good and all, reporting back aboard his own ship to a sea of familiar faces. Railsford was there to welcome him, pumping his paw heartily. Peck the marine officer, Mister Monk the sailing master, Coke the bosun, and his mates Weems and Toliver, Knatchbull and Sitwell and Hogan 1 from the fo'c's'le guns, Hogan 2 from the loblolly boys, Tuckett and Cony laughing and waving at him, Mr. Dorne and the purser Mister Cheatham making shines over his reappearance. Even David Avery was there once he had gotten below, to clasp him to him as though he had arisen from the dead.
"Lord, what a pack of iron!" David laughed, offering him a glass of Black Strap as Alan unpacked his canvas sea bag of the pair of dragoon pistols, his own smaller pistols, cutlass, and all the tools that went along with the weapons, including bullet molds for the odd calibers.
"And all of it damned useful at one time or another," Alan told his friend. "How the hell did you escape Yorktown?"
"When the storm blew up, I was washed downriver and thumped into the ship just before she cut her cables. They threw down a line and we got towed out into the bay," David related. "Spent the night bouncing on the waves and the wake like a chariot being drawn by Poseidon's horses. Did you see anything of Carey?"
"Only at the boat landing before my last trip." Alan sighed. "I suppose he's a prisoner by now, if he lived."
"Yes, the sloop Bonetta came in bringing word from Cornwallis and a list of those taken. Him and Forrester, both. The captain was mighty upset about that. I saw Forrester. He was part of the Bonetta's crew."
"Paroled?" Alan asked.
"On his word of honor to return to the Chesapeake. He came for his chest, and Carey's, so at least we know the little chub's alive. It was odd, but hate him as much as I did, I felt sorry for Francis at the end."
"He'll be exchanged soon enough, if he gave parole. And he'll be home sooner than us," Alan said. Giving one's parole allowed one to be swapped for an officer or supernumerary of equal rank from the other side's prison hulks, but one had to swear to no longer bear arms in the current conflict, which would remove one from service until some sort of peace treaty was signed. With rumors flying that England could not get together another decent regiment to fight in the Colonies, much less one more army of the strength of Cornwallis's force, a peace was expected to be negotiated. There were also rumors flying that the Lord North government would soon be voted out, and a more accommodating prime minister installed, intent on ending the war.
"Where's McGregor?" Alan asked, seeing that both master's mates' dog-boxes were standing empty.
"Left behind. Where's Feather?" David said.
"Dead," Alan told him. He stripped off his filthy uniform and called for Freeling, who appeared after an insolently long time. "Get me a bucket of seawater to scrub up with, Freeling."
"Goona make ha mess, zur, an' them decks jus' scrubbed thees mornin', they wuz," Freeling said dolefully.
"Freeling, you'll do what I tell you soon as dammit, or I'll have a new steward down here and you'll be hauling on the halyards with the other idlers and waisters. That's after you've been up for punishment and gotten two dozen for insubordination, so move your stubborn arse and do it!" Alan said in a rush. Freeling took a look at him, felt the subtle difference in their prodigal midshipman, and stumbled away to perform his lowly duty without another word, knowing his game of truculent behavior was over.
"Damme, how did you do that?" Avery gawped.
"Life's too short to put up with his insolence," Alan snapped, opening his chest. He dug out fresh linen, a clean uniform, and took the time to reach down and feel the bundle of gold to reassure himself it was still there.
"What happened to you?" Avery asked, intent on this miracle. "By God, I thought you were turning hard before you got left behind, but now you seem… I don't know, even more so."
"Much as I thought I despised the Navy, David, it's a walk in a sunny park compared to land service. By God, I'll be glad to leave war behind me forever, should I live to be paid off, even as a two-a-penny midshipman with no prospects. I'll find something to do. I am just so glad to be back aboard Desperate, where my friends are."
"Don't be too glad," David warned him. "There's talk about her."
"What talk?"
"About being the only ship to escape before the surrender."
