Command (8 page)

“I was fortunate enough t’ be at both Camperdown and the Nile,” Kydd said, “and a quiet time in th’ North American station.” Dacres had never smelt gun-smoke in battle and would probably learn more in
Teazer
over a few months than from years in a ship-of-the-line. He changed the subject. “How are our Maltese hands taking t’ our ways, do ye think? I have m’

hopes of ’em—they look prime sailormen, seem to find ’emselves at home.”

“I have my concerns that they may not understand orders in stress of weather, sir. Do you not think—”

“Seamen that’re well led will never let ye down, Mr Dacres.

They’ll catch on soon enough. We’re to be working closely t’gether in the future an’ you’ll find—”

A knock on the door and a muffled “Captain, sir,” from outside interrupted him. It was the midshipman of the watch. “Mr Purchet’s compliments and he’d like to see Mr Dacres on deck when convenient.”

Kydd rose. “I won’t keep ye, Mr Dacres. I’ve no doubt we’ll have another opportunity to dine together presently.” He took his seat again: the man was so utterly different, in almost every way, so at variance with his own experiences. Nevertheless it was vital he got a measure of him. As with the rest of
Teazer
’s company, time would tell.

“God rot it, what’re you
about,
Mr Bowden?” roared the boatswain, stumping his way forward. The fore yard lay at a gro-tesque angle, and before he could reach the scene there was a
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savage tearing and twanging as the fore topsail split from bottom to top. The big spar dropped jerkily to the caps of the foremast.

Beneath, men scattered hastily. Purchet stood stock still, gob-bling with rage. Dacres hurried up from the mainmast; he and Bowden looked back aft to Kydd, their faces pale.

Kydd had been watching the dry-exercises of the sail gear and stepped forward quickly. “Set y’r clew garnets taut—haul in on y’r topsail clewline. Get that larb’d fore course tack ’n’ sheet right in!” he bawled. This would hold the yard up while a jury lift was rigged. For some reason the lower yard lift on one side, taking most of the weight of the heavy spar, had given way and the inevitable had happened. The only saving grace was that there were no men on the yardarm and they were still safely at anchor. Possibly the cordage had rotted in the storehouse. Incidents like this might happen again; the sooner faults were bowled out the better. “Mr Purchet!” he ordered. “See what it is an’ report t’ me.”

Kydd was afire with eagerness to see
Teazer
at sea, cutting a feather in that deep blue expanse and off to the glories that would assuredly be hers. But he could not risk it with an untried ship and crew. He jammed his hands into his pockets and paced up and down.

By early afternoon they had succeeded in loosing and furling sail on both masts without incident; each yard had been braced up sharp on each tack, halliards and slablines, martnets and leechlines, all had been hauled and veered, run through their various operating ranges.

Stations had been stepped through also, for wearing, tacking, setting and striking sail, and Kydd dared hope that the moment when
Teazer
was set free for her true purpose was drawing close.

“Noon tomorrow, I do believe, Mr Dacres!” he called, when it became clear at last that the ship’s company was pulling together as one.

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55

• • •

The following morning there was something in the air: an under-current of anticipation, tension, excitement. Exercises now had meaning and significance—the age-old exhilaration felt when a ship was making ready for sea, preparing for that final moment when the land and its distractions were cast aside and the ship and the souls she bore within her entered Neptune’s realm.

Kydd felt in his heart that they were ready: men were familiar with their stations, drill at the sails was now acceptable, gear had been tested. He had some anxieties: the master was elderly and his navigational skill was still unknown, and the Maltese seamen appeared capable but would they remain steady under fire?

Yet more than any other worry he had one crucial concern.

Would
he
measure up? Or was there to be this day a blunder that would set all Malta laughing? Or, worse, a casting of
Teazer
ashore in a helpless wreck . . . “Mr Dacres, if th’ hold is stowed, I believe we shall hazard a short cruise t’ try the vessel. Pipe the hands to unmoor ship in one hour, if you will.”

