The Wooden World, Part 27.
The mood of the hands was greatly improved, especially after their share of the prize was distributed. Now they had the proper motivation and dedication, ready to find and chase and do whatever they could, with all of their energy. It was a completely different ship, both in appearance and in its function.
His first Lieutenant however, never warmed up to him and in fact seemed to become colder and more taciturn the more the rest of the crew blossomed into loyalty. Due to this, Rothwell typically chose to address Lt. Howard when such a choice could be made; some things simply had to go through the Premier, and so it was done. He knew eventually, if things continued in this vein, he'd have to arrange a transfer for Lt. Elliot to another ship.
He wondered if the First Lieutenant was becoming aware of this fact, or even might wish it. Certainly, Rothwell knew the man was no friend of his at all.
It was three months later, then, while the Worthy was at harbor at Port Royal, that he began to draft his report and request for a transfer. He knew this would place Lt. Elliot on the bottom of the Lieutenant pecking order of whatever new ship to which he was assigned, but at this point, he felt no remorse in applying a consequence so clearly earned and desired by the man.
He had only begun to write the second sentence when there was a knock at the door of his quarters upon the Worthy, which revealed a Marine bearing a summons to appear before Commodore Peyton. There was no mention of the matter at hand, but the Commodore rarely met with officers face to face unless the matter was quite dire.
Rothwell changed immediately from his undress uniform to dress, and proceeded with all haste to the Commodore's office at Fort Charles. He found himself almost insanely flustered, since he could not imagine what the problem might be. Had he been too harsh in his initial treatment of the crew of his new command? Had they been complaining despite his efforts? No guess he made seemed to have any sense at all.
Finally, he was let in to see Commodore Peyton, and he did his best to use all of the trained protocol and politeness at his disposal. He was as of this moment very glad that he'd learned how to take off his hat and bow with pleasing grace, as little things like that could make a large impression.
However, the Commodore was not watching, as he seemed to be more interested in the letters in front of him. Rothwell stood, waiting, and began to wonder if the fellow knew he was even standing there; at that moment, Peyton cleared his throat in a kind of harrumphing sound, and looked up at him with an almost offhanded scrutiny.
"Rothwell, then, is it?" Of course, he had been announced, but that wasn't the point.
"Yes, sir."
"I have here a formal complaint upon your conduct. The sort that demands a courtmartial, you see." Peyton's voice was deep, slow, and almost affectedly upper-class. The pace of his pronouncement was getting on Rothwell's nerves, especially as the Commodore now paused for a long time.
"Might I trouble you sir for the nature of this complaint?" Rothwell had great difficulty keeping the surprise out of his voice, but he did his best to maintain a level response. Nobody in the Service appreciated an emotional lunatic that could not govern himself.
"Sodomy, boy. The accusation includes you and Lieutenant Howard, and Lieutenant Watts."
Rothwell could do nothing but blink. Once. The very notion that this accusation could ever be leveled at him had never crossed his mind. He had no response at all, other than to turn pale; the punishment for this was death.
"You will remain here in irons until the courtmartial is convened, which will begin as soon as the Captains are brought to harbor, and this Lieutenant Watts. You can, of course, call for other witnesses to your character to be present as well."
Rothwell's mind raced, as he tried to think of who he would call that would matter, and that would have telling testimony on his behalf. He wanted to say Norrington, but the Captain was known to be down at the Puerto Bello blockade and could not be summoned for this particular event. Besides, would he even remember Rothwell? Not likely. Watts was on trial by association, and would not be able to speak on his behalf. He suddenly felt very, very alone.
"Though I know he cannot come because of his duties in Parliament, I would like a letter from Admiral Norris," he finally said. His patron was a powerful man, but unfortunately, he could not say anything about Rothwell's shipboard behavior at all. But it was all that he had. "Might I request the opportunity to change into garments more suitable to the brig?"
Peyton nodded, then indicated that he should go. Two marines went with him, and it was not long before Captain Rothwell, dressed in his roughest set of undress clothing, was clapped in irons and housed in Fort Charles's brig. He could only hope that the necessary members of the Court Martial could arrive very soon. He had no doubt that it had been Lieutenant Elliot bringing this charge, trying to remove his captain from the ship before he himself was removed.
