"How long do you stay in port, do you think?"
"A day to unload, another to replace firewood and water, some more rations… three days at the least, ten at the most, I suspect."
He scowled, putting an arm about her shoulders. "Small ships spend less time at sea than most, and Alacrity's about as small as one may get in the Fleet. And it's not as if I have to perform war patrols, cruising until the salt-meat runs out. Half a month could be spent swinging at anchor in Nassau Harbor."
"I'd care very much for that," she said, snuggling into him. "Oh, look. The last of the sunset. Let's watch, do! My last with you, for awhile." She sniffed a little.
"But many more to come for us," he promised. "Many, many more!"
They waited until the last spark had dropped into the sea before rising, and the world turned quickly dark, as the night usually fell in the tropics.
"I love you, Alan!" she whispered, turning her face to him in the companionable and secluding darkness aft.
"I love you, Caroline!"
"A quick supper, and an early night," Caroline vowed.
"As that Pepys fellow said, my love," Alan joshed," 'And so to bed! "
"Oh, then, let us hurry!"
III
Chapter 1
Nassau, and its snug protected harbor, had changed drastically since Alan Lewrie had last seen it in 1781. Where there had swum tall frigates, there were now only brigs, sloops and cutters to represent the might of the Crown. But the commercial shipping had increased an hundredfold, and the town itself now boasted attractive stone public buildings where once there had been only wood biscuit boxes with palmetto thatched rooves, and the once-sleepy streets were humming with commercial endeavor. There were hundreds more homes to be seen, and, of course, since Nassau had been a shoddy pirates' haven since the 1600s no matter the strenuous efforts of a string of royal governors since Woodes Rogers's days, it boasted more taverns, more ordinaries, more public inns of dubious repute, and more out-and-out brothels.
But the transformation was stunning. With the arrival of thousands of dispossessed or disgruntled American Loyalists who had fled their spiteful Republican "cousins," the population had doubled and tripled. Humble Bay Street was now a good road and was fashioned "The Strand," while Shirley Street, named for a former governor, had become more sophisticated than a sandy lane lined with ramshackle, and could boast many fine residences, stores and shops. Though the official area of town was still bounded by Bay Street on the harbor, on the east by East Street, the west by West Street, and on the south by West Hill and East Hill Streets, more modest lanes had been laid out east and west of Government House. And "Over-The-Hill," the slumlike "stew" behind Bennett's Hill where the free blacks, poor whites and the criminal elements made their homes, had mushroomed.
The morning was not particularly warm for the Bahamas, in Alan Lewrie's experience, no warmer than high summer in rural England, and the Trade Winds did much to moderate it, though late summer in these islands could be at times oppressively hot and humid. Alan was grateful to note that, despite the hundreds of draft animals on the streets, the swarms of flies and mosquitoes had diminished greatly, due perhaps to the marshy areas he could recall from previous visits, which were now drained and filled and claimed for small farm plots and houses. Even in his best blue wool broadcloth uniform coat, and kerseymere waistcoat and breeches, he was not unduly uncomfortable, even inside the local shore offices for the Royal Navy squadron.
"Commodore Garvey will see you now, Captain Lewrie," the clerk at last announced and Alan rose, shot his cuffs and.tugged his uniform into order to enter his new commanding officer's presence.
"Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, sir," the clerk said for their master's benefit. "Just come in from England in H.M. Sloop Alacrity, sir."
"Saw you come to anchor," Garvey grunted from the tall windows where he stood in shadow, hands behind his back and head bowed by what seemed all the world's troubles. "No more than adequate work, that."
"A new crew, sir, in commission two months," Alan checked, wary at once and hedging defensively. There had been little wrong with the approach down Hog Island, their reach across the wind between there and Silver Cay south and east, or their rounding up to windward and coming to anchor amid the disorderly swarm of shipping, just in line with Frederick Street. With tops'ls already brailed up, harbor gaskets on, and yards squared, they'd cruised in neatly with the after course and two jibs standing, fired their salute, and coasted to a stop without a flaw, and the best bower anchor was let slip the instant they lost way. Alan was away in his gig before the stern kedge anchor could be rowed out and set, but he'd seen that go well, too!
