Command

by Julian Stockwin

Ready or not, they had to put to sea for trials. They had yet to ship guns and his ship’s company, a third under complement, was an unknown quantity. Kydd had lost count of the number of vouchers, receipts and demands he had signed for Ellicott as stores had come aboard in a fitful stream—for all he knew he might have signed himself into perdition.

  And when he was finally able to get away from the paperwork it was to find Dacres in argument with the boatswain concerning the best way to warp the vessel the mile over to the ordnance wharf while seamen lolled around idly and his new gunner stood defensively on the foredeck, arms folded.

  How was he going to find the men to bring his ship to seaworthiness—and, even more importantly, to battle-worthiness? Kydd’s happiness was being drowned in a sea of worries.

  “Sir.” Bowden touched his hat and waited.

  “Er, yes?” Kydd answered, distracted.

  “I’ve been talking with the master. He makes a suggestion that I think, sir, you should hear.”

  “Oh?”

  “We had a long talk about Malta. He is, er, rather open and told me about how things are ashore. They’ve suffered grievously in the two years the French were here, near to starving—and all because of them. Sir, what he is saying is that there are many hungry Maltese seamen who would seize any chance to get to sea—and pay back the French.”

  “Ask him t’ see me, Mr Bowden.” It was nothing less than a miracle. Foreigners could be found in every Royal Navy warship so this was no bar to the Maltese joining and being engaged directly in the defence of their islands. Trade would give point to their loyalty.

  Bowden gave a discreet cough. “Sir—a word?”

  “What is it?” Kydd said impatiently.

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware that the Maltese, sir . . . They’re reputed to be the Pope’s staunchest sons.”

  “Popish?” When promoted lieutenant, Kydd had sworn to abjure Stuart claims to the throne and the Catholic religion. “If I don’t see ’em at it, I’ll never know,” he answered briskly. He hailed the master. “Mr Bonnici. How many hands could ye scrape together—prime hands, mark you?”

  “Perhaps one, possible two . . . t’ousand.”

  Kydd grinned. “Then I’ll take thirty at once, d’ ye hear? When can you get ’em aboard?”

  “When ye needs them, sir. But . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Sir, these men have not th’ experience with the Navy I have. Sir, do not expec’ them to . . . to spik English.”

  A watch-on-deck who could not understand orders? Having to mime everything to be done? But nothing was going to stop him now: if they were intelligent, the common usages of the sea would draw them together. “Then they’ll have t’ learn. Any who can’t stand a watch on account o’ not understanding orders in one month goes back ashore directly, an’ we find someone who can.”

  He rounded on the first lieutenant. “So! Mr Dacres, why are we not yet at th’ ordnance wharf?”

  Beautiful! Kydd admired the deadly black six-pounders on their neat little carriages ranging down the deck edge—eight to a side, and two smaller, demurely crouched in his great cabin as chase guns. And all unused, originally from the arsenal of the knights of Malta. Gun parties were bringing the cannon to the right state of gleaming with canvas, brickdust and the assiduous application of a sovereign mixture of blacking, Mr Duckitt’s own recipe.

  “Mr Purchet!” The boatswain looked aft warily. “I’ll see sails bent on th’ fore—we’ll start with the fore course, testing th’ gear as we go.” The pace was quickening: Kydd wanted to see sail aloft, even if it was not in earnest. While still at anchor the fore yard would be braced round side on to the light morning breeze and the sail loosed. All the gear—buntlines and slablines, halliards and braces—could thus be proved without hazard.

  And the men also. The two-masted brig would be handier in stays than any ship-rigged vessel and their resources of men were far greater than any merchant brig. But when fighting for their lives in action there could be no idle hands.

  Evening light stealing in brought activity to a close, and Kydd felt he had some measure of his men. Purchet was too free with his rope’s end and Laffin had followed his example with relish. He could not check the boatswain in front of the men but he would see him privately.

  He was fortunate in his topmen—they seemed at home on Teazer’s yards and handled sail well; there was a pleasing rivalry developing between fore-and mainmast, which also implied an undeclared interest in the officers—Dacres at the main and Bowden at the fore. Kydd noted that Dacres went below for a speaking trumpet while Bowden urged on his men in a manly bawl.

  The Maltese had come as promised, diverting to a degree for Teazer’s company. Bare-footed, each with a colourful sash and a long floppy cap from within which they found tobacco, papers and personal oddments, they were small but of a wiry build and had darting dark eyes.

  Bonnici stood at Kydd’s side as he inspected them. Their origins were the mercantile marine of Malta, now with their livelihood reduced to nothing. “They may not wear a sash, Mr Bonnici, an’ they vittle with our men,” Kydd ordered.

  He turned to Dacres. “Would you be s’ good as to see me in my cabin with y’r workings, Mr Dacres? I mean to try Teazer at sea very soon.” Before they could, the ship’s company would have to be detailed off to cover all the chief manoeuvres: unmooring ship, reefing sail, putting about—it was a complex job but essential if there were to be skilled hands in the right place to get it done. This was a task for a ship’s first lieutenant; in Teazer, her only other officer.

