H.M.S. COCKEREL

H.M.S. COCKEREL 233

shipman cried, the same little pest they'd met their first day ashore. "Been searching all over Creation for you," he panted. "Rear-Admiral Goodall's finest compliments to you, Lieutenant Lewrie, and he begs me to direct you to his presence, as soon as is practicable, sir."

"Something useful for us to do, at last?" Lewrie wondered aloud.

"One may not presume to, uhm… presume, sir, but…" the midshipman shrugged.

"Mister Scott, take charge of the hands. Keep 'em busy, whilst I toddle off," Lewrie said, swinging his legs back over the bulwark.

"Aye, sir," Scott replied. "And whatever business they wish of us, sir…?"

"Aye, Mister Scott?"

"Well, damme, we're sailors… keep us out of those hills, could you, at least?" Scott implored.

"I'll do my best, sir," Lewrie smiled.