"I'll brook no lame excuses from a newly wetted down junior, Lieutenant Lewrie," Garvey barked, though it was more an old dog's jowl-flapping petulance. "You may be one of those who deem a peacetime Fleet all 'claret and cruising,' but you'll find to your dismay I demand the utmost of my captains. Should you persist in whip-jack seamanship and slovenly navigation, our waters here in the Bahamas will lay you all aback quick enough."
Garvey made his way from the tall double windows to his desk, out of the shadows into proximity enough so Lewrie could see his lord and master, no longer silhouetted against the glare.
"I…" Lewrie began to rejoin.
"Muddle through at your peril, sir," Garvey threatened. "Either you'll wreck that fine little armed ketch of yours, or you will answer to my exceeding wrath. Do I speak plain enough for you, Lieutenant Lewrie?"
"Indeed, sir," Lewrie said, fighting to hide his resentment. As he once had as a midshipman when dealing with ship's officers, he gave Garvey a sweet smile of complete agreement, one which had always turned away wrath, as the Bible promised; or masked ironic amusement.
"I have despatches and the latest post, sir," Lewrie offered, bringing a thick canvas-wrapped packet forward. "These are the official correspondence. These are your personal letters. Your clerk already has the squadron's mail, sir."
"Sit," Garvey commanded, pointing in the general direction of a wing chair as he leaned forward and dragged the personal bundle towards his side of the desk. "Brandy, Lieutenant Lewrie? Claret, perhaps?" The man had turned uncommonly civil and benign in an instant.
"I would admire coffee or tea, sir," Lewrie stated, settling on the front edge of the chair. "Bit early in the forenoon for me, sir."
"Hmmph," Garvey frowned as if disappointed.
And Lewrie was left to stew and fidget for many long minutes as Garvey sorted through his personal mail, breaking the wax seal on the more interesting to read a snatch or two, then set them aside for closer perusal later. It was quite outside Lewrie's experience for a serving officer to ignore the official despatches so blithely. He'd "kissed the gunner's daughter" for being late in delivering orders aboard his first ship in favor of sorting through the personal missives for something from home first!
Horace Garvey-another bloody "Horry"! Lewrie thought with wry humor-was slightly stoop-shouldered, and fond of his table, too, if the gotch-gutted appliance that bulged his waistcoat near to bursting was any clue. His face and hands were burned dark by tropic sun, finely wrinkled and splotched here and there from ancient searing. Or by drink. His forehead was high and narrow, the nose a prominent narrow beak, and his eyes were downward-turned at the outer corners, and slightly watery and gooseberry. At one time, Garvey had probably been a rather striking specimen, about Lewrie's height, and fashionably slim, but that heroic (and gentlemanly) frame had put on poundage in the trunk and face, though his limbs were still long and spare.
"You departed which port, sir?" Garvey asked at last.
"Portsmouth, sir," Lewrie piped up. "On the 16th last."
"A fast passage," Garvey nodded."We had good westerlies in the Bay of Biscay, and a favorable slant of wind off Lisbon, sir, allowing us to 'cut the corner' without dropping as far south as Cape St. Vincent," Lewrie boasted just a trifle. "My sailing master, and my supercargo master James Gatacre assured me I'd find leading winds around thirty-eight degrees north and sixteen west, so we might reach to make enough sou'westing to pick up the Trades, sir."
In Lewrie's last ship, Telesto, Captain Ayscough had sneered at the old way of navigating, where ships would fall far south to run across the Atlantic on a line of latitude for Dominica in the Leewards, even were they headed for the Bahamas, even were they bound for New York!
"Did you, indeed," Garvey sniffed, sounding unimpressed. "And whilst in Portsmouth, did you by happenstance come to hear of passengers who were to be given government passage to the Bahamas, sir?"
