Julian Stockwin - Victory

‘Sir.’

Howlett made no move to leave. ‘Sir. The men – they’re in as ugly a mood as ever I’ve seen.’

Kydd grimaced. ‘They’re not the first to be turned over, and never the last while Boney has any ambitions. There’s no other way I can think on, and don’t forget, while it’s been three years they’ve been gone, the last I was in the Caribbee there were redcoats there who’d been seven years since last they’d clapped eyes on England – and not likely to do so again this age.’

‘I know that, sir, but—’

‘What are you saying I should do? Let ’em step ashore on the ran-tan for a month? We’d never get ’em back. No, they’re to turn to as ordered or I’ll make an example as will put a stop to their galley-skulking behaviour.’

Howlett hesitated. ‘Our Jack Tar is sensible of his rights as the custom of the Service allows, Mr Kydd, and in this—’

‘ L’Aurore will put t’ sea in two days and that’s an end to it, sir! Advise the ship’s company of the sailing orders and if they growl bring ’em before me.’

Kydd made a point of doing his rounds of the ship before hammocks were piped down and the hands were sent to supper. Grim-faced, he paced slowly ahead of his entourage of officers and master’s mates while the boatswain led the way, pealing out the ‘still’ on his silver call as they entered each space.

There was almost palpable tension as they progressed, the glitter of hostile eyes in the shadows of the mess-deck, a barely audible muttering at the rear. He made a show of speaking amiably to every petty officer in charge, but there were only surly responses and barely concealed belligerence.

‘Very good, Mr Howlett. The men to go to supper now.’ It was time, too, for an issue of grog – in home waters, beer – and if there was going to be trouble the hotheads would start it then, but he did not want to provoke the men by stopping it.

There was little more he could do – damn it, he would sail the next hour if he could, letting the keen salt winds of the open ocean scour the ship of its mood. There was no sign of the disaffection lifting – and it was destroying his joy at achieving a frigate command.

He ate alone; Renzi had the absent marine captain’s cabin and would be a subscription-paying member of the gunroom by now and making acquaintance. In any case, he didn’t feel like discussion.

Howlett reported apologetically. ‘Four in bilboes, I’m sorry to say, sir.’

‘They stay in irons until tomorrow forenoon. I’ll deal with the rogues then. What’s the charge?’

‘Fighting. The Alcestes taking against the L’Aurores when—’

‘Be damned to it! We’re all L’Aurores now,’ Kydd snapped in irritation. ‘Tomorrow they’ll learn—’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll bid you good night, then.’

Kydd could not face his meal. If he failed to crack down now he would be seen as weak and his authority fatally undermined. Little by little he was being pushed into the very tyranny he despised and could see no way out of the spiral – except to get to sea.

‘Do I intrude, brother?’

‘No, come in, Nicholas. How’s the gunroom? Do join me in this passable claret.’

Renzi accepted a glass. ‘Eminently to my satisfaction, and thank you.’

‘You haven’t come here for the conversation . . . ?’

Renzi sighed. ‘No. My dear fellow, I’m here to tell you that whatever happens you have my quiet support.’

‘Whatever can happen?’ Kydd said, nettled.

Choosing his words carefully, Renzi said, ‘Do not take this amiss, old chap, but granted your undoubted insights into the character of Jack Tar, won from your own experiences before the mast, I rather fancy you are on a different course from they.’

‘And what is that, pray?’ Kydd said sarcastically.

‘Consider. When you were first a lieutenant, I can remember the joy and wonder you declared when obliged to study the professional publications of the strategical sort. Your discovery was that the seaman’s view of his existence is happily circumscribed by his wooden world but an officer’s must necessarily encompass the grievous complications, political and economic, that constitute the outer world.’

‘You’re saying—’

‘Your fore-mast jack has simple but robust views. He sees the enemy vanquished time and again and hears of mighty victories from England’s hearts of oak. In fine, he has the courage of a lion and an iron confidence in his cause and his ship.’

‘He does, but—’

‘Therefore, dear chap, he cannot see in the slightest whit why you’re getting on your high horse about joining Nelson. In his sturdy view there’s time to take a taste of liberty and beat the Crapauds too. You are privy to the dreadful secrets of the coming invasion. In mercy they are not. Therefore their conclusion is that they’re to suffer for your impatience.’

Kydd glowered. ‘This is all to no account. They’ve got their duty and I have mine, and that is to get this frigate to the Med with all dispatch. We take powder aboard tomorrow and then we sail, and there’s an end to it.’

They talked of other things but shortly Renzi made his excuses and went below to turn in, leaving Kydd alone with his thoughts.

He heard the boatswain’s mate pipe the silent hours and the master-at-arms and ship’s corporal doing their turn about the ship, looking for unauthorised lights. Kydd duly took the report and began to prepare for bed, dismissing Tysoe.

Minutes later a subliminal rumble took him instantly back to an earlier time and place: the gunroom of quite another ship, one that was about to be caught up in the desperate and bloody mutiny at the Nore. What he knew he was hearing was the ominous sound of a cannon shot being rolled down the length of the ship in a timeless gesture of defiance.

Still in his shirtsleeves he burst out of his cabin and pushed past the astonished marine sentry. He bounded up the single ladder to the night air and tried to catch sight of what was going on, but in the sepulchral gloom of the moonless evening he could see nothing.

‘The lookouts, ahoy!’ he bellowed.

‘Ho!’ the two aft returned promptly.

‘Did you see anything?’

‘No, sir,’ they replied instantly. He would get nothing out of them, of course, but it was of a certainty now that in the darkness of the bowels of the ship men were meeting, whispering – plotting?

This was deadly serious and could easily explode into something far worse unless . . . But what should he do? Stand the marines to and make search of the ship? No – they would find nothing and all it would achieve would be to demonstrate to the rest of the ship that he was frightened. Turn up the hands and harangue them? Equally useless.

The long night passed, and in the morning it was as if nothing had happened. The watch was changed, the men padding over to their stations without hesitation, standing mutely while muster was made.

When hammocks were piped up there was no show of hostility or defiance – they were lashed with their seven turns, proffered to the boatswain’s mate with his ring to test their tightness, then neatly packed within the hammock nettings, all without fuss. Had a corner been turned?

Breakfast was unusually quiet, however.

At eight bells, when the beginning of the forenoon signalled that the day was to start, and with the entire ship’s company mustered to be detailed off for their morning work, a midshipman noticed a scrap of paper smoothed out and placed precisely in the centre of the deck just abaft the main-mast bitts. He picked it up and took it to the first lieutenant, who turned white before hurriedly passing it to Kydd.

With a sickening lurch Kydd knew what it would contain and struggled to keep his face impassive while he inspected it gravely, knowing that he was under the watchful eyes of his entire crew.