But if he slackened off not only would he lose his chance to bring Tyger to warlike readiness but the whole thing would be put down to tyranny and nit-picking over drill times.
If only Renzi were there to calmly dissect and analyse! In fact there was no one—not a soul—with whom he could talk at the level he needed.
But he had known that when he first boarded the ship and must live with it.
He summoned Tysoe. “Find Mr Dillon and, with my compliments, if he is at leisure I should be happy to see him.”
Dillon entered, his expression set and defensive.
Kydd rose and, with a smile, indicated a chair. “I’ve asked you here to offer my apologies for my unforgivable lapse in behaviour.”
“Sir.”
“Which was not occasioned by your good self, I hasten to add.”
It was not proving easy. “A captain must have many worries.” The tone was careful, noncommittal.
“Ah, just so. As you of all must know.”
“Sir. May I speak plainly?”
“Please do.”
“What I’ve seen of you in these last weeks is not the Captain Kydd I know.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t wish to pry but I’m of the mind that a matter of great personal moment lies upon you at this time, Sir Thomas.”
“That may be so.”
He continued, in a low voice, “And of all men within the compass of this vessel there is only one who does not have the comfort of … a friend. If it is of service to you, I would be honoured to share your burden, the matter most scrupulously to remain between us alone.”
Kydd sat back in astonishment. Not at what had been said, but that Dillon had found the moral courage to risk immediate condemnation for his impertinence.
“Why, that’s handsome in you, Mr Dillon,” he found himself saying. He paused. “Do you care for a sherry?’”
There was intelligence, practicality and discretion on offer but was this friendship? He was drawn to the young man—personable, educated and with a depth of feeling. He would never be a Renzi but …
There was less than ten years’ difference in their ages, but they were a world of experience apart. Could he ever bring himself to speak freely as a friend? If he did, like his administrative confidences, he knew it would be safe with Dillon.
There was an awkward moment, then Dillon said, “You know, when I secured my position in L’Aurore in the first place, I can tell you now, it was more than a lust for travel that was urging me on.”
“Oh?”
“A young lady, of importunate ways who unaccountably set her cap in my direction. I raised the siege only by the time-honoured device of running away to sea,” Dillon added, with an amused smile.
“Ha! It was ever so,” Kydd said.
“Then when L’Aurore was no more and I had to return, the siege was laid in earnest. Only your timely summons to Tyger saved me from a dolorous fate.”
“Are you then contented with your choice? Tyger is a very different barky from L’Aurore.”
Dillon nodded, and Kydd felt encouraged to open up to him, to tell him of the misreporting that had led to the Admiralty’s set against him, the dependence of a captain on favour and interest for employment, and the inevitable fate of those who ran athwart their lordships’ hawse.
And of the last sanction: that he and his ship distinguish themselves to such a degree that it would be impolitic to take his ship from him.
Dillon listened sympathetically. After Kydd had finished he gave a twisted smile. “Ah. I have it now. A pretty problem.”
They sipped their sherry. Then, in quite another voice, Dillon said, “It does occur to me … would you wish to learn backgammon?”
“To—”
“A relaxing and harmless pursuit but a sovereign cure for solitude.”
“Why, perhaps I shall.” It was a thoughtful and practical suggestion and would provide an excuse to meet companionably.
Dillon returned quickly with the hinged box that Kydd had so often seen in wardrooms. He set out the black and white pieces and handed Kydd a leather cup and two dice. “The idea is to go point to point to bear off all your stones before your opponent. These are the points and there is your home.”
There was more to follow and Kydd took it in gravely until they were ready to begin.
“Your throw.”
The pieces began their journey around the board.
“You think I’ve been too hard on the people,” Kydd said, in satisfaction seeing off one of Dillon’s stones to the bar to begin its trek again.
“I can’t but think you have been,” Dillon answered, positioning his pieces in a continuous mass.
“There’s no alternative—Tyger has to be ready to meet the enemy.”
