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COMMAND
A KYDD SEA ADVENTURE
THE KYDD SEA ADVENTURES , BY JULIAN STOCKWIN
Kydd
Artemis
Seaflower
Mutiny
Quarterdeck
Tenacious
Command
The Admiral's Daughter
JULIAN STOCKWIN
COMMAND
A KYDD SEA ADVENTURE
MCBOOKS PRESS, INC. ITHACA, NEW YORK
Published by McBooks Press 2008 Copyright © 2006 by Julian Stockwin
First published in Great Britain in 2006 by Hodder and Stoughton A division of Hodder Headline
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the publisher. Requests for such permissions should be addressed to McBooks Press, Inc., ID Booth Building, 520 North Meadow St., Ithaca, NY 14850.
Cover painting by Geoff Hunt. Cover and text design: Panda Musgrove.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Stockwin, Julian. Command : a Kydd sea adventure / by Julian Stockwin. p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-59013-120-6 (alk. paper)
1. Kydd, Thomas (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—History, Naval— 18th century—Fiction. 3. Seafaring life—Fiction. I. Title. PR6119.T66C66 2007 823'.92—dc22
2006030102
Visit the McBooks Press website at www.mcbooks.com.
Printed in the United States of America 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
TO DO GREAT THINGS IS DIFFICULT, BUT TO COMMAND GREAT THINGS IS MORE DIFFICULT
—Friedrich Nietzsche
CHAPTER 1
"DAMN YOU, SIR! You have set my standing orders to defiance and made Tenacious a spectacle before the Fleet. How dare you attempt an excuse for your conduct?" Captain Rowley's words could be heard right across the quarterdeck, even above the streaming rain and bluster of the filthy weather.
"Sir. M' respects, but I judged it t' be—"
"Judge? It's not your place to judge, Mr Kydd! No, sir! It is your sworn duty to ensure my orders are strictly obeyed. All of them—and most especially my written orders." Rowley's nostrils flared. "And this is not the first time I have had the disagreeable necessity of remonstrating with you concerning your conduct since I have come aboard."
"Sir, this is—"
"Enough!" Rowley shouted. "You, sir, have tried my patience too far." Kydd's stomach tightened. "You are now confined to your cabin until such time as the commander-in-chief is informed of your conduct and you have answered for it."
At the words, shocked faces turned: the place for a captain to discipline an officer was the great cabin, not on deck within earshot of the entire watch.
"Aye aye, sir," Kydd said thickly, and clapped on his sodden cocked hat. The die was now irrevocably cast: Captain Rowley was taking it further, to the august Admiral Keith, commander of the Mediterranean Fleet. Kydd turned stiffly and went below. This probably signalled the end of his naval career.
Rage washed over him. It was not so much the shame and futility, but the unfairness that of all the ghosts from his past it had been Rowley who had come back to haunt him. After the fearsome battle of the Nile two years ago Kydd had distinguished himself in Minorca and at the siege of Acre, then gone on to uneventful but steady service in Tenacious at the long blockade of Toulon, rising from fourth to second lieutenant under the cautious but fair Captain Faulkner. He had done well for himself, building experience and confidence, but now his hopes for substantial advancement in the fullness of time were crushed.
When Rowley had stepped aboard as the new captain of Tenacious, he seemed shocked to find Kydd among the officers. The last time he had seen him was on the night the famous frigate Artemis had struck rocks in the Azores; Kydd had been acting quartermaster at the conn and he the officer of the watch. At the subsequent court of inquiry Kydd had been prepared to testify against him but, with other seaman survivors, had been hastily shipped out to the Caribbean as an embarrassment.
Rowley, clearly troubled by Kydd's presence on this new ship, had reacted by making his life aboard Tenacious more and more difficult. It had been a hard time for Kydd and now it had come to a head.
Kydd bunched his fists as he relived the incident that had given Rowley the excuse to act. A squally spring north-westerly in the early hours of Kydd's morning watch had obliged him to shorten sail to topsails. He had duly sent notice of his action to the captain, in accordance with standing orders, then had employed the watch-on-deck to work mast by mast, leaving the watch below to their sleep.
A bell or two before the end of the watch, the squall had eased.
East Indiamen and others had the comfortable habit of snugging down to topsails during night hours but Captain's Orders specified that Tenacious, in common with most vessels in the Navy, must press on under all plain sail. Kydd's duty, therefore, was to set courses again.
It would have been more practical, though, to leave it until the end of the watch, less than an hour away: after breakfast both watches would be on deck to make short work of it. In any case, a pressing need for speed was irrelevant in the endless beat of blockade.
Rowley was correct in the strictest sense, that Kydd was in dereliction of orders, and was bringing the matter—and all the other equally mindless "offences"—to the attention of the admiral, who would be obliged to take the part of one of his captains.
An awkward shuffling and clinking outside Kydd's cabin signalled the posting of a marine sentry. There would no longer be any privacy and the officers would ignore him for fear of being tainted. Only the first lieutenant would take it calmly, logically. Renzi would know how to act in the matter, but Kydd had vowed that his friend would not be drawn into the insanity between Rowley and himself.
His anger ebbed but his thoughts raced. It was less than two years since he had stood, with bloody sword, at the ancient walls of Acre and watched as Buonaparte skulked away in defeat. How things had changed. With brazen daring, the man had abandoned his army to its fate and escaped to France, where he had risen to the top in a power struggle and declared himself First Consul of the Republic with dictatorial powers. He had then brought together the military resources of the entire French nation into one fearsome fighting machine.
For the British, their earlier return to the Mediterranean had been crowned with success: defeat and annihilation for Buonaparte's great invasion fleet at the Nile followed by domination of the sea.
The last major French presence, the fortress of Malta, had recently capitulated after a desperate siege, and the fleet was free to concentrate on locking up the remaining enemy forces in Toulon, off which they lay in close blockade.
Why then was there a sense of unease, of foreboding in the wardrooms of the fleet? It had seemed to Kydd that the very pillars of existence had trembled and proved fragile. Then, too, his great hero Nelson had scandalised many by his open dalliance with the wife of the ambassador to Naples and his subsequent involvement with political intrigue in that city. Kydd had stoutly defended him, even when Nelson was relieved of his command and recalled.