"Talk from who, these canting whip-jacks, these imitation tars, who found a hundred excuses to stay in New York instead of sailing to fight de Grasse one more time?" Alan sneered. "By God, it was one hell of a piece of ship-handling to get her downriver and through the shoals and the blockade in that storm, even if she did almost drown me. What did this pack of poltroons do, I ask you? Wrung their hands and said it was too bad. Let's wait for Digby and his three ships of the line. Let's throw dinners and balls and parades for His Royal Highness Prince William Henry. Hey, wasn't Virginia to be his personal royal colony? Let's not sail until all the powder's been replaced, everything Bristol Fashion from keelson to truck! God, I'm sick of the lot of 'em!"
Alan had knocked back his third glass of Black Strap, and the lack of sleep and adequate rations were playing hob with his senses. He was on his way to a good argumentative drunk.
"Even though Captain Treghues had written permission from Captain Symonds to try to break out, the impression is that we ran out on everyone back there," David said, feeling little pain, either. "There's nothing official."
"Aye, backbiting never is," Alan agreed vehemently. "Bastards!"
"Passing the word for Mister Lewrie!" a marine called.
"Stap me, if that's Treghues, he'll jump down my throat with both boots on, the state I'm in," Alan said, setting aside his fourth glass of wine untouched. "Do I look sober enough to see him if that's what it is?"
"No one ever is, but you may pass inspection. Here."
David offered him a precious lime from the Indies, a green and semi-shriveled fruit brought aboard God knew how long before, but Alan bit into it and sucked as much of the juice into his mouth that he could stand, to kill the odor of wine on his breath. For safety, he tucked a piece of rind into his cheek to chew on, and went on deck.
"God bless you for that, David, you're a true Christian."
"Aye, I'm up to the Apocrypha now." David smiled.
It was indeed a summons from the great cabins aft to see their captain. Alan removed his cocked hat and entered as the marine stamped his musket and bawled an announcement of his arrival.
Treghues had aged. He was sprouting the first hints of gray in his hair at the temples, and his face was thin and drawn as though there was still some lingering effect of that blow to the head back in August—that, or Mr. Dorne's "slight trephination." Perhaps it was, Alan thought, the ill repute which Desperate had gathered after her daring escape from the Chesapeake Bay. For the son of a lord of the realm, the slightest hint of incompetence or cowardice that could only be answered by requesting an inquiry, would be galling in the extreme. Even a physically fit man would have trouble dealing with it and sleeping sound at night, and Treghues did not look as though he had been sleeping well.
"Mister Lewrie," Treghues said, sitting prim behind his glossy mahogany desk, with his hands folded as though kneeling at a prayer rail.
"Sir."
"Admiral Hood's flag secretary sent me a fair copy of your report regarding your activities ashore. He also sent a short note of commendation with it. I… I find this extremely difficult to say, Lewrie, after our recent contretemps, but he stated, Admiral Hood, that is, stated, that I should be very proud of you. And I am."
"He did?" Alan beamed with sudden pleasure. "Thank you, sir, thankee very kindly, indeed."
"Perhaps this will go a long way to removing the odor which this poor vessel has acquired of late. You are aware to which I allude, sir?"
"Avery discovered it to me, sir."
"A bitter sort of poetic justice," Treghues mused, taking up a clay churchwarden pipe and cramming tobacco into the bowl, an activity he had not been known for before. "I was a bit too hasty to judge you for what you had been before joining the Navy, allowed prejudice to cloud my judgments. And now, I am hoist by my own petard, as the Bard would have said, from the clouded judgments of others."
Captains ain't supposed to be like this, Alan thought. They don't have to explain shit. Why is he cosseting me suddenly? I ain't changed that much at all, maybe for the worse if anything.
"Jealousy and backstabbing I can understand, but I cannot abide what our escape has done to my ship, Lewrie," Treghues said sharply, with a hint of that old rigidity and moral rectitude. "Better we had gone into captivity after burning her to the waterline than endure the sneers from… from these dominee do-littles."
"You went out with flags flying, sir," Alan said, only half pissing down Treghues's back, half expressing his own outrage at the unfairness of any recriminations against Desperate and her people. "That's more than any of these scoundrels attempted. Had they stirred their arses up properly, there'd still be a base on the York, and we'd have been covered in glory."