"Oh, do you mean the Reverend and Mrs. Townsley, your brother-in-law and your sister, sir?" Lewrie smiled as Garvey sat up with a show of interest at last. "They are arrived in my Alacrity, sir!"
"With you!" Garvey barked. "In that cockleshell of a ketch?"
"Aye, sir," Lewrie nodded.
Damme, just what does please the bastard? he wondered.
"Damme, I'll lay into the officials who entrusted them into a frail vessel such as yours!" Garvey ranted. "Was there no other ship available, no West Indiaman? Callous hounds! Mark my words, I will blister Whitehall with a letter expressing my displeasure. One does not treat relations of a senior officer so… so…!"
"She is a converted bomb, sir. Quite sturdy," Lewrie offered.
"Foul, miserable, cramped, bucketing about like a dory in all weathers. And you did not break your passage to ease the misery your passengers surely experienced, sir?" Garvey accused.
"Sir, my orders said to 'make the best of my way,'" Alan replied evenly. "From long usage that is to say, just short of 'with all despatch,' as I am sure you are aware, sir."
"Then you're a fool, a heartless fool, sir!" Garvey snarled.
"My other passengers, sir…" Alan winced as he carried on.
"What? More to be crammed in any-old-how?" Garvey sneered.
"Mister Gatacre and his assistant, sir. Seconded from Trinity House to the Admiralty to conduct a hydrographic survey. And a draft of six midshipmen, sir. I assume they are mentioned in the official despatches, sir," he concluded with what he hoped was a suitably subtle reminder about the Navy correspondence.
"As if I need more midshipmen!" Garvey scowled. "Newlies?"
"Two rather young, sir, two middling… twelvish. And, uhm… the last two from the Royal Naval Academy at Portsmouth, sir."
"Worse man King's Letter Boys!" Garvey sneered. "Sots and mountebanks! Latin, math, and not a single block in any of their rigging! Hah! Top-lofty cunny-thumbs and cack-hands, not an iota of wits in the lot! Foist 'em off on me, will they? Wellll… I'll put a flea in the Admiralty's ear about that, too! Boys cannot learn the sea in a bloody classroom, can't make the connections in the Fleet necessary for patronage and advancement Chasing and caterwauling is all they pick up at that damn-fool… Academy!"
"They did learn sea skills on passage, sir."
"A plow horse leaping two stacked boards ain't a blooded hunter, Lewrie, nor never will be."
"They are indeed a scurvy pair of Tom-Noddys, sir," Lewrie agreed, assaying a small witticism to ease the tension of this vitally important first interview with the man who could make or break him in the next three years, which had so far been tantamount to a disaster. "At present, they're no better than fresh-caught landsmen. Confused they may be, but neither of them is backward. They learn fast, sir."
"What is your armament, sir?" Garvey inquired suddenly, changing tack abruptly. "Your draught?"
"Alacrity mounts ten six-pounders, four dismountable two-pounder boat-guns, and the usual swivels, sir," Lewrie answered crisply, glad to be back on safe professional matters. "Properly laden and ballasted, she draws just shy of nine feet. Say a half less than nine, sir."
"Hmmmm," Garvey mused, idly toying with the lid of his silver inkwell, opening it and closing it again and again, as if something other than ink would magically appear for once. "Anything needful?"
"Firewood and water, the usual plaint, sir," Lewrie smiled in reply. "Restock our biscuit and salt-meats from the dockyard… she is in all other respects ready for sea, sir."
"A touch too weak for deep-water patrolling," Garvey surmised. "We've more than our fair share of pirates and buccaneers, still, and ships voyage past the Bahamas at their peril. Too many privateersmen from the late-lamented war, spoiled by easy pickings. You're not well armed enough to cow merchantmen violating the Navigation Acts, either."
"Aye, sir," Lewrie responded automatically whenever some senior officer paused to gather his thoughts, as he did in this case.
"Shoal-depth enough, though, to be useful inshore, in most instances, where the opposition would be even smaller and weaker-armed than your ketch. This fellow Gatacre, d'you say… I was to supply him with a suitable vessel?"