“I fear you’ll lose them. Even if they knew of your difficulty they’d hardly feel it warranted to haze them so for that reason.”
The massing of pieces turned out to be an effective trap, holding Kydd until he could overcome it only by throwing a high number. He was learning.
“There’s no other way.”
“Then you’re at a stand. Press on this way and you’ve lost your crew. Ease away and the French might spring on us. Yet it does seem to me in my ignorance that the last is the least probable of the two.”
Two fours and he couldn’t move. Kydd yielded his turn. “So ease off on the beggars? What’ll they think we’ve been doing this last week? I can’t back down now.”
There was an opening—instead of moving both pieces he combined the numbers into a move by a single one and leaped ahead.
It was working: simply bringing it out and talking about it was sufficient to cut through the tangle of decision elements.
“A good one,” Dillon said, in admiration, but at the next throw sent two of Kydd’s stones to the bar.
Tyger’s captain was not put out—for in that instant he realised he knew what he had to do.
“Gentlemen,” Kydd said with a broad smile, looking about his table benignly. “Our last night before we make port on the morrow.”
His officers regarded him with expressions varying from suspicion to hostility but an invitation to dinner with the captain was not to be spurned.
“Wine with you all!” he declared, raising his glass.
There were scattered murmurs but nothing even approaching jollity. It was time to make his play. “To Tyger—in whom I am well pleased!”
A ripple of barely concealed surprise went around.
“Yes—we’ve worked hard, damned hard, and don’t think I haven’t noticed. The enemy may pounce at any time, but I now declare that Tyger is ready for ’em.”
Hollis glared balefully but Bowden’s face cleared. “Sir, you mean—”
“I do. The only sure way to reach a true fighting spirit is to pitch in, heart and soul, however hard it takes, until we’re of one company and mind, and now we are.”
Their expressions held incredulity and cynicism.
“So as of this hour we step down to regular sea routine, confident we can meet anything the Frenchies throw at us.”
It was getting across: pleased smiles broke through and a dawning respect replaced the hostility.
“I’ve driven you hard but I’ve no regrets—the results speak for themselves. So I call on you now to toast our tight little frigate. To Tyger, and long may she cleave the seas!”
“To Tyger!” This time there was real feeling in it.
“In the forenoon tomorrow before we arrive I’ll speak to the ship’s company and tell ’em the same thing. It’s been a tough claw to wind’d but we’ve made it!”
It was done.
The reality was that Tyger was far from ready, his words a mockery in his own ears, but now in his officers and later the crew there would be a morsel of pride, the beginnings of a belief in the ship and her captain.
But he was taking a risk by relaxing his efforts. He was gambling that, when the time came, Tyger would not let him down and
would rise heroically to the challenge.
He’d done all he could. The rest was in the hands of Tyger and her company.
CHAPTER 15
YARMOUTH ROADS WAS ALIVE with shipping—from brigs to sizeable ship-rigged vessels. In a sprawling mass at the assembly anchorage, they were protected to seaward by naval sloops and cutters of the local defences.
Kydd had never experienced a Baltic convoy—they were legendary for their size: one had set forth with over a thousand sail. This assemblage was of some hundreds. The stirring sight was a paradox: a thrilling testimony to Britain’s trade supremacy and at the same time a frightening demonstration of vulnerability for an island nation.
A frigate and a number of sloops were in the naval anchorage, the escort for this argosy.
“Pennants of Lively, Cap’n Hozier,” Kydd was told.
The frigate was the same class as Tyger but the seniority of her captain was September 1802, and therefore predated Kydd’s. He would thus have the command and the responsibility, not only for the safe arrival of this immensely valuable convoy but the heavy burden of producing the complex orders and signals, procedures and assignments, and their transcription into hundreds of sailing-order instructions. It was a tedious and lengthy task but had serious legal and financial implications, for Lloyds Insurance would be relieved of payment against a loss if a transgression of their strict provisions could be shown.
