"I'm late, I'm late!" the younger officer could be heard to say. "Christ, a quarter past Eight Bells! I'm fucked, so bloody fucked… oh\" he exclaimed as he took note of Lewrie and his pair of epaulets. He visibly blanched, almost slammed to a stop in chagrin to use blasphemy and Billingsate in the presence of a Post-Captain.

"Joining a ship, are you?" Lewrie enquired, putting a "stern" expression on his phyz. "Cuttin' it rather fine, ain't you?"

"Aye, sir," the Lieutenant replied, doffing his cocked hat in salute, to which Lewrie replied with two fingers touching the brim of his own. "Got the last coach, skin o' me teeth, that, and arrived at a late hour last night, sir. Some old friends at the Blue Posts…"

"Indeed," Lewrie primly drawled, quite enjoying himself, for a rare once lately. Damme, this is fun! he thought. "And they simply had to 'wet you down' to your new posting, hmm?"

"Aye, sir," the Lieutenant shamefacedly replied.

"A damned bad beginning, sir," Lewrie admonished. To punctuate his shammed disdain for such, he drew out his pocket-watch and peered at its face, then turned and waved at the last remaining hired boat at the foot of the landing, for, during their brief conversation, another Lieutenant and two Midshipmen had engaged the other, better boat.

"I, ah…," the Lieutenant began to say, realising that he was going to be even later reporting aboard his new ship, for he was out-ranked and would have to wait for the return of anything that floated.

"I s'pose I could offer you a ride, Mister, ah…?" Lewrie idly offered.

"Urquhart, sir. Ed'ard Urquhart," the other told him, looking desperately into the middle distance to see if anything resembling a hired boat was coming back to the foot of the King's Stairs empty. "Edward, mean t'say…," he babbled on. "Might I enquire as to where your ship is anchored, sir? Mine own is quite near at hand… that frigate just yonder, sir… Savage."