The Saintly Buccaneer (19 page)

THE LIEUTENANT

Accustomed as he was to being in command, it was a rare thing for Captain William Rommey to feel intimidated—but as he passed under the massive arch of the Admiralty House and asked a rigid guard in full dress for directions to Admiral Hood’s office, he had to clear his throat to make the request.

“Down the hall, sir,” the guard replied sternly. “The big double doors to your left.”

Rommey almost thanked the man, but bit off the words. Wheeling quickly, he made his way down the marbled floors and found another secretary, a lieutenant with a pinched face and skin that had not seen the open sea for some time. “Can I help you, Captain?” he asked languidly.

“Captain William Rommey to see Admiral Hood!”

“Oh, yes, Captain. The admiral is expecting you.”

The quick change in the fop’s manner made Rommey feel better. He followed him inside and found the grizzled Hood turning from his huge window, and the admiral’s warm handshake made him feel even more relieved.

“Well, now, Rommey, it’s been a long time!” He motioned at a chair, and the two seated themselves in the glare of the May sunlight that flooded through the high-arched windows. “Let’s see—I believe it was on the old
Dominant,
was it not—back in ’64?”

“Yes, sir.” Rommey gave the older man an admiring glance. Hood might be aging, but there was still that quick
intelligence in his smallish brown eyes. “I was a midshipman under you in that fight with the
Fleur de Rose.
”

“Ah, by gad—that
was
a hot one!” Hood laughed with delight and slapped his thigh. “You made a name for yourself that day, Rommey! Gad, sir, you did!”

The captain shifted uneasily, but as the admiral went on reminiscing about the old days, he felt a twinge of relief. He hated to ask favors, but that was exactly what he had come for.

His opportunity came quickly, for Hood soon asked, “Well, Captain, what is it? I know you’ve been in for refitting. Let’s see, didn’t I sign an order for you to put back to sea duty this week? I know you must want something—everybody does who comes through that door.”

“Well—yes, sir.”

Hood laughed again, and waved a hand in the air. “Gad, sir! You’re a breath of fresh air! Most fellows come in here wanting something and they’re too sly to come out with it! I like a man like you, Rommey! Now, what is it?”

Rommey cleared his throat and then pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to the admiral. “This is what I want in writing, Admiral Hood, but I can put it very plainly in just a few words if you’ll permit me.”

“What is it? A bigger ship?”

“No, sir, I’m happy with my command.”

“I’ve read your reports. Good work you’ve done with the
Neptune
in the Indies. How long have you been there?”

“Almost two years, sir. I set up my family in a house in Jamaica but have brought my wife and daughter back to England for a visit.”

“Yes, I’d heard you had been forced to get your daughter out of the hands of some Frenchman. The Lords of Admiralty have been most pleased with your work—especially with the prizes you’ve taken. Every American ship you take puts that much of a crimp in this rebellion!”

“How does the matter look to you, Admiral?”

“Why, very well. That bumpkin Washington lost at
Brandywine and Germantown—and I heard that their best general, Benedict Arnold, came to his senses and joined our side.” The admiral took a pinch of snuff from a silver case on his desk, sniffed it, then sneezed. “As long as we control the sea—there’s no way those clods can win, Rommey. And since they have no navy, they have no hope of winning at sea.”

“But everyone knows the French are getting a fleet ready to send to that area.”

“Well, let them! I hope they do, sir! Then we can wipe out the Frogs and the blasted rebels at one blow!”

“I must say, though, that some of the rebels have done very well—fitting out ships with guns—privateers.”

“Oh, some of them are good seamen, of course—come from good English stock.” Then the admiral laughed and tapped the captain on the knee, adding, “But that’s what we have you and a few others down there for—to keep the blasted privateers from getting at our merchant ships. A few more like that fellow John Paul Jones, and we’d be in trouble!” Glancing quickly at the clock on the wall, he returned to the business at hand, asking, “Well, Rommey, what is it? You’ve done a magnificent job, and—within reason—I think I can meet with you on any reasonable request.”

Rommey took a deep breath and began. “Well, sir, two years ago last December, we took some pressed men onto the
Neptune,
and one of them was injured. He recovered, but the injury had done something to his mind.”

