“TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE”

MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563–1631)

CHAPTER EIGHT

She’s a ship, an active commission, and earns me full pay again, Lewrie had to remind himself as his hired boat approached HMS Sapphire, moored at least two miles from shore in the Great Nore at Sheerness.

She was 154 feet on the range of the deck and 130 feet along her waterline, just a few feet longer than his last Fifth Rate frigate, but she was so damned tall with that upper deck stacked atop the lower one!

The hired boat was bound on a course to pass before Sapphire’s bows, veer to the right in a large circle, and come alongside her starboard entry-port, but Lewrie looked aft to the tillerman and expressed a wish to cross under her stern, instead, so he could give her a good look-over before boarding.

“She’s a clean’un, she is, sir,” a younger boatman who handled the sheets of the boat’s lugs’l commented. “Shiny’z a new penny.”

“Aye, she is,” Lewrie grudgingly had to agree.

Sapphire’s hull was painted black, sometime recently, at that, for the gloss had not yet faded. Her two rows of gun-ports showed a pair of buff-coloured paint bands, what was coming to be known as the “Nelson Chequer”, and her waterline at full load sported a thin red boot stripe just above the inch or two of her coppering that was exposed. White-painted cap-rails topped her bulwarks and trimmed her beakhead rails.

Sapphire’s figurehead was the usual crowned lion carved for any ship not named for some hero from the classics; a male lion done in tan paint, with a bushy mane streaked with brown and black highlights, red-tongued and white-fanged, with only its crown gilded. The lion’s front paws held a bright blue faceted ball against its upper chest, a gemstone that some shore artist had flicked with streaks of silver and white in an attempt to make it appear to shine. It looked fierce enough, but for its odd blue eyes!

Several of the ship’s boats were floating astern in a gaggle, bridled together and bound to a tow rope, to soak their planking lest the wood dried out and allowed leaks. There was a wee 18-foot cutter or gig, a 25-foot cutter, a 29-foot launch, and a 32-foot pinnace, all painted white with bright blue gunn’ls.

The hired boat had to circle wide to clear those ship’s boats, giving Lewrie a long look at her stern, which was not as ornate as he had expected. There were white dolphins and griffins along the upper scroll board in bas-relief against black, above what would be his stern gallery, which gallery sported close-set white railings and spiralled column posts. Below the gallery were the several windows of the wardroom right-aft on the upper gun deck, then a bright blue horizontal band below that, on which was mounted the ship’s name in raised block letters, painted white and gilt.

Somebody has a deep purse, Lewrie thought; or had.

Post-Captains with enough “tin” could afford to have gilt paint applied, figureheads custom made, and improve the lavishness of their ship’s carving work. It appeared that Sapphire’s recently departed Captain had been one of those men.

“Boat ahoy!” someone shouted from the quarterdeck.

“Aye aye!” the tillerman shouted back, holding up four fingers to denote that his passenger was a Post-Captain.

The lugs’l halliard and jib sheet were loosed and the sails handed, as the hired boat drifted up to the main channels and chains at the foot of the boarding battens and man-ropes. Lewrie stood and tucked his everyday hanger behind his left leg so he would not get tangled up with it as the younger boatman hooked onto the channels with a long hooked gaff, bringing the boat to a stop.

Lewrie teetered atop the hired boat’s gunn’ls, grasped one of the man-ropes, stepped up with his right foot to the main channel, and swung up with his left foot to the first step of the battens, noting with gratitude that the steps had been painted then strewn liberally with gritty sand before the paint had dried, improving his traction.

At rest, Sapphire’s lower-deck gun-ports were about five feet above her waterline, and they were all opened for ventilation, with some of them filled with curious faces as he passed the pair closest to the battens. Once above those, the ship’s tumblehome increased, making his ascent less steep.

All the exercise is payin’ off, he thought as his head rose level with the lip of the entry-port; he hadn’t even begun to suck wind! And there were the half-spatterdashed boots of Marines, in view, the buckled shoes of sailors peeking out from the bottoms of long, loose “pusser’s slops” trousers, and the trill of bosun’s calls in welcome.

Lewrie placed his first foot on the lip of the entry-port and made a final jerk upon the man-ropes to come aboard with a characteristic hop and stamp. Sure that he was in-board with no risk of going arse-over-tit backwards, he doffed his hat to the flag, quarterdeck, and his waiting officers.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” Lt. Westcott said, doffing his own hat along with the others.

“Thankee, Mister Westcott … gentlemen,” Lewrie replied with a grin trying to break out on his face, despite the traditional formality of taking command. “If you do not mind, I will read myself in, first, before we make our first acquaintance.”

He went to the forward quarterdeck rail and iron hammock rack stanchions, ’twixt the two square companionways let into the deck to allow rigging to pass through, pulled his commission document from inside his waistcoat, where it would stay dry despite foul weather, and not be lost overboard in the climb up the battens, folded it open, and began to read loud enough for all to hear.

“By the Commissioners for executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of Great Britain and Ireland and all of his Majesty’s Plantations, et cetera … to Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, Baronet, hereby appointed Captain of His Majesty’s Ship, the Sapphire…”

He paused to look up and forward into the waist and the sail-tending gangways to either beam down the upper deck.

Jesus Christ, but there’s a slew of ’em! he thought, awed by the hundreds of people in the crew, nigh twice as many as he had had aboard Reliant! Sailors, boys, and Marines, all gawking at him!

“By virtue of the Power and Authority to us given, we do hereby constitute and appoint you Captain of His Majesty’s Ship, Sapphire, willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the Charge and Command of Captain in her accordingly. Strictly charging all the Officers and Company belonging to the said Ship subordinate to you to behave themselves jointly and severally in their Respective Employments with all due Respect and Obedience unto you their said Captain, and you likewise…” he continued, right through to the date of his commission, and the year of the King’s reign.

He folded that precious document up, again, and stuck it in a side pocket of his uniform coat, then leaned his palms on the railing.

“Just about ten years ago to the month, here at the Nore, I was made Post into my first command, the Proteus frigate,” he told his new crew, now that they were all officially his, “and I have been fortunate to command several frigates over the years. Sapphire is my first two-decker. She is new to me, as you are, as well … just as I am new to you. It may take me twice as long to get to know you all by face and name than I did the men of my last ship, the Reliant frigate, so I ask for your indulgence on that head.

“Sapphire may not be as swift and dashing as a frigate, but we … you and me together.…” he continued, “will still find ways to toe up against our King’s enemies and bash them to kindling and send Frenchmen, Spaniards, and Dutchmen, and all who side with Bonaparte, to the eternal fires of Hell! I am not one to tolerate boredom for long, and have always found a way to hear my guns roar in earnest, as I trust you all wish, as well. So, let’s be at it, and ready our ship for great deeds to come!”