Damme, you've let the wine speak! Alan thought. He's going to have me flogged raw. And he's got his memory back. I'm fucked.
"Bless you, that was bravely said, sir!" Treghues barked with a smile that was most disconcerting to see. "And never a truer word spoken."
"She's my ship, too, sir. Too many good men died making her what she is, too many died ashore doing everything they could for the army."
"Aye, you love her, too," Treghues responded as he lit his pipe with a taper dipped into an overhead lantern. It was hard to tell if the smoke, or the emotion, misted his eyes. "I had not expected this from you, Mister Lewrie. I was under the impression you hated the Sea Service."
"I've done some growing up, sir. And there's no law says I can't change my mind about some things," Alan replied, feeling the wine pricking at the back of his eyes. Damme, he thought, is it the wine speaking, or do I really feel… comfortable in the Navy now? Must be the wine. Bastards like me have no noble emotions.
"By Heaven above, I love this ship," Treghues said, the smoke wreathing about his head, and Alan thought it possibly the oddest-smelling tobacco had ever come across, almost herbal and acrid, not like Virginia leaf or Turkey. "We're shorthanded once more, short four guns aft, but we'll make something brave of her yet. Have you really had a sea change, Mister Lewrie? Are you prepared to do your utmost to restore her honor and reputation?"
"Aye, sir." What other answer was there to a question like that?
"We may receive some older brass nines from the army ashore, short nines, but better than nothing," Treghues continued. "And I must make up the lack of leadership and competence. With Admiral Hood's commendation and his conjurement to do something for you as suitable reward, I am appointing you an acting master's mate, effective immediately. See Mister Railsford to change your watch and quarter bills, and then apprise the sailing master of your promotion There is a salary with it, and though there is the chance you may not be confirmed once back in the Indies and shall be liable for stoppages, I doubt that should occur, if you make a good showing during a probationary phase."
"I… I don't know how to thank you, sir," Alan said, overcome at the honor paid him. Approval from the flag was a mere formality in such cases, and the Admiralty in faraway London paid no attention to such mundane matters, not like making someone a commissioned officer or giving a young boy command of a ship. If he did not do something completely stupid during the trial period, he would be made a full master's mate within two months or so. And from th
at very instant, he was a junior watch stander, a deck officer in a shorthanded ship, with better quarters than a hammock, the right to wear a sword instead of a boy's dirk, and two ponds, two shillings a month of real pay (or certificates attesting to it in lieu of coin) instead of being allowed money from his annuity. His rations would be the same, the air below decks would be the same, and the dangers of the sea would be the same for all, but everyone below David in rank would now have to call him "sir" or Mister Lewrie.
"Miscreant or not, you have earned it," Treghues said, turning prim once more, as though he had said too much and had let down that rigid guard a captain must keep over his emotions, or had failed to maintain the separation from the ship's people that made his authority absolute. "That will be all, sir."
"Aye, aye, sir," Alan replied crisply. Damme, maybe I can make a commission out of this after all, he told himself once he was on deck and sniffing at the coolness of the air.
"Seen the captain, have you?" Railsford asked, as though he knew what the news was already.
"Aye, sir. He has appointed me master's mate, acting for a time," Alan related proudly. "Who would have thought it?"
"Well, if you do not wish to accept the promotion…"
"No, sir, I'll accept gladly," Alan hastened to assure him.
"Congratulations, then. Now get you below and sort yourself out into your new quarters. Take one of the mates' dog-boxes," Railsford said kindly. "But if you fuck off or let this go to your head, I'll kick your arse for you, see if I don't."
"I'll not let you down, sir," Alan replied.
"Or the captain," Railsford whispered, stepping close to him. "He needs us badly now. No matter how he slurred you in the past, the poor man needs our help. Captains cannot ask, and they cannot be seen to be in need of anything. Were you my younger brother, and you let him down, I'd break you and send you forrard in pusser's slops. It's not just obedience you owe him or the loyalty which is his due, but true loyalty. May I count on you for that, Mister Lewrie? Have you that devotion?"
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