He should have acted sooner, and put less trust in the man.
His first Lieutenant however, never warmed up to him and in fact seemed to become colder and more taciturn the more the rest of the crew blossomed into loyalty. Due to this, Rothwell typically chose to address Lt. Howard when such a choice could be made; some things simply had to go through the Premier, and so it was done. He knew eventually, if things continued in this vein, he'd have to arrange a transfer for Lt. Elliot to another ship.
He wondered if the First Lieutenant was becoming aware of this fact, or even might wish it. Certainly, Rothwell knew the man was no friend of his at all.
It was three months later, then, while the Worthy was at harbor at Port Royal, that he began to draft his report and request for a transfer. He knew this would place Lt. Elliot on the bottom of the Lieutenant pecking order of whatever new ship to which he was assigned, but at this point, he felt no remorse in applying a consequence so clearly earned and desired by the man.
He had only begun to write the second sentence when there was a knock at the door of his quarters upon the Worthy, which revealed a Marine bearing a summons to appear before Commodore Peyton. There was no mention of the matter at hand, but the Commodore rarely met with officers face to face unless the matter was quite dire.
Rothwell changed immediately from his undress uniform to dress, and proceeded with all haste to the Commodore's office at Fort Charles. He found himself almost insanely flustered, since he could not imagine what the problem might be. Had he been too harsh in his initial treatment of the crew of his new command? Had they been complaining despite his efforts? No guess he made seemed to have any sense at all.
Finally, he was let in to see Commodore Peyton, and he did his best to use all of the trained protocol and politeness at his disposal. He was as of this moment very glad that he'd learned how to take off his hat and bow with pleasing grace, as little things like that could make a large impression.
However, the Commodore was not watching, as he seemed to be more interested in the letters in front of him. Rothwell stood, waiting, and began to wonder if the fellow knew he was even standing there; at that moment, Peyton cleared his throat in a kind of harrumphing sound, and looked up at him with an almost offhanded scrutiny.
"Rothwell, then, is it?" Of course, he had been announced, but that wasn't the point.
"Yes, sir."
"I have here a formal complaint upon your conduct. The sort that demands a courtmartial, you see." Peyton's voice was deep, slow, and almost affectedly upper-class. The pace of his pronouncement was getting on Rothwell's nerves, especially as the Commodore now paused for a long time.
"Might I trouble you sir for the nature of this complaint?" Rothwell had great difficulty keeping the surprise out of his voice, but he did his best to maintain a level response. Nobody in the Service appreciated an emotional lunatic that could not govern himself.
"Sodomy, boy. The accusation includes you and Lieutenant Howard, and Lieutenant Watts."
Rothwell could do nothing but blink. Once. The very notion that this accusation could ever be leveled at him had never crossed his mind. He had no response at all, other than to turn pale; the punishment for this was death.
"You will remain here in irons until the courtmartial is convened, which will begin as soon as the Captains are brought to harbor, and this Lieutenant Watts. You can, of course, call for other witnesses to your character to be present as well."
Rothwell's mind raced, as he tried to think of who he would call that would matter, and that would have telling testimony on his behalf. He wanted to say Norrington, but the Captain was known to be down at the Puerto Bello blockade and could not be summoned for this particular event. Besides, would he even remember Rothwell? Not likely. Watts was on trial by association, and would not be able to speak on his behalf. He suddenly felt very, very alone.
"Though I know he cannot come because of his duties in Parliament, I would like a letter from Admiral Norris," he finally said. His patron was a powerful man, but unfortunately, he could not say anything about Rothwell's shipboard behavior at all. But it was all that he had. "Might I request the opportunity to change into garments more suitable to the brig?"
Peyton nodded, then indicated that he should go. Two marines went with him, and it was not long before Captain Rothwell, dressed in his roughest set of undress clothing, was clapped in irons and housed in Fort Charles's brig. He could only hope that the necessary members of the Court Martial could arrive very soon. He had no doubt that it had been Lieutenant Elliot bringing this charge, trying to remove his captain from the ship before he himself was removed.
He should have acted sooner, and put less trust in the man.