Command

by Julian Stockwin

  The thought took hold, and at his sudden bleak expression the midshipman gripped his tiller in apprehension. “Sir?” he said anxiously. They came up with the anchored frigate that had been Kydd’s recent home and the bowman looked aft questioningly.

  “Going aboard,” Kydd called. There was his baggage to be roused out and landed and—above all—his new ship to be claimed, in proper style. His pulse beat with excitement as he stepped on deck. Should he proclaim his impossible elevation? He fought down the impulse and tried to reason coolly. But there was only one course that his hot spirits would allow. He would go to his ship that very hour.

  That would not be so easy: to all the world he was still a lieutenant, and until he had the uniform and appearance of a commander it would be an impertinence to appear in his new vessel. Might there be a naval tailor and outfitter on the island after only six months in English hands?

  The demand to take up the command before it faded into a dream was now impossible to deny. And in any case, he reasoned, he would need a place to lay his head that he could call his own. But what were the procedures for invading the territory of a hundred men and assuming a feudal lordship that demanded their unquestioning obedience? It all seemed so wildly incredible—except for the solid reality of the precious words of his commission now nestled against his chest.

  Kydd brushed aside the idle questions of the frigate’s officers taking their fill of the scene ashore and strode for the cabin spaces. The marine on duty outside the captain’s cabin indicated it was occupied and Kydd rapped firmly on the door. “Come.” The tone was even.

  “Sir, please forgive m’ gall in calling on ye at this time, an’ you would infinitely oblige me should you . . .”

  It was only after a firm promise to dinner in the very near future that Commander Kydd left the cabin, this time with a borrowed epaulette firmly in place on his left shoulder, denoting his new rank, and a gold-laced cocked hat athwart.

  As he emerged on deck, conversations died away. There was a faint “Good God!” Kydd turned to look coldly at the lieutenant, who hurriedly raised his hat, quickly followed by the others. It would give them something to talk about in the wardroom that night.

  “If y’ please, pass the word for Midshipman Bowden.” Kydd’s head was brimming with plans, and he would need an accomplice in what followed.

  Brushing aside the wide-eyed youngster’s stammering recognition he snapped, “So, you’ve volunteered for the Malta Service, Mr Bowden? Then I’m to inform ye that as of today y’r a young gentleman aboard Teazer sloop, fittin’ out in the dockyard.” He would attend to the paperwork later.

  “Y-yes, sir. And—and you’re—”

  “I am her captain, Mr Bowden.”

  • • •

  The frigate’s barge threaded through the busy harbour. Although eager to make out which of the vessels would be his, Kydd held himself upright and unsmiling.

  “Oars.” The midshipman coxswain brought the boat alongside the quay and Kydd disembarked. Seamen landed his baggage and the coxswain asked respectfully if they should lie off.

  “No, thank ye,” Kydd replied. “I shan’t need you again. An’ my compliments to y’r captain for the fine passage t’ Malta.”

  It was done, and no turning back. “Mr Bowden, kindly watch over the baggage.” With a firm step, Kydd went into the offices next to a triple archway marking the entrance to a small boat-slip and yard. After service in a Caribbean dockyard he knew better than to bluster his way forward. “Good morning, sir,” he offered, to the suspicious functionary who met him. “An’ I have an appointment with th’ commissioner, if y’ please.”

  “Mr Burdock? I do not recall—”

  “Thursday at ten?” Kydd took out his watch and peered at it. “I do beg pardon if I’m wrong in th’ details but—”

  “At ten? Then if you’ll step this way, sir.”

  The commissioner looked up, distracted. “Who’s this?” he muttered at his clerk.

  Before the man could open his mouth Kydd intervened smoothly: “Ah, Mr Burdock. It’s so kind in ye to see me so soon—Admiral Keith did assure me of y’r good offices . . .”

  “In . . . ?”

  “In the matter of clearing a berth for y’r important inbound vessel expected directly for repair an’ refit, o’ course.”

  “The master attendant hasn’t seen fit to inform me of such a one.”

  Kydd frowned. “Damn quill-pushers! But then again, could be that, given her captain is . . . who he is, an’ the ship so well known . . .”