  Kydd saw that Dacres had made a fair start. Each man would have a place in either the larboard or starboard watch, which was further subdivided into the first and second part. With the men assigned to their part-of-ship it was possible to specify, for instance, that in the manoeuvre of setting sail it would be the main topmen of the first part of the starboard watch assisted by topmen of the second of larboard that would perform this particular action.

  Every man had an entry in the muster book that specified his rate and entitlements and there was a mess number that told at which of the snug tables of six friends he could be found at mealtimes. A hammock mark was the man’s indication where his hammock should be slung and all was keyed together in a careful and consistent structure.

  But it was only that—a structure: the quality and balance of the men comprising it would determine its success. Kydd inspected the paper lists: unknown names, numbers, duties. Would it hang together?

  “Mr Peck will assist ye in drawing up y’r watch an’ station bill. We leave the quarter bill for later.” The fighting stations in it would be relatively straightforward to bring to organisation.

  “May I know when we shall have your orders, sir?”

  Dacres was entitled to ask for written Captain’s Orders, but they would have to wait. “Later. How are th’ people settling in?”

  “In fine—fractious. They seem to have no idea of the difficulties we are under at this time, sir, and will persist in coming to me with their petty vexations. Daniel Hawkins had the effrontery to claim allowance against local victuals used in place of the scale of salted provisions, the rogue.”

  A seaman’s horizons were necessarily limited: if he saw that the safe, secure round of his daily routines was in disarray it was fundamentally unsettling. Sea routine would see to that, but Kydd knew that here an unwritten bargain was at risk: that of an officer’s duty to provide for his men in return for their loyalty. Again, the comfort of settled routine at sea would take care of this. Hawkins was trying an old trick; there would be many more such.

  Dacres was keeping his distance from the men, not understanding them, distrustful. Kydd did not let this dampen his spirits. “But on th’ whole a splendid day,” he said to his first lieutenant. “Do ye care to join me f’r dinner, sir?”

  It was the first time Kydd had entertained; his great cabin was not yet to his satisfaction because he had had no time ashore and diminishi
ng means to pay for the necessary adornments that would give it individuality. As a result it now possessed a Spartan plainness.

  He felt Tysoe’s unspoken disapproval as he ladled the soup from a white china mess-kid acting as a tureen into plain wardroom dishes, and noticed his steward’s raised eyebrows at the sailcloth table runner, but he did not care. Here he was king and owed excuses to no one.

  Dacres sat opposite, his face a study in composure. He said nothing after the preliminary pleasantries; it was the custom of the service never to address the captain directly, politely waiting until spoken to.

  “The ship all ahoo like this,” Kydd grunted, “how we shall get t’ sea this age I can’t conceive.”

  “Order and tranquillity will be pleasant enough when they come,” Dacres agreed carefully, and finished his soup.

  It was quite a different experience from the warm conviviality of the wardroom that Kydd had been used to, the to and fro of opinions, prejudices, desires. “Do ye come from a seafaring family, Mr Dacres?” he asked.

  “That I do, sir,” he replied, loosening. “You may have heard of my uncle, Admiral Peyton, now in the Downs, and perhaps Captain Edward Duncan who has hopes of the position of deputy controller at the Admiralty. We pride ourselves that we have provided sea officers for England since the first Charles and . . .” He tailed off stiffly at Kydd’s polite boredom.

  “Tell me of y’r sea service, Mr Dacres.”

  “Well, sir, I entered Pompee as a youngster in 1793—we took her at Toulon, if you recall—and served in the Channel Fleet until ’ninety-five.”

  “So you were at th’ Glorious First o’ June?”

  “To my great regret, no. We were in for a repair. I—I did suffer indignity at the mutiny of ’ninety-seven. Were you drawn into that evil affair at all, sir?”

  Kydd had been under discipline before the mast, accused of treason after the Nore Mutiny. He had joined the insurrection in good faith, then been carried along by events that had overwhelmed them all. But for mysterious appeals at the highest level, he should have shared his comrades’ fate. He drew a breath. “It was a bad occasion f’r us all. Have ye service in the Mediterranean?”

  “Not until my commission into Minotaur, Captain Louis, a year ago.” Minotaur was a 74, part of Admiral Keith’s fleet and on blockade duty.

  “So all big-ship service. How do you feel about Teazer?” It had probably been a shock to experience the tight confines of a small vessel: the closeness of the men, the lack of privacy and the sheer diminutiveness of everything aboard.

  Dacres paused. “Small, I grant you, but I look to keen service in her. I have heard your own service has been rather eventful?” he said, with a touch of defiance.

  “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 grotesque angle, and before he could reach the scene there was a 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, gobbling 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.

  • • •

  The following morning there was something in the air: an undercurrent 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.

  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 gaskets 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!

  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 castellated 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.