Command (27 page)

A scream of terror pierced the merriment and the cabin fell rapidly into a shocked silence. Everyone turned to Miss Peacock, who was staring into a corner, struck dumb with fright. Kydd hurried over to her and followed her pointing finger. Chuckling, he bent down and retrieved a petrified scrap of fur. “Sprits’l, bless y’ heart!” he said, turning to the throng. “Doesn’t care f’r cannon fire—we’ve searched the whole barky, fore ’n’ aft, looking for the little rascal!”

Miss Peacock came to see for herself. “Why, it’s a wee-bitty kitten!” she cooed, offering her finger to be licked. “It’s so thin, the poor bairn—to be kept in this awful ship to be fired at with guns! Whoever could do such a thing?”

“Miss Peacock,” said Kydd, “this is Able Seaman Sprits’l, a member of
Teazer
’s ship’s company, an’ he has his duties.” The button eyes moved about in sudden interest and the tiny nose twitched. “I’ve an idea he’ll need t’ be used to the sound o’ gunfire if he’s going to be a Teazer!”

Teazer was heading north to the trading routes around the heel of Italy. She had been sent on a cruise of her own with the barely concealed purpose of acquiring a prize or two to line the pockets of her brave commander and crew.

They had been fortunate indeed: there had been remarkably little damage and only a small number with wounds, such was the speed with which it had all happened. The French captain, Reynaud, had been mortified at his misreading of
Teazer
and the result of his overweening confidence, and had sulked below during the short but triumphant journey back to Malta at
Teazer
’s tail.

It had done wonders for the Teazers’ morale, and as Kydd strolled about the decks that fine morning he was met with grins and respect; even Tysoe assumed a regal bearing.

For Kydd only one thing mattered: he had achieved distinction and his command was secure. He and
Teazer
would be together from now on.

And that meant he could make plans for both
Teazer
and her company. In Malta he had seen a new ship fitted with patent windsails for ventilation that would be perfect for keeping a flow of fresh air through the length of the mess deck. There were other things he had in mind: Yates, his coxswain, had been among the
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wounded left at the hospital and he would take the opportunity to rate up the cool-thinking Poulden to the position. Perhaps tonight he would invite the two midshipmen to dinner—they had grown considerably in both stature and confidence and were a lively pair . . .

His pleasant musings were interrupted by the lookout’s call of

“Sail hoooo!”
There had been sightings aplenty since their departure but only feluccas and other small vessels, not worth the wear and tear of a chase.

“Deck, ahoy!
Ship-rigged, an’ holding f’r the north!”

A sizeable vessel. Was it predator or prey? That they had overhauled it under full sail suggested a fat-bellied merchant ship.

This would be confirmed by a sudden sighting and hopeless bid for escape, but it would take a racehorse of a ship to outrun
Teazer.

Kydd waited for the expected outcome—but, to his puzzlement, there was neither the instant reaching for the weather position of a man-o’-war nor the consternation and fleeing of a merchant vessel, simply a steady northward course.

Why such confidence? It might be a guiltless neutral or, even more unlikely in these waters, a friend, but its actions were not natural to either. Unknown sail was a threat until proved otherwise and this one seemed to have not a care in the world—or was it leading them into a trap?

“T’ quarters, Mr Dacres. I don’t trust th’ villain.” There were no colours evident but that was not significant: owners of merchant packets were not inclined to waste money on flags that would blow to tatters in weeks at sea.

By early afternoon they had come within gunshot of the vessel, which still held to its course. Doubled lookouts at the masthead could spy no skulking sail, no gathering jaws of a trap—it was deeply unsettling.

“It’s a plague ship, sir,” Dacres suggested unhappily.

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It fitted the facts: the lack of activity in the rigging, the monotonous and unvarying course, the lack of fear. Kydd took his pocket telescope and trained it on the vessel’s decks. There were the usual small number of merchant-ship crew, just a couple about the wheel and a few others around the forebitts.

