Mutiny k-4
Page 33
'Sir?'
'Now, if you please, sir,' said Essington irritably.
'Aye aye, sir,' Kydd said hastily, wondering what his mission could be.
The boat joined others criss-crossing between other ships. Close to he could see that the sea was speckled with pieces of wreckage, some as big as spars, some smaller unidentifiable fragments. His eyes lifted to the loose cluster of men-o'-war ahead, every one showing where they had endured.
Monarch was the flagship of Onslow, vice admiral of the other division. Kydd went up the pockmarked side of the big 74 and, touching his hat, reported.
The officer looked at him curiously. 'Come with me.' He was escorted to the admiral's Great Cabin. 'Mr Kydd, master's mate, Triumph, sir.'
Onslow put down his pen and came round his desk. The splendid blue and gold, the stars and epaulettes — all the grandeur of naval circumstance — brought to Kydd a surge of guilt and apprehension.
'Ah, Mr Kydd.' He looked appraisingly at Kydd, who stuttered something about his tattered, smoke-grimed appearance. 'Nonsense, my boy. All in th' line of duty. Well, now, you must be feelin' proud enough that your captain speaks s' highly of ye.'
'Sir?' To his knowledge there was no reason that Essington could have even to mention his existence to such an august being.
Onslow's eyebrows rose. 'You don't know why ye're here?' He chuckled quiedy. 'Then I'll tell you. Since Admiral Duncan is entertainin' the Dutch admiral, he's left certain jobs to me. An' one of 'em is this. In the course o' such a day, sadly there's some ships have suffered more than others. Your captain was one o' those asked to spare a suitable man t' fill vacancies in these. He seems t' think you're suitable, so by the powers vested in me by the flag-officer-in-command, I order that, as of this moment, ye're to be known as Lieutenant Kydd.'
'S-sir, I -1—'
It was staggering — it was marvellous! It was frightening! It was—
'Unusual name, that — Kydd. Don' come from Guildford, b' any chance?'
'Sir—' He couldn't speak. Feeling his face redden with pleasure, the broadest of smiles bursting out, he finally spluttered, 'Aye, sir.'
'Related t' the Kydds who opened the navy school not so long past?'
'M-my father, sir,' he said, in a near delirium of emotion.
'A fine school f'r Guildford. Like t' pay my respects to y'r father at some time.'
Speechless, Kydd accepted the precious letter of commission and turned to go.
'And, Lieutenant, might I have the honour of takin' your hand? It gives me a rare pleasure to know that Guildford can still produce fightin' seamen. Ah — do ye not wish t' know which ship?'
'Sir?' Any ship that swam would do.
'Tenacious sixty-four. Good fortune to ye, Mr Kydd.'
His heart full, Kydd tried to concentrate in the boat on its way to the battle-worn Tenacious. But he was a lieutenant! An officer! A — gentleman! His universe spun as he attempted to readjust his world-view; stricdy, his father should touch his forelock to him, his mother curtsy when introduced — and what would they say in Guildford?
But what about Renzi, supposing they ever met again? Would he accept him as a gentleman? Would they . . .
His sea-bag and chest lay between his legs. When he had returned to Triumph to fetch them, Essington had cut short his thanks. 'We were signalled for a suitable man. Do you wish to dispute my choice, sir? I know something of your history. Pray you will live up to your step — and the best of luck, Mr Kydd.'
This was absolute evidence for Kydd that the Admiralty held nothing against him over his support for the seamen; there could be no doubt now, no more feelings of guilt, betrayal or ambivalence. Now he was a naval officer, with all the rights and privileges. It was altogether incredible.
Tenacious loomed. 'Boat ahoy!' came the distant cry.
'Aye aye!' their bowman roared. Kydd started — but then, of course, be was the naval officer they carried! A long sigh came from the depths of his being.
The boat hooked on, and Kydd sprang for the handropes. Impatiently he mounted the side, passing by an open-mouthed boatswain's mate at the entry-port. Embarrassed, he retraced his steps down and across to the entry-port. He entered the carved portal, the silver call pealing out to all concerned that a naval officer was boarding Tenacious.
'Sway aboard my dunnage, younker,' he told a duty midshipman.
'Aye,' the youngster said.
'What was that?' Kydd snapped.
'Er, aye aye, sir,' the midshipman corrected himself, stiffening and touching his hat.
