Command (16 page)

“I see. On another matter entirely, may I have y’r opinion?

Should
Teazer
go south-about to th’ Sicily Channel this time o’

the year? Do you think this a . . . wise course?”

Back on deck, Kydd checked again the progress with the new main course. Purchet seemed to have it all in hand. The main-hatch was off and stores were coming aboard;
Teazer
could keep the seas for several months, if necessary, but water was the limiting factor. He watched the seamen hoist the big barrels aboard—

the Maltese were doing well, laying into their tasks with a will, their clothing now far more in keeping with a British man-o’-war. It was all deeply satisfying: it would be
Teazer
’s first true independent cruise, something that every captain of a man-o’-war yearned for.

But what was particularly pleasing to Kydd was the new mainsail. It had cost some keen thinking to figure how to spread a sail, complete with all its gear, on the biggest yard in the ship where none was before. Even a stout chess-tree needed to be fashioned and bolted on the ship’s side forward to take the tack of the
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new sail out to windward when close-hauled, exactly the same as could be seen in a ship-of-the-line.

Teazer
was settling into her routine and, to Kydd’s critical eye, was showing every evidence of contentment. He knew the signs: easy laughter from seamen as they worked together, good-natured rivalries out on the yardarm, the willing acceptance of orders where surly looks would be the first sign of discontents.

He knew that he himself was on trial: he was expecting the men to follow him into peril of their lives but they would not do this unless he had first won their trust, their respect. He had reached the first stage, a wary deference, which he could tell from their direct gaze but ready responses. There were ways sailors had of conveying their feelings—he would instantly recognise silent contempt, but he had seen nothing of it.

There was a tentative knock at his open cabin door; Kydd could see Bowden and some others.

“My apologies at the intrusion, sir, but these men have something on their mind and they’d be obliged if you’d hear them.”

Kydd looked sharply at him. “What’s this, Mr Bowden? Do ye not know—”

“Sir, I think you should hear them.”

There was something in his tone that made Kydd pause. He looked at the foretopman standing next to Bowden. “What is it, Hansen?”

He was a reliable hand, not given to trivialities. “Sir, if y’ pleases, we got a worry we think ye should know of,” he said quietly.

His eyes slid away to the others for support as he talked and Kydd felt the first stirring of unease. Deputations as such were punishable under the Articles of War and they were taking a big risk in bringing it before him like this. “Well?” he growled.

“Sir. Could be we’ll be voyagin’ quite a ways soon,” Hansen mumbled.

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Behind him another, older, hand said, more forcefully, “Aye, an’ this means we have t’ be ready.”

“F’r rats!” added a third.

“What th’ devil is this all about, Mr Bowden?”

“Er, I think they mean to say that
Teazer
being a new-built ship, she doesn’t have yet a full crew on board. They tell me they’re very concerned that our stores and provisions are as yet still unprotected . . .”

Kydd was beginning to see where it was all leading and eased into a smile.

“. . . therefore, sir, they’re requesting you take aboard a—a ship’s cat.”

“Ah. Well, that is, I may have omitted t’ bring the complement completely up to strength in this particular. I see I must send a hand ashore to press a suitable cat—” There was a shuffling, eyes were cast down. Kydd saw and went on “—that is unless a volunteer c’n be found, o’ course,” and waited.

Glances were exchanged and then the seamed old sailmaker, Clegg, was pushed forward. Nearly hidden in his horny hands was a scrap of fur from which two beady black eyes fixed themselves solemnly on Kydd.

Kydd’s eyebrows rose. “Seems a hard thing t’ put such a morsel up against a prime ship’s rat, I believe.” At the sullen silence this brought he hastened to add, “But, o’ course, he being new t’ the sea he’ll have a chance to show something of himself later.” After the ripple of relieved murmurs faded, he snapped, “Volunteer, this day rated ordinary seaman.” Grins appeared and Kydd continued, “Er, what name goes in th’ muster list?”

