Dewey Lambdin - King`s Captain

"Our brother seamen, our fellow suff rers!" McCann raved. And made Parker wince for a moment. "Tell 'em, brother Parker!"

"… terms they agreed to was not an Act of Parliament! It was only an Order In Council! And they're only good for a year and a day, not permanent, like a proper Act!" Parker cautioned. "And so far it only applies to Spithead and Plymouth… not to the Nore!"

That set off a chorus of boos, catcalls, and growls of rage.

"We'll have to hold out 'til they've guaranteed us the pardon too, presented us with the same terms, and sat down and negotiated with us… ox whatever we wish beyond the Spithead agreement!"

I'll be Goddamned! Lewrie groaned. "Horse turds!" he bellowed, before he could think about it.

Which made them turn and glare at him, every last mother-son!

Ah… oops! he blushed; too forceful.

I n for the penny," Alan sighed dejectedly, "in for the pound."

"If the settlement satisfies Channel Fleet," he roared, though, "and was done in good faith, then why is it not good enough for the Nore? All any ship has to do is send ashore to Vice-Admiral Buckner and ask for written confirmation of the terms. Then sign them and return to duty and receive the very same terms. And pardon!"

"No, no, won't work!" McCann shot back. "Ain't had our chance t'purge our own ships o' tyrants an' brutes! Pardon don't apply here, anyways! They gotta deal with us face t'face and give it to us, and we see they live up t'what they promised Spithead. 'Til we see they'll not stab Brother Seamen in the back, like they done the Cullodens, or if they're schemin' t'go back on it soon as it suits 'em… year and a day?"

"Wouldn't trust 'em further than a man can spit!" another sailor cried from the back of the pack below the nettings in the waist.

"Backstab a whole fleet?" Lewrie countered, forcing himself to laugh McCann's suspicions to scorn. "That'd be national suicide, and well you know it. Admiralty, Parliament, Crown… they agreed to all they could, except for shore leave, because they need 'you! And they'll need you more than a year and a day, the way this war is going, so how are they going to renege on you?"

"No, hold out 'til we get liberal shore leave, what our brothers at Spithead gave up on!" Seaman Bales shouted, striding out into plain view. "A fairer division of prize-money too. A whole lot more things that Spithead was afraid to demand," he slyly added.

"Like bloody what, Bales?" Lewrie snapped, hands on his hips and pacing forward to confront them, so more hands could hear the dispute. "You men… did Admiral Buckner come aboard this instant and offer you the same terms as Spithead… how many of you would take 'em and your pardon, return to duty, and have this done?"

He was gratified beyond all measure to see tentative hands stuck aloft, like schoolboys who thought they might just know the answer to a "puzzler." More than half, Lewrie exulted, more than half, ready to cave in, take the liberal terms the government had made, duck out of sight and notice, before they got dragged into deeds which could get them hanged in wholesale lots!

Mates and warrants of a certainty wavered. Lewrie nodded as he took a quick count; a fair portion of the Ordinary or Able Seamen, the Marines, and most of the new-comes, the landsmen idlers and waisters… new ship, few cliques, no real complaints against Proteus of her officers, yet… scared men, looking for safety…?

"You're not part of the ship's committee, Captain," Bales cried. "You have no say in this… nor any right to demand a division of our house, sir!"

"Turn 'im out!" Yeoman of the Powder Kever shouted. "There's a vote t'take, hoy, brother seamen? Turn all th' officers out!"

"He's only doing what Admiralty demands of him," Bales quickly disagreed, "not your practiced tyrant… but, don't heed him, brothers! There's no proposal from Admiralty to vote on… not yet!"

Lewrie cocked a wary eye at Bales, puzzled. Most captains had been sent ashore by their mutineers; he'd be in good company. So why not? What motive could this Bales have for scotching that idea?

"Follow President Parker, lads," McCann shouted, sticking his oar in, "don't sell yer birthright f r a mess o' pottage. We've but to hold on f'r a piece more; we'll win all that Spithead got and more!"

"Vow to hold out 'til it's a proper, written Act of Parliament!" President Parker boomed. "Not only for yourselves, but for your fellow seamen at Spithead, Plymouth, Great Yarmouth… overseas…!"

"Hold out all summer, do we haveta!" McCann screeched. "We got th' ships; we got th' guns! 'Thout us, Admiral Duncan at Great Yarmouth can't do a thing, do th' Dutch come out! Aye, they need us! An' we'll make 'em pay a pretty price for us, you mark my words! We sit tight united as Brother Seamen, 'til Howe'r some other top-lofty lords come wringin' their hands, quakin' in their boots, t'sit down an' deal with us direct! Right, Brother Parker?"

"Absolutely right, Brother McCann!" Parker firmly said.

"By God, we'll make 'em sorry they don't!" McCann ranted on. "We could block th' Thames'n Medway an' starve th' city out! What'll th' high-an'-mighty do, then? Why, we could sail up an' shoot Whitehall t'm'nders if they don't do right by us'n th' Spithead lads! Any sign they deal deceitful an' we burn it t'th' ground… Whitehall, Admiralty, all of it! Raise th' whole nation, an'…!

