Dewey Lambdin - The French Admiral

"Then we shall attend to it directly." Cheatham smiled at him, and the smile automatically raised Alan's suspicions as to his motives. Damme, what's in it for him, I wonder? The life I've lived, there's no way to know when someone really means friendship, except for David.

"Um, I was wondering, sir, why would you…" he began.

"Because whether you can realize it or not, you have friends in this ship and in this world, Lewrie." Cheatham anticipated him: "Railsford thought you'd be squint-a-pipes about it. Do you really think yourself so base as not to be able to garner trust and friendship from others?"

"Yes, sir," he said without pausing to think, and felt his eyes begin to water with the truth of it. Until he had gotten into the Navy, he had never had a real friend, never had a word of approval from his father, his half-relations, or tutors. Now here were people ready to make supreme efforts on his behalf to uphold his honor and good name—what there was of them—and go out of their way to settle all the nagging questions in his mind about his heritage. Too much was happening to keep his feelings in check.

"God, Mister Lewrie," Cheatham said, almost in tears himself, "I had no idea, my boy! Forgive me. You do have friends who care about you—not just people with influence who will be good for place or jobbery."

"I am beginning to realize that, sir." Alan shuddered. "Back home, there was no one I could turn to. Jesus!"

"What?"

"In a way this is so disgusting, sir." Alan smiled in self-deprecation. "Who would have thought that of all places, I would find… a home… in the bloody Navy! I've spent the better part of my service scheming to get out of it!"

"Why would you, when you're so deuced good at it?" Cheatham asked. "Oh, I suppose it is natural to be suspicious, growing up a London boy in such a household as you described, but there is good in this world, and you have some of it in you."

"A streak perhaps," Alan allowed. "A thin one, sir. I doubt I'll be buried a bishop."

"Who can say what you'll amount to?" Cheatham said, cuffing him on the head lightly. "No, I would not go so far as to say you could ever take holy orders. But you are who you make of yourself, not what others have told you you are. Think on what you have accomplished in the short time you have worn King's Coat—other than wenching and brawling your way through the streets of Charleston, of course. Consider the people you know that think well of you. You could not have earned their approbation without being worthy."

I don't know about all that, Alan thought. You've never seen me toady when I've my mind set on something. Still, there was the good opinion of Admiral Sir Onsley Matthews and his Lady Maude; also their lovely niece, Lucy Beauman, who was all but pledged to him. And then there were Lord and Lady Cantner, whose lives he had saved in the Parrot . There were probably as many others who hated the sight of him, but he wasn't particularly fond of those either, so to hell with them.

But with Railsford, Cheatham, and, most likely, Mr. Dorne to improve his chances, and even Mister Monk's professional acceptance as a seaman, and the willing cooperation of the other warrant and petty officers who took him at face value, there was suddenly a lot less to fear than he had thought. He took another deep draught of beer, and his prospects suddenly seemed that much brighter.

"I cannot tell you how much this means to me, sir," he told Cheatham. "I was despairing that I would be chucked onto the beach to starve if it was up to the captain alone. Maybe there's an answer in my past that would force me to think I'm someone better than the image I have formed of myself ere now. But I'm not betting on it, mind. What if I'm much worse than what I know of myself now?"

"That's our Lewrie," Cheatham said kindly. "As chary a lad who ever drew breath. Now let us take a peek into this salt beef cask to see if it's fit to eat, shall we?"

CHAPTER 2

On the 25th of August, 1781, Desperate went inshore once more, to Cape Henry in the Virginias, acting as the eyes of the fleet. Should she run into danger, there was another frigate with her with much heavier artillery to back her up, but being of deeper draft she wasn't much help close inshore.

"Passage'll be 'bout a mile off Cape Henry," Mister Monk said, referring to one of his heavily pencilled and grease-stained charts by the binnacle. He was partly teaching, partly talking aloud to himself. "Far enough offshore ta avoid the Cape Henry shoals, an' 'bout two mile off a the Middle Ground. Ya young gentlemen mark the Middle Ground? Silt an' sand shoal."

Forrester, Avery, and Lewrie peered over his shoulder to mark it in their minds, while Carey, who was much shorter, wormed his way through to peek almost from Monk's capacious armpit.

"What about north of the Middle Ground, sir?" Carey asked, turning his gingery face up to their sailing master. "Up by Cape Charles?"

"No, main entrance is this'n, south o' the Middle Ground. To the north of it, ya'd never know how much depth ya'd have, wot with the scour. At high tide, ya might find a five-fathom channel, 'un then agin ya could pile her up on a sand bar in two, so deep draft merchantmen an' warships use the south pass. With our two-and-a-half-fathom draft, we'd most like be safe up there, but anythin' bigger'n a fifth-rate'd spend a week gettin' off."

"It's big once you're in, though," Avery observed, looking at the chart past the entrance they were discussing.

"Like the gunner told the whore," Alan whispered.

"Let's keep our little minds on seamanship, awright Mister Lewrie?"

"Aye, Mister Monk, sir," Alan replied with an attempt at a saintly expression.

"Now look ya here," Monk went on, tapping the chart with a stub of wood splinter for a pointer. "Once yer in, there's Lynnhaven Bay. Un from Cape Henry ta Old Point Comfort, due west, mind ye, ya got deep water an' good holdin' ground. But—and mind ya this even better—from 'bout a mile north o' Point Comfort an' from there up ta these islands at the mouth o' the York River, ya got shoal water at low tide, and this shoal, they think, sticks out damn near thirty miles east, pointin' right at the heart o' the entrance. So ya can never stand too far in at low tide or on a early makin' tide without ya choose Lynnhaven Bay er bear off west-nor'-west for the York, er up nor'-west into the bay, itself."

"So the best places to base a fleet or squadron would be either in Lynnhaven Bay or in the mouth of the York, sir," Avery said.

"Right you are, Mister Avery, right you are."

"Which is why Cornwallis and his army have marched north from Wilmington in the Carolinas, to set up a naval base to control the Chesapeake," Alan said, marveling.

"Un right you are, too, Mister Lewrie." Monk beamed, proud of his students. "Either way ya enter, ya got ta choose Lynnhaven Bay, York River, er further up, but if ya take that route, ya gotta be aware o' this here shoal comin' outa the north shore o' the Gloucester Peninsula north o' the York, so that cuts yer choices down even more. I'd never stand in further than ten miles past Cape Henry afore choosin', and God help ya you ever do otherwise yerselves if yer ever in command o' a King's ship, Lord spare us."

"And there are no markers or aids to navigation?" Forrester asked.

"Nary a one, sir," Monk replied. "Mosta the shippin' roundabouts is shallow draft coasters an' barges ta serve all these tobacco wharfs on the plantations, er carryin' trade ta Williamsburg further up the James, so up ta now, there wasn't no need fer 'em. But, up the James er up the York, er way up the Bay, it's the world's best anchorage ta my thinkin' for a fleet."

"Then why haven't we set one up here before, sir?" Carey asked.