Read If I Fall for Free Online

Lieutenant’s Lament
    A little over a month later…
    “W ELL , what do we do now?” First Lieutenant Jackson Fletcher—called Jack by friends—asked, to no one in particular. But since he was standing on deck next to his second lieutenant Roger Whigby, he invariably was to receive an answer.
    “We have to supervise the men, Mr. Fletcher. They still have a dozen duties on board before we can even hope to make berth,” Whigby said through bites of cold salted ham that he had stashed in his pocket after breakfast that morning. Whigby was the type of kind soul who, for some reason, was eating something every time he spoke. “Although why the captain insists the old girl’s brass fittings shine with the rising sun is beyond me.”
    Jack tried to refrain from rolling his eyes—instead he kept his gaze on the horizon. Normally, all he would see was an expanse of water, dotted with gulls, depending on how far from shore they were and how seafaring the birds. But now, as they headed up the Thames, they were surrounded not by water, but by farmland, that progressively gave way to towns. In a few hours, the small towns would give way to the colonnades and domed buildings that made up London’s skyline.
    “I expect it is a point of pride, Mr. Whigby.” Jackson replied, but kindly. “Captain Healy wants the ship to be at her very best when she’s seen by her judges.”
    From the quarterdeck, seven bells sounded. Half an hour until the noon meal and the watch change. Although really, there was no slacking today, no gadabouts. Even those men not currently on duty were on deck, including Whigby. Pulling into the port of London was too exciting, even the long ride up the river had the men jubilant, waving to the specks of people on shore, shouting at those that they thought might be wearing skirts. Jack had been forced to reprimand three seamen for their rowdiness already, halving their grog rations for the day. And they were nowhere near the city. The men had grumbled and shrugged. In their minds, they had already disembarked. It’s not like they’d be dealing with the likes of him much longer in any case.
    “Her executioners, you mean,” Whigby snorted, swallowing another bit of ham. “If the
Amorata
is lucky, she’ll find herself in ordinary, or as a prison hulk—”
    “She’s not big enough to be a prison hulk,” Jack countered dismissively.
    “Right then,” Whigby grunted. “More likely, she’ll end broken up and sold for scrap.”
    Jack shot his friend a look. “Do you really have so little faith in our girl?” He reached out and caressed the smooth, polished rail that ran the length of the HMS
Amorata
’s starboard side. She was a Banterer-class sixth-rate post ship, meaning she was small but fast. She had twenty-two guns, but an extra eight 24-pounders and two howitzers had been added during wartime. She was nothing compared to first- and second-rate ships of the line that fired cannons at the enemy from three different deck levels…
    But then again, there were not a great deal of Royal Navy ships firing at the enemy at all, anymore.
    “Captain Healy will never let her go to ground … like all her sisters,” Jackson intoned to himself in a whisper. Almost a prayer, too low for Whigby to hear over the last of his chewing.
    Indeed, the
Amorata
was the very last Banterer-class ship to be flying a British flag. A half-dozen others were ordered and built during the height of the Napoleonic Wars, but thosethat survived combat were deemed too small or too battle scarred to go on, and were broken up after the conflict ended. One was taken as prize by the Americans in 1815, and according to the Royal Navy’s logs, now sailed under their banner and a different name. If she was still on the seas, she was likely somewhere off the coast of Africa, trying to regulate that ugly American trade.
    Why the
Amorata
had been spared her sister ships’ fates, Jack could only put up to timing, geography, and a lot of