"That's grand for you, Jemmy," Alan enthused for him. "You're learning scads more than most. Like I did when I went into Parrot with Mister Kenyon. And I was an acting master's mate not too long ago, too."

"Promotion may come faster in the bigger ships," Shirke said with returning pride after his brief sulk, "but you can't beat service in a small ship for making a real seaman of you. Only thing is, some of us rise faster than others."

"It'll come," Alan assured him, not sure who Shirke was needling; him, or Ashburn and Mayhew.

"So, what ship are you getting?" Mayhew asked.

"Shrike," Alan said grinning. "Twelve-gunned brig o' war."

"My stars, you're to be a first officer right out of the starting gates!" Mayhew goggled.

That was news to Alan. He had believed a brig o' war would be big enough for a first and second lieutenant. Jesus, he said to himself, I hadn't thought about that! They're going to find out what a total fraud I really am!

Still, Railsford must have known what it meant, as did the admiral's secretary who made the appointment. Railsford had said that he'd prosper and told him to his face that this new captain would be getting a good officer.

"Not all good things come from the flag, I'm thinking," Alan told them with a lazy drawl and a grin that he didn't quite feel. He looked at Shirke, who appeared to have been kicked in the guts by the news, and at Ashburn, who was not exactly overjoyed, either. His appointment had come from Barfleur, Admiral Hood's flagship, while Keith Ashburn, for all his connections, his family's money, and "interest"-lifeblood of a successful career-left him a junior officer in a 4th Rate ship, no matter that he had been commissioned a year-and-a-half longer. It hinted at high-flown connections back home with Admiralty, with Hood; else why did not a more senior and deserving man not get the appointment, even if it was in a small brig below the Rate?

"Now, what had we planned for this celebration?" Alan asked in the dumbstruck silence. "I must own I'm famished."

"A page taken from your favorite book, Alan," Keith said, regaining his composure. "That's why we are having it here at the Lamb in Falmouth Harbor, 'stead of over the ridge in English Harbor. Less chance that a naval watch will break things up. And a better run of whore over here."

"God bless you, Keith, you read my mind. I haven't had a good ride since Charleston last August, and damn-all blood and thunder in between. Rake's Progress for us, tonight, eh?"

There was a knock at the door. "That must be the mutton," Billy Mayhew hoped aloud as he rose to answer it. Sure enough, the bare-back riders had arrived. More glasses were called for, and more wine, while they were introduced. There was Hespera (most Mother Abbesses ran to the same classical bent as Ashburn when it came to naming their stock-in-trade with Greco-Roman sobriquets), a slim and lanky young blonde of about seventeen, with straight hair. There was an older woman of about thirty, rather hard-faced but blessed with a promising body-she went by Pandora-who appeared to be the bosun's mate in charge of the distaff party. There was a girl with hair so red it had to be hennaed, short and talkative as soon as she got through the door-Electra, she insisted she be called. And there was Dolly.

Alan took a sudden like for Dolly, if only because she probably was using her own name for variety's sake. She appeared to be about twenty-five, just a few years older than Alan. And she was beautiful, rather than merely pretty, and stood out from the rest like a peacock in a barnyard. A high, clear brow, high cheekbones and a sum, almost thin face that tapered to a firm little chin; a slim straight nose cleverly shaped, and a Cupid's Bow of a mouth that showed her upper teeth in repose, and widened in a hesitant smile to show pure, healthy white. And she had the most peculiar dark green eyes and hair the hue of polished mahogany, and just as lustrous and full. She was also much better dressed than the others; not just in splendor-any whore could buy splendor from a rag-picker's barrow or a used dress shop, and these had-she wore a dress less gaudy than the others, almost respectable enough to take out on the town, with fewer flounces and fripperies. One, at first glance, might take her for a proper young woman, or a wife.

"You done us proud tonight, Keith," Mayhew commented.

"Yes, Keith usually has the taste of a Philistine," Alan said.

"Gentlemen, choose your partners," Ashburn ordained loftily. "As our guest of honor, let Alan have first pick."

"Oo shall 'ave this 'un, then," Alan chuckled, mimicking the "love call" of the lower deck when they paired off with their temporary "wives" whenever a ship was put out of discipline and the doxies came aboard. The blonde looked promising, but her straight hair reminded him too much of Caroline Chiswick from Wilmington; the others were the usual run-of-the-mill whores one could have any day of the week-he had only one clear choice.

"Mistress Dolly, if you would be so kind as to grace my side during supper?" Alan asked, bowing in conge deep enough for a duchess and taking her hand.

"If you wish, sir," she replied in a voice so soft and meek he almost had to ask her to repeat herself. So she's one of those that'll play the virgin, is she? he thought. This could be interesting.

"Sport?" Shirke suggested after picking Hespera the blonde.