In the absence of a flag officer there was no ceremony and Kydd put out in his gig for Lively while Tyger secured from sea.
“Well, now, and we’re honoured indeed, Sir T,” murmured Hozier, eyeing Kydd’s sash and star. Kydd had hesitated about wearing them but he’d been led to understand that if he did not it would be assumed he did not value the honour.
“I was lucky enough to be in the right place,” he replied genially. “As could happen anywhere.”
“Not here, old trout,” Hozier answered, with a small smile. “Hard blows and a lee shore is all we can rely on.” He had a noble forehead and a languid, patrician drawl.
“And another month, another convoy.”
“Quite. You’ll send me a lieutenant and brace of middies to bear a hand?”
“Lieutenant you shall have, reefers I’ve none.”
“To spare?”
“In any wight. I’m appointed into Tyger at short notice and the mids fled with the last captain.”
“Oh, yes. I recollect there was some to-do that—”
“Which is over now. I’ll send my sailing master, if I may, for chart corrections and similar. Can I take it there’ll be no difficulties on passage?”
“I’d say not. The Danes are very strict on their neutrality and run the Sound transit like a business—which I suppose it is to them. Once inside the Baltic there’s nothing to fear, no Frenchy fleet or even cruisers, what with the Russians our ally and with ships-of-the-line to spare. We just let the convoy disperse about their business.
“As usual, Boney is rampaging away on some land campaign or other—the Prussians are taking a hammering, which means the southern Baltic shore is a scene of slaughter, but it’s nothing to do with us. We keep our offing well out of it.”
“So a straightforward trip, nothing to—”
From above, a terrifying bellow interrupted them.
Hozier winced. “My premier, a man of … plain manners. I’ve endeavoured to encourage a more gentlemanly address but I fear it’s a lost cause with Mr Bray.”
Kydd gave a sympathetic nod and went on to conclude the meeting: “I’m in reasonable fettle. Victualling and stores shouldn’t take long. Have you a date of sailing?”
“Five days, subject to numbers made up to my list. Shall we meet again, perhaps for dinner? I’ve a tolerably inventive cook who knows his soufflés and I can promise you a capital evening …”
Piped over the side and in his gig, Kydd felt a glow of pleasure. In the past he would have felt intimidated by the man’s effortless high-born gentility but now, with his honours and distinction, he need never fear it again.
But then came a rush of bleakness. Was he facing his last days at sea? From what he’d heard there’d be virtually no chance of a spectacular and distinguished action in this voyage.
Hollis was waiting for him, stiff and tense. “You left no instructions regarding liberty, Sir Thomas, and I had to—”
“Harbour routine. At noon, starbowlines to liberty ashore,” Kydd snapped, irritated that the first lieutenant had not thought to ask before if he had concerns. “Back aboard for the forenoon tomorrow.” He’d have pay-tickets made up and send for the clerk of the cheque. Then the seamen would have something in hand to raise a wind ashore.
He was not long back in his cabin when the boatswain reported.
“What is it, Mr Dawes?” If there were defects that prevented their sailing he’d need to know at once.
“Well, it’s like this here,” the man mumbled. “I’ve got t’ think how I stands.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“It’s m’ bones, like. Never had it so bad, at me all night they is, a real trial.”
“Are you saying you’re suffering a griping in the bones? What does the doctor say?”
“He weren’t a help. See, it’s not as I can show ’im and—”
“You’re ill and worried that it’s affecting your duties,” Kydd said smoothly, grasping what was going on, “so you’re informing me now. Right and proper it is for you to do so, Mr Dawes. Well, we must get you ashore to recover. Don’t concern yourself about the ship, we’ll find another to relieve you. I’ll make arrangements with shoreside immediately.”
It worked well for both parties. The boatswain would remain “ill” ashore until Tyger had sailed with a replacement, then emerge and take a more comfortable berth.
