Dyson was reassuringly positive.
“Very good, make the arrangements.” As Dyson turned to go Shepherd noticed a mark just behind his right ear. It was a hint of soap, and it stood out quite plainly. Clearly the lieutenant had shaved in the dark that morning, and missed the lather. More importantly, no officer or servant had bothered, or dared, to advise him of the fact. It was a small point, but one worth remembering.
*****
“ Vigilant. ” The lieutenant fairly spat the name out, before settling himself into the stern of the lugger. Unseen by him the three man crew busied themselves with loading his luggage and casting off. They had carried too many bad tempered young officers to be surprised at one more. The cold wind was excellent for the short passage to Spithead, and the small craft fairly shot through the dark, crusted waves.
It was a damn bad show, being posted to a ship-of-the-line, a damn bad show. The least he had hoped for was first luff of a frigate, although really he was ready for command, and promotion. He was aware of the strings his father had pulled to get him this posting; well he would just have to pull a few more, and harder.
The lugger drew near to a sixty-four, and for the first time Rogers looked on his new ship. Small, when judged against the average British liner, and lacking in power; twenty-four pounders rather than the normal thirty-twos. It would also be a good deal more crowded than a frigate and less likely to be despatched on the sort of cruise that won promotion and prize money. Of course a lot depended on the captain; Shepherd had been known as a frigate man in the American war, maybe he would breathe a bit of life into the old barge.
A heavily laden wherry was pulling away from the larboard side, the cackles of laughter and shouted farewells identified it as carrying doxies. So the ship had been under the wedding garland. That would mean a lax, and probably unhealthy crew with countless little stores of sailor's joy hidden about the place. Hardly an inspiring start.
The midshipman of the watch hailed Rogers' boat as it passed under the counter, and approached the starboard main chains. One of the boatmen looked at Rogers for confirmation, before bellowing “Aye Aye”, in reply: the accepted signal that a commissioned officer was on board. The boat bumped once against the side, before hooking on. Rogers stood up, fumbling in his pockets for coins, and clambered up the slippery battens to the entry port. A tall, fair haired lieutenant was there to meet him. Rogers accepted the hand guardedly and gave his name to the younger man.
“I'm Tait,” he was told in return. “Welcome aboard.”
Rogers eyed Tait evenly. “Been with the ship long?”
“Nearly two years,” Tait replied. “I passed my board in 'ninety and was commissioned in March 'ninety-one.” The man looked in his early twenties, a good five years younger and yet only a few weeks junior to him.
Rogers smiled for the first time. “February, same year,” he said, with ill concealed satisfaction.
Tait took the information in good heart. “In that case you'll be number two.”
That sounded like a fresh set of officers; it was better than it could have been, and Rogers began to perk up slightly.
“Is the captain aboard?”
“In his quarters, doesn't like to be interrupted though. First Lieutenant's in the wardroom, maybe you should report to him there?”
“When do we sail?” Rogers studiously ignored the advice.
“Ship's currently being cleared of wives, we're taking shot and powder tomorrow, with the last of the water the day after. Most of the convoy's been ready to leave for ages, but we've been waiting on two more John Company ships joining us. They won't be here 'till the
“Very good, make the arrangements.” As Dyson turned to go Shepherd noticed a mark just behind his right ear. It was a hint of soap, and it stood out quite plainly. Clearly the lieutenant had shaved in the dark that morning, and missed the lather. More importantly, no officer or servant had bothered, or dared, to advise him of the fact. It was a small point, but one worth remembering.
*****
“ Vigilant. ” The lieutenant fairly spat the name out, before settling himself into the stern of the lugger. Unseen by him the three man crew busied themselves with loading his luggage and casting off. They had carried too many bad tempered young officers to be surprised at one more. The cold wind was excellent for the short passage to Spithead, and the small craft fairly shot through the dark, crusted waves.
It was a damn bad show, being posted to a ship-of-the-line, a damn bad show. The least he had hoped for was first luff of a frigate, although really he was ready for command, and promotion. He was aware of the strings his father had pulled to get him this posting; well he would just have to pull a few more, and harder.
The lugger drew near to a sixty-four, and for the first time Rogers looked on his new ship. Small, when judged against the average British liner, and lacking in power; twenty-four pounders rather than the normal thirty-twos. It would also be a good deal more crowded than a frigate and less likely to be despatched on the sort of cruise that won promotion and prize money. Of course a lot depended on the captain; Shepherd had been known as a frigate man in the American war, maybe he would breathe a bit of life into the old barge.
A heavily laden wherry was pulling away from the larboard side, the cackles of laughter and shouted farewells identified it as carrying doxies. So the ship had been under the wedding garland. That would mean a lax, and probably unhealthy crew with countless little stores of sailor's joy hidden about the place. Hardly an inspiring start.
The midshipman of the watch hailed Rogers' boat as it passed under the counter, and approached the starboard main chains. One of the boatmen looked at Rogers for confirmation, before bellowing “Aye Aye”, in reply: the accepted signal that a commissioned officer was on board. The boat bumped once against the side, before hooking on. Rogers stood up, fumbling in his pockets for coins, and clambered up the slippery battens to the entry port. A tall, fair haired lieutenant was there to meet him. Rogers accepted the hand guardedly and gave his name to the younger man.
“I'm Tait,” he was told in return. “Welcome aboard.”
Rogers eyed Tait evenly. “Been with the ship long?”
“Nearly two years,” Tait replied. “I passed my board in 'ninety and was commissioned in March 'ninety-one.” The man looked in his early twenties, a good five years younger and yet only a few weeks junior to him.
Rogers smiled for the first time. “February, same year,” he said, with ill concealed satisfaction.
Tait took the information in good heart. “In that case you'll be number two.”
That sounded like a fresh set of officers; it was better than it could have been, and Rogers began to perk up slightly.
“Is the captain aboard?”
“In his quarters, doesn't like to be interrupted though. First Lieutenant's in the wardroom, maybe you should report to him there?”
“When do we sail?” Rogers studiously ignored the advice.
“Ship's currently being cleared of wives, we're taking shot and powder tomorrow, with the last of the water the day after. Most of the convoy's been ready to leave for ages, but we've been waiting on two more John Company ships joining us. They won't be here 'till the
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