"Model got done aboard, sir," Aspinall revealed eagerly. "Cup, well…'member Bosun Cony's runs ashore once we anchored? Took up a donation from ev'ry hand, he did."
"And I spoiled the moment for 'em," Lewrie groaned. "Too hot t'flee 'fore I…"
He'd vowed he'd not look back, but he did, even while the other new man was reading himself in, shouting his orders so everyone would hear and understand, from taffrail to jib-boom tip.
"… directly charging and commanding the officers and company belonging to the said sloop of war subordinate to you to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective employments with all due respect and obedience unto you, their said captain…!"
The crew's attention was bound inboard, yet he stood, his head bare, raised the letter high in one hand, the silver tankard high in the other. A few men upon the starboard gangway spotted him, nudged each other, and attracted the surreptitious attention of more. They waved hats and hands below the bulwark, smiling fit to bust, so the new captain would not spot them.
And when the new man finished reading himself in, there came a thunderous-undeserved-cheer.
Ruined it for him, Lewrie thought, a silly ass's smile plastered on his phyz, but with tears coursing down his cheeks at last; well, what of it? Just bugger him! And he 'd better treat 'em right!