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Overview
Dewey Lambdin, the reigning master of maritime fiction, continues the adventures of Alan Lewrie, Royal Navy, from his days as a midshipman to captain of his own ship and, though on somewhat dubious grounds, a baronetcy in the 23rd book in the Alan Lewrie series, A Fine Retribution.
Captain Alan Lewrie and his small squadron defeat four French frigates off northern Spain, winning honor, glory, and renown. So, why is such a successful captain suddenly without a ship, or another active commission? Why do rumors swirl that jealous foes’ powerful patrons are blighting his career?
Months on end ashore, even in entertaining London setting up a household for himself and his retinue, getting his portrait painted, put him in serious sulks. Well, the artist is the sister of one of his midshipmen, a delightful and talented young lady of a modern outlook, but not modern enough to become Lewrie’s lover. Dare he risk a second marriage? Then, just when things are the rosiest, at last, Admiralty calls upon him to develop and command a plan to raid French-held coasts, not with sailors and Marines from his own ship, but with a battalion of Army troops carried in a squadron of transports. It’s intriguing, novel, and a way back to sea, but…can he part from the desirable Jessica Chenery? And if Lewrie does, will his foes allow him to succeed? Be certain that Alan Lewrie will prevail, scruples be damned!
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781250103635 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 05/30/2017 |
| Series: | Alan Lewrie Naval Adventures , #23 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 352 |
| Sales rank: | 285,205 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
About the Author
Dewey Lambdin is the author of the Alan Lewrie novels. A member of the U.S. Naval Institute and a Friend of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, England, he spends his free time working and sailing on a rather tatty old sloop. He makes his home in Nashville, Tennessee.
Read an Excerpt
A Fine Retribution
An Alan Lewrie Naval Adventure
By Dewey Lambdin
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2017 Dewey LambdinAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-10363-5
CHAPTER 1
"You should have taken more mousers aboard, Captain Lewrie," Mr. Posey, the Surveyor of Portsmouth Dockyards, japed after taking a long look at Sapphire's damaged lower mainmast. "Large and fierce terriers, perhaps? For it seems your ship is infested with a particularly large species of wood-eating rats, hah hah hah!"
"I thought it more the work of beavers, but ..." Lewrie tried to play along, though his jaws were clenched.
"Pity, for there's money in beaver pelts," Posey went on in gay amusement, "even the inferior French breed!"
Mr. Posey whipped out a colourful calico handkerchief, making Lewrie fear that the man had not gotten over his gargling, sneezing fits of January, when first he'd come aboard to survey the lightning- struck mainmast, but it was only to wipe his eyes of humour tears.
"Yes, well ...," Lewrie began, but Posey was nowhere through.
"Egads, Captain Lewrie, but you keep breaking things aboard your ship, and the Navy may start making you pay for their replacement, ha ha!"
Knew that was coming, Lewrie thought with a wince; Damme, ye think you're bloody hilarious, don't ye?
"Even if I do end up payin' for it," Lewrie asked, growing a tad impatient, "do you think the yard can put her to rights?"
"Are you under orders at the moment, sir?" Posey asked, more seriously.
"No, I only wrote Admiralty of our arrival from a foreign station yesterday morning, soon as we anchored," Lewrie told him. "They already knew of her state of repair. I'm waiting to hear."
"Oh," Mr. Posey said with a sorrowful suck at his teeth. "In that case, Captain Lewrie, I fear that 'til the Commissioner of the yards hears from London, there's little he, or I, can do for you. An official authorisation to justify the expense of a new lower mainmast, and the dockyard's labour, will be necessary."
"The last time, I went up to London to plead my case," Lewrie said. "Perhaps I should go again."
"One never knows, sir, a personal appeal may avail," Posey said.
Lewrie took Posey's diffident response to that course of action as a bad omen; the man shrugged and looked away cutty-eyed for a second as if he had other incoming ships and their hurts to deal with, and was merely being polite 'til he could make a dignified escape.
"Let us pray that Our Lords Commissioners at Admiralty will send word soon, then, Mister Posey," Lewrie told him. "'Til then, I'm sure you have other pressing concerns."
