13 A King's Trade by Dewey Lambdin

Author:Dewey Lambdin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2008-03-29T16:00:00+00:00

13 A King's Trade

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It was a rather abstemious little gathering for supper in the great-cabins: the Sailing Master, Mr. Winwood, who never drank much at all, seated to his right; Lt. Devereux, in charge of Proteus's Marine detachment, to his left, and (for a sea-soldier) never known as one who over-indulged in tipple; and his three midshipmen, Mr. Gamble the older, Mr. Grace, and wee Mr. Larkin, at the table's foot, as the Vice. All of whom were so daunted by Mr. Winwood, who was the midshipmen's tutor in matters navigational and mathematical, and by dread of making a fool of themselves by taking too much “aboard.” Mr. Win-wood's grave, mournful scowl when his sense of primness was offended could make the “middies” scurry like cockroaches. Lt. Blase Devereux was a lan?guidly elegant sort, whose gentlemanly mannerisms they wished to emulate, anyway, and the captain was, well. . . the captain, not a man to disappoint, if they wished to stay in his “good books.”

Once Capt. Treghues had signalled that the trade would, indeed, stand “off-and-on” the coast 'til dawn, they had sailed legs North and South abeam the wind, with the Indiamen back to their usual custom of reducing sail to bare steerageway, which had let the avid fishermen in the crew dip a line, ending in the catch of a middling-sized tunny, which had been shared between the gun?room and the captain's table.

They had had reconstituted “portable soup,” a sea-pie made from shredded salt-beef and salt-pork, diced potatoes fried with bacon, and the tunny for the last course, great slabs of it, dredged in flour and crumbled biscuit, spices, and lemon, then fried in oil. There had been a decent claret with the sea-pie, and an experimental white wine bought off a homebound Indiaman. One of the first things the Dutch settlers at the Cape had planted was vineyards, though with mixed results, so far. The white had gone well with the fish, though not as smooth or sweet as a German hock, but miles better than the Navy-issued “Miss Taylor,” the thin, vinegary, and acidy wine that could double for paint thinner, and Lewrie was intrigued enough to think of buying more, once at anchor.

There had also been the promise of an apple stack-cake to come, a dessert that his wife Caroline had brought from her native Cape Fear in North Car?olina, shrivelled and wrinkly older Kentish apples that had not gone over, or been wormed, pulped and boiled with dollops of molasses and sugar, then spread thick between several layers of pancakes. Once the tablecloth would be removed, there would have been a tray of “bought” sweet biscuits, nuts, and port. Midshipman Larkin to propose the King's Toast, Mr. Winwood to make one to the Navy, and, as it was a Saturday evening, it would have fallen to Lewrie to propose a traditional Navy toast, “To Our Wives And Sweethearts, May They Never Meet!,” which Lewrie found excrutiatingly apt.

But, just as Aspinall was lifting the

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