"I could not presume to know his complete orders, sir," Lewrie wavered, "nor the contents of whatsoever directives from the Admiralty accompany him. I may only suppose. He did, however, express a desire for two local-built luggers, in addition to ship's boats from the vessel supporting him, sir."
"And what do you possess for ship's boats, sir?" Garvey smiled.
"A twenty-foot launch, a cutter of similar size, and my gig, sir."
"Since he is already aboard your vessel, Lewrie, and you have room enough aboard, after all, I do believe I'll let him stay there," Garvey smirked. "The other cutters and such of this squadron would cramp him unmercifully. But Alacrity, now used to extra 'lumber' aft, will cope, I am certain. And those two Naval Academy midshipmen?"
"Aye, sir?" Lewrie felt his buttocks puckering in dread. He'd been charitable at best as to their prospects and abilities, but would be glad to see the back of them. He'd not have them if they came with a post-captain's rank!
"Good at mathematics, to the exclusion of all else useful," Garvey said, leaning back in his cool leather chair. "And who could be more helpful to the exacting work of hydrography than superior students of mathematics and surveying, hmm?"
"What a splendid idea, sir!" Lewrie beamed, pissing down his back as if the bastard had done him a signal honor, though he seethed at the very idea! "What eminent good sense it is, sir. I should be delighted! May I suggest to Mr. Gatacre that he may feel free to call upon you to discuss his other requirements, then, sir? Once you have had time to peruse what the Admiralty wrote you concerning his duties, that is. A day, perhaps, at your convenience, sir."
"Uhm, of course, he may," Garvey replied, taken aback by Alan's reaction. "You may." He'd thought to punish this upstart for treating his kin so badly, to be the whipping boy for the Admiralty's callous unconcern for their comforts. To put this "newly" in his place, right from the start!
"And may I be allowed to inquire, sir, as to whether I may give leave tickets to my hands, too, sir?" Lewrie fairly oozed unctuous oils of sociability, sounding as though butter would not melt in his mouth. "Once Alacrity is reprovisioned and suitable luggers found, before we begin our surveying, sir?"
"I might allow it," Garvey almost sulked, put out that Alan was not "put out."
"Within reason, mind."
"Further, sir, might I inquire as to your Standing Orders for the Bahamas Squadron?" Lewrie pressed, bestowing blissful smiles upon his station commander. "Do you require captains to sleep aboard, as I do believe the Channel Squadron is wont to do in wartime? Or may I consider shore lodgings for myself between voyages, sir?"
"Like to stretch your legs on solid ground, do you?" Garvey asked, lifting an eyebrow, which evident suspicion as to his motives almost made Lewrie cringe with worry it might be disallowed.
"A run ashore now and again would be welcome, sir," Lewrie replied with bright-eyed innocence. "Within limits, of course, sir."
"I do not begrudge my officers their pleasures, Lewrie," Garvey informed him. "What's good for Jack is good for his betters aft. So long as you conduct yourself with the proper decorum expected of a Sea Officer, a Christian, and an English gentleman."
And just when did you last see decorous Sea Officers, Lewrie asked himself in wonder at such a ludicrous statement? Leaping rantipole and playing balum-rancum in church? Hymn-singing in brothels?
"So I would have time to seek out an establishment, sir?" Alan said, cocking a brow of his own to nail the agreement shut without having to mention the necessity of such lodgings, or the fact that he had brought Caroline with him. He didn't think Garvey would care for that.
"I suppose," Garvey sighed. "Yes, you may."
"Thank you, sir. Quite grateful. Quite."
"Before you sail, I will send specific orders aboard, Lewrie," Garvey went on, pulling the packet of official documents to him for an excuse to dismiss him. "As to the survey, what needs doing against our piracy problem, the enforcement of the Navigation Acts, and how I expect ships of the Bahamas Station to conduct themselves. Use your hydrographic work to familiarize yourself with what perils our waters hold. And remember, I warn you now, to handle your vessel with due care and sober rectitude, or I'll dismiss you from her command and replace you with an officer who does things my way. Hear me?"