"I will advert to you what they order us to do, the very first instant, Captain Lewrie," Posey replied, all outwardly solicitous, but making steps towards the entry-port and his waiting boat, eager to get off Sapphire as if she was a plague ship sporting the yellow Quarantine pendant!
Damn their eyes, everyone's a wit! Lewrie fumed after he saw him off with as much false bonhomie as he could muster at that dour moment. He stalked off to the quarterdeck and up a ladderway to the poop in a foul mood, knowing that he couldn't go up to London. His letter that announced his arrival had gone off the day before, soon as the anchors had bitten the harbour grounds, and unless the "flying coach" carrying the mail had vanished off the face of the Earth, his letter had been opened and read this very morning. A reply could come as early as the next morning; if it was urgent, word of Sapphire's fate could come down the line of semaphore towers even earlier. He was "anchored" as firmly as the ship!
He leaned against the hammock-filled cross-deck iron stanchion racks at the forward end of the poop deck, looking down at the quarterdeck, the waist, and the sail-tending gangways, where hundreds of his crew performed minor ship-keeping tasks, or lazed about to enjoy yet another "Make and Mend" day of idleness. Lewrie dearly wished that he could order the ship be put Out of Discipline to allow the bum-boats alongside with their gew-gaws, fancy foods, and the doxies, but that wasn't possible at the moment. The men's pay had yet to arrive, and they could not afford even a sniff of a whore's perfume in passing.
One of the last letters he had posted at Gibraltar had been to the Prize Court at Lisbon, informing them that should they ever decide how much Sapphire was due, the money should be sent on to Portsmouth.
Those four prize frigates, though, had been turned over to the Prize Court here at Portsmouth — Lieutenant Geoffrey Westcott had seen to that, he'd assured him — and such an ado was made of their capture and arrival that the Court might yield to public and political pressure and render their decisions. Lewrie had shot them a short note as well, and with any luck, money in the form of chits might come aboard for the men to spend. They'd be cheated badly, of course, for those chits could only be turned in for real money and full value when presented to the Councillor of the Cheque in London. Bum-boat vendors and jobbers would buy them up, sometimes for as little as half the value, sure that sailors were rarely thinking in the long-term, and too eager to have coins, or war-issue Bank of England paper notes, in hand to squander as quick as they could spend it. If paid in bank notes, they would spend even quicker, for no one, sailors most especially, thought that paper money was real money!
Admittedly, even Lewrie had his doubts about bank notes, sure that someday someone in government would cry "April Fool's!", and he'd much prefer a pile of guineas to run his hands through like water!
After weeks at Gibraltar, his announcement that they would be sailing for Portsmouth was more than welcome to one and all aboard, for it meant an end to enforced idleness and doubt, a chance to see their home country, again, and could result in the dispersal of back-pay and prize-money. Though many looked upwards cautiously, after a few days at sea, and in fine weather, few feared that the mainmast would fail, so Sapphire had been a happy ship, filled with comfortable and expected at- sea routine, and the Dog Watches thumping with music and dance, and, no matter how closely Lieutenant Harcourt and Acting-Lieutenant Hillhouse had overseen the crew, they had found few defaulters to bring to Lewrie's attention, and certainly no one worthy of the cat-of-nine-tails at the hatch gratings.
It couldn't last, though, Lewrie knew, just a brief interlude between spells of boredom and uncertainty, and here they were, again, broke, idle, and up in the air in a new harbour!
Now, what the Devil can you do, clown? he chid himself; think of something t'keep 'em engaged. For how long?
Lewrie heaved a sigh, shrugged, and promised himself a rare bout of drink. A good supper fetched from shore, a bottle of wine or two, and more than several brandies or some of his American whisky, then — was God just — a good, lazy, and overlong night's sleep!
CHAPTER 2A substantial sack of mail for all hands arrived aboard three days later, and with it, several pieces for Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, one, most ominously, from Admiralty.
Lewrie was loath to open it, at first, busying himself with a fresh cup of creamed and sugared coffee, but at last, he picked it up and broke the seal to spread it atop his desk.