The die was cast. Watching the preparations for sea, Kydd tried to appear impassive. He sniffed the wind: a playful southerly with a hint of east. They were going to be let off easily in their first venture to sea, just a matter of slipping from the mooring buoy and at the right moment loosing sail to take up on the wind on the larboard tack and shape course for the open sea.

It should be straightforward enough, but Grand Harbour was dotted with sail and no place to be aimlessly straying about. The sooner they opened deep sea the better.

Kydd heard the squealing of blocks as the boats were hoisted and saw the decks being readied fore and aft: braces, sheets, tacks, halliards—these were laid along clear for running; the helm was put right over on each side to prove the tiller lines, and all the other familiar tasks, large and small, that were essential before proceeding to sea, were completed.

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Activity lessened. Then, finally, the shriek of Purchet’s call, quickly followed by Laffin’s, told
Teazer
that every man aboard should take station leaving harbour. There was the sound of a rush of feet, which gradually died away into silence. Dacres was in position at the foot of the mainmast, Bowden at the foremast, groups of men ready at the pin-rails looking warily aft. From right forward the knot of men on the foredeck at the moorings straightened and looked back expectantly.

Kydd’s pulse raced. “I have th’ ship, Mr Bonnici,” he said, formally, to the master next to him. If there was to be any mistake it would be his alone. “Lay aloft t’ make sail, the topmen!” he roared. Men swarmed swiftly at his command.

He had already decided to move out under topsails alone, with staysails and jibs and the big mainsail—on
Teazer,
the large fore and aft sail abaft the mainmast. “Lay out an’ loose!” he bawled, and the topmen moved out along the yards, casting off the gas-kets that held up the sails tightly. “Stand by—let fall!”

It was a heart-stopping time: while sail cascaded down from fore and main they had to slip the mooring cable at just the right time to catch the wind and release the vessel for a surging start in the right direction. “Man tops’l sheets ’n’ halliards,” he bellowed to those on deck. “An’ clap on t’ the braces!” A last glance aloft and alow, then: “Let go!”

The crowning moment! The slip rope slithered free through the mooring buoy ring and
Teazer
was now legally at sea!

“Sheet home: brace up, y’ sluggards!” Kydd roared, fighting to keep the exhilaration from his voice.
Teazer
’s bow even as he watched was paying off to leeward, her bowsprit sliding past the long line of ramparts across the water. “Haul taut!” There was a perceptible heel as her canvas caught and the headsails were hardened in. He snatched a glance over the side. They were making way:
Teazer
was outward bound!

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57

A ponderous merchantman began a turn dead ahead and Kydd’s heart skipped a beat. “Two points t’ starb’d,” he snapped at the helm. This was taking them perilously close to the castel-lated point under their lee but he guessed that the shore would be steep to there and a quick glance at Bonnici ressured him that this was so.

Teazer
picked up speed as they passed to leeward of the ungainly merchantman and before he knew it they were clear of the point. The brig had a fine, uncluttered view forward and Kydd shaped course seaward with increasing confidence.

Excitement rose in him as the swell from the open sea caused the first regular heaving and the deck became alive under his feet.

On either side grim fortresses guarding the entrance slipped past until the coast fell away and
Teazer
—his very own ship—felt the salt spray on her cheeks and knew for the first time the eternal freedom of the ocean.

She was a sea-witch! Her lines were perfect—her willing urge as she breasted the waves, and eagerness in tacking about, would have melted the heart of the most calloused old tar. Kydd’s happiness overflowed as, reluctantly, they returned to moorings in the last of the light.

But there were things that must be done. He had learned much of
Teazer
’s ways—every ship was an individual, with character and appeal so different from another. As with a new-married couple, it was a time to explore and discover, to understand and take joy, and Kydd knew that impatience had no place in this.

There was not so much to do: the lead of a stay here, the turning of a deadeye there, redoubled work with holystone and paintbrush. His mind was busy: the ship’s tasks included, among other things, the protection of trade and it would be expected that he begin showing the flag at some point, the ideal excuse for an undemanding cruise to shake down the ship’s company.