'Very well.' Kydd remembered too late that he still wore his master's mate plain coat, and grinned at the discomfited lad. There would be time to find a uniform later. 'Where's the captain?' he asked.
'Dead,' the boy said. 'So's the first and third lootenant. We're getting replacements, o' course,' he confided, then added a hasty, 'er, sir.'
Kydd went up the main hatchway to the upper deck, marvelling at the ruin on all sides. There were overturned guns, beaten-in bulwarks, broken spars hanging from aloft - and a tattered figure hobbling about, using a broken rammer as a makeshift crutch.
He stopped, staring keenly. It was - it couldn't be -Renzi? 'Nicholas! You're - you're wounded!'
'I fear so, old fellow. It is but an inconvenience, the doctor assures me that I shall be made whole in some weeks.' A warm smile stole over his face. 'Thomas! You have survived our day of trial!' He held out his hand. Kydd gripped it, the events of the day threatening to unman him.
The midshipman appeared. 'Shall I stow your gear in the third's cabin for now, sir?' 'Please.'
He turned back to Renzi, but the cat was out of the bag. 'You — you have been—'
'I have,' said Kydd, in the purest happiness. 'Ye have t' call me sir, now, Nicholas.'
'Oh. I'm afraid that's not possible.'
'Er, may I know why not?'
Renzi looked down for a moment, and when he looked up again, Kydd could see he was struggling for control. 'Because, Thomas, you will be grieved to hear that as senior master's mate, I also have been elevated to the quarterdeck. And, given recent promotions, you will be fifth, and I the fourth, so it will be you who are obliged to render the honorifics to me.'
Their heartfelt laughter brought grins from the others on deck.
Kydd had just one question. 'Nicholas, does this mean that - y'r intent, you know, t' leave the sea . .. ?'
A half-smile showed briefly. 'It rather appears, dear fellow, that I may have to revisit that decision ...'
Author's Note
Some people have asked me how much my books are based on my own life. In a way how could they be? The protagonist and I are separated by two hundred years and a revolution in technology, and I chose the sea while he had little choice; but as I got into the series I realised that Tom Kydd and I do share much.
We both deeply relate to the sea's magic, its potency and vast majesty, and both of us feel a clutch at the heart at the sensation of a live deck beneath, with all its promise of adventure and excitement. That first deep scend of the bows outward bound — the 'curtsy to Neptune' every ship must make on entering His realm. The contraction of your world into the ship's comforting, never-changing rhythms — so different to life ashore with all its distractions.
In the course of this book I revisited Sheerness, the bleak setting of this most awesome of mutinies. As I looked out over the cold, drab wilderness of the Nore one particularly raw winter's day, seeing back into time to those great events, into my mind, too, came remembrance of myself as a very small boy looking out from that very spot to low, grey shapes slipping out to sea, disappearing over the horizon and taking my imagination with them. You can still walk out at low tide over the mud-flats and find clay pipes of Kydd's time, but he had quite a different experience — this was where he first set foot on the deck of a man-o'-war, and met his future.
As ever, this tale has materially benefited from the time and kindness of people at the various locations I researched
; I think particularly of Lorna Swift, at the Garrison Library of Gibraltar (which still exists) who found for me priceless documents of the time; Admiral Lorenzo Sferra, Conservator of the Naval museum at the Arsenale in Venice who at short notice deployed the full resources of his museum for me; and David Hughes, a local historian in Sheerness who was able to reveal to me fascinating hidden facts and colour of this underrated part of the naval history of England. To the many others I consulted, my deep thanks.
I'm blessed with a knowing and professional literary agent, Carole Blake, and Carolyn Mays, my new editor at Hodder, heads an enthusiastic and hard-working team that is bringing the world of Thomas Kydd to life for so many.
As each book is finally launched on the world it only increases my respect and admiration for my creative partner and wife, Kathy, who was originally responsible for my embarking on the voyage of my life. And it is certainly time I acknowledge my parents-in-law Keith and Cressey Stackhouse, who believed in us both from the beginning.
The end of this book marks a watershed in the series; Kydd is now an officer and in the next book he begins the transition from the fo'c'sle as a common seaman to the quarterdeck as a gentleman. It will not be an easy journey...
Hardback — October 2004 o 340 832177
Paperback - April 2005 o 340 832193
Hodder & Stoughton
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