Read Online Reefs and Shoals by Dewey Lambdin - Free Book Online Page A

Caldwell agreed.
    Crash-bang! “Midshipman Munsell, SAH!” Slam-crash!
    “Enter,” Lewrie bade. “Busy as a tavern door today, ain’t it?”
    “Beg pardon, sir, but Mister Houghton is ready to depart, and the Surgeon sends his duty, and a request for a boat to bear Mister Rahl ashore to hospital, as well,” young Munsell reported.
    “My hat and sword, Pettus,” Lewrie asked. “Let’s give both of ’em a proper send-off. If you gentlemen will join me?”
    *   *   *
     
    “All Hands” was piped to summon the ship’s company on deck to see Houghton off, with three cheers raised. A bit of a dullard that Houghton was, he was recognised by all as a competent officer-to-be, and a “firm but fair” disciplinarian who’d treated everyone the same.
    The Marines turned out with the side-party to render honours, the bosuns’ pipes blew, and Houghton’s fellow Mids and the officers shook hands with him and wished him well.
    “Make us proud o’ bein’ a Reliant, Lieutenant,” Lewrie urged.
    “Thank you for everything, again, sir, and I shall!” Houghton vowed before doffing his hat at the entry-port, and beginning to make a careful way down the boarding-battens to the waiting gig, where the boat crew were turned out in Sunday Divisions best.
    A few moments later, though, and it was a much sombrer send-off for Gunner Johan Rahl. Strapped to a carrying board, and swaddled in blankets, he came up from the forward companionway hatch, rolling his head with his eyes half-glazed from doses of laudanum to smother his pain. The ship’s people parted to let the loblolly boys through, and many reached out to give him goodbye pats and reassurances, though he was all but oblivious. “Take care, mate!” and “Bye, ye old son of a gun!” and “Get well an’ back on yer pins soon!” were called out.
    “Greenwich ’Ospital’z good’z Fiddler’s Green, Mister Rahl. Ale an’ rum, they flow like warter, an’ niver a reckonin’!” one hopeful older hand assured him. “Music an’ fetchin’ girls visitin’ round th’ clock, they say, ye lucky ol’ devil!”
    It wasn’t the entry-port for Rahl, though. Bosun Sprague had rigged a lift for the four handles of the carrying board, The main-mast course yardarm was fitted for hoisting out, with hands standing by at braces and clews to raise him up and out-board of the starboard gangway bulwarks, then down into a waiting cutter. Rahl’s battered old sea-chest, has hammock, rolled up into a fat sausage with all of his bedding and spare clothing, and a pale grey sea-bag sat amidships to be lowered down, too … meagre as it was, that represented everything that Rahl had amassed in decades of spartan Navy life.
    “I’ve his Discharge papers, and pay chits, sir,” Mainwaring told Lewrie, who had come down from the gangway to shake Rahl’s hand one last time. “I’ll see him ashore, myself, if that’s alright?”
    “Perfectly fine, Mister Mainwaring,” Lewrie agreed. “Will he … make it through?” he asked the Surgeon in a softer voice.
    “Touch and go, sir, touch and go,” Mainwaring said with a sigh. “He’s old, but he’s a tough old bird. Assuming he gets good care and sepsis does not set in, he stands a decent chance of surviving, but at his age, what life would be like, well…” he wondered, shrugging.
    “Hoist away, handsomely,” Bosun Sprague ordered, and the course yard began to tip upwards, bearing Rahl aloft.
    “Don’t let your fellow pensioners talk you into cookin’ for ’em, Mister Rahl!” Lewrie shouted to the departing burden. “Three cheers, lads. See your shipmate off with a cheer!”
    Bosun’s Mate Wheeler began a long call on his pipe; the Marine boy-drummer rattled the Long Roll, and a fiddler and fifer began a gay tune, “The Bowld Soldier Boy”, the air that was played aboard Reliant when the rum keg was fetched on deck, that usually brought joy.
    “Sway out, easy!” Bosun Sprague directed, and Rahl’s