"Oh no, no no no no!" he muttered, his voice rising as he read its contents, perking the attention of his cabin steward and servant.
Dasher opened his mouth to blurt out a question, but Pettus shushed him with a shake of his head and a finger to his lips.
The Lords Commissioners for the Execution of the High Office of Admiralty have determined that the current material Condition of His Majesty's Ship Sapphire, now lying at Portsmouth, renders the said Ship Redundant to the Needs of the Royal Navy.
The financial Cost, and the Time required to return the said Ship to full Active Duty, and the Inability of any Ship of the Fourth Rate to render useful Service in these times requires her immediate De-Commissioning. To that end, you are directed to turn the said Ship over to the Commissioner of His Majesty's Dockyards, Portsmouth, to be placed In-Ordinary, pending any Use which could be made of the said Ship in future.
They did it, Lewrie groaned to himself; they've gone and done it! Half-pay for me, is it? Thank Christ I've no debts owing. For only a month or so ... I hope! ... before I get new orders, and a new ship.
The Port Admiral, Portsmouth, Admiral Lord Gardner, is directed and authorised to assist you in all Respects anent in so doing, and with the Distribution of the said Ship's Pay and any Prize-Moneys owing, pending the final Accounting and Arrival of Funds.
My people can finally get drunk and put the leg over, Lewrie was relieved to think.
He should have had the word passed to summon his officers to give them the bad news that moment so plans could be implemented, but, truculently, he delayed, setting the orders aside so he could read the rest of his mail as if it was just another idle day at anchor, and, if he ignored it, it might yet go away.
There was one from his solicitor in London, Mr. Matthew Mountjoy, a man who served both as his shore business agent and his prize agent, and Lewrie turned to that one in hopes of badly needed better news.
My Dear Sir Alan;
What a windfall is come your way! Shortly after I was in receipt of your letter informing me of your arrival in England, a substantial packet arrived from the Lisbon Prize-Court, enumerating the results of their determinations of your captures since the start of this year.
For the value of sixteen prizes, all told, and especially the value of the war material found as cargo, cargo of the utmost use to the armies of our allies, the Portuguese and Spanish, and of use by our own forces as well it goes without saying, the Court declares the sum total owing is £192,000, of which your two-eighths share, less my humble fee, is £46,800!
We are assured that Admiralty Prize-Court here in England is also informed of the results, and that, if your ship may pay off, as you feared in your most recent letter, that the sum total will be due to you and your ship and will be dispersed in full in either case.
"Yes, by Christ!" Lewrie shouted, loud enough to startle his cat. "And come in pudding time, at that!"
"Some ... good news, sir, might I ask?" Pettus cautiously said, after clearing his throat.
"Damned right, Pettus!" Lewrie hooted. "There's prize-money from Spain coming. There's t'be a share- out within a fortnight!"
"A lot will it be, sir?" Dasher asked, mouth and eyes agape in anticipation.
"Lashings of it, Dasher," Lewrie assured him. "A perfect rain storm of prize-money!"
"Huzzah!" Dasher cried. "Whoo!" and began a frantic attempt at a celebratory dance/prance about the cabins.
That'll soften the blow for one and all, Lewrie thought as the boy tried to turn a Catherine wheel, and even the well-behaved Pettus looked ready to assay a hornpipe. Lewrie was sure that once he sent Dasher forward to summon the officers, the boy would blurt his good news to every hand he passed. Both Lewrie and Pettus had warned the lad that what he heard aft was not to be passed on as scuttlebutt but in this instance, that caution could be ignored.
Good God, though, Lewrie marvelled; a bloody windfall, is it? A bloody fortune's more like it! I've never made that much in prize-money my entire career ... and that's sayin' something!
A few pounds from captures now and then, his paltry share when a Midshipman in the American Revolution, next to nothing 'tween the wars in the Far East fighting native pirates, for all that was secret work. Well, there was that stash of gold British guineas he'd come across hidden behind a false panel in the quarter gallery of a French prize taken off the Danish Virgins — £2,000 it had been, on its way to the Yankee Congress as bribes to expand French territory. Nothing from his first time in the Bahamas enforcing the Navigation Acts, chasing slave-stealing pirates like Calico Jack Finney who took British ships then flogged the cargoes in his emporium at Nassau.