“Crazy?”

“No, sir, but he can’t remember anything of his past—not even his name....”

Rommey had thought his speech out, and he saw that the admiral was caught by it. He related how rapidly Hawke had been able to learn, and after being appointed midshipman, had made amazing progress.

“I’ve made a report, Admiral, of his progress, and I can only say that in all my years at sea, I’ve never known a man so fitted for command as Midshipman Hawke.”

“You gave him a good name, Captain,” Hood mused. He looked up with a sharp glance. “I suppose you want him promoted—is that it?”

“Yes, sir.” Now that it was out, Rommey expelled his breath and hurried on. “It’s a little—personal, sir.” He tried to find some way to put the matter, then shrugged, saying bluntly, “My daughter fancies herself in love with the man—that’s why I’m here.”

“I can’t promote a man to please your daughter!” Hood exploded.

“Of course not!” The tone of his commanding officer ruffled Rommey’s nerves, and he shot back, “I would not have him on my ship on that basis, sir; but he has mastered the ship—and in action he’s proven himself a cool man under fire.” He stopped abruptly, rising to his feet, his face tinged with pink. “I’ll not bother you about this matter any longer, sir.”

“Now, Rommey!” The admiral got up at once and there was a smile of reconciliation on his broad face as he took the arm of the younger man. “You always did go off half-cocked! Not too good for an officer—but on the other hand, most of the good ones do have some temper. Now, sit down, and let me read this report.”

As the admiral read through the report, Rommey stared at the fresh blooms on the plum tree outside the window, wondering if he was doing the right thing.
If it is, it’ll be the first time I ever did the right thing where Blanche is concerned,
he thought grimly. He’d hinted to the girl about seeking a commission for Hawke, and she’d given him no peace. He thought she’d grow tired of Hawke as she had of others, but during the two years that had passed, she and Hawke had spent practically all the time together that shore leave permitted.

Finally Admiral Hood looked up and gave a shrug. “I have no problem with giving the man a commission, Rommey. From your report, he’s a far sight better than most!” Then
he tilted his head and looked at him searchingly. “Would you have the man for a son-in-law?”

Captain Rommey made a helpless gesture with his hands, got to his feet, and walked to the window. “With a daughter like mine, sir,” he remarked, “I’ll pretty well have to have what she gives me. But this man—he’s better by far than any she’s ever been interested in before.”

“I dare say—but there’s the matter of your family. You know nothing of the fellow. What sort of blood will he put in your family line? That’s not a trifle, is it now?”

Rommey had thought of that many times, so he said evenly, “I think the man is of good stock, sir. Beyond that I can’t say. But I
will
say that’s he’s fine officer material—and we need all we can get.”

“Very well, I’ll have his commission drawn up.”

“Thank you, sir. I am in your debt.”

Hood called the vapid lieutenant in and in a few minutes, he was handing the document to the captain, saying, “I don’t know if I’m doing you a favor or not, Rommey—but I trust so. Keep me posted, will you?”

“Yes, sir—and thank you.”

“You can thank me best by capturing those rebel privateers—” He had a sudden thought and snapped his fingers. “What’s the name of the one that did the
Safire
in six months ago?”

“
The Gallant Lady,
” Rommey said, a grim line settling along his jaw.

“That’s the one. I wouldn’t have thought a sloop could take a man like Crafton.” The admiral shook his head. “That ship—she’s made quite a name for herself.”

“She’s taken more prizes than the rest of the rebels put together, sir.”

“Well, I trust you’ll put a stop to that, Rommey!”

Captain Rommey slapped his thigh suddenly, and there was a cold, frosty light in his eyes as he answered, “I think I can promise you
that,
sir! It’ll be my first order of business.
That ship has got to be stopped—and the
Neptune
is just the ship that can do it!”

He left the Admiralty and walked along the busy street, paying little heed to the mass of people streaming along the way. He was a seaman, and the land for him was a place to stay until he could get back on the ocean—a man’s proper place.