  “Who—”

  “Admiral Keith needs t’ ensure discretion, you understand,” Kydd said, looking around distrustfully. “This is why he’s sent me to ensure a clear berth before . . . Well, the brig Teazer was mentioned as being near complete.”

  “Impossible—she’s not fit for sea in any wise!”

  “Oh, why so, sir?” said Kydd, innocently.

  “Teazer? She’s not even in commission.” It was becoming clearer: repair jobs on his books would bring in a far more satisfactory flow of cash if turned over quickly than long-drawn-out completion work; a vessel in commission had immediate recourse to the purse-strings of the fleet’s commander-in-chief and therefore cash on the nail to disburse to demanding contractors.

  “Why, sir, we can remedy this. I’ve been particularly asked by th’ admiral to commission and man the brig—I had been expectin’ to spend some time first in seeing th’ sights but if it would oblige . . .”

  “That’s handsome enough said, sir,” said the commissioner, his manner easing. “When do you . . . ?”

  “If you should point out th’ vessel concerned, I shall take it in hand immediately, sir.”

  Outside, the midshipman rose to his feet. “There she is, Mr Bowden,” Kydd said, with the slightest hint of a tremor in his voice. He gestured to a two-masted vessel at a buoy several hundred yards further up the harbour. “Do ye go and warn the ship’s company that I shall be boarding presently.”

  “The brig, sir?”

  “Never so, Mr Bowden,” Kydd said, with much satisfaction. “A brig she may’ve been, but she has a commander, not a l’tenant, as her captain, and must be accounted a sloop—she is now a brig-sloop, sir, not your common brig-o’-war.”

  Out of sight of his ship, Kydd paced along slowly, imagining the scurrying aboard as news spread of the imminent arrival of the new captain. Exaltation and excitement seized him: there would never be another moment like this.

  It seemed an age before a punt arrived at the landing place. “Couldn’t find else,” mumbled a dockyard worker, inexpertly hanging on to a bollard. Another stood awkwardly at his sculls.

  “Where’s the ship’s boat?” Kydd wanted to know. There had to be at the least a pinnace, cutter or gig in that class of ship.

  “Ah, well, now, there’s a bit o’ trouble wi’ that there—”

  “And my boat’s crew, damn it?”

  The second threw his scull oar clattering into the bottom of the boat. “D’ ye want t’ go to the barky or not, cock?”

  Kydd swallowed his anger. “I’ll go,” he said. If he did not, then who knew when he might be able to later? He couldn’t wait around so conspicuously on the waterfront—and he was damned if he’d be cheated out of his big moment. Trying to act in as dignified a manner as possible, he stepped into the flat-bottomed craft.

  “Shovin’ off, Mick,” the first said, and gave a mighty poke at the stonework, hoping to topple Kydd, but Kydd had foreseen the move and stood braced resolutely as the punt slid out towards the brig.

  It would take more than the antics of these two dockyard mateys to affect Kydd’s spirits. His eyes took in the vessel’s lines hungrily as they neared her: a trim, bare-masted craft with an accentuated sheer and the sweetest miniature stern gallery. His heart went out to her—she was riding high in the water, her empty gun-ports and lack of any real rigging giving her a curiously expectant look. At the bow her white figurehead was a dainty maiden with st
reaming hair, and even before they had come up with her Kydd knew he was in love.

  He straightened importantly. There were few crew visible on deck, but the punt was lower than Teazer’s modest freeboard. His heart thudded, then steadied.

  The punt spun about and approached. Bowden’s anxious face appeared at the deck edge, then disappeared again; a pilot ladder slithered down just forward of the main-chains and dangled over the side. Normally a ship’s boat would have the height to allow a simple transfer to the brig’s deck but there was nothing for it. Cheated of his moment of grandly stepping aboard, Kydd grabbed the writhing ladder and heaved himself up with both hands.

  A single boatswain’s call trilled uncertainly as Kydd appeared, to find only a shame-faced Bowden plying the whistle, with three shuffling dockyard men he had obviously rounded up for the occasion. The salute pealed into silence and Kydd removed his hat, taken aback. “No ship’s company, sir,” Bowden whispered apologetically.

  “We commission,” Kydd growled and strode to the centre of the quarterdeck, pulling out a parchment document and declaring in ringing tones to the empty deck that the latest addition to His Majesty’s Navy was the brig-sloop Teazer, which was now officially under his own command.

