Dewey Lambdin: The King`s Coat

Alan perceived a ladder of sorts, made of wooden strips set into the hull much like a set of shelves, with red baize-covered rope strung through the outer ends to make a most shallow sort of banister rail. This led upwards from the waterline, following the broad curve of the hull along the tumble-home to an-ornate open gate cut into the ship's side, very far overhead. ’Can't they drop a chair or something?" Alan asked. God, I'll be killed if I try to climb that. I'll bet this is some kind of nautical humbug they pull on the newlies. ’You in the boat. Get a move on," a voice shouted down through a brass speaking trumpet which appeared over the rail, then withdrew.

Alan realized there was nothing for it but to go. He got to his feet shakily as the boat rocked and rolled and bumped against the heaving ship hellish-lively, which made him swoon. He was also not a swimmer and feared the grey water. A seaman offered a hand and shoulder to steady him as he put a foot on the gunwale of the boat. He waited for the two craft to get in harmony, then leaped for the ladder. But his foot pushed the gunwale down and the ship rolled to starboard as be fought madJy for a grip on the sodden man-ropes and slick battens. Clinging in terror, he was dunked chest -deep in the freezing water and screeched an obscenity, also catching a solid whack in his back from the side of the rowing boat. As the ship rolled back upright, Alan scrambled for his very life, and arrived through the entry port with his teeth chattering. There was a hearty general round of laughter at his arrival which didn't do his composure much good, either. ’Well?" a person who appeared to be some sort of officer demanded, hands on his hips and his chin out almost in Alan's face. ’Sorry about that. Must have misjudged my timing," Alan said. "Is there a place I could change? It's devilish cold.’

’You'll doff your hat to me." The officer was within an inch of his nose, ''you'll say sir to me, and report yourself aboard this ship properly, or I'll shove your ignorant arse back for the fish to gawk at, you simple fucking farmer!" Alan stared at him for a second, shocked to his core that anyone could yell at him in such a manner, and with such filthy language! Not that he was above using it himself, and prided himself on being a true Englishman when occasion demanded harsh words. But to be the recipient was much like his recent cold bath. His lips trembled as he desperately tried to remember what Captain Bevan had instructed him to say. ’M… mid… midshipman Alan Lewrie," he finally said. "Come aboard to join, sir." He raised and doffed the cocked hat he wore. ’You are a young one, ain't you, now," the officer said. ’What a cod's-head. You 'll never shit a seaman's turd.’

’Is that required?" Alan stammered, instantly regretting it.

The officer stared at him with eyes as blared as a first-saddled colt, unable to believe what he had heard. "Bosun. A round dozen of yer best for this idiot. ’

‘I believe, Mister Harm, that if the midshipman has just corne aboard to join, then he is not on ship's books, and is not yet subject to punishment," another officer said after stifling his laughter.

Thank bloody Christ, Alan thought wildly; that dozen of the best didn't sound like a round of drinks! "Goddarnn you, you'll get your ass flayed raw before the day's out, if I've any say in it," the officer so appropriately named Harm said. "I've my eye on you from here on out, little man.’

’Yes, sir," Alan replied, galled to give this screeching parrot any sort of courtesy, but thinking it might mollify him. ’That's aye aye, sir," Harm said, but sauntered off. ’Sufferin' Jesus," Alan whispered sadly, still standing at a loose sort of attention and doffing his hat. "You are a bit old to be joining, aren't you?" the second officer asked. "Why, you must be all of eighteen’. ’s… seventeen., sir," Alan said between chattering teeth. "What were your parents thinking of, to wait so late?’

‘My father… he did not agree with my choice, sir," Alan said, thinking his reception could get worse if they knew his real reason for being there; or the fact that if he could get a good knockdown price, he would sell the ship for his freedom, and care less if the crew was carried off in a Turk's galley. ’Newlies usually go to the gun room, but you're too old for that. Might be the or]op for you, with the older midshipmen. ’

‘The… orlop," Alan replied, trying the new word on for size. He peeked about the deck to see if he could spot one. "God's teeth, what a prize booby you are. I cannot wait until Captain Bales sees his latest acquisition. You'll need dry clothing. Mister Rolston?’

‘Aye aye, sir," said the grinning imp who had ferried him out to the ship. ’Show Mister Lewrie below to the gun room and see he gets into dry things. And the proper hat. Soon as you're presentable, Lewrie, get back up to the quarterdeck and we'll take you to the first lieutenant, Mister Swift, so you can be properly entered in ship's books. By the way, I am Lieutenant Kenyon, the second officer.’

’How do you do, sir," Lewrie asked, offering a civilian hand. "Dh, God," Kenyon said as Alan dropped his hand and doffed his hat once more. "Yes, I expect you shall be most entertaining for us. Now get below." He allowed himself to be led below from the gangway to the waist of the ship while a pigtailed seaman named Fowles staggered along behind with his chest, suffering in silence. He staggered down a steep double set of stairs to the lower gun deck, a dank and dimly lit and groaning place full of guns, mess tables, stools, thick supporting beams and the columnlike masts. Glims in paper holders shed light on hundreds of men and doxies and quite a few children scampering about. It was more like a debtor's prison than a ship. Rolston led him aft to an area which was screened off from the rest of the gun deck by half-partitions, and filled with chests and tables. ’This is the gun room," Rolston told him. "The master gunner Mister Tencher and his mates berth here, along with the junior midshipmen. You can stow your chest along one of the screens and it'll be your seat. And you'll sleep in a hammock, instead of your soft little feather bed. I trust it will be up to milord's usual standards.’

The smell of cooking grease, some foul egestion wafting aloft from the bilges, the fug of damp wool and unwashed bodies was fit to make him gag, but he forbore manfully. "It is not St. James's," Alan drawled acidly, turning to look Rolston up and down, "but good enough for some, I shouldn't wonder.’

’You'll not last long in this ship with your snotty damned City ways, Lewrie. Just you wait 'til-" His tirade was interrupted by the arrival of Fowles with the heavy sea chest. But as the ship groaned and creaked into another roll, Fowles staggered and performed a shaky dance to waddle past them, bump Rolston and crash to the deck atop the chest, almost on Rolston's shoes. ’You clumsy fool!" Rolston slapped the man on the arms and chest in anger. "You did that on purpose. I'll see you on charge for it. Laying hands on an officer, for starters.’

’Beg pardon, sir," Fowles yelped. "Sorry, sir.’

Alan saw real fear in the man, and was amazed that a grown man of nearly fourteen stone could be so bullied by a mere boy in a blue coat. ’It wasn't his fault," Lewrie said, wishing they would all go away and let him be as ill as he wished. "The ship rolled heavily.’

’Thankee, sir," Fowles said, knuckling his forehead gratefully, "I were clumsy, sir, but meant no harm, sir.’

’That's all, fellow. You may go," Alan told him.

Fowles ducked out like a shot, leaving Rolston blazing. ’Goddamn you, Lewrie. Don't interfere like that again, or I'll make it hard on you. ’