Dewey Lambdin - Reefs and Shoals

Their long tea-time had gotten chillier and stiffer from there on, and it was with a shared sense of relief that Lewrie had seen his son to the docks, and back to his ship.

“Dear Lord, Alan, but I think you’ve reared a parson, ” Lydia had chuckled when he’d returned. “A Methodist dissenter, at that! So far, I gather that he’s a ‘down’ on Percy’s gambling, Eudoxia, bawdy women, and my having guns! Such a stiff young man!”

Supper with Benjamin Rodgers went much better; at least he had kept an open mind, and when Lydia, who had been studying and reading every book she could find on seamanship, ships, and their handling since being dined aboard Reliant at Sheerness the previous Spring, could converse somewhat knowledgeably with two senior naval officers, Rodgers had become the soul of geniality and jollity. He’d listened with glee to tales of Percy’s amazing luck at gambling, and the doings of the rich and titled. He’d almost sounded as if he did devour the “Tattler” columns in the papers, despite what he’d said about them.

“Reading and Henley?” Rodgers had exclaimed. “Why, that’s in my bailiwick! My father’s an attorney in Reading, and I grew up there. Punting on the Thames is what led me to the Navy. Good Lord, yes, now I recall your father, too. Big, tall, rangy fellow… Your pardons, Mistress Stangbourne, but we children used to dread the Viscount for how fearsome-featured he was. Not the handsomest man in England, he was, Alan. Splendid rider, though, and a grand sportsman. We used to ride by Stangbourne Park quite often, though, on the way to a day of shooting at my uncle’s… an estate he called The Hermitage?”

“Gabriel Rodgers, of course!” Lydia had gushed quite animatedly. “I knew him well when I was a girl.”

They were “neighbourly”, knew the same people, no matter their class, and Lydia had met Rodgers’s new wife, too. All in all, they’d gotten on like a house afire.

“Quite like her, Alan,” Rodgers had said on the long cold walk back to the boat landing. “And, if the war ever ends, I’d be delighted to have a chance to shoot over their fields. Matter of fact, it’s good odds the house Susannah and I bought in Reading got run up with Stangbourne money and labour. The old Viscount dabbled in rents and real estate in a huge way!”

Lewrie had been delighted that Benjamin had sounded approving, too, if Sewallis didn’t. And the sea-change in Lydia’s manner with Rodgers had been a fine thing to see. He knew how guarded and leery Lydia was about how people took her, and to have seen her at ease and open, how “chirpy” and quick to laugh, had been a marvel.

Unless Benjamin had put on a complete sham, of course! Lewrie didn’t think him capable of such duplicity, but… oh, surely not! Lewrie had never detected a speck of guile in bluff, hearty Benjamin Rodgers!

That next morning had dawned cold, but clear. The thermometer in the great-cabins stood at fourty degrees by the end of breakfast, and the liquid barometer’s pale blue fluid had sunk down the long tube neck to indicate a coming high-pressure spell. One more cup of creamed and sugared coffee, and Lewrie would make an inspection of the ship in slop-trousers and his oldest coat, then change to go ashore for another delightful dinner, and a long afternoon with Lydia in her lodgings at the George. But…

“Midshipman Warburton, SAH!” the Marine sentry loudly cried.

“Enter,” Lewrie bade.

“Pardon, Captain, but there is a boat approaching,” Warburton reported. “And there appears to be an official fellow aboard her.”

“Admiralty pouch?” Lewrie asked, peering at the Mid, who had sprouted much like his son had, in the two years he’d been aboard the frigate; Warburton had been a cheeky sixteen-year-old when fitting out in 1803, and was now a slyly cheeky eighteen.

“I could not see one, sir,” Warburton replied, “But…!” The fingers of his right hand were held up crossed for luck.

“Very well, Mister Warburton. Show the visitor aft when he’s come aboard,” Lewrie ordered.

Sailin’ orders, at long last? Lewrie mused while he waited for the caller to show his face; But orders for where?

Mid-January was a miserable time to be ordered to sea, and if it was their fate to join the blockade of the French or Spanish coasts and harbours, even the most-Sutherly latitudes would make little difference. Gales and storms off Cadiz or Ferrol would be as fierce as those found off Brest. Lewrie found that he’d involuntarily crossed his own fingers for luck… of a different kind of hope than Warburton’s!

He fought the urge to gulp down his coffee and rush to the deck with impatient curiosity, but there were times to act like a captain in the Royal Navy; he forced himself to sit and sip slowly.

“Admiralty messenger, SAH!” his Marine sentry cried.

“Enter,” Lewrie answered, striving for a bored drawl.

And won’t that perk up the ship’s people’s ears! he thought.

“Captain Lewrie, sir,” the newcomer, a youngish and ill-featured fellow in dark blue “ditto” suitings began, “Daniel Gower, from Admiralty, with orders for you and the Reliant frigate.”

“Thank you, Mister Gower,” Lewrie said, rising to accept them in a sealed envelope. “Are they ‘Eyes Only’, or ‘To Be Opened Upon Attaining a particular Latitude’?” Lewrie japed, rolling his eyes.

“Why, no, sir. Quite straightforward, I assume,” the man said with one brow up in puzzlement.

“Hmph,” was Lewrie’s comment. “We’ve had our share of ‘cloak and dagger’,” he explained. “Thank you, Mister Gower. May I offer you anything? Coffee or tea?”

“No thank you, sir, but I’ve others to see,” the clerk said, tapping the large leather pouch slung at his side.

“Very well, sir.”

“Good day, Captain Lewrie.”

S’pose I can rip it open, right here and now, Lewrie thought, and did so. He sat back down at his dining table to read them over, just as soon as that Gower fellow had left his cabins.

“Good God,” Lewrie muttered. “Privateers? No profit in that.”

Making the best of your way, you are to take HMS Reliant, sailing under Independent Orders, to the Bahamas and Bermuda, there to conduct operations against Spanish and French privateers engaged in predations upon convoys bound from the West Indies to Home Waters, specifically directing your efforts upon the Eastern coasts of Spanish Florida, where said privateers are believed to base themselves since the Declaration of a State of War by the Kingdom of Spain on December 12th of last year.

Upon arrival at Bermuda and the Bahamas, you are further authorised to take under your command any and all naval vessels Below the Rates which you deem suitable for such operations, and for this purpose you are granted the right to display the inferior Broad Pendant for the duration of the expedition.

“Pick and choose, lead me own little squadron? Whew!” Lewrie muttered, louder this time, and wondering what sort of minor warships could be had at Bermuda or in the Bahamas.

He would not be promoted to Commodore, nor would he be assigned a Flag-Captain to run Reliant for him whilst he mused, schemed and plotted the ruin of Frogs and Dons. His red broad pendant would bear the large white ball in the centre which would mark his frigate as a squadron flagship. But, to cover the Spanish port of St. Augustine, along with the many smaller settlements from the St. Mary’s River, the Northern boundary of Spanish Florida, to the great Tamiami Bay and the Keys to the South, Lewrie rather doubted that the little vessels of his putative squadron would ever be sailing in formal trail formation behind him, and that flying broad pendant would be more a sop to his ego, did he bother to look up and gawk.