Winthrop's smile widened. "Should you ask Sir John you may receive a different opinion. Most would believe the men to have been destined for him." Such a core of skilled seamen was almost certainly intended for the commander of the Eastern Mediterranean squadron of battleships continually at sea to thwart French moves east of Italy.
"I lack a sailing master," Kydd said, changing the subject as quickly as he could. "M' gunner's on his way, I'm told, but still there's no word on a master."
Winthrop's expression turned grave. "Then, in course, you are unable to sail. No doubt you are not relishing a month or so at a buoy waiting while the omission is rectified?"
Kydd gave a bleak smile.
Some years past, the rank of "Master and Commander" had been discarded in recognition of the fact that navigation had become too specialised for fighting captains, and now, for all sloops and above, a professional master, certificated by Trinity House, was required.
Winthrop considered for a moment. "There is a course you may wish to consider. In the customs house I met a gentleman who has been a master with us before. Stayed here when we evacuated the Mediterranean as something or other in the mer-chantry. The French seizing Malta must have put paid to that. He may be amenable at this time to an offer as acting master, the commander-in-chief to confirm. There can't be many masters at large in this end of the Med."
"Thank you, sir, I'm indeed grateful for y'r suggestion."
"He is Maltese, of course."
"He c'n be a Chinaman for all I care if he gets me t' sea," said Kydd, with relish. Impulsively, he went on, "Sir—can I ask— what is it ye sees will make life interesting in these waters?"
Winthrop leaned back, delicately touching his lips with his napkin. "As I remember it, for a brig-sloop your corsair will be an annoyance—Mahometans from the Barbary coast seeing it their holy duty to prey on the Christian, and you'll find privateers enough in the Sicily Channel to vex any convoy escort . . . but do believe that where you'll find it the hardest beat to wind'd is with our 'allies.'
"Did you know there is a strong Russian garrison in Corfu? You should—since Tsar Paul made common cause with the French they must certainly be accounted unfriendly, even though he is recently murdered and succeeded by Alexander. Yet we find that our most caressed friend, Turkey, is at sea this very hour in a combined fleet with the Russians under Kadir Bejja and Ushakov. If you come across them, do you clear away your saluting guns, or go to quarters?"
Kydd held his silence.
"And since the French hold Taranto, and Sicily is lost to us, what do you say to a Palermo merchantman bringing a lading of Marseilles dried fish to Malta? To be safeguarded or—a prize?"
Kydd flushed and changed the subject. "What of th' French at sea, do y' think? I dare t' say they have their cruisers out?" In the excitement of taking possession and command of his ship, with all its unexpectedness, he had not given much consideration to other aspects of command. There was no question, in such a situation as mentioned, that the decision was his, and his alone. And he knew he was unprepared.
Winthrop gave an understanding smile. "The French? There will be quantities of Marseille rovers about, but what are they to stand before a regular-going English man-o'-war?" He politely refilled Kydd's glass. "You will be more concerned for the trade of Malta. These islands are poor and barren. The inhabitants must live by trade. Should their vessels be set upon by your corsair then it will be more than the merchant who must starve. You will hear from those in high places, I believe, were this to occur . . ."
"Yes, sir, this I can grasp," Kydd said quickly. It was all very well for a post-captain to discourse lazily on what must seem simple enough affairs to him, but Kydd had been a captain only for a matter of days. There was a damn sight more to learn than he had first thought, and here in faraway Malta he would have no friends to ease the way for him.
At Kydd's grimace Winthrop picked up his glass. "But I neglect my guest. Here, sir, I give you joy of your step—let us wet your swab in a bumper."
There was so much fellow feeling in his expression that Kydd could not help but glance down at the gold of his single epaulette as he lifted his glass. "I'd never have thought it, ever," he said, pride overcoming his embarrassment.
Winthrop's smile stayed. "You will never forget this moment. I remember when . . . But that was long ago. Your good health, Mr Kydd, and may the fortunes of war favour you always."
Kydd glowed. After the toast he refilled their glasses and looked through the windows at a small, dark shape at rest within Dockyard Creek. "To Teazer —taut, trim and true, the loveliest creature that ever swam."
"His Britannic Majesty's Sloop-of-War Teazer," agreed Winthrop, "Tiger of the seas!"
The moment could not have held more for Kydd—but then, piercing through the haze of happiness, came a stab of grief: the recognition that he would probably never again know Renzi's friendship aboard a ship.
"Th-thank you, sir, that was nobly said," he said, recovering.
"Then I shall not delay you. No doubt we shall meet again— this war seems destined to go on for ever."
"Aye, sir. And the best o' fortune for y'rself, if I might say it."
Winthrop moved to the door and gave orders for Kydd's boat. "Oh, yes, there is one matter that would oblige me, should you see fit," he said casually.
"Anything, sir," Kydd replied, with warmth.
"Well, it does cross my mind that, at this time, I, having a superfluity of young gentlemen aboard Stag, conceivably one might profitably ship with you, if you understand me?"
There could only be one response: "O' course, sir. Glad to be of service." He was only too aware that he already had his permitted complement of two midshipmen and that he could not afford to offend the dockyard at this time. It would seem he would have to part with Bowden. A sad betrayal of the lad's loyalty.
"Splendid. Then I shall require our youngster to shift his berth to you without delay. Fare you well, Mr Kydd."
Tysoe entered quietly with Kydd's breakfast of coffee and rolls. It was still a very strange thing to dine alone but at the least it gave time for thought.
He had no idea how he would explain to Bowden his sudden dismissal. No doubt in time he would find another ship, but the company would be strangers. And he would miss the young man's intelligence and trustworthiness: a midshipman was a rated petty officer and had duties elastic enough to prove more than useful in many situations. But he had no place for a third midshipman.
The irony was that he was nearly a third short of complement, most of them ordinary and able seamen, admittedly, but vital for all that. He could get to sea, possibly, with what he had, but he could not fight a battle nor provide a prize crew. And with an absent gunner and a problematic sailing master there were reasons aplenty for vexation.
And where would there be a master's mate in this part of the world? Unless there was, he would be obliged to stand watches which—It was obvious! Why hadn't he thought of it before? "Mr Bowden!" he bellowed from his door—there were no marines to keep sentry-go outside his cabin. "Pass the word f'r Mr Midshipman Bowden!"
"Do excuse my rig, sir," the youngster said, in alarm, "I thought I had better—"
"No matter, Mr Bowden. I have news for ye. As of this day you shall be acting master's mate. How do ye reckon on that?"
For a moment Bowden's eyes widened; then a boyish smile provided the answer.
Acting master's mate—Kydd didn't even know if he had the power to do this: a full master's mate required an Admiralty warrant. However, he was relying on the commander-in-chief to confirm his actions from his understanding of the situation facing Kydd.