"But it won't come to that, lads!" Parker cried out to cut off McCann before such rebellious talk went any further. For a fleeting instant, Lewrie could almost sympathise with the poor bugger, saddled with such a batch of firebrands! God knew who sat on the Fleet Delegate Committee- United Irishmen, wild-eyed Republican rebels and Levellers, foreign-paid traitors and schemers…? It probably wasn't much fun trying to ride whipper-in to a baying herd like that.

"A little more patience is all!" Parker cautioned, "so they see we're serious, and they'll give in to us, come talk to us. They'll have to! We'll get our own terms, winnow our officers and mates, and get our own pardons! A week or more, and it'll be settled. Peaceful!" Parker shouted, rewarding McCann with a warning glare. "And a permanent Act for all the world to see! You mark my words on that! Unity! Unity, lads! Strike up 'All Hail, Brother Seamen,' there…!"

Then he quickly led them into the beginning of a song, which took their minds off fantasies of torches, stakes, or crucified aristocracy.

"Go below," Bales yelled, mustering his staunchest supporters and pointing at Lewrie and the officers aft. "No votes for officers… Go below! No votes for officers; go below…!" they began to chant.

"All hail, Brother Seamen, that ploughs on the Main,

Likewise to well-wishers of seamen of fame,

May Providence watch over brave British tars,

And guide them with care from the dangers of wars!"

"Might be best, after all, sir?" Lt. Langlie posed. "We don't wish to create a regrettable incident, the mood they're in at present."

"S'pose you're right, Mister Langlie," Lewrie gravelled, loath as he was to be seen to flee. And, admittedly, loath as he was to duck below without flinging them a last, stinging, Parthian shot. He'd never let an insult pass without giving as good (or better) as he got; why change his ways aboard ship, then? But he had no choice this time.

"At Spithead, Jack, from long silence was roused,

which wakes other Brothers who did not refuse,

to assist in the plan Good Providence taught,

in the hearts of brave seamen that had long been forgot!"

"Goddamn them!" Lt. Wyman most uncharacteristically blasphemed. "It's all over, can they not see that, listen to cool reason…?" "Evidently, not," Lewrie snarled.

"Old Neptune made haste, to the Nore he did come,

To waken his sons who had slept for too long,

his thund'ring loud voice made us start with surprise,

to hear his sweet words, and he bid us arise…!"

"Gentlemen," Lewrie prompted, pointing to his companionway ladder, and they sorted themselves out in order of seniority to descend to his cabins. Lewrie tried hard not to glare them all to scorn for a last stinging defiance. Once more he had been bested, scoffed at! And it stung like the very blazes!

A nother bleak morning, another bleak walk after breakfast, upon his usurped quarterdeck, with hands shrinking away from him when he got near them. And, Lewrie sighed in frustration, another damned longboat coming alongside, which had left HMS Sandwich minutes before. And, he feared, another harangue by the Fleet Delegates, another excuse for the crew to sing, caper, and tweak their noses at him! A ragged side-party turned out to welcome the visitor; and Bales, Handcocks, Morley, and Kever turned up to greet him. Hands engaged in the task of scrubbing and sluicing the decks, tensioning the shrouds and stays, paused from their labours to see what the occasion was. Rather blearily, Lewrie thought. There seemed to be even more women aboard than the evening before, more strange new faces yawning over mugs of small beer drunk to cut the alcoholic fog from all they'd taken aboard in the previous night's revelries below decks.

Thankfully, it was only a minor functionary this time, Lewrie saw, a common seaman bearing a note. He'd barely gained the gangway and handed the note over to Bales, shared a quiet word with him, then he was off once more, back over the side and into the boat.

"Bosun, pipe 'All Hands'!" Bales shouted. "Don't stand there with yer mouth agape, Mister Pendarves. Don't look to Captain Lewrie when I give you an order, damn yer eyes, he's not in charge here. I'm in temporary command. Pipe 'All Hands,' then 'Hands to Stations For Getting Underway!' "

Sounds like an officer, Alan thought; where'd he learn that?

Pendarves was looking up from the waist to the quarterdeck, in a quandary as to what to do. Sitting and waiting for the mutiny to be settled was one thing; getting up the anchors and making sail sounded like a dangerous escalation of this crisis!

" 'Vast, there, Mister Pendarves!" Lewrie barked. "Bales! You will not endanger my ship by getting sail on her. That's beyond your brief. By God, sir… explain yourself and be quick about it!"

"Aye, I'll explain myself, sir," Bales shot back, stung to the quick for a rare once; his smirky, superior demeanour pierced. "The ship is ordered to shift her anchorage into the Great Nore."

"Not by any authority I recognize, Bales," Lewrie hooted. "She stays where she is."

"Damn you, Pendarves… pipe 'All Hands On Deck!' " Bales roared, as he and his minions stalked from the gangway to the quarterdeck.

"That's Mister Pendarves, Seaman Bales," Lewrie corrected, with a great deal of glee for an opportunity to gall the man. "I do believe your Fleet Delegates ordered you to show respect to superiors. Surely, you're capable of following a simple directive…?"

"Mister Pendarves, pipe 'All Hands,' " Bales was forced to amend, reddening with anger, "and my pardons to you."

"Sir?" Pendarves said, looking to Lewrie still.

"Proceed, Mister Pendarves," Lewrie allowed lightly.

The more witnesses, the merrier, he silently smirked; t 'see this shitten louse get taken down a peg'r two. I've got to him at last, in public! Stung him so deep, he might make another error?