Julian Stockwin - 19 The Baltic Prize (Thomas Kydd #19)

‘No guns here, cuffin,’ the seaman said gruffly.

Rowan hurried up the steps to the upper deck, into the grateful sunlight of the waist where a row of guns stretched away on each side, secured by their sea lashings.

The big seaman crossed to the nearest and lightly caressed it, turning to him. ‘Stirk, gunner’s mate,’ he grated. ‘Let me interdooce ye to my babies. This’n is your eighteen-pounder. It’s the biggest we got an’ it’s had its fair share of smitin’ the enemy.’

‘Um, how does it work, Mr Stirk?’

‘Why, we puts in powder an’ shot, an’ fires it off with a gun-lock, is all.’ There was hostility now: was it because he was so young to be asking or simply that the man resented being taken away from his work to answer footling questions?

‘I mean, how do your gunners get it to load and fire?’ He had some idea – in Brunswick his station for quarters was as a powder monkey for the upper deck twelve-pounders but in exercises he’d been more concerned with racing back and forth to the magazine fast enough to satisfy the quarter-gunner. Never had they got around to actually firing live.

Stirk regarded him closely, then launched into a proper explanation, pointing out the staves and worms, quoins and breeching, apron and side-tackles. At the young midshipman’s evident interest he warmed and told of the skills of the good gun-captain, the relentless drill that could, by increasing the rate of fire, be the same as having half as many guns again in the fight.

Rowan was suddenly consumed with a need to see the gleaming black iron beasts in raging thunder and asked eagerly, ‘Will we be firing an exercise soon, do you think, Mr Stirk?’

‘Not while we’re with the fleet, younker. They’re like to shy in fright as to what we’re a-firing at. Don’t worry on it – Cap’n Kydd is a right hard horse when it comes t’ gun practice.’

They went to the quarterdeck and inspected the nine-pounders there, and to the stubby thirty-two-pounder carronades on each side, with their slides and brutal cup-shaped muzzles.

As they went forward to see a swivel gun Rowan tried to make conversation. ‘I’m so lucky to be in Tyger ,’ he said sincerely, ‘Captain Kydd being so famous. Do you think that?’

‘He’s famous f’r what he did, not f’r who he is,’ Stirk replied seriously. ‘A natural-born seaman as ever I seen, an’ a noggin as can fathom what’s best in the worst gale o’ wind. I’d follow the bugger anywhere, I own I would.’

‘Have you known him long?’

Stirk stopped and looked out over the tumbling seas for a long time. ‘Aye,’ he said in a strangely soft voice. ‘And I knows ’im more’n most, I reckon.’

Chapter 13

Kydd towelled down after Tysoe’s swift and efficient shave under the skylight, absent-mindedly rubbing his chin. ‘I know it’s the regular-done thing in other barkies and I’ve a mind to do it myself.’

‘And what’s that, Sir Thomas?’ Tysoe answered, from the washplace.

‘Breakfast,’ he answered briefly. It was his practice at sea to invite the off-going officer-of-the-watch to the meal and hear the events of the night and how Tyger had behaved herself during the dark hours.

‘I’m going to have the mids to breakfast, too – one at a time, o’ course. Find out a bit more about ’em.’ And today he’d invite the youngest, Rowan.

‘Sir Thomas?’ came the child-like voice at the door.

‘Come in, Mr Rowan. Take a chair. Mr Brice will be along presently.’

The midshipman eased himself in cautiously and took his place at the table, his eyes dropping in the presence of his captain.

‘Coffee? Or is it to be tea?’ Kydd offered.

The youngster had been on board only a short time but it seemed he was finding his feet in the rush and tumble of a first-rank man-o’-war, and had even entered the third dimension, aloft.

‘Are you on course in your learning, Mr Rowan? A lot to hoist in, and not so much time, I’m persuaded.’

‘I am, Sir Thomas,’ the lad answered, in a small voice.

‘Oh? Then what has Mr Bowden for you this forenoon?’

‘Bends ’n’ hitches with Able Seaman Leckie, sir.’

‘Good. Pay attention to Leckie, he’s a taut hand.’ Kydd helped himself to the toast and marmalade. ‘Are you getting along with the other boys?’ It came out too quickly – these were ‘young gentlemen’, even if they were the same age as mere schoolboys.

‘Yes, sir.’

In another prick of regret Kydd reminded himself that if Rowan was being bullied he, as captain, would never hear of it.

His third lieutenant arrived, shaking out his oilskins in the coach. The rain squalls of early morning were a trial for the watch-on-deck at this latitude.

‘Good morning to you, Mr Brice,’ Kydd said, after the man appeared. ‘A good watch?’

Brice sat quickly, his red-rimmed eyes token of the hours of concentration as the ship had plunged on into the blackness where other ships of the fleet also sailed with all the danger of an unexpected encounter ending in a disastrous collision.

‘Nothing to worry of, sir,’ came the cautious reply, with a curious glance at the awed midshipman.

‘Mr Brice,’ Kydd said significantly, looking at Rowan out of the corner of his eye. ‘Tell me, what do you say is the chief concern of a good officer-of-the-watch?’

‘In course, sir. The four Ls.’

‘And what are those, pray?’ He knew very well – Kydd’s first acquaintance with them had been in the Caribbean as a young seaman with the quiet sailing master Jowett, whose octant even now was in his cabin.

‘Why, sir, these I take to be lead, latitude, log and longitude. These are before me at all times.’

‘Just so,’ Kydd said solemnly, trying not to sound sanctimonious. ‘And speaking of latitudes, when may we see you at the noon sight, Mr Rowan?’

The head dropped again. ‘Sir, I … I’m finding it a bit hard. To understand the words in the definitions, I mean.’ He looked up in mute pleading.

‘Oh, er, yes, and it’s a cruel beat to wind’d for those without the lingo.’ On impulse, he added, ‘I had a good teacher as showed me the main strands first, before the hard words. When you’re finished with Leckie, come down and I’ll give you a starter on ’em.’

Damn it, but those were Persephone’s eyes – and their effect was continuing to awaken deep feelings.

Chapter 14

T yger met the day as always with a brisk holystoning of the pristine decks, followed by a stout burgoo breakfast, then turned to for a forenoon watch of exercise at the guns. But this day turned out differently.

A pinnace appeared, heading purposefully for them. A single officer was in the sternsheets and when the boat had hooked on he came in over the bulwarks, punctiliously doffing his hat and reporting to Kydd. ‘Sir Thomas? Lieutenant Cartwright and I’m bid by Admiral Saumarez to desire you to prepare for sea this hour.’

‘My orders?’

‘Ah, these are being readied and will be dispatched to you shortly.’

This was irregular but not unusual for a frigate and, with a quickening of his pulse, Kydd recognised the preliminaries to some swift dash to adventure.

The officer had a pleasant manner and showed no pressing inclination to leave so, finding a quiet corner of the quarterdeck, Kydd asked him casually, ‘You know what’s in the wind, then?’

‘Well, it’s all a bit curious,’ Cartwright drawled. ‘Not to say a puzzler.’