"I understand you completely, sir," Lewrie told him with sucha sober and abashed countenance that even Garvey thought he'd gotten his message rammed home sufficiently.
"What with all this correspondence, and the cares of this squadron, I have no more time for you, Lewrie. You may dismiss."
"Thank you for receiving me so promptly, sir."
Chapter 2
"Fubsy, crusty dilberry," Lewne seethed at supper ashore that evening, "combed like a louse from the hairy, dirty black fundament of all Creation!"
Caroline put her napkin to her mouth to hide her snickering.
"Pompous, posturing, pus-gutted, hymn-singing… barnacle!" He ranted on, though in a low voice, as he wrangled knife and fork over a stringy cut of beef tougher than old anchor cables which would end up costing him half a crown when the reckoning was fetched.
"Alan, dearest," Caroline suggested once she trusted herself to lower the napkin and not cackle out loud at his frustrated antics, "I am so sorry this Garvey was so uncharitable towards you, truly. But he is your superior, after all. Do compose yourself. Or, at the least, wait until we're in our set of rooms. Who knows who might be listening?" She waved one hand at the many officers at table nearby.
"Sorry, Caroline, but the man rowed me beyond all temperance," Alan sighed, giving up on the "choice cut of English beefsteak" and leaning back in his chair. At least the wine was more than palatable, and he topped up their glasses. Bloody shilling the bottle, he noted chalked on the neck. Nassau had grown no less expensive than it had been during the war. "I don't believe anything could please the man."
"Out of sight, out of mind, then," she replied. "On this survey of yours. Which I am certain you shall complete most successfully, if I know the slightest bit about you. And when you return, he may by then have more regard for your abilities."
Alan reached across the table to take her hand and give her a thankful squeeze. "You're right, of course." He canned, and rewarded her with a fond smile. "Thank you for having good sense enough for both of us, darling. And for your regard for my abilities. Truly, I am coming to realize that I am the most blessed of men."
"When you go on a rant, you are so almighty amusing, though," she confided with a quiet laugh. "Thank you, Alan."
"For what, my dear?"
"For taking me into your confidence," she said. "For sharing with me your worries, and your hopes. For listening to my thoughts."
"Always, my dearest," he vowed happily.
"Ahem." The black waiter coughed as he came to the table.
"You may clear mine," Alan said. "The dogs may now break their teeth on it."
"Uhm, yassuh. Uhm, dese notes be fo' you, sah. Dot gen'mun in de cornah, Cap'um Finney, like ya an' de missus t'join him ot his table. Un' dot Navy officah ovah dere, sah, he does, too, sah. De missus done with her groupah, mo'om? He's a sweet fish, mo'om. He kin eat good, sweet as de lobstah, any day." Alan opened the first note to find an almost illegible scrawl, and looked up to gaze upon the man who had sent it Captain Finney was a civilian in overdone finery, handsome, blond and darkly tanned. He peered at Alan with an almost hopelessly naive expression of longing, and ducked him a smile. He was surrounded by a brace of shoddy types, though, with a trio of obvious trulls for companions. Alan wanted no part of them. He opened the second note.
"Got de Stilton un' ex'ra fine biscuit, got de fine port, got de key-lime puddin', un' got de Brazil cawfy, black un' hot," the waiter enticed. "Sah, mo'om? Raisin duff? Sherry trifle? Key-time puddin?"
"Let's have the key-lime pudding!" Caroline suggested eagerly. "It sounds marvelous, and I've never had it before!"
"Let's do," Alan agreed. "For two, with coffee. And please give Captain Finney our regrets, but I do not know him, nor wish to join him. Do, however, deliver my compliments to Commander Rodgers and we will be delighted to join him and his companion. We will take our dessert and coffee with them."
"Ah tell'em, sah."
Lewrie smiled at the Navy officer, then turned and gave the man Finney a short, dismissive shake of his head. He turned back to look at Caroline, and winced as he saw her single arched eyebrow.