Clegg gave a slow smile and, in his whispery voice, said softly,

“It’s t’ be Sprits’l, sir, on account we being a brig we don’t have such a one, an’ now we does.”

• • •

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Kydd spread out the best chart they had of the area, a copy of a French one, and pondered. The Sicily Channel was the only pass between the east and west of the Mediterranean, discounting the tiny Strait of Messina. Through this hundred-mile-wide passage streamed the tide of vessels heading for the rich trading ports of the Levant, among them neutrals with contraband, and French trying to slip past to supply their hard-pressed army in Egypt.

But with a hundred-miles width of open sea, what would be their likely track?

It was important to make the right choice. How long would it be before a senior officer arrived to put a stop to his independence? He emerged restlessly on deck and caught the flash of sails as a cutter rounded the point into the inlet.

“She’s our’n!” Work on deck ceased as every man gazed out at the new arrival come prettily to her mooring.

“Mr Purchet, get th’ men back to work this instant!” Kydd snapped. A few minutes later an officer got into a boat, which stroked across to
Teazer.

The visitor was of a certain age, with shrewd eyes and a strong manner. Removing his hat he said, “L’tenant Fernly, in command
Mayfly
cutter.” It was naval courtesy for an arriving junior to call upon the ranking officer and this was due Kydd as a full commander.

“Shall we step below, L’tenant?” Kydd said. In his great cabin glasses were brought and respects exchanged.
Mayfly
was with Army dispatches and material from Gibraltar for General Pigot, with a side voyage to Alexandria in prospect later.

“An’ you, sir?” Fernly asked politely.

“I shall be puttin’ t’ sea shortly on a cruise, but not before I have time to beg y’ will take dinner with me,” Kydd said.

“That’s right kind in you, sir,” Fernly answered, easing into a smile. “I don’t often find m’self able t’ sit at table with a new face, as you’d understand, sir.”

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• • •

“You’re right welcome,” Kydd said warmly, holding out his hand as Fernly came aboard again. Forward, lanthorns were being triced up in the fore shrouds and groups of men below were gathering in noisy groups until the first hornpipes began. Later it would be sentimental songs at the foremast and well-tried yarns to capture and enthrall.

It was a good sign, and with the length of the ship separating them it would not be a trial for them in the great cabin. The table was laid; Tysoe had contrived another easy chair to complement Kydd’s own and the two naval officers sat at the stern windows, taking their fill of the fine evening view of Malta.

The candles cast a mellow gold about the cabin and set Kydd’s new pieces of silver a-glitter. The local Maltese wine,
chirghentina,
was cool and delicious, and Kydd felt a spreading benevolence to the world take hold. “Ye would oblige me extremely, sir, if we might talk free, as it were,” he said, hoping the officer’s courtesy would give way to the forthright character he suspected lay beneath.

“By all means,” Fernly replied, perhaps picking up on Kydd’s mood. “It’s a damnably lonely profession, in all.” He set down his empty glass, which Tysoe noiselessly refilled. “May I ask ye a question?”

Kydd looked up, surprised.

“Forgive me if I’m adrift in m’ reckoning, but y’ have the look o’ the fo’c’sle about ye.”

“Aye, this is true,” Kydd admitted. He saw no reason to hide it.

“Then c’n we raise a glass together—we’re both come aft th’

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hard way.” There was brittle defiance in his tone.

Cautiously, Kydd raised his glass in agreement. “T’ us.” It was rare for a King’s officer to have crossed the great divide from the fo’c’sle to the quarterdeck and Kydd had come across few of the breed. “Do ye not find it an advantage in command?” To Kydd, it was of considerable benefit to be able to know the mind of the seamen in his charge, to understand the motivations and simple but direct elements of respect that so often differed from those of the quarterdeck.

“Of course. I flatter m’self that I’m at least two steps ahead of the lazy buggers. Let ’em dare t’ try any o’ their slivey tricks in my watch, is what I say.” Fernly grinned mirthlessly and pushed out his glass to Tysoe.

