Читать интересную книгу King`s Captain - Dewey Lambdin

Well at least, thought Lewrie, it wasn't McCann the hands were cheering, though that idiot was in the party of visiting leaders of the mutiny, hanging back in the rear for once, like a spear-carrier in an Italian opera.

Lewrie thought to take his rightful place amidships by the nettings at the forward edge of the quarterdeck so he could study this new arrival, remember faces if not names for later, and remind his mutinous crew just who should be in charge. But the visitors usurped that post, marching directly from the starboard entry-port to the quarterdeck, and forced Lewrie, Catterall, and the few other midshipmen and officers who had come to answer their own curiosity to hang back far out of range of being tainted by appearing too curious-or tacitly supportive! They ended in a clump near the taffrail flag lockers, almost out of earshot, and mostly ignored by the enthusiastic sailors who were hoorawing what seemed an important visitor.

The stranger, Alan noted, was of middling height and build, and dressed much like a Commission Officer or Warrant Officer: gentlemanly white breeches, stockings and shirt, with a plain, dark blue, brass-buttoned coat over a yellowy, striped waist-coat. For shoes, he sported a pair of half-boots, another gentlemanly affection. On his head, the man wore a hairy beaver-fur hat, the sort with long and wide flaps that could be turned down over his ears and neck in bad weather.

The stranger waved his arms, crying out to Proteus's crew, shaking hands here and there with the most forward, glad-handing his way to the nettings like a Member of Parliament on the hustings might work his borough's pubs for re-election. Though he was of such regular features as could be deemed handsome, he was of a swarthy or sun-baked complexion. And there was a half-focused, almost dreamy glint to his eyes-the eyes of a romantic. Lewrie scowled with distaste. Or was he just as daft as his compatriot, McCann? He took an instant dislike to him.

"Ah, sir," Marine Lieutenant Devereux said, doffing his hat in salute as he came up to see their raree-show. "Odd, do you not think, sir… he carries himself with the airs of a born gentleman. Surely, he cannot be an officer, Captain, in league with Republican rebels?"

"A rogue officer?" Lewrie puzzled. "Pray not! We've troubles enough from the common seamen and mates who organised this mutiny." "Wearing a sword, sir," Devereux pointed out in a low mutter. "What looks to be a good pistol in his belt too. An officer's accoutrements, damn his eyes."

"Hip-hip… hooray, lads!" their Seaman Bales and Gunner, Mr. Hand-cocks, were exulting. "Three cheers for Richard Parker… President o' the Floatin' Republic… an' Admiral o' our Fleet!" "What gall!" Lt. Wyman gasped at the effrontery. "Now, now… lads…" this Richard Parker was saying, come over all modest and self-deprecating, pushing his hands at the crew as if to hush them so he could speak. Or, more-likely, to hush such damning talk! To declare a rival government to the established one-and the Crown-to promote oneself from sailor or mate to the highest peak of the Commission Officer list, a jealously guarded Admiralty right, could get anybody hanged in an eyeblink, even if the mutiny here at the Nore ended this instant!

"Hmmm…'tis a good sword at that," Lewrie had to admit once this Parker person had turned about a full circle to silence the crowd. It was an officer's long, slim smallsword; not the cutlass from some arms chest more suitable to a seaman.

"Pinched, most-like, sir," Midshipman Catterall sneered, from the offhand side, "from the gunroom of his own ship."

"Right, lads… give me an ear now. Hush!" Parker demanded, and they finally left off all that raucous cheering.

There, that's better, Lewrie told himself; 'fore Toulon got so scared he had his own litter o' kittens/

"We've heard from Spithead!" Parker dangled like a lure, making everyone lean forward and hold their breaths. "It's official. They've reached an agreement!"

Lewrie winced at the noise, even if it was joyful tidings.

"Lads, the terms…!" Parker screeched, to no avail.

"Brother Seamen!" McCann howled, stepping forward, and waving his cutlass aloft. "Hist, now! Hist t'th' president! Th' man-eatin' bastards give in t'us… th' common folk've triumphed over 'em! Give heed now!"

"They've won better rations"-Parker went on, once they had calmed at McCann's behest-"proper weights and measures… sick-berth pay, and proper medical care," he ticked off on his fingers. "They've gotten the rise in pay, for seamen, Marines, and pensioners…"

"Purged their ships o' tyrannical officers'n mates too!" That pop-eyed McCann felt thrilled to add. "And full pardons!"

"Fingers in yer ears…" Lewrie sighed to his assembled officers, before taking his own advice,

"Yyyyeeeaaahhhhf"

Well, thank God, Lewrie thought, as the cheering went on for a full minute or two more, turning to share relieved looks with his senior people and a few bold seamen who'd held themselves aloof from mutinous doings so far; mutiny's over, and we can get back to work. No lastin' harm done mongst the people; I've still my command…

"Listen, though, listen!" Parker shouted, as their cheers began to wane, wearing a somber face. "One thing they didn't get was the more liberal shore leave. Still limited to seaports or aboard ships, same as we have now. Still have to have our loved ones come out to us, 'stead of us going to them, and going ashore decided by individual captains' whims, still…"

"Damn 'em all, the soul-drivers!" someone cried.

"Well, that's all fine for Channel Fleet, lads!" Parked yelled, hands on his hips and looking about, taking a moment to peer aft at the ship's senior officers. "But there's a problem with it all. Listen… what Admiral Howe negotiated with the Spithead lads…"

"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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

In 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!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Another 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.