"If that suits you, Caroline?" He grimaced. "Forgive me, dear, for not asking your preference, but I'm so new at being married, I…"
"Oh, Alan, we both are!" she whispered, forgiving him instantly, and tilting her head to one side fondly. "Two invitations?"
"One from the Navy officer yonder. A Commander Rodgers. And one from the thatch-haired fellow and his crew. Some fellow named Finney."
"Heavens," Caroline muttered as she eyed the other party. "Too seedy a lot for me. Alan, I could swear those women with them… Dear Lord, darling. So that's what prostitutes look like?" She grinned.
She shivered and turned her gaze back to Alan.
"Finney is the one in the center, dear?" she asked. "The man just leered at me! Of course, we'll accept Commander Rodgers' kind request. He's senior to you? And kindly disposed to you, there's a wonder, after your horrid morning. Let us, do."
Thank bloody Christ, Lewrie thought, relieved to have escaped a thoughtless deed; damme, but this marriage business is a terror!
He knew himself well enough as a selfish rogue, and he was used to giving orders and having them obeyed, so having to take counsel with someone else, not having his wishes treated as Holy Writ, was a wrench.
They crossed to the other table and the introductions were made. Commander Benjamin Rodgers was about thirty, a trifle stocky, and dark as a Welshman. His companion was a young lady in her middle twenties named Elizabeth Mustin, a saucy brown-haired piece with sparkling blue eyes, and a most impressive, toplofty figure.
"Off that ketch-rig come in this morning?" Commander Rodgers asked, then answered his own question. " 'Course you are, ya had to be, a new officer I never clapped top-lights on before. Knew it! Welcome to the Bahamas Station, Captain Lewrie. Take joy o' your posting!"
"Thank you, sir. And your ship is…?"
"Whippet, twenty guns. 6th Rate Sloop o' War," Rodgers answered.
Lord, yes, he was senior! Sloop was a loose catchall term for any vessel larger than a bomb, revenue cutter or armed yacht below the standardized Rates; Alacrity was technically a sloop, no matter how she was rigged aloft. But a sloop of war was a miniature frigate, smallest of the three-masted, ship-rigged vessels in the Fleet, and her captain was Post-Captain in all but name, sure to be "made post" soon.
Rodgers already wore a post-captain's "iron-bound" coat, but for three cuff buttons instead of four, and profuse with gold lace. The mark of a man rising to the top of the seniority list like a signal rocket.
"Are there many on station, sir?" Alan asked.
"Only one more, Ariel," Rodgers informed him. "You know how reduced the Fleet is, as I'm certain our lord and master told you when you reported to him this morning. Saw you being rowed ashore like Hell's Fire was licking your gig's transom, hey?"
"Aye, sir," Lewrie grinned as their coffee and pudding arrived.
"We're a sorry lot these days," Rodgers babbled on happily. "A single 4th Rate fifty-gunner, Royal Arthur, our flag. We possess but one frigate, Captain Quids' Guardian, and she's only a twenty-eight. We've half a dozen others, from revenue cutter-sized, two-masted luggers or schooners, or brig-rigged or ketch-rigged sloops, like yours. Too few, too slow, too weak, and too bloody lost from where troubles occur. Oh, pardons Mistress Lewrie, for my language."
"I have heard worse, from my husband, Commander Rodgers," Caroline informed him with a chuckle, "and that, recently."
"Mean to say you two really are married?" Rodgers marveled. "I thought… pardons again, but my experience o' Navy marriages is that most of 'em're but a convenient sham, and for a man frisk his future 'fore makin' post… ouch!"
"Pay him no mind, Ben's a conceited arse," Elizabeth Mustin said after poking her innamorato in the ribs, but with no real sign of anger. "Yes, dear… some officers do wed those they love."
"You set a hellish-bad example for all of us, Captain Lewrie," Rodgers admitted, not the slightest bit abashed. "Once the word gets out, every girl in poit'll be having your good lady over, to fathom how she got you to go for the high jump! My dear Mistress Lewrie, this is the sort o' fame you could dine out on for years, don't ya know. What say ye to a toast to the happy couple? Champagne, hey?"
