"She's our'n!" Work on deck ceased as every man gazed out at the new arrival come prettily to her mooring.
"Mr Purchet, get th' men back to work this instant!" Kydd snapped. A few minutes later an officer got into a boat, which stroked across to Teazer.
The visitor was of a certain age, with shrewd eyes and a strong manner. Removing his hat he said, "L'tenant Fernly, in command Mayfly cutter." It was naval courtesy for an arriving junior to call upon the ranking officer and this was due Kydd as a full commander.
"Shall we step below, L'tenant?" Kydd said. In his great cabin glasses were brought and respects exchanged.Mayfly was with Army dispatches and material from Gibraltar for General Pigot, with a side voyage to Alexandria in prospect later.
"An' you, sir?" Fernly asked politely.
"I shall be puttin' t' sea shortly on a cruise, but not before I have time to beg y' will take dinner with me," Kydd said.
"That's right kind in you, sir," Fernly answered, easing into a smile. "I don't often find m'self able t' sit at table with a new face, as you'd understand, sir."
* * *
Kydd certainly did understand. He warmed to the prospect of a convivial evening and, with a light heart, he set Tysoe to his preparations. The gunroom decided to hold an evening of their own, and as the sun dipped in the west the first seamen from Mayfly arrived to claim their age-old right to ship-visiting while in port.
"You're right welcome," Kydd said warmly, holding out his hand as Fernly came aboard again. Forward, lanthorns were being triced up in the fore shrouds and groups of men below were gathering in noisy groups until the first hornpipes began. Later it would be sentimental songs at the foremast and well-tried yarns to capture and enthrall.
It was a good sign, and with the length of the ship separating them it would not be a trial for them in the great cabin. The table was laid; Tysoe had contrived another easy chair to complement Kydd's own and the two naval officers sat at the stern windows, taking their fill of the fine evening view of Malta.
The candles cast a mellow gold about the cabin and set Kydd's new pieces of silver a-glitter. The local Maltese wine, chirghentina, was cool and delicious, and Kydd felt a spreading benevolence to the world take hold. "Ye would oblige me extremely, sir, if we might talk free, as it were," he said, hoping the officer's courtesy would give way to the forthright character he suspected lay beneath.
"By all means," Fernly replied, perhaps picking up on Kydd's mood. "It's a damnably lonely profession, in all." He set down his empty glass, which Tysoe noiselessly refilled. "May I ask ye a question?"
Kydd looked up, surprised.
"Forgive me if I'm adrift in m' reckoning, but y' have the look o' the fo'c'sle about ye."
"Aye, this is true," Kydd admitted. He saw no reason to hide it.
"Then c'n we raise a glass together—we're both come aft th'
hard way." There was brittle defiance in his tone.
Cautiously, Kydd raised his glass in agreement. "T' us." It was rare for a King's officer to have crossed the great divide from the fo'c'sle to the quarterdeck and Kydd had come across few of the breed. "Do ye not find it an advantage in command?" To Kydd, it was of considerable benefit to be able to know the mind of the seamen in his charge, to understand the motivations and simple but direct elements of respect that so often differed from those of the quarterdeck.
"Of course. I flatter m'self that I'm at least two steps ahead of the lazy buggers. Let 'em dare t' try any o' their slivey tricks in my watch, is what I say." Fernly grinned mirthlessly and pushed out his glass to Tysoe.
Kydd did not reply. He knew of hard-horse tarpaulin captains who used their familiarity with the seamen to make life difficult for them. He was also aware that there was an ocean of difference for the foremast hand between obedience and respect, which the older man seemed to have forgotten.
Fernly seemed to sense Kydd's feeling and changed the topic. "Can't say I've seen Teazer in Malta before. A trim craft, very handsome . . ."
Kydd thawed. "Goes like a witch in anythin' like a quarterin' blow, an' I'm going after more b' crossing a main-yard in place of the cro'jack. Rattlin' fine work b' y'r Maltese shipwrights."
"You mount fours or sixes?"
"Six-pounders, an' hoping t' find carronades. Couldn't help but notice—Mayfly's clencher-built, not s' common as who would say. I was in a cutter in the Caribbean, Seaflower b' name, an' she was lap-straked as well."
"Caribbean? I was there in Wessex frigate in 'ninety-four."
"Were ye really? I remember . . ."
The talk livened agreeably at the subject of old ships. Fernly had been an able seaman with the good fortune to have impressed a captain sufficiently that he had been plucked from the fo'c'sle and placed on the quarterdeck as a mature midshipman. This had led to promotion in due course, but the later demise of the captain had left him without interest at high level and he had not been noticed.
Dinner was served, the conversation turning now to landfalls and seaports across the seven seas; between them they had seen so much of a world unknown and unexplored to the generation just past.
As justice was being done to a cunning Buttered Meringue La Pompadour, Fernly cocked his head and listened, holding up his hand. The strains of a violin and sounds of merriment from the main deck had stopped and there was a sudden quiet.
Then, faintly on the night breeze, from forward came a familiar air:
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors;
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old Eng-a-land
From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues . . .
"That's m' quartermaster," Fernly said softly, "an' a right songster indeed."
Kydd looked at Fernly. "Spanish Ladies," he blurted happily.
Fernly returned the look with impish glee, mouthing the words while waving a glass in the air and Kydd responded in a creditable baritone, his own glass spilling as he beat time. Soon Fernly came in with a fair tenor.
The old sea-song finished and, faces flushed, they moved back to the easy chairs. "Rare time," Kydd said, easing his waistband.
"It's a sad profession, without it has compensations," Fernly agreed, helping himself to Madeira. Tysoe had cleared decks without either man noticing and a baize cloth now bore a neat cluster of decanters.
Kydd sighed deeply. His gaze slipped down to the glittering gold of the epaulette on his coat, which was now draped over the back of his chair. He looked up and his expression became wistful. "I own that I've been a copper-bottomed, thorough-going lucky wight. Here am I, a Guildford wigmaker, topping it th' mandarin as commander, writing m'self orders f'r a cruise. Who would've smoked it?"
He stopped. "Ah—that is not t' say . . ." In the fuddle of wine, words failed him. His guest was still only a lieutenant and a silver-haired one at that, with only a tiny cutter to show for his years at sea. And a lieutenant-in-command could not possibly compare with a commander of a sloop.
Fernly lifted his glass and, closing one eye, squinted at the table candle through it. "Y' told me before as I was t' talk free. Should I?" He spoke as though to himself.
"Fill an' stand on, I beg," Kydd said warmly.
Still staring at his glass Fernly continued in the same tone: "You're senior in rank, an' I in years. Gives you a different slant on things, y' must believe." His voice strengthened. "Only f'r the friendship I bear ye for the night's company do I speak out, you understand."
"Just so," Kydd said neutrally.
"You're new made t' commander, this is plain."