“Mr Dacres, there’s something amiss. Give ’em a gun.” A two-pounder ball sent up a plume ahead of the vessel. It had no effect. The ship stood on regardless, curious gazes on
Teazer
as she hauled up on them. Another gun brought a sudden burst of angry shouting that was incomprehensible, but no action.

“Half pistol shot t’ wind’d, Mr Bonnici,” Kydd grunted, at a loss to comprehend the situation. They closed and Kydd added,

“This time I’ll have ye sight close enough t’ scratch his varnish.”

The threat brought a grudging heaving to, a sullen wallowing with backed sails. “Board him, Mr Dacres, an’ find out what he’s up to,” Kydd ordered. He had considered leading the party himself but he did not want to leave
Teazer
in this unknown situation.

“If it has plague—” Dacres protested feebly.

“He has nothing o’ the sort. He’s under our guns an’ you’ll take no nonsense. Two shots fr’m us to return directly, a wave of y’r hat should ye want assistance. We’re looking to a possible prize.

Do y’ have the latest interrogatories?” he asked, referring to the questions issued by the Admiralty to assist boarding officers in their assessments.

“Aye aye, sir,” Dacres muttered.

The cutter pulled away smartly and disappeared round the leeward side of the ship while Kydd went below to his paperwork.

It generally took an hour or so for the preliminaries of a prize boarding to be concluded.

After just ten minutes there was a knock on his door, and the message, “Sir, our boat is returning.” This made no sense and Kydd hurried on deck.

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Dacres climbed over the bulwarks with an acutely worried expression. “Sir, may I see you privately?” he said urgently.

In Kydd’s cabin he looked about carefully, then closed the door firmly. “Sir, I have to inform you . . . If you’d please to read this.”

It was a French commercial newspaper, not the government
Le
Moniteur,
notorious for its lies and sweeping claims, but a sober publication from Marseille, intended for merchants and others in trade. A phrase blazed out in the headlines:
“La Paix”—
peace!

Kydd stumbled through the rest, and the impossible became real. Apparently for more than a week it had been known that negotiations for peace from the English government had been accepted and an armistice declared, pending full ratification.

Peace? It was not possible! Had not the French been thrown so recently out of their Oriental empire at great cost? And with brilliant victories this was not a time to be treating for
peace!

He held up the newspaper. It seemed ordinary enough, a little grubby, with a pencilled column of trading figures. There was nothing to suggest it was a forgery.

Now he understood the reason for the confidence, the steady course probably to a port on the other side of the Adriatic. Peace!

The implications were endless—the treaty that must follow had to decide the fate of empires, colonies, whole peoples. Peace! In a world at war for nearly ten years it was hard to think in any other terms.

“Er, sir?” Dacres looked anxiously at his captain. “The people—when shall I . . .”

The men: how would they take the news? Kydd’s mind spun.

He knew he could not keep it from them long. “Get back to th’

ship with our apologies an’ let ’em go. We return t’ Malta.”

The news had arrived in Malta the day after
Teazer
had sailed.

Addington’s government had seen fit to accept humbling terms to secure any kind of peace in a war that was reaching titanic

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proportions, spreading over the globe and waged now by Britain on her own at an appalling cost.

It seemed that, for Downing Street, the limits had been reached, the price finally too great. From now on England would have to learn to live side by side in a world dominated by the colossus of France and First Consul Bonaparte.

Kydd landed in Malta amid a ferment of rumour and anxiety; there was widespread fear on the small island, which had done well under the umbrella of British protection. The population now faced a return to the rule of the ancient knights who had allowed in the French.

Cameron had no information and Pigot was less than helpful. Kydd’s only option was to report himself and his ship to the Commander-in-Chief, Keith, in person. Kydd realized the admiral would no longer be on blockade off Toulon: he would be falling back on Minorca and its capacious fleet anchorage.