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• • •

Kydd found time to go in search of cabin stores: it was unthinkable for a captain to go “bare navy”—ship’s rations only—for there would be occasions when he must entertain visitors. It seemed, however, that “table money” for the purpose of official entertainment was the prerogative of a flag officer alone, and therefore he must provide for himself. Fortunately he had been careful with his prize-money won previously, knowing that prospects of more were chancy at best.

He was no epicure and had no firm idea of the scale of purchases necessary, but he knew one who did. The jolly-boat was sent back for Tysoe, who had been previously in the employ of a distinguished post-captain. It was an expensive but illuminating afternoon, which left Kydd wondering whether the cherries in brandy and a keg of anchovies were absolutely necessary on top of the currant jelly and alarming amount of pickles; Kydd hoped fervently that the wine in caseloads would not turn in the increasing heat of early summer, but he trusted Tysoe.

Kydd took the opportunity as well to find some articles of decoration: the bare cabin was stiff and unfriendly—it needed something of himself. Diffidently he selected one or two miniatures and a rather handsome, only slightly foxed picture of an English rustic scene. These, with a few table ornaments and cloths, made a striking improvement—the silver would have to wait: his substance was reducing at a dismaying rate. Later, if he had time, he would do something about his tableware. If only his sister Cecilia were on hand . . .

There was no one of naval consequence to notice the little brig-of-war as she slipped her moorings and made for the open sea.

No one to discern the bursting pride of her commander, who stood four-square on her quarterdeck in his finest uniform, her brand-new pennant snapping in the breeze, her men grave and

Command

5

silent at their stations as they sailed past the bastions of the last fortress of Malta, outward bound on her first war voyage.

Kydd remained standing, unwilling to break the spell: around him the ship moved to sea watches, the special sea-duty men standing down as those on regular watch closed up for their duty and others went below until the turn of the watch. The boatswain checked the tautness of rigging around the deck while the
ting-tinging
of the bell forward brought up the other watch, the shouts of a petty officer testily mustering his crew sounding above the swash and thump of their progress—it was all so familiar but, at this moment, so infinitely precious.

“Mr Bonnici,” Kydd called, to the figure in the old-fashioned three-cornered hat standing mute and still, staring forward.

The master turned slowly, the shrewd eyes unseeing. “Sir?”

“I, er—” It was not important. They both had their remem-brances and he left the man to his. “No matter. Please—carry on.”

This was what it was to have succeeded! To have reached the impossible summit before which paled every other experience the world had to offer. He, Thomas Kydd of Guildford, of all men, was now captain of a ship-of-war and monarch of all he surveyed.

A deep, shuddering sigh came from his very depths. His eyes took in the sweet curve of the deck-line as it swept forward to the sturdy bow, the pretty bobbing of the fore spars in the following seas and the delicate tracery of rigging against the bright sky—and the moment burned itself into his soul.

In a trance of reverence his eyes roamed the deck—
his
deck.

Within
Teazer
’s being were over eighty souls, whose lives were in his charge, to command as he desired. And each was bound to obey him, whatever he uttered and without question, for now all without exception were in subjection below him and none aboard could challenge his slightest order. It was a heady feeling:
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if he took it into his mind to carry
Teazer
to the North Pole every man must follow and endeavour to take the vessel there; in the very next moment, should he desire, he could bellow the orders that would clear the lower decks and muster every man aboard before him, awaiting his next words, and not one dare ask why.

The incredible thought built in his mind as his ship sailed deeper into the sea. Controlling his expression, he turned to Dacres and snapped, “Two points t’ starboard!”

“Two points—aye aye, sir,” Dacres said anxiously, and turned on the quartermaster. “Ah, nor’-east b’ north.”

The quartermaster came to an alert and growled at the man on the wheel, “Helm up—steer nor’-east b’ north.” While the helmsman spun the wheel and glanced warily up at the leech of the foresail the quartermaster snatched out the slate of course details from the binnacle and scrawled the new heading. Returning it he took out the traverse board and inspected it. At the next bell the line of pegs from its centre would duly reflect the change.