Kydd did not reply. He knew of hard-horse tarpaulin captains who used their familiarity with the seamen to make life difficult for them. He was also aware that there was an ocean of difference for the foremast hand between obedience and respect, which the older man seemed to have forgotten.

Fernly seemed to sense Kydd’s feeling and changed the topic.

“Can’t say I’ve seen
Teazer
in Malta before. A trim craft, very handsome . . .”

Kydd thawed. “Goes like a witch in anythin’ like a quarterin’

blow, an’ I’m going after more b’ crossing a main-yard in place of the cro’jack. Rattlin’ fine work b’ y’r Maltese shipwrights.”

“You mount fours or sixes?”

“Six-pounders, an’ hoping t’ find carronades. Couldn’t help but notice—
Mayfly
’s clencher-built, not s’ common as who would say.

I was in a cutter in the Caribbean,
Seaflower
b’ name, an’ she was lap-straked as well.”

“Caribbean? I was there in
Wessex
frigate in ’ninety-four.”

“Were ye really? I remember . . .”

The talk livened agreeably at the subject of old ships. Fernly

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had been an able seaman with the good fortune to have impressed a captain sufficiently that he had been plucked from the fo’c’sle and placed on the quarterdeck as a mature midshipman.

This had led to promotion in due course, but the later demise of the captain had left him without interest at high level and he had not been noticed.

Dinner was served, the conversation turning now to landfalls and seaports across the seven seas; between them they had seen so much of a world unknown and unexplored to the generation just past.

As justice was being done to a cunning Buttered Meringue La Pompadour, Fernly cocked his head and listened, holding up his hand. The strains of a violin and sounds of merriment from the main deck had stopped and there was a sudden quiet.

Then, faintly on the night breeze, from forward came a familiar air:

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors;
We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old Eng-a-land
From Ushant to Scilly ’tis thirty-five leagues . . .

“That’s m’ quartermaster,” Fernly said softly, “an’ a right songster indeed.”

Kydd looked at Fernly. “Spanish Ladies,” he blurted happily.

Fernly returned the look with impish glee, mouthing the words while waving a glass in the air and Kydd responded in a credit-able baritone, his own glass spilling as he beat time. Soon Fernly came in with a fair tenor.

The old sea-song finished and, faces flushed, they moved back to the easy chairs. “Rare time,” Kydd said, easing his waistband.

“It’s a sad profession, without it has compensations,” Fernly
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agreed, helping himself to Madeira. Tysoe had cleared decks without either man noticing and a baize cloth now bore a neat cluster of decanters.

Kydd sighed deeply. His gaze slipped down to the glittering gold of the epaulette on his coat, which was now draped over the back of his chair. He looked up and his expression became wistful. “I own that I’ve been a copper-bottomed, thorough-going lucky wight. Here am I, a Guildford wigmaker, topping it th’

mandarin as commander, writing m’self orders f’r a cruise. Who would’ve smoked it?”

He stopped. “Ah—that is not t’ say . . .” In the fuddle of wine, words failed him. His guest was still only a lieutenant and a silver-haired one at that, with only a tiny cutter to show for his years at sea. And a lieutenant-in-command could not possibly compare with a commander of a sloop.

Fernly lifted his glass and, closing one eye, squinted at the table candle through it. “Y’ told me before as I was t’ talk free.

Should I?” He spoke as though to himself.

“Fill an’ stand on, I beg,” Kydd said warmly.

Still staring at his glass Fernly continued in the same tone:

“You’re senior in rank, an’ I in years. Gives you a different slant on things, y’ must believe.” His voice strengthened. “Only f’r the friendship I bear ye for the night’s company do I speak out, you understand.”

“Just so,” Kydd said neutrally.

“You’re new made t’ commander, this is plain.”

“Why Keith gave me th’ step I still don’t understand.”

“Nor will you ever. My guess is, he had others waitin’ that by movin’ the one into a sloop the other would protest. You were to hand and got th’ berth—but if half th’ reason was fortune, the other half must be y’r shinin’ past. That must still the tongues o’