The sight of the
Neptune
brought a lift to his spirits, and he stood long enough to admire the clean lines, the new canvas, and the glitter of new brass. Even more than that which he could see, he was pleased with the bottom of the ship, for she had been coated with sheets of thin copper held in place by copper nails. This kept out the teredo, or shipworm, and the gribble, creatures that bored into the oak of the hull—and it had the added advantage of preventing barnacle growth, thereby increasing the speed of the ship. “Ought to get eleven knots out of her!” he gloated as he moved to the dock where his gig was waiting.

He spent the afternoon going over the ship, driving his officers with determination. The purser, the quartermaster, the master gunner, the carpenter, the sailmaker, the boatswain were all summoned to his cabin. Mercilessly he picked their reports apart, until one by one they left with pale faces. Rommey knew he was too hard, but he knew also that battles often were won or lost before a ship weighed anchor, and he was determined that a matter of too-little powder would not be the element that spelled defeat for the
Neptune!

Finally he rose from his desk, saying, “Mr. Langley, I’m going ashore. We’ll weigh anchor at dawn.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

There was a miserable look on Langley’s face, and it irritated Rommey.
Won’t he ever get over his blasted puppy love for Blanche?
he asked himself, then said harshly, “I’ll spend the night on shore.”

“What about Midshipman Hawke, sir?”

Rommey shook his head, knowing that his first lieutenant
was jealous of Hawke and the relationship he had with Blanche.

“You get the ship ready, Mr. Langley—I’ll see to
Lieutenant
Hawke!”

“Lieutenant—!”

“You heard correctly, Mr. Langley. You may pass the word that Mr. Hawke is now third lieutenant on this ship.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

He won’t like it,
Rommey thought as he climbed into the gig.
But Burns will—and so will the men.
That was one thing that had encouraged him to seek a commission for Hawke. The men trusted him—and not because he was soft, either. Some men had that quality, Rommey well knew. He himself ruled by stern force, but he knew a few choice officers whom men would follow blindly with a loyalty that was not easily put into words.
Hawke—he’s got it, whatever it is,
he mused.
And I intend to use it!

By the time he reached the large mansion, the home of a friend who had prevailed upon him to stay during his time in England, where Blanche was enjoying a final party, it was dark. The house was lit up with hundreds of lanterns, and when he entered the large ballroom, he had to adjust his eyes to the brilliance of the huge chandeliers that threw golden gleams over the room. The ballroom was crowded with the cream of London society, but he had no eye for the vivid greens, reds, and blues of the ladies’ gowns, nor for the bare shoulders and creamy arms that rose out of them.

Finally he found Blanche standing at a long table covered with crystal goblets and golden plates piled high with morsels of exotic food. He paused suddenly, taken aback by her appearance. She was wearing a low-cut crimson dress; around her neck a single flashing diamond was suspended by a golden chain. Her hair was down, cascading over her smooth shoulders, and the yellow beams of the candles made her blue eyes glow. He wondered, not for the first time, where
she got her good looks, then tossed the thought away and moved toward the table.

Hawke, he saw, was there too, a slight smile on his face.
His white and blue uniform sets him off well,
Rommey thought. Usually Hawke was alert, but the party had dulled his senses, or so it seemed. He looked up and saw Rommey, leaned over and spoke quietly to Blanche.

“Father, you’re late! Let me get you some wine.”

“Well, just one.” His daughter’s attitude, he realized, had mellowed toward him, and he wondered how much that was due to her desire to get a commission for Hawke. She was, he knew, determined to get her own way—and since he was that way himself, he could not exactly fault her.

“Come out of this blasted noise,” he said, and a look of anticipation leaped into Blanche’s eyes. He turned and led the two through a pair of French doors into a garden, and when he closed the doors, the sound of the party was muted.

When he turned to look at them, he stared at Hawke and wondered again if he was being a fool—but it was too late to alter his course. “I’ve been to the Admiralty, Hawke.”

He waited for the other to reply, but Hawke merely waited. It was one of the things the captain liked about the man: he could keep his tongue still.

Blanche, however, could not, and she asked nervously, “Yes, Father?”

Reaching inside his coat, Rommey pulled the commission free and extended it to Hawke who took it, asking quietly, “What is this, Captain?”