  He turned to Bowden and, glancing up at the bare, truncated masts, slipped him a roll of white silk. “Be sure an’ this gets aloft now.” It was a commissioning pennant and would fly at Teazer’s mainmasthead day and night from this time on.

  Bowden did his best; without upper masts there was only the mortise of the main topmast cap but soon all ashore with eyes to see could behold a borrowed frigate’s long pennant floating bravely from the stumpy mainmast of HMS Teazer. She was now in commission.

  Kydd looked up for a long moment. Then, reluctantly, he dropped his gaze to the deck: he was about to face the biggest challenge of his life. “Mr Bowden, return to th’ frigate and present my duty t’ the captain and it would be a convenience should he sign off on my hands into Teazer.”

  “Y-your hands, sir?”

  “O’ course!” Kydd said sternly, “Sent fr’m the commander-inchief for duty in the Malta Service, by which he means ourselves and who other?” With reasonable luck, they could take their pick if they moved fast and have them entered before the proper authority came to claim them.

  “Aye aye, sir. Er, how many shall I return with?”

  A brig-sloop of this size would need somewhere between eighty and a hundred men. “I’ll take all the Tenaciouses, which are not so many, so say fifty more—as long as there’s prime hands among ’em.”

  Kydd knew he was being optimistic, but there had been genuine warmth in the frigate captain’s congratulations that would probably translate to sympathy. And with men Teazer would come alive—boats could be manned, work parties mustered and the rhythm of sea life begun. His spirits rose. “Oh, and be so good as t’ give my compliments to th’ commissioner’s office and I should be pleased were they t’ send word to m’ standing officers that they’re required aboard directly.” Every vessel had certain warrant officers standing by them, even out of commission, and no doubt they would be enjoying a peaceful time of it in some snug shoreside hideaway while the dockyard pressed on at its leisurely pace.

  Bowden left in the punt and Kydd was on his own with just a pair of curious caulkers on the upper deck. Apart from the dismal thunks of a maul forward, the ship was an echoing cavern with little sign of life.

  Now was the perfect time to make his acquaintance of the lovely creature. Teazer was a galley-built craft, one continuous deck running fore and aft, but then he noticed a singular thing— the even line of bulwarks ended in the after part all decked over. Closer to, he saw that in fact the top of a cabin was flush with the line of the bulwarks, which would make it only about chest-high inside. He pushed open the door gingerly—and nearly fell down the several steps that led to the cabin spaces, comfortably let into the deck a further few feet.

  This was his home—despite the powerful smell of turpentine, paint and raw wood shavings. He saw that he was standing in a diminutive but perfectly formed lobby; the door on his right was to the coach, his bedplace and private quarters. The door ahead was to the great cabin—the whole twenty-foot width of the vessel. Illuminated by the decorous stern windows he had seen from outside, it was a princely space, vaster by far than any he had lived in before.

  He went to the mullioned windows and opened one: the miniature stern gallery was a charming pretence but just as pretty for that. All in basic white, it would soon see some gold leaf, even if he had to pay for it himself. His steps echoed oddly on the wooden deck—he looked down and saw a snug-fitting trap-door, almost certainly his private store-room.

  The coach was little longer than an officer’s cot: washbasin and drawers would fill the width, but it was palatial compared with what he had been used to. He left the cabin spaces for the quarterdeck and marvelled at the cunning of the Maltese shipwrights, who had contrived the comfort of the airy cabin while keeping all along the flush deck clear for working sail.

  He went forward to a hatchway and descended into an expanse of bare deck. This was the only true deck the brig possessed, above him the open air, below him the hold. It was empty, stretching from the galley and store-rooms forward to what must be the wardroom and officers’ cabins aft. Now it was gloomy and stank of linseed oil and paint: there was little ventilation— all cannon would be mounted on the upper deck and therefore there were no gun-ports to open. At sea, this would be home to eighty men or more and the contrast with his own appointments could not have been greater.

  He stood for a moment, dealing with a surge of memory relating to his own time as a seaman. A stab of feeling for those faraway days of hard simplicity but warm friendships crowded into his mind. It would be the same here in Teazer’s mess deck but he would never know of it. He had come so far . . . Would fortune demand a pay-back?

