Dewey Lambdin - King`s Captain

"Oh, I say… dammit," Langlie gaped, astonished to be tarred as black as Ludlow. "What utter rot!"

"Didn't none o' us vote fer that!" Landsman Furfy complained in a loud voice, speaking for a majority of the hands, who were as astonished by that pronouncement as Lt. Langlie was.

"Damme, don't ya trust yer committeemen, mates?" Mr. Handcocks bellowed. "We'll see ya right, you can count on it!"

"Why would they wish me ashore, sir?" Langlie fretted as hands fell to at lashing up Lt. Ludlow's chests. "What'd / ever…?"

"Side-party!" Bales hooted. "See the tyrants off with proper honours at least, hey, lads?"

"Damme, I'm no Tartar, no plantation flogger, sir!" Lt. Langlie said, pressed close to Lewrie by the sailors coming to tote the expelled officers' chests. " Ludlow and Peacham I can understand, and good riddance to bad rubbish, frankly, but…" he whispered derisively.

In spite of being out-schemed once more by Bales's latest blow to his covert plan, Lewrie allowed himself a frisson of relief that Peacham and Ludlow would be gone.

Outwardly though, he gave Lt. Langlie a tiny shrug of agreement, a wee moue of disgust. "Because they wish to strip Proteus of any officer the hands like, Mister Langlie." He spat. "Anyone with courage or wits or bottom, who the people'd listen to, bring them back 'round, and retake the ship."

"Ah." Langlie winced for a moment. "I think I see what you mean, sir. Me… Lieutenant Devereux… a compliment really. Sort of."

"No matter," Lewrie cut him off, his mind awhirl to rebuild the shambles of his schemes-and suddenly, chillingly aware of just what sort of lies or half-truths the truculent Lt. Ludlow and his creature, Midshipman; Peacham, might impart ashore-to their own advantage, to his detriment! "Look, we've no time to write a report, why it seems that I'm disobeying orders to quit her, but I am held against my will… I still have hopes of retaking the ship and will try to parlay becoming hostages into something useful…"

"Well, of course, sir," Langlie nodded, encouraging him.

"You must give the authorities a true accounting, Mister Langlie," Lewrie bade him in a fierce whisper of his own. "You know all of the ringleaders, who to accuse… that most of the crew's wavering, more than a minority loyal…!" he rushed out, pressed to furious urgency to say a half-hour's piece in a single minute. "… state of rations, how long they could hold out. Names of the dead…"

"B'lieve I know what needs telling, sir," Langlie assured him with a firm, determined expression, "to bring our nastiest villains to book… where the real infamy lies."

"No matter Lieutenant Ludlow is senior to you and his place to make the report, it's vital…" Lewrie sped on, stifling the urge to beg as he dropped his carronade-sized hint.

"Rest assured, Captain Lewrie," Lt. Langlie said, coming over all noble, "I'll speak of everything infamous aboard Proteus. Everyone," he added, with a significantly arched brow.

Thank bloody Christ! Lewrie thought; ah-t'other thing.-…/

"Do you come across some leery sorts, Mister Langlie," Lewrie rushed out, as if Langlie's assurances that he'd cover his arse for him were neither here nor there, "some civilians who have no business in this, but do? They'll be government agents… spies… same ones who smuggled the Pardon and the Acts of Parliament aboard in the bumboats… ask for one going by the name of Willis… I think he's working for a fellow I've met before. He'll understand. Tell him I've determined our rebellion is homegrown… mostly! But I fear there are some of a more dangerous stripe exploiting it for their own ends. Turning it political. Didn't begin it I don't think, but…" Lewrie stammered in his haste to get it all said.

"Soon as I alight, sir," Langlie declared, offering his hand to be clasped right-manly. "And I'll pray most strenuously for your safety and your success with the hands, sir. I trust I'll serve under you again, sir… be proud to. Aboard a free, un-tainted Proteus."

"Thankee, Mister Langlie, and I'm certain you will," Lewrie said at last, realising there was nothing more he could do or say. He took Langlie's hand and gave it a welcome shake. "Pray I see you too, sir… coming o'er the lip of the entry-port to reclaim your place as her first…"

Oops! he grimaced; what sort o' slip is that? Hmm… useful!

"My pardons, Mister Langlie," Lewrie all but managed to blush. "A thing devoutly to be wished perhaps… but best left unsaid. It'd be disloyal to Mister Ludlow… no matter his temperament…" And he attained a gruff sadness for his last, abashed "… poor old fellow."

"Thank you, Captain, er… I say, thank you!" Langlie croaked, bedazzled by the possibility of being so honoured, to even accidentally be offered the post of First Lieutenant as a mark of his captain's esteem.

I swear I can hear the wheels turnin', Lewrie told himself; see puffs o' smoke from out his ears! Hooked, gaffed… and landed!

Langlie finally let go Lewrie's hand and stepped back a respectful distance so he could doff his hat in a parting salute, before following his sea chest up to the gangway to take his place in the pecking-order of seniority decreed for the departure of officers. Lewrie was quite pleased to note how many sailors came up to Langlie, how many of the marines approached Lt. Devereux, to share a few last kind words… assurances that they weren't died-in-the-wool rebels too, but…

You devious… shit! Lewrie chid himself; watching them depart. With Langlie as First Officer instead of Ludlow, would I have even had a mutiny aboard? Now if Langlie truly is ambitious, his account would expose Ludlow 's insubordination… Hell, he needed turnin' out, him and Peacham both! Not just for this ship, but for the entire Navy! Couch my final report the right way, and I'll purge 'em as good as Spithead ships cleaned out their gunrooms!

