The signal log: this would most certainly be used in evidence in any court-of-inquiry as would officers' journals detailing the day's events and any reckoning of their position; he would, of course, require that Dacres regularly submit his journal to him.
The bulk of the rest would be as much advice as regulation: if the officer-of-the-watch sighted a strange sail at night, water shoaling—all the hundred and one things that could suddenly slam in on the unwary. If there was no provision for guidance in a Captain's Orders the negligent could plead ignorance. Kydd's rich experiences gave him an advantage in foreseeing these situations.
There were whole sections on the duties of the first lieutenant, master, boatswain, even the petty officers. They would all be left in no doubt about their responsibilities, as far as Kydd was concerned.
And on to working the ship: silence fore and aft when major manoeuvres were being performed; the precise line of demarcation between the captain, master and officer-of-the-watch, and other general matters. He debated whether to include instructions for topmen aloft for their varying situations but decided against it, not least because it was turning into a wearisome task indeed.
Kydd was thankful for midday and his necessary appearance on deck at the noon sight, with its welcome vision of sun and sea. He left the others comparing their readings and returned to his cabin to find Tysoe standing solicitously with a cloth-encircled bottle and a steaming dish neatly set.
While the men congregated noisily at their mess-tables and the officers gathered in their tiny gunroom Kydd sat down to his solitary dinner—and, be damned, he was going to enjoy it.
A timid midshipman knocked later at the door with their workings, the position of the ship at noon by their own estimation. He had asked to see these but the two sheets had identical handwriting. To succeed in their profession the young gentlemen must know their navigation faultlessly—and individually. He would speak to Bowden.
A passing shower pitter-pattered on the cabin deckhead above, then strengthened to a drumming and at the same time Teazer's leaning lessened as the wind dropped. With a surge of sympathy Kydd realised they must be having a wet time of it on the upper decks working at their gun practice.
When he picked up his own work again he focused on the people, the men and officers, aboard. His orders would see them properly clothed, the sanctity of their mealtimes preserved and hammocks maintained clean, lashed and stowed clear of seas flooding aboard. There was so much to think about—scrubbing decks: how often and by whom? Sea-chests or sea-bags allowed on the main deck? Slinging hammocks next to hatchways in bad weather? When to rig windsails for ventilation? It went on and on for as many things as Kydd could remember to include.
Yet was this what it was to create a taut, happy ship? He well knew the answer: it all depended on the goodwill and intelligent practicality of his subordinates, and their success, inspired by himself, in drawing out a spirit of excellence, of unity and pride in themselves and their ship.
The noise of the rain squall fell away and there was a sudden cry from a lookout. "Sail hoooo! Two sail three points t' loo'ard!"
Kydd dropped his work and scrambled to his feet, hastening on deck. "Sir!" Dacres pointed with his telescope. There were two vessels lying stopped together just ahead and to leeward,
clearly surprised by Teazer's sudden emergence from the shower.
Heads turned to Kydd in expectation. "Y'r glass, Mr Dacres," he snapped, and steadied the telescope on the pair.
There was not much doubt: they were witnessing the predation of one vessel upon the other. No flag on either, but one had the unmistakable low, rakish lines of a corsair. Kydd's eyes gleamed: he could not go far wrong if he took action. If the victim was friendly he would earn undying gratitude, and if enemy, Teazer would be taking her first prize.
"Down y'r helm—set us alongside, Mr Bonnici!" he roared, thrusting back the telescope at Dacres. The last image he had seen was of an ants' nest of activity on both decks as, no doubt, the corsair prepared to flee. A mile or so downwind and both vessels dead in the water; the circumstances could not have been better.
"Brace round, y' lubbers," he bawled as, close-hauled, Teazer loosed bowlines and came round to lie before the wind, picking up speed now she was not in confrontation with the waves.
"Hands t' quarters!" he snapped. Wincing at the ridiculous drum, he was pleased nevertheless at the enthusiasm the gun crews showed: with wet clothing still clinging they readied their weapons for what must come. On both sides of the deck—eight 6-pounders a side—gun captains checked gunlocks, vents and tackle falls with ferocious concentration.
The corsair was now poling off from the victim, on its three masts huge lateen yards showing signs of movement: it had to be a xebec and, judging from the polacre rig of its prey, this was a merchantman.
In his excitement Kydd could not hold back a wolfish smile as they bore down on the two vessels and he could see that the others aboard Teazer were as exultant. Stirk's head popped up at the fore hatchway and its owner stared forward. His quarters were at the magazine but he obviously wanted to see what was going on.
This was what Teazer had been built for—destined for! One by one reports were made to him of readiness for battle. Dacres's quarters bill would be shortly tested. Kydd could see him forward, scribbling in a notebook. But it would be an easy baptism of fire for the ship: they would get no fierce broadside-to-broadside hammering from the undisciplined rabble in a corsair.
The xebec had its sails abroad now: the two larger forward ones a-goosewing, spread on opposite sides to catch the following wind and the smaller mizzen taken in. Its low, wasp-like hull would give it speed but Teazer was no plodder.
They were coming up fast on the merchant ship, which was untidily at sixes and sevens and with no clue as to its flag. Its side timbers were bleached and drab, the sails grey with service. However, Kydd had eyes only for the chase, which was making off with ever-increasing speed.
"Cap'n, sir," said the master, quietly. Kydd spared him a glance. "Sir, you're not a-chasin' this pirate?" Kydd frowned. Of course he was—the merchant ship would still be there after they had dealt with the corsair.
"You c'n wager guineas on it, Mr Bonnici," he said testily, and resumed his eager stare forward. The master subsided meekly.
They plunged past the merchantman under every stitch of canvas they possessed. "Give 'em a gun, there," he threw forward. "Let 'em know we're not forgetting 'em," he growled, in an aside to a solemn Dacres.
Kydd snatched a glance at the master, who was watching events blank-faced. The chase was just what was wanted to sort out the real warriors among them, and if Bonnici was not up to it his days in Teazer were numbered.
"Stretch out aloft, there, y' old women!" he bellowed, to the foremast topmen who were sending up stuns'ls but making a sad mess of it. Kydd stared ahead through his pocket glass until his eyes watered, willing Teazer on. As far as he could judge they had a chance. The xebec seemed over-pressed with sail, with much white around its bows but not making the speeds he had seen in similar craft. One thing was certain: with the large number of men crowding its deck he would be very sure never to come close enough to allow them to board.
A popping and a puff of smoke from its high, narrow stern was met with contemptuous laughter by the seamen in Teazer —they had no bow-chasers worth the name but all they needed was to come up with the vessel and settle the matter with a couple of broadsides. A xebec, like all corsairs, was intended to board and overwhelm, never to try conclusions with a warship.