“You’ll see what I mean when you look through Captain Insley’s Order Book,” Westcott told Lewrie. “I brought a copy of yours from Reliant, but I haven’t put it into use, yet.”

“We’ll go over my old one and make alterations to account for a much larger ship and crew,” Lewrie said. “Aye, I will look the old one over, and see if any of Insley’s standing instructions are of any use to us. Did Insley have any other admirers?”

“Harcourt; the senior Mid, Mister Hillhouse; the senior Marine officer, Keane; and the ship’s Master At Arms, of course,” Westcott told him, “two or three of the older Mids, too, Britton and Leverett. Most of the other Mids seem sorry that Gable’s gone.”

“We’ll have t’keep a close watch on them, and bring ’em round to ‘firm but fair,’” Lewrie determined, “and, keep a close eye on the hands, as well. As soon as a somewhat more lenient rule is established, they’ll be sure t’test us, the ‘sea-lawyers’, gaol sweepin’s, and the sky-larkers.”

“Sure as Fate, sir,” Westcott agreed with a grin, “but, we’ll handle them, the same way we whipped Reliant’s people into shape.”

“I count on you gettin’ that done, Geoffrey,” Lewrie assured him. “That’s why I was so eager t’have you as my First, again.”

“Won’t let you down, sir,” Westcott promised.

Bisquit, bored with trotting round the poop deck and marking his territory with a squirt or two, came to lay his head on Westcott’s knee and nuzzle for attention.

“There’s a rabbit pelt in his crate,” Lewrie said as he rose to his feet, “and some other of his toys. I think I’ll go below and see what my cabins are like. You two … amuse yourselves for a bit.”

“I think I shall, sir!” Westcott agreed, getting to his feet, as well. “The dignity of my office be-damned.”

CHAPTER NINE

“God, I could play tennis in here!” Lewrie muttered under his breath as he entered his great-cabins, which were divided into a dining coach to larboard, a very large bed-space to starboard, then the day cabin aft of those which spanned from beam to beam and ended at the quarter-galleries, the transom settees, and the door to his outdoor stern gallery beyond. The partitions which delineated the compartments were thin wood, not canvas stretched over light deal frames, painted a pale beige with white mouldings, and double doors led from the day-cabin to the bed-space and dining coach on the forward walls. He had to share his quarters with four of the quarterdeck 6-pounder guns, but otherwise he had bags of room for his wine-cabinet, desk and chair, his round brass Hindoo tray table on its low platform, and his settee and chairs set up on the starboard side.

“There’s so much space, sir, we’ve put your wash-hand stand in the bed-space, along with your chests,” Pettus told him as he fidgetted with the angle of the collapsible chairs round the tray table.

“Mus’ be plannin’ on shippin’ ’is woman aboard,” Lewrie heard from the bed-space, where the Ship’s Carpenter and his Mate were hanging up his suspended bed-cot.

“Nah, ’e just likes t’sprawl-like,” he heard Jessop comment. “But ’e’s a terror wif ’em ashore, an’ th’ First Off’cer, too. Been a widower some years, now, th’ Cap’m ’as.”

“A glass of something, sir?” Pettus said, over-loudly to warn them that Lewrie was in ear-shot.

“Aye, Pettus, I would,” Lewrie replied, equally loudly, and winking at his cabin-steward. Nervous coughs came from the bed-space. The Carpenter and his Mate gathered up their tools and slunk out into the day-cabin, where Lewrie introduced himself, learning that their names were Acfield and Stover, and thanking them for their trouble.

He got a glass of rhenish and went out on his wide and deep stern gallery to savour some fresh air. Pettus had already opened the upper halves of the transom sash windows for ventilation, and to make sure that Chalky would not get out of the cabins that way, but the cat was hellish-quick to dash out the door with him, then leap to the top railing of the gallery’s barrier, and Lewrie just as quickly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck before he tumbled overside.

“Bad place for you, Chalky … bad!” Lewrie chid him. “It’s not wide enough for you.” He sat the cat down on the deck.

I’ve already lost one cat, and damned if I’ll lose another! he thought, determining that his stern walk might be an attractive perk but one that he might not be able to enjoy all that much without keeping a wary eye out for Chalky and his antics. Before the cat could jump back up there, he herded it inside and shut the door and went to the settee.

“Take your flummery, sir?” Pettus asked.

“Aye, Pettus, let’s get me back into everyday rig,” Lewrie agreed, shedding his best-dress uniform coat which bore his two medals and the star of his knighthood, then the sash which lay over his waist-coat. “I’ve done all my ‘impressing’ I’m going t’do, today. We’re going t’have t’watch that damned door to the stern gallery, ’less the damned cat gets out, hops onto the railing, and goes overboard.”

“We’ll see to it, sir,” Pettus promised. “Ehm … I had a wee chat with Mumphrey, Mister Westcott’s man? Seems there was a bit of a scramble when Mister Westcott came aboard last week. The Second Officer, Mister Harcourt, had already moved himself into the First Lieutenant’s cabin, and Midshipman Hillhouse had shifted his traps to the wardroom. When Mister Westcott turned up, both of them had quite a come-down.”

“Indeed?” Lewrie coolly sniffed.

“Mumphrey says there’s a cabin off the wardroom just for your secretary, and there’s a day office for him, too, to larboard of the helm, so I expect Mister Faulkes will feel right regal for a change. On the starboard side of the helm, there’s a sea cabin for the Sailing Master, just forward of your bed-space. I hope the fellow doesn’t snore too loudly.”

“If he does, we’ll scrounge up some spare blankets to hang on the forrud bulkhead,” Lewrie chuckled, “or if the hands at the helm take to singin’ in the middle of the night.”

The double wheel and the compass binnacle cabinet were just a few feet beyond the doors to his great-cabins, sandwiched between the day office and sea cabin, and sheltered under the poop deck; a very handy arrangement.

“Mumphrey also told me there’s a fairly big spare cabin on the starboard side of the wardroom, right aft, sir,” Pettus chattered on, “where a Captain would go, if this ship carried a Commodore, who gets these cabins.”

“God forbid!” Lewrie hooted. “I haven’t even gotten comfortable in here, yet! Hmm … I fear Faulkes will have t’be disappointed. If the Master’s sea cabin is so close to the helm, that day office would make a grand chart room, with my slant-top desk and chart racks where Mister Yelland, the watch officers, and I can roll ’em out flat and do our plots. Faulkes already has his own desk over yonder,” Lewrie said, nodding his head towards the larboard corner of the day-cabin, close to the door to his quarter gallery.

“Ehm … Mister Westcott left the former Captain’s ledgers and books for you, sir,” Pettus went on. “I put them on your desk.”

“No rest for the lazy,” Lewrie said with a sigh. “You’d best brew me up a pot of coffee, Pettus. They’ll be boresome-dry going.”

He had to read all of them, closely; there was too much risk of being docked in his pay, else. HMS Sapphire’s voluminous inventories of items put aboard by the various Boards of Admiralty, her guns, her shot and powder, boats, sails and spare sailcloth, galley implements and pots, lanthorns, small arms, sand glasses, rations, her miles of ropes and cables for both standing and running rigging, had been signed for by her former captain, and every niggling replacement item had had to be documented. Normally, Lewrie would consult with the previous commanding officer to balance the books and account for losses or wear, but that was now impossible. The ship was his, as were all the thousands of “things” listed in her ledgers that he would one day have to account for, to the least jot and tittle, and be charged for if things went adrift.