He reluctantly went below to unpack. Once there, he faced his Cox'n Andrews, Padgett, and Aspinall, who had just released Toulon… who was bristled up and carping angrily at the indignation.

"Almost made it ashore." Lewrie shrugged. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Not your fault, sir," Padgett replied, looking miserable.

"Uhm…" Aspinall sighed, scuffing his toes. "Now we're t'be aboard, sir… your goose is cooked, so…"

"It would seem so, now wouldn't it!" Lewrie barked sarcastically.

"Uh, nossir! Meant your supper, sir!" Aspinall yelped. "Meant, 'twas a shame we'd leave without it, and… do ya feel peckish, I can fetch it from the galley, sir! Be a shame it goes t'waste."

"Oh." Lewrie relented, smiling and blushing. "That! My pardons, Aspinall. But since it seems I'll not dine at Admiral Buckner's, by all means, trot my goose out. I am hungry. Dry too."

"A nice bottle o' your claret, and the goose, comin' right up, sir! And a tot o' brandy t'tide you over whilst I fetch 'em!"

Now, what am I going to do? he asked himself, once he'd gotten his paws about a large snifter of brandy. Devereux gone, now Langlie… my stoutest fellow conspirators! Even Ludlow and Peacham! Dim-witted, insultin', truculent… but, bred-in-the-bone foes of mutiny and eager to fight when you let slip their leashes. Caused half of it, but they could've helped put it down.

I still plan to retake the ship, Gawd! he squirmed at his boasting to Langlie; what empty posturing that was. As if I have leaders left who could sway the crew to help me!

Bales had been right, he determined, wincing again in recrimination, and hellish-astute too. Those left… Catterall, he was very witty and droll, smarmy-clever. But was he reliable? Adair was promising, a clever lad. Sevier was a lack-wit, just as Bales had deemed him, with nothing behind his eyes but rote, dumb obedience. Nicholas and Elwes were too young to scheme or dissemble… they could run covert messages, at best, chat people up. The hands liked them. Would they blush and duck their heads though, were they put to whispering ideas to Proteus 's people in seemingly casual conversations?

Most likely, he groaned. Lieutenant Wyman?

A likely lad, a sweet young fellow too. Reliable, ever cheery, and genuinely liked by the crew; earnest and brave, determined to do his best but… would it be enough? Lewrie could imagine Lt. Wyman uttering "my goodness graciouses" with his eyes blared… like a virgin chambermaid the first time someone put a hand 'neath her skirts!

"We need a half-dozen o' me," Lewrie decided in a black humour. "A pack of the real ruthless bastards."

Bosun Pendarves and his mate, Towpenny, Mr. Winwood and his mates, that's five men. Mr. Garraway the Carpenter, at least two of his crew, his mate, Jacks? Purser and his assistant… Sailmaker, Mr. Reyne, and at least one from Ms crew. Mr. Offley the Armourer… twenty-five or twenty-six people, all told? God, it still looked hopeless. The Marines, now…

Bales had said that most of the Marines had wanted to keep Lieutenant Devereux aboard-all but Corporal O'Neil the Irishman, one of the United Irish for certain. Three or four of the privates were with the hard core of mutineers… Corporal Plympton the Devon man, though, and Sergeant Skipwith… there's where he should make a sly approach! With twenty to twenty-five of the fourty-man marine complement allied with him, there just might be a chance yet.

"Supper's served, sir," Aspinall announced at last.

"Hmmpfh," Lewrie grunted, as he rose to go forrud to his table. Even if it did seem hopeless, at the moment, at least he could keep up his strength… for that "later" he dearly coveted.

I t seems there's more than one way to vote yourself out of the mutiny, Mister Pendarves," Lewrie gleefully pointed out to the Bosun and his mate, Mr. Towpenny, as they supervised the gun-deck crew through a rare "River Discipline" sail-making drill. "That's two ships gone!"

He said that loud enough to be easily overheard by many of the hands near them, yet casually enough, he hoped, that it would not come across as contrived. It had been hard, personally galling for him, to get this sail-making drill staged. He'd had to point out to Bales that the crew had gone slack, requiring exercise at sea-tasks-practice at what Lewrie had hoped was a rehearsal for their escape-then wait for Bales to make up his mind as to whether he'd allow it or not!

"Bless me, not another, sir?" Pendarves replied almost as loud, attracting even more hesitant attention, as they'd rehearsed earlier.

"The Clyde frigate too, Mister Pendarves." Lewrie shrugged, at a seeming loss. "She isn't in the anchorage this morning. And when I went aloft with a glass, I could have sworn I spotted her anchored inshore. Must have slipped her cables and drifted into Sheerness on the flood tide last night. Now San Fiorenio too. A bit more theatrical that"-he grinned- "but out to sea on the ebb."

The San Fiorenio frigate, originally assigned to carry Princess Charlotte and her new husband, had "eloped" in broad daylight, sailing out to sea where a merchantman had guided her to deep water. She had attracted vicious but poorly aimed and ineffective gunfire from nearby mutiny ships. Stalwart mutineers had crowed over the gunnery display, jeering that such would be the fate of any deserter, and who wanted such half-hearted bastards as them anyway! But it had been sobering to Proteus % crew.