Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Coat

Most especially, there was the hot glow of dislike that Lewrie felt whenever he was around Rolston that was so warming that he thought he could easily toast cheese on it. Ashburn had been the top dog in a blue coat, then Rolston, in the officers' estimations. It was only natural that an older boy such as Lewrie, once he had attained Rolston's level in skill and sea-lore, would be thought of as more competent by those worthies, which would automatically force their opinion of young Rolston down to third place, perhaps lower.

Much as it galled him, Lewrie realized his life had become more tolerable since he had, in the parlance, taken a round turn and two half hitches.

But that is not to say that he did not secretly loathe every bloody minute of it.

By the Grace of God, and the pleasure of the Admiralty, Ariadne was saved from her ennui by new orders. Lewrie could have kissed them in delight. He still shivered with cold as the ship was driven hard to the west-sou' west by a stiff trade wind. It was a grey, miserable afternoon with an overcast as dull as a cheap pewter bowl, and the sea pale green and white, humping high as hills on either beam. The ship held her starboard gangway near the water as she forged her way across the Atlantic to their new duty station in the West Indies. Somewhere over the larboard beam was Portugal, and she was beginning to pick up the Trades that sweep clockwise about the huge basin that is the Atlantic and blow due west for the islands. Soon she would turn the comer and ron with a landsman's breeze right up her stem for an entire, and exotic, new world, and Alan wondered what it would be like to be warm all the time, to get soaking wet and not consider it a disaster, to see new sights and smells and delight in the fabled pleasures of those far harbors. Like having a woman again-any woman.

Four bells chimed from the forecastle belfry-6:00 P.M. and the end of the First Dog Watch. Soon, unless sail had to be reduced for the night, they would stand to evening Quarters at the great guns. Then he could go below out of the harsh winds for more of the smell and the damp and the evil motion of the ship. Lewrie sighed in frustration… about the women, or the lack of them, about the irritating sameness of shipboard life and the need to see an unfamiliar face, hear a new voice telling new jokes; about the bland and boiled mediocrity of the food; and most especially about the eternity of life in the Navy. It had been eight months now. With an educated eye he could see that Ariadne was broad-reaching on the larboard tack, with the wind large on her quarter, utilizing jibs, fore and main stays'ls, two reefs in the tops'ls, and three reefs in the courses. The glass was rising and the seas were calming after a day of bashing through half a gale.

Captain Bales strode the quarterdeck deep in thought, and the sailing master Mr. Ellison leaned on the waist-high bulwarks about the wheel and binnacle, squinting at the sails. Lieutenant Swift loafed by the mizzen shrouds on the lee side with the watch officer, Lieutenant Church. Bales would peer aloft, at the seas astern, and sniff the air heavily. Alan grimaced as he knew what was coming; they would have to take in the courses and take a third reef in the tops'ls for the night. He was halfway to the weather shrouds before Captain Bales shared a silent eye conference with the sailing master and made his decision. ’All hands!" Swift bellowed as the bosun's pipes shrilled. "Hands aloft to shorten sail.’

To ease the wind aloft, Ariadne carne more southerly to take the wind abeam. Waisters hauled in the braces to larboard. With the third reef came the need for preventer braces and backstays, parcels aloft to keep the yards from swinging and flogging sails, not so much with an eye to sail or yard damage, but to keep the topmen from being flung out and down by a heavy smack by the flying canvas.

Lewrie left his hat on deck, not wanting it to disappear in the harsh wind. Going aloft had not gotten any easier for him. It still brought his scrotum up to his navel each time. ’Go, lads, go," Captain Bales shouted from below as they passed onto the futtock shrouds. "Crack on, Mister Lewrie, speed 'em on.’

Fine day to get singled out by the old fart, he thought miserably; now I'll have to be all keen with him watching.

The wind was a brutal live force aloft, buffeting him and setting his clothing rattling, and the higher he went, the harder it was to breathe as the wind made his cheeks flutter. They assembled in the main crosstrees. Once the yards were braced to satisfaction, and the preventers and parrels rigged, it was time to layout on the yard. The top captain went out to the weather side first, Lewrie following. Rolston went to the lee side after the number two man. The yard had been lowered slightly and was drumming like a pigeon's wing as the top captain prepared to pass the weather earring to the third reef line. ’Haul to weather!" Facing inboard on the yard and footrope, they hauled with all their might to shift the weight of the sail as it was clewed up. Once hauled up, it was Lewrie's "honor" to duck below the yard and pass the earring through the reef cringle to the third man seated astride the yardarm. Once secured, and hugging the spar for dear life, it was the lee arm's turn to perform that dangerous duty. Then it was nail-breaking, herniating exertion to reach forward and haul in the flogging sail, tucking the folds under one's chest, until the third reef was gathered snug.

Then came another dangerous chore, no less so now that the sail was under control and the reef-tackles had tautened. One had to squat down on the footrope, one arm from the elbow down the only secure hold from a nasty death, and reach under the yard once again, one's shoulder below the yard to grab the dancing reef points and bring them back up so they could be tied off. Lewrie could hear Rolston giving someone absolute hell on the lee yardarm for not seizing his on the first try.

The first and second top captains surveyed their handiwork and found it good. Below them, other men were still tidying up, taking in the main course. The forecourse would be left at three reefs, since it was a lifting effect on the bows. ’Lay in from the yard!" Thank Christ, Lewrie thought, glad to have survived once more.

They gathered in the top and began making their way down to the deck. Lewrie took hold of the preventer backstay that was already twanging with the weight of the men who had preceded him and began to descend, after glancing over to sting Rolston with a smug look. He lowered himself away quickly and neatly, hand over hand, smearing his clothing with tar and tallow. Then there was a shrill scream…

He took a death grip on the preventer backstay and locked his legs about it tighter than a virgin, without a further bit of thought. It definitely saved his life. He glanced up, and the whole world was filled by a dirty blue-and-white-checked shirt and a man's mouth open in a toothy rictus of terror. Horny fingers raked like talons on the sleeve of his jacket, ripping one hand from his grip, and unconsciously he clenched his hand, as though to grab back, though it would have been his own death to have tried. The desperate hand caught on the white turnback cuff of his left sleeve and ripped it loose. Then the man fell past him, and Lewrie watched him with dumb amazement as he performed a lazy spin face-upwards and limbs flailing, to smack spine first onto the inner edge of the starboard gangway. Lewrie could hear the man's spine snap over the harsh, final thump of the impact. And then Gibbs, late maintopman in the starboard watch, dribbled off the edge of the gangway and fell to the upper gun deck like a limp sack of grain.

His bowels turned to water and his own limbs began to so tremble, he was himself lucky to reach the deck without accident. But he had to satisfy his morbid curiosity, so he made his way forward until he had a good view, after the bosun's mates had shooed away the hands. Captain Bales was standing over the man sadly while the surgeon tried to discover some sign of life. The surgeon stood up to signify that it was hopeless. Gibbs would be commented upon in the log and the ship's books with a very final "DD,’