His Majesty's Ship by Alaric Bond Page B

father once after he had taken part in the Battle of Dominica which some now called the Battle of the Saints, and again when Rodney returned to England and his fleet demobilised. There had been no welcome homecoming however. Despite Mackenzie's letters, no one could say what had happened to Flint's father. When he first offered himself at the rendezvous in 1786, he had hoped he might find out more.
           “There's got to be fifty thousand in the service now, lad,” the impressment officer had told him. “Can't keep track of 'em all.” Then Flint had taken the shilling, and made it fifty thousand and one.
           And now, now he was a seasoned hand, useful, if somewhat unpredictable, a sound man in a fight, and needed for as long as he could hand reef and steer.
           Flint closed his eyes and, smelling the sweat odour of clean canvas, fell quickly into a deep sleep.  
     
    *****
     
           “Ah, King. Come in will you?” King took three more paces towards the captain, who sat behind his desk, his back to the open stern gallery. The cabin was all but dark, only the twin candles on the captain's desk, and the distant glow of lights from Ryde broke the evening gloom. Shepherd finished his work, and sat back in his chair. He smiled at King who, feeling something was expected of him, smiled awkwardly in return.
           “We'll be putting to sea on tomorrow’s afternoon tide,” Shepherd told him, although every man on board knew as much. “That is if the water hoy arrives in time.” King felt something else was called for from him, and gave the only reply he could.
           “Yes, sir.”  
           “I wanted to have a word with you before that.” King braced himself; this could be very good, or very bad.
           “The incident with the coaster, when was it—last year?”
           “End of 'ninety-three, sir.”
           “That's right. I said at the time how impressed I was, and I do so again now. You have the makings of a good officer, and I expect to see you progress.”
           “Yes, sir.” he was going to add something about trying to, but fortunately held his tongue at the last moment.
           “When Curtis left I had intended to promote you to acting lieutenant.” Had intended , this was not going as well as it could. “However, another man has been appointed and I am sure he will do very well.” Shepherd looked down at his desk. The last remark was a lie and he was ashamed of himself. The fact that it would do only harm to express his reservations about Rogers was hardly justification.
           “Still, I have considered the matter, and consulted other officers,” That could only mean the first lieutenant and Mr Humble, the master. “Quite a few third rates are carrying six lieutenants now, and we have decided that a further lieutenant is needed in Vigilant . For that reason I will rate you to the acting rank of lieutenant.”
           King stiffened, and swallowed hard, remembered at the last moment that it was Pite's hat that he now squashed under his arm.
           “You have nothing to say?” The smile was back on the captain's face, and this time King had no hesitation in smiling back.
           “Thank you, sir.”
           Shepherd's expression faded slightly. “In giving you this advancement I wanted to be sure you deserve it.”
           “Sir?” King was still thinking about the promotion, but sensed that a reaction was called for.
           The captain's smile grew more thoughtful. “I have the power to promote and disrate; certainly as far as acting ranks are concerned.”
           King was not sure what was coming next, and for a moment placed his excitement on hold.
           “Let me just say that many men have been passed as commissioned officers who do not deserve the privilege. By giving you an acting rank I am protecting the service as much as anything