There had been some when he'd taken the French corvette, the Sans Culottes, after evacuating Toulon, the ship that had become his first post as a Commander, the sloop Jester. Some from captures in the Mediterranean when the French marched into Italy, a bit more from the Adriatic during Napoleon Bonaparte's first Italian Campaign, and there were so many ships present at the Battle of Cape St. Vincent that his share for being "in sight" was barely a year's pay.
Taking the L'Uranie frigate in the South Atlantic, captures during the American Quasi-War with France, the Battle of Camperdown, the Battle of Copenhagen, his share of the fight off the Chandeleur Islands of Spanish Louisiana, even the fight two years before against two big Spanish frigates off Andalusia ... none of it altogether even came close to this sum!
If he put the lion's share of what was due him into the Three Percents, say £40,000, that would guarantee him an annual income of £1,200, which was a princely sum for a single gentleman in its own right, and in addition to what was already there it would be even more! He'd also be able to keep a goodly sum with Coutts' Bank for spending money.
And, what a home Prize Court would award for his recent taking of four French frigates, even shared with all five of the ships "in sight" and participants in the fight would be an extra ladle-full of gravy!
The Devil with a spell of half-pay, he gleefully thought; I'm as rich as Croesus ... maybe up there with my father after he came home from India with all his loot!
Suddenly, the idea of a month or so "on the beach" seemed like a Lotus Eater's idyll!
Why, with any luck at all, he could now dowry his maddeningly spiteful and willful daughter, Charlotte, with £200 a year and allow her the London Season that she and his former brother-in-law, Governour Chiswick, had been pestering him for! Aye, let her find herself a gullible husband and be shot of her! And God pity the fool who'd have her for a wife, for she was certain to become a termagant, a tongue-lashing and demanding shrew!
Letters to write about this! he thought. He must tell his sons, his father, Geoffrey Westcott to let his friend know that when he took command of his ship as a Commander, he could do it in style.
For now, though ...
"Ah, Dasher," Lewrie said, "do you go forward and pass word for the First and Second Officers, and the Purser, Mister Cadrick."
"Ehm, aye, sir!" Dasher replied, looking as eager as a race horse at the start line to be off with his "golden" news, and most-likely wondering just how much would fall his way even as a ship's boy.
Lewrie let out a contented sigh, even as he contemplated that there would be even more letters to write. He had, at last, found a way to praise Acting- Lieutenant Hillhouse, and recommend him for a promotion to a real commission. Now, with Sapphire just days away from the knacker's yard, all the surviving Midshipmen must be found new ships, and would need letters of recommendation, as well.
Even the dull ones.
CHAPTER 3Lewrie and Bosun Terrell took one last tour of the ship, from the cable tiers up forward to the "lady's hole" right aft down below the orlop; into the empty powder magazines, the fish room, the tiller flat, the yawning wardroom, Midshipmen's cockpit, and down the lower and upper gun-decks that now seemed vast and echoing with no guns or carriages fitted, no mess tables lowered, and not one sailor still aboard, but for the few people who made up the Standing Officers, who would live aboard her in-ordinary 'til she was hulked and broken up, became a floating prison for enemy sailors, or was made into a receiving ship — which would be a prison, of a sort — for new-come volunteer British sailors, or the unfortunates dredged up by the Press.
Everything useful for a ship at sea had been landed ashore with the store houses, every spare block and tackle, sand-glass, miles of rope, and all manner of Bosun's Stores but for what Terrell and the men of the Standing Officer party might need. Even the Ship's Cook's, Mr. Tanner's, galley had been reduced to what implements, pots, and steep tubs were necessary to feed no more than a dozen, not hundreds; though it was a surety that the Standing Officers would move their wives and children aboard to be maintained on Navy largesse.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A Fine Retribution by Dewey Lambdin. Copyright © 2017 Dewey Lambdin. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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