  Voices drifted down through the hatch gratings: this might be the first members of Teazer’s company. Kydd bounded up the fore hatchway to the upper deck. A short man in spectacles and a shabby blue coat abruptly ended his conversation with one of the caulkers. “Do I see the captain of Teazer?” he said carefully.

  “You do. I am Commander Kydd.”

  The man removed his hat and bowed slightly. “Ellicott, Samuel Ellicott. Your purser, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr Ellicott. We’re only just in commission, as you see . . .” The man seemed nervous and Kydd added, “I would wish ye well of y’r appointment aboard us, Mr Ellicott.”

  “Mr Kydd—sir. I have to ask you a question. This is vital, sir, and could well rebound on both of us at a time now distant.”

  “Very well, Mr Ellicott.”

  “When I heard that you’d—taken it upon yourself to commission Teazer like you did, I knew I had to come post-haste. Sir, have you signed any papers?”

  “I have not, Mr Ellicott.”

  The man eased visibly. “Fitting out a King’s ship new commissioned is not the place for a tyro, if you understand me, sir.”

  “Although this is my first command, Mr Ellicott, it is not m’ first ship. However, it’s kind of ye to offer y’r suggestions. I do believe we have a mort o’ work to do—the people will be coming aboard tomorrow an’ we should stand ready t’ receive ’em. So we set up the paperwork first. Just f’r now, I shall use m’ great cabin as our headquarters. Then we start setting out our requirements for the dockyard. No doubt they wants it on a form o’ sorts.”

  A thought struck him. “Do ye know of any who’d be desirous of a berth as captain’s clerk? Someone who knows Navy ways, c’n scratch away at a speed, discreet in his speech . . .”

  “There may be . . . but he is now retired,” Ellicott said. “A few guineas by way of earnest-money should gain his interest. Was captain’s clerk in Meleaguer thirty-two at Toulon in ’ninetythree, as I remember. Shall I . . . ?”

  “Desire him t’ present himself this day or sooner and I shall look very favourably on
his findin’ a berth in Teazer.” There were a number of Admiralty placements by warrant to which a captain was obliged to accede: the boatswain, gunner, carpenter and others. For the rest, Kydd was free to appoint whom he chose. “Shall we find a stick or two f’r a table and begin?”

  The prospective captain’s clerk, Mr Peck, arrived with commendable promptness, a dry, shrewd-eyed man of years who had clearly seen much. Together, he and the purser fussed away and came up with a list of essentials—which began with opening the muster book, in which the details for victualling and wages of every seaman of Teazer’s company would be entered.

  Then it was the establishment of ship’s documents, letter-books, vouchers, lists of allowances—it seemed impossible that any man could comprehend their number, let alone their purpose, and Kydd was happy to leave them to it.

  Shortly, another of his standing officers puffed aboard. “Purchet, boatswain, sir,” he said. The man had a lazy eye, which made it appear that he was squinting.

  “I’d hoped t’ see you aboard before now, Mr Purchet,” Kydd said mildly. “We’ve much t’ do afore we put to sea.”

  “Aye, sir,” Purchet said heavily, glancing up at the bare masts. “An’ I hope you ain’t thinkin’ o’ them false-hearted set o’ rascals in the dockyard.”

  “They’ll bear a hand, I’m sure, but we’ll be setting the ship up ourselves. It’s a small dockyard I’ll grant, but I’ll have fifty prime seamen for ye directly.”

  Purchet’s eyebrows shot up.

  The carpenter arrived and was soon complaining of his lack of stores. Time was slipping by: Kydd needed to prime the dockyard to begin releasing Teazer’s stores and equipment forthwith. If he failed, the men could not be accommodated on board or entered on the ship’s books and he would quickly lose them to other ships. “Mr Ellicott, be s’ good as to accompany me to th’ dockyard and advise.”

  It transpired that the senior naval officer of the dockyard was neither a sea officer nor very senior. Owing allegiance directly to the Navy Board, Burdock’s immediate superior was no closer than Gibraltar, which gave him a certain room for manoeuvre in his dealings. However, even with veiled threats, it still cost Kydd a dismaying pile of silver, all from his own pocket, to generate any sense of urgency in the case. That, and the promise to set the son of a “good friend” on his quarterdeck as midshipman.