Under Enemy Colors by Sean Thomas Russell, Sean Russell, S. Thomas Russell Read Free Book Online

awake.
    “Third Lieutenant Benjamin Archer, Mr Hayden,” Landry said, presenting the man, who was somewhat less than presentable. “Mr Barthe you have met, I see. And…Where is Mr Hawthorne?”
    “Forward, sir. Mrs Barber had need of his attentions.”
    “Our goat,” Barthe explained, seeing the look on Hayden’s face. “Mr Hawthorne is quite an authority on animal husbandry. Mrs Barber has taken ill.”
    “Ah, Mr Hawthorne…our new first, Mr Hayden.”
    Dressed in dirty sailor’s slops, Hawthorne looked anything but a senior officer of marines. Despite his dress, he made a graceful leg and swept off what was apparently a hat. “Your servant, sir. My company shall be ready for inspection at your pleasure, Mr Hayden.” He did not appear the least embarrassed by his dress—one would think, by his attitude, that the man wore his scarlet marines’ coat, the straps all pipe-clayed an immaculate white.
    “The midshipmen,” Landry continued. “Lord Arthur Wickham, Mr Hayden.” A dimpled youngster tipped his hat, appearing for all the world like a cheerful schoolboy. “James Hobson, and Freddy Madison. There are three other middies, sir, all given leave to go ashore and visit their families.”
    “Where are the bosun and the carpenter?” Hayden asked, making an effort to keep his voice even.
    “Coming directly,” the master offered.
    A brawny, broken-nosed man led another onto the quarterdeck, and was subsequently introduced as the bosun. The carpenter was an ancient seaman who appeared to have been constructed of wood himself—all angles and heavily sparred. His clothes hung limp, like sails in a calm. Landry named them Franks and Chettle, respectively.
    “What is the hour, Mr Landry?” Hayden asked.
    “About half-two, I should think.”
    “Then the day is yet young. Send all women ashore. There will be no women aboard by day, and none aboard at night if I am not satisfied with the day’s efforts.”
    The lieutenant hesitated. “That won’t be popular with the men, Mr Hayden,” he said quietly.
    “It is not my custom to make decisions according to what is popular with the men. Did Captain Hart tell you when he is expected to return? When we are to go to sea? For what duty we are to prepare?”
    There was an embarrassed silence. “Captain Hart doesn’t commonly take us into his confidence, Mr Hayden,” Landry confessed.
    “He did tell you we’re at war with France, did he not, Mr Landry?” Hayden said, his temper getting the better of him.
    The little second reddened. “Sir, we’re well aware of it.”
    “Good. How long have the masts been waiting upon your deck?”
    “A week, sir.”
    “And what has become of the sheer-hulk?”
    “The bosun of the sheer-hulk said he would get to us by and by.”
    “Very kind of him. Have you not materials necessary for the work?”
    The two lieutenants glanced at the bosun, who hesitated.
    “Everyone seems to be looking to you, Mr Franks,” Hayden said, addressing the bosun.
    The man appeared to grimace, revealing a dark gap in the row of yellowed teeth. “We have all blocks and cordage, Mr Hayden, but I’m not sure how the captain will want it done,” the bosun admitted.
    “In his absence, and without specific orders, to the common practices of the Navy, Mr Franks.”
    There was another awkward silence.
    “What Mr Franks is trying to say, if I may be so bold,” offered Lord Arthur, “is that no matter how the work is managed, Captain Hart will find much to criticize, Mr Hayden.”
    “Thank you for that, Wickham,” Hayden said, “but I assume Mr Franks can speak for himself.”
    The bosun looked at the deck. “I’ve been…tarrying, Mr Hayden, for fear of the captain’s displeasure.”
    “I would imagine that finding the masts on the deck when he returns will earn even greater displeasure. We shall begin with the mizzen. Have you spars we can use for sheers?”
    “I do, sir.”
    “Then gather your mates and begin preparation. Mr