The three-day voyage passed in a haze of unreality; the sea seemed full of ships going about their lawful occasions. Neither friend nor foe, all were now simply fellow seafarers. Dawn was not met at quarters, the guns’ charges were drawn and
Teazer
proceeded with only a signal swivel gun loaded. It was unnatural.

What did the future hold? Increased trade in the Mediterranean would require the guarantee of a naval presence but what would peacetime life be like? With a wry smile Kydd acknowledged that he had no idea: his entire time at sea, from pressed man to commander, had been spent at war.

There was one bright prospect, however: with all the fleet in harbour he would at last see his great friend Renzi, first lieutenant of
Tenacious.
There would be so much to tell and, for the first time since he had assumed the mantle of command, Kydd would know the company of one to whom he could at last unburden his soul.

Teazer
raised the distant blue of the conical peak of Mount
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Toro, then shaped course for the south-east of the island and the grand cliff-sided harbour of Port Mahon. Passing the ruined fortress of San Felipe at the entrance to larboard, they entered the port.

The entire Mediterranean fleet was at anchor in the three-mile-long stretch of water. These ships, their sombre lines marked by ceaseless sea-keeping, the gloss and varnish long since gone from their sturdy sides but their appearance still neat and Spartan, had kept faithful watch on Toulon over the long months to make it impossible for Bonaparte to impose his will on the world. And now they were withdrawn, idle and without purpose. It was as if the world had gone mad.

As they passed by the massive ships-of-the-line, Kydd tried to make out
Tenacious
but could not find her: there were just too many vessels.
Teazer
’s anchor fell from her bows and Kydd reappeared on deck in full-dress uniform with white gloves and sword to call on the Commander-in-Chief.

He mounted the side steps of
Foudroyant
with mixed feelings: as a victorious captain he could be certain of a warm welcome, but in these circumstances who knew what lay ahead? After he was piped aboard he was ushered respectfully into the admiral’s presence. In the vast great cabin there were three other officers who, to Kydd’s surprise, did not make their excuses.

Keith looked up, his face drawn and tired. “Ah, Mr Kydd. Joy of your encounter with
La Fouine,
of course. Your actions were in the best traditions of the service and do you much credit.”

He shook Kydd’s hand vigorously but was clearly distracted. “In more tranquil times you should most certainly be my guest at dinner, but I do beg forgiveness in this instance and hope to receive you at another time.” His legendary chilliness melted into something akin to melancholy as he added, “But, then, these are not normal times and I can promise nothing.”

He paused, staring into space for long moments, then seemed

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to focus again. “I have this hour received Admiralty instructions.

Your orders are being prepared, Commander, and will be delivered by hand to your vessel by evening gun.”

Kydd murmured something, but Keith cut him short. “You will be desirous of returning to your ship. Pray do not delay on my account.” As he turned to go, Kydd felt Keith’s hand on his arm. The flinty eyes bored straight into his. “Please believe, Mr Kydd, I would wish you well for your future.”

Kydd went down the side to the strident squeal of the boatswain’s pipe and into his boat. What did this mean? Was Keith conveying more than approval of his recent triumph? Perhaps he was to be accounted as an admiral’s favourite.

As they made their way back to
Teazer
a chance veering of the wind direction had the great ships swinging to their anchors, and past two 74s he saw at last the familiar shape of the ship he had spent so much of his sea life aboard, HMS
Tenacious.

“Stretch out f’r that sixty-four,” he ordered Poulden.

“Aye aye, sir,” his new coxswain replied.

As they approached
Tenacious
she seemed dowdy and down-cast; she was well ordered, but in small things she wasn’t the fine old warhorse he remembered. In places the gingerbread—

the gilded carved adornments round her stern and beakhead—no longer gleamed with the lustre of gold leaf and had been economically painted over in yellow. The rosin finish between the wales of her side was now a dull black and her ensign seemed limp and drab.

But for Kydd this was a moment long coming. The first satisfaction—to be well savoured—would be in encountering Rowley once more. How would he find it in him to utter the words of civility due to a fellow captain?