"Oh, let's sup first," Alan said, and Dolly relaxed from a sudden stiffness at his side as he led her to the wine-table. "Take a pew, my dear. God knows what we're eating tonight, but it'll not be short commons. I hope you brought a bounteous appetite."

"I did indeed, sir," she replied, taking a glass of champagne.

"Oh, h'ain't never 'ad bubbly wine afore!" Hespera giggled loud when she took a sip of wine across the table. "H'it tickles me nose!"

"That's not all we'll tickle before the night's through, I'll wager!" Billy Mayhew promised his choice, which made them all roar with laughter.

The supper was more than palatable. There was a poached local fish the servitors called grouper, firm as lobster and just as succulent, served with a melted butter and lime sauce. That had been preceded by a green salad and ox-tail soup. The fish was followed by some small wild fowl, then a domestic goose. Then a smoking joint of beef which was not as stringy and lean as most island cattle. And with it all, there was hot and crusty bread, small potatoes roasted and boiled, native chick peas and broad beans, young carrots in butter and parsley.

Washed down, of course, with several bottles of hock with the fish and fowl, captured or smuggled burgundy with the beef, and more champagne when things got slow between courses.

For those with a sweet tooth, a servant wheeled in a huge raisin and citrus-fruit duff, soaked so long in brandy it was a threat to sobriety of itself, and that was followed, once the cloth was removed, by a fairly fresh cheese, apples, extra-fine sweet biscuit, and port or brandy.

"Drinking games!" Ashbum announced, climbing back onto his chair and striking a pose like a ship's figurehead. "Electra, name me a ship's mast."

"I don't know nothin' 'bout ships," the girl pouted.

"Wrong answer. Drink a full bumper in punishment! Drink, drink, drink!" he shouted, and they took up the chorus while the girl tipped her wine glass back and poured the stuff down like water, and gave her a great cheer when she showed "heel-taps" and nothing left, and they pounded their approval on the table and stamped their feet as loud as a thirty-two-pounder gun being trundled across a wooden deck.

"Alan, sing us a song!" Keith shouted. "A good, dirty one!"

"I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, Keith," Alan complained. "Look, this is all very well for you, but I have to report to my ship early tomorrow, clear-eyed and somewhat sober, if I know what's good for me."

"Wrong answer! Drink!" Keith ordered, and Alan remembered once again what he had forgotten in long absence; Keith Ashburn was the sort of take-charge bastard who had to have control over everything.

Wine was slopped into his glass from long-range, and some of it got onto Dolly's gown. She half-rose to complain, then took her napkin and tried to sponge it out quickly, while Alan stood and, to the thump of fists and feet, and the encouraging shouted chorus, tipped his wine up and drained it, displaying it was empty by balancing it upside down on his head.

"Song, song!" Mayhew called. "Girls, sing us a song! Serenade us before we strum and serenade you, ha ha!"

During the dinner, Alan had learned that Dolly was, until three months before, the proper, if somewhat youngish wife of an officer of the infantry named Capt. Roger Fenton. He had left her with no debts when he was carried off by a fever soon after their arrival in the islands, but he had left her no money, either, and so far, there had been no word in answer to her tearful letters back to England to his last living relatives. She did not have the money to pay for a passage back home, and was, no matter how she might try to economize, quickly running out of money, and faced penury in the near future.

"Heart of oak are our ships

heart of oak are our men,"

"No, no, that's not the way it starts!" Shirke corrected Hespera after she tried to sing.

"Would there be some of that sparkling wine left, please?" Doily asked Alan, her voice almost lost in the sudden din.

"Come cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer

to add something more to this wonderful year;

To honor we call you, not press you like slaves,

for who are so free as the sons of the waves?"

"What?" Alan had to shout back at her.

"I've heard sparkling white wine may remove stains," Dolly said near his ear. "Would there be some left, please?"

"Oh, certainly. Make free," Alan said, snaking a half-used bottle off the sideboard. He handed it to her, and was amazed to see that her eyes were full of tears.

"Heart of oak are our ships,

heart of oak are our men,

we always are ready;

steady, boys, steady;

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again!"

"What's wrong?" Alan asked, leaning closer.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" a servant called from the door. "And yer ladies, if ya will! We call this tavern the Old Lamb fer a reason, ya know! Would ya please 'old down the noise, sirs, they's other patrons complainin', an' one of 'em's our magistrate!"

"It is my last good gown, Mister Lewrie," Dolly informed him, "I have had to sell the rest, and now it's spotted, and…"

"We'll buy you another," Alan assured her. "Your guinea from this evening could fill a whole wardrobe."

"We ne'er see our foes but we wish 'em to stay,

They never see us but they wish us away;

If they run, why we follow, and run 'em ashore,

For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more.

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