His Majesty's Ship Read Free Page A

morrow”
           “Convoy?”
           “Yes, we're acting as senior escort. Slow as far as St. Helena, then straight back with the next home bound.”
           Tait had one of those open, honest faces that pleased Rogers. He'd be a useful junior; eager for the boring jobs and satisfying to boss about. That, and the almost independent command they would enjoy as a senior escort, placed him in a decidedly better frame of mind.
           Rogers nodded at the younger man. “I have a few things to discuss with the First Lieutenant. Have my dunnage brought aboard and sent below, will you?”
           He strode past Tait, and made his way to the wardroom without waiting for a reply.  
     
    *****
     
           “Two more days of Peter Warren victuals,” said the old man, to no one in particular. “Then we're back to salt beef and pork, with pease puddin' twice a week, an' suet on Sundays.” He smiled to himself as his mates began dropping the meat into the boiling coppers. “That fresh stuff jus' ain't got the quality or the flavour; t'aint natural.”
           The stained meat sack was almost empty. Three more would be needed to feed the men: that was two less than yesterday, when the women were being fed as well. The fact that the doxies were all but gone pleased the cook almost as much as the prospect of salt beef; he didn't care for the company of women.
           The empty sack was tossed aside. It fell against the range with an ominous clatter.
           The cook looked up. “That empty, Tom?”
           The man pursed his lips. “Seemed like it.”
           The cook retrieved the sack, and held it upside down. A horseshoe fell out onto the brick flooring of the galley deck, with a loud metallic ring.
           “Well bless me!” said his mate, bending over it.
           “They says it were beef!” said another.
           The cook pulled a wry face, “'s what you come to expect from fresh. They don't check it like preserved.” He glanced up. “Stick it on the deckhead, with the others.”
           Tom looked up to the beam just above his head, where five horseshoes already hung in a line.  
     
    *****
     
           Tait remembered the traditional toast of the day as he moved his seat back and stood at the crowded wardroom table.
           “Gentlemen, I give you, sweethearts and wives”
           “And may they never meet,” added an anonymous voice.
           The officers drained their glasses, before all eyes turned to Dyson, who dabbed at his lips with a linen cloth.       
           “I think this would be a good time to formally introduce our new fellow officer.” he said, conscious of their attention. “Please welcome Anthony Rogers who will be second lieutenant of Vigilant .”
           Rogers sat at the far end of the wardroom table. He rose, a trifle unsteadily, or so Tait thought, although the emotion of the moment may have been partly to blame. In the few hours that he had been on board Tait had not acquired a good opinion of Rogers, and now, as he slurred his way through his reply, he studied him more carefully and liked him less.
           Certainly you could not criticize his dress. To officers used to the relaxed regulations of a ship under the wedding garland, Rogers fairly dazzled in excellence. His uniform, and Tait guessed from his vast amount of dunnage that it was one of many, was tailored to the highest order, with bullion buttons and silk britches. His sword was also fine quality, with a five ball hilt and what appeared to be a family crest set into the grip. When snuff was offered, Rogers produced his from a gold and tortoiseshell box, and his hair was heavily powdered, a common enough sight in the wardroom of a flagship, but never before seen in Vigilant .
           Rogers sat down to a polite tapping of glasses from the other officers, and there was a break in the