Free A Sea Unto Itself by Jay Worrall Page B

arms. Bevan stood at the base of mainmast. Below in the waist, the crew milled in an undisciplined mass. He noticed that the senior seamen mostly collected around the edges in groups of three or four. There were probably about seven or eight score present in all, Charles guessed, which was probably right if they were fifty short of a complement. His nervousness increased. Their eyes were turned on him as he passed behind the line of redcoats. What would they see? That he was a junior captain from his single epaulette, that he looked young. What would that mean to them? From what he could tell, none exhibited any indication that he was especially welcome in their presence.
    He stopped beside Bevan and removed the envelope from his pocket. “All right,” he said.
    “Off hats,” the lieutenant bellowed in a voice that could be heard in the tops. Before Charles could unfold his document, Bevan signaled to the marine lieutenant standing behind his men.
    “Atten-shun!” the lieutenant barked, and simultaneously the drummer began a long rat-at-at-at roll. The marines loudly stamped their boots on the deck and came to a rigid parade-ground attitude.
    Charles frowned. He guessed that Bevan had arranged the ceremony in order to impress the crew. It was not the tone he wanted to set at all. “Stop the drummer,” he said.   When the noise ceased he pointedly turned to the lieutenant of the marines. “Stand your men at ease.” He said loudly enough for those in the waist to overhear.
    “I beg your pardon, sir?” the surprised lieutenant answered back.
    “Stand your men down,” Charles repeated. “I do not wish to give the impression that I take up this command by right of military force. I have been appointed by the King to this position. I am sure that is sufficient for every man on board.”
    “Aye, aye, sir,” the lieutenant said in a surprised tone. He then ordered his company to parade rest. Charles had not yet been introduced to him; he would have to make amends later. With barely a glance at the men below he unfolded the paper and read. “To Captain Charles Edgemont, Esquire. Sir, you are hereby directed and required . . . ” He finished the page barely having taken three breaths. Charles raised his eyes to look out over the men that were legally under his authority now. He knew it, and they knew it. There was an expectant silence followed by a commotion of exchanges from below.
    “What have you to say for yourselves?” Charles said in an almost normal voice. The mutterings died away. “Come now, why are you refusing orders?”
    “What ‘bout ar pay?” a voice shouted up almost immediately.
    Bevan shifted uneasily beside him. Charles knew that he did not approve of seamen speaking directly to their captain, particularly in that tone of voice. “Leave it be, Daniel,” he said. He saw that the speaker was a hard looking man with a golden earring and his hair tied back in a club—an able seaman if ever he’d seen one. He was sitting on the first reinforce of a gun with two of his mates, all had quids of tobacco in their mouths and a bucket on the deck between them to expectorate into. “I am aware that your pay is in arrears and I will do my utmost to address it before we sail,” he answered.
    “Wif all respect, zur,” the man shot back, spitting a gob expertly into his receptacle, “Ye tol’ Mrs. T ye’d do it, not look into it.”
    Charles saw the other seamen perched on the cannon nod in agreement. An angry murmur started up again from the crowd. He knew he was on thin ice, but it was best to be truthful whether they liked it or not. “It was a mistake for me to have said that. I can’t force the navy to deliver your pay. I will promise you that I will do everything that is in my power to see that it is done as quickly as possible.”
    Another seaman lounging against the bulwark on the other side of the deck pushed himself to his feet. He was of indeterminate age with deeply weathered skin,