Dewey Lambdin - King, Ship, and Sword

"Ready, sir," Lt. Fox reported. It was still his watch, though all watch-standing officers and Midshipmen were on deck, along with the Sailing Master, Mr. Robert Lyle, and his Mates.

"Pick your moment, Mister Fox," Lewrie allowed. "I have every confidence in you."

"Thankee, sir."

And I don't trust myself t'choose it, Lewrie wryly told himself. "Pay her off half a point loo'rd, Mister Hook," Lt. Fox said. "Half a point loo'rd, aye, sir!"

"Chip-log, Mister Plumb!" Fox shouted aft. "Smartly, now!"

"Five and uh… five and a half knots, sir!" the young Midshipman shouted back after a long minute or two to toss out the log, turn the sandglass, check the line, measure the knot-marks, and report.

"Good as it'll get, right, Mister Fox?" Lewrie asked.

"Aye, sir! Ready a-bout!" Lt. Fox bellowed through a speaking-trumpet. "Ready, ready! Ease down the helm!"

God only knows her trim, Lewrie queasily thought, watching the helm spin round, noting the faint trembling of the spokes, as regular as the works of a good pocket-watch, that bespoke a decent balance to the ship, despite the shifting and consumption of stores, and all the water she'd shipped aboard over the long day and night.

"Helm's alee!" Lt. Fox shouted forward.

"Over, in the name of the Lord," the Sailing Master said in the old usage of the fisheries.

"Rise, tacks and sheets!" Lt. Fox yelled. The Afterguard hauled taut the lee spanker topping lift, the main tops'l's clew garnets were hauled up, and the jibs and stays'ls windward sheets were hauled taut, the lee sheets' binds round the belays undone yet held firmly, waiting for the proper moment when the bows were right up to the eyes of the wind, and they luffed and shivered.

"Come up, ye darlin' lass, come up, I say!" Quartermaster Hook crooned, as he and Slater let go the spokes and watched them almost blur as the wheel spun, even with relieving tackles rigged belowdecks, a sure sign that Thermopylae would go up to the wind ardently.

She's goin' t' make it! Lewrie exulted.

"Haul taut! Mains'l haul!" Fox all but screeched. "Haul of all!"

It was so dark, it was impossible to see the bows sweep round, see the proper trim of the sails, or the yard-cloths to mark the angle of the yards, but… one could feel her lift on the fierce-scending sea, stark upright for a long moment, then begin to heel to larboard; feel the wind as it shifted from right-ahead to one's right cheek; hear the rustling crackle of icy-stiff canvas as it whooshed over the deck, the groan of starboard sheets as they took the new strain, then a second whump and whoosh as they and the reefed main tops'1 filled with wind and bellied out as stiff as sheet metal!

"Ease her, ease her, there! Helm down half a point loo'rd!"

Thermopylae shook herself like a wet dog, heeled hard onto her larboard side for a moment, then came back more upright, steadying with the deck canted about twenty degrees from plumb according to the inclinometer on the binnacle cabinet-on starboard tack!

"Steerin' West by North, half North, sir!" Quartermaster Hook cried with relief as he and Slater steadied her up.

"Another cast of the log, Mister Plumb!" Lewrie ordered.

About two minutes later, Midshipman Plumb could report the good news that Thermopylae was now making three knots!

"I think she'll bear the main topmast stays'l and the middle stays'l, Mister Fox," Lewrie opined aloud. "And I'd admire did ye add the fore tops'l and mizen tops'l at three reefs." Aye, sir.

"A perfect tack, Mister Fox," Lewrie congratulated him. "Timed to a tee."

"Uhm, thankee for saying so, sir," Lt. Fox said, tucking in his chin and ducking his head in modesty… false or otherwise.

"Permission to mount the quarterdeck, sirs?" Lt. Eades, their Marine officer, enquired. "Now all the excitement's done?"

"You did not wish to get in the way during the manoeuvre, sir?" Lewrie asked him, now in much better, relieved takings.

"I leave all that to proper seamen, Captain sir," Lt. Eades said with a grin as he came to amidships forward of the helm. "Besides, we had some scraps of yesterday's breaded and toasted cheese, and I admit all the tossing about made me feel peckish."

"Hungry? In this weather, sir?" Lewrie said with a gawp.

"Well… aye, sir," Eades admitted. "With the galley shut down… didn't everyone?"

"The ship's rats and Mister Eades own constitutions are of much the same nature, sir," Lt. Farley japed. "They can eat anything, at any time, with no ill effects."

"No sense in drowning hungry," Lt. Eades said with a shrug. "I do, though, gather that drowning is no longer an immediate threat?"

"Aye, and if the weather continues to moderate, we'll all have hot breakfasts by mid-morning," Lt. Farley told him.

"Good, ho!" was Eades's joy at that news.

Nigh as dense as a mile-post, Lewrie thought, shaking his head in wonder; but he'll do.

HMS Thermopylae continued on her course of West by North, half North 'til dawn and beyond as the winds eased and the seas moderated, slowly adding sail 'til she was making a good six knots. By Two Bells of the Forenoon Watch (9 A.M.) it was judged safe to light the galley fires and serve up a late breakfast for one and all. The low clouds lifted a bit and lightened in colour, and the rain ceased; not that it made much difference belowdecks, for the seams still dribbled water here and there, after all the flexing and strain put on the hull and the planking by the storm. And if Lewrie sat halfway down his dining table, he could find a dry spot to drink several very welcome cups of hot coffee and spoon up hot porridge.

The ship's motion was even steady enough to allow him a shave!

Then, back on deck in clean, dry linen, slop-trousers, and uniform, and feeling human for the first time in days, he could dispense with both furs and tarpaulins, for the temperature was just about warm enough to be stood with his coat doubled over and buttoned.

"Sail ho!" a lookout shouted down to the deck. "Two points off th' larboard bows!" Midshipman Furlow was sent aloft with a glass to report, and moments later he shouted down that she was a cutter, one of theirs to boot, the much-belaboured Osprey.

"She signals 'Have Despatches,' sir!" Furlow cried.

"Very well, Mister Furlow!" Lewrie shouted back, then turned to the taffrails. "Mister Pannabaker, send her 'Come Under My Lee.' I'd imagine she'd welcome our shelter if she's been through the same weather we've suffered."

Osprey quickly replied "Acknowledged" by flag hoist, and steered for Thermopylae. One hour later, she had come almost abeam to larboard, came about to starboard tack, and eased into Thermopylae's lee off her larboard quarter, to lower a boat and send her across.

It was sick-making to watch poor HMS Osprey pitch and toss even so, or to watch her rowing boat rise, swoop, and fall amid showers of spray from wave crests and white-caps, 'til the boat was close-aboard, and the very same Midshipman from mid-October came scrambling up the battens and man-ropes to the larboard entry-port, and handed over his canvas bag of mail and orders. With a brief doff of his hat, he was back in his boat in a twinkling, making way back to his wee cutter.

"Mister Furlow, pass word for my clerk, Mister Georges," Lewrie instructed as he took the bag. "We'll sort everything out, then pipe the crew to receive theirs."

"Aye, sir."

He didn't feel all that hopeful, though. The canvas bag was not weighted, first of all, as it would be to prevent secret instructions or orders for future operations from being taken by an enemy. Second, there wasn't much mail to sort out. Lewrie and his clerk piled what contents there were into three quick heaps: officers and warrants in one pile; seamen in the second; and his own in the third, with the official letters the first to be opened and read before anyone else got a peek at theirs.