"Yes!" Elizabeth enthused. "Champagne. His favorite tipple!"
"A brace o' bottles, hang the cost, and my treat, sir!"
"Most gallant, sir," Caroline said before Lewrie could answer. "We would be delighted, thank you."
"Waiter?" Rodgers hallooed. "Bloody love the stuff, dearer'n a baby craves his mother's milk. Might a'been nursed on goodvintages, far's I know, an' bawled fit t'bust t'be weaned, hey? Thank God we've peace with France just long enough to stock up for our next set-to, or pray our smugglers're bold enough to dodge the King's Customs. So, I s'pose Commodore Garvey gave you your marchin' orders already, sir?"
"Hydrographic surveying, sir," Alan replied, sketching in what Garvey's interview had been like. "God knows where, though."
"Best thing," Rodgers announced. "Outa sight, outa mind. And this Trinity House fellow Gatacre'll be just the thing. Bahamas are bad-charted, if charted at all below the populous islands."
"Caroline thought it a blessing, too, sir," Alan agreed.
"And what did you think of our lord and master, sir?" Rodgers asked, sounding offhand, but looking cutty-eyed at him.
"Ah, sir," Lewrie opined, on his guard. But he didn't believe Rodgers's ebullient personality would sit well with Garvey, either, so he could not be a favorite. "Hmm, sir!" he added, rolling his eyes.
"Did he offer drink, Captain Lewrie? And, did you accept?"
"He did, sir, but I did not. I didn't get my requested coffee."
"Then thank your lucky stars ya didn't!" Rodgers muttered as he leaned a little closer. "It all has to do with his son. Shipped out as a midshipman in Royal Arthur, and soon's they dropped the hook, he was commissioned, and a good man turned out to make room for him. He's fourth lieutenant into her now. If Garvey had a budget that'd purchase more patrol craft, he'd be on his own bottom, even as we speak! Garvey rewards his favorites, and chastises those that cross him. What he is lookin' for is any excuse to promote people up an' outa Royal Arthur, so the squadron is captained by his proteges, and young Virgil Garvey prospers. Any slip on your part'd give him an excuse for Virgil t'be third lieutenant. Oh, we all walk small about our Horace, we do!"
"God, sir," Alan chilled, "my passengers, they'll tell him I'm married, that I brought Caroline here. He's already criticized me for my shiphandling!"
"Ah, rot! Ya brought her in sweet as pie. He tried that on me, first I sailed in. Let's just say you're never t'be one o' his 'elect,' sir. As if he's Noah himself!" Rodgers sneered, warming to his screed. "Royal Arthur doesn't stir from her moorin's but once every six weeks, and that for a short run to Harbour Island or Spanish Wells over on Eleuthera and back. He's wedded t'his palacio ashore. I would be, too; 'tis a damned impressive pile. No, 'tis best you're far away for now. There's other unfortunates not among the 'saved' for him t'cull through so his sycophants can advance. More'n a few as need replacin', had I my way, sir!"
"Sounds positively Manichaean, sir," Lewrie quipped. "All of this talk of the saved, the elect."
"Well, stap me!" Rodgers hooted in surprise. "What the devil are you doin', wearin' our good King's Coat, an' makin' noises like a man's read a real book! Don't ya know English tarpaulins're supposed t' sound so simple-minded, even the others notice, sir? Stump about the quarter-deck yellin' 'Luff!' and cursin' 'damn my eyes,'ha ha!"
"Damn… my… eyes," Lewrie pronounced tongue in cheek, slowly as if trying it on for the first time. "And is that best uttered with one hand on the hip, sir? Perhaps… gazing aloft and wondering why the devil all that laundry's drying up there, sir?"
"Goddamme, but you'll do, Captain Lewrie! You're a jolly young dog, and blessed with the second-handsomest lady in the islands. I do avow you'll do right well for me! My irreverent sort of fellow."