Kydd turned to other things. “Tysoe, I’ve something I’d like you to do for me …” His stored sea furniture from L’Aurore would transform the great cabin from a bare monk’s cell into something like gentle living.
His spirits rose, and he passed the word for his first lieutenant. “Mr Hollis, I’ve a notion to priddy the ship before we put out. Kindly detail three good hands and I’ll have the figurehead put to rights, gold leaf and the rest.”
“Sir.” There was still an underlying resentment in his tone—Kydd’s necessary intervention in his first lieutenant’s professional judgements had demeaned him in the eyes of the ship’s company.
Kydd sent Bowden to assist Hozier; he had need of Brice’s good sea sense in setting up the rigging while a new boatswain was found and it would get Bowden out of the ship for a while.
After the first day he knew he’d been right to award liberty, for there were few stragglers. His bracing talk to the hands, repeating in earthier terms what he’d said to the gun-room, must have had some effect, and the prospect of losing all prize-money owed by deserting would have been an even greater deterrent.
Hozier’s invitation to dinner duly came for Kydd, along with a note that four other captains would be joining them.
It was a pleasant evening, but the drumming of rain on the deck above told of a wet and chilly night for those on watch. Kydd knew two of the guests vaguely and Hozier had a ready fund of well-practised yarns. A marine violinist played soft airs just out of sight.
The cigars had come out and the talk was languorous when there was a sudden knock at the cabin door and a dark figure in streaming oilskins thrust in.
“Sir. Silent hours, master-at-arms says lights out an’ the ladies are quiet ’tween decks,” was the growled report.
“Not now, Mr Bray, we’re at dinner—I’ve company, can’t you see?” Hozier glanced about apologetically at his guests.
“Two in bilboes, carpenter gives less’n a foot in the bilge and the red cutter still in the water.”
“Yes, Mr Bray, thank you, thank you. You can leave us now. Good night.”
Deep-set eyes flicked over the gathering. Then their owner left abruptly.
“N
ot as you’d say a paragon of politesse and I do apologise for him.” Hozier sighed. “Shall we broach the cognac at all? I can vouch for it, as having come from a Frenchman who thought he was delivering it to Napoleon himself.”
Kydd dutifully tasted the delicate fire and joined in the appreciative murmurs—and was transfixed by a sudden thought. It grew and took hold and he delayed his departure until he was last to leave.
“A splendid time, David,” he said warmly. “As gave me pause …”
“Oh? I do endeavour to please, old fellow.”
“Just a thought—you’ve heard Tyger’s seen a mort of pother, not to say a mutiny. My first was in the thick of it, poor fellow. A sensitive chap, comes from a good family, politeness itself and a first-class education. How he must have suffered for want of society, my other officers being of the more … ordinary sort.”
It brought a small frown, so he hurried on: “What’s more to be desired in a ship so recently in a moil is a plain-speaking, no quarter, hard horse as will brook no insolence. Rather like, shall we say, your Mr Bray?”
After a pause, Hozier smiled. “Ah, I think I can see what you mean.”
“And I was thinking that—”
“They must both agree.”
“Of course!”
“Mr Hollis,” Kydd said, as early in the day as he decently could.
The officer braced himself.
“I’ve had an approach from the senior officer escorts—that is, Captain the Honourable David Hozier, father a species of viscount, you know. For some odd reason he’s heard you’re with me in Tyger and has a desire to exchange you into Lively. Of course I had to say that I have the highest regard for your service to this ship and can’t possibly …”
The movement of lieutenants between ships to vacancies and flag posts was not uncommon and a simple exchange was even easier. Tyger’s new first lieutenant was aboard that same morning.
He was thick-set and imposing, with a ram-rod stiff bearing and restless glare.
“L’tenant Bray, Sir Thomas,” he rasped, with a quick bow, his eyes darting about the deck.
Tyger: A Kydd Sea Adventure (Kydd Sea Adventures) Page 21