Renzi smiled cynically. Not only had Lockwood rid himself of his embarrassment but had even managed to have them consigned to the quiet backwater guarding those lonely English outposts, the tiny Channel Islands near the French coast. He had never heard of any stirring battles in that quarter—in fact, nothing of note in all the years of war. It was exile for Kydd.
He looked again. The date was a good seven months earlier. Lockwood had been asked then to provide a vessel but had held on jealously to his small fleet—until now.
"We're near ready t' sail. What's to do about our marines?" Kydd exploded, as though it was Renzi's fault.
"We'll hear back soon, I'm sure of it," Renzi responded, although he felt that Kydd had enough on his hands without insisting they ship the complement of marines to which they were entitled since they were now proceeding to a "foreign" station.
He had himself worded the application, which had been duly acknowledged, but Kydd was in a dangerous mood. "Don't th' marines barrack in Stonehouse? I've a mind t' go ashore an' stir the idle swabs."
There was no dissuading him and Renzi found himself hurrying behind as Kydd stalked the short distance from Stonehouse Pool to the massive light grey stonework of the barracks. A sentry snapped to attention and slapped his musket, bringing a lieutenant strolling out from the gatehouse. "Sir," he said, saluting smartly, "what can I do—"
"Commander Kydd, HMS Teazer. An' where are our marines?"
The lieutenant blinked. "Sir?"
"I've not time t' discuss th' matter. Please t' conduct us to y'r general in charge."
"The colonel commandant," the lieutenant said, clearly pained. "This is irregular, sir. Perhaps the adjutant might satisfy."
They headed across the parade ground, passing several drill squads of marines executing complex manoeuvres.
Kydd did not waste time. "Kydd, HMS Teazer. We're t' sail soon an' I've heard nothing of our marines, sir."
The adjutant steepled his fingers, then glanced up at the ramrod-straight colour sergeant at his side. "Then I'm to understand that you seek a company of marines to make up the complement of your fine vessel before you sail?"
"Yes."
The adjutant barked, "Sar'nt, go outside and find this officer some marines."
"Sah!" bellowed the man, with a quivering salute, and marched noisily away. In a suspiciously short time he marched back in and crashed to attention with another salute. "Sah! No marines. Sah!"
"None?"
"No marines a-tall. Sah!"
The adjutant assumed an expression of saintly sorrow. "There, Commander, you see? We cannot help you—there are no marines left, I regret to say." Sounds of screamed orders on the parade ground outside echoed in the office.
Kydd took a deep breath. "You flam me, sir, an' I'll not stand f'r it," he snarled. "What are th' men outside? A flock o' goats? If I don't get m' men an' that main quickly, I'll—"
"Commander! There seems to be a misunderstanding!" the adjutant said smoothly. "We may yet find you some men." He pointed at the colour sergeant. "Tell me, what do you see there?"
"A marine?" Kydd grated, without humour.
"No, sir. If you will observe, the man bears facings and cuffs of royal blue. This to the knowing signifies a royal regiment. Sir, he is a Royal Marine and has been since His Majesty in the year two did us the signal honour of recognising our services to the Crown of the last century or so." "Sah!" the colour sergeant blurted in satisfaction. "Loyal an' royal it is. Sah!"
"So, you see, these are proud men and are entitled to their honours. Should you take aboard Royal Marines you will find no more loyal and courageous a band of men anywhere."
Kydd glowered.
"Now, let me see, I have the current sea roster here. Pray tell, where do you see your service mainly? What rate of ship? It does matter, you know."
"Brig-sloop, Channel Islands Squadron," Kydd snapped.
The officer sighed. "Not as who might say an active station." He leafed through the book. "A brig-sloop, ship's company of eighty—a hundred? Then you'll be looking to a company of a sergeant, corporal and a score of privates."
"No officer?" Kydd came back testily. Even a junior lieutenant would be better than none for no one in Teazer could talk soldier lingo enough to take charge.
"None. But you'll find a Royal Marine is different from your regular soldier—more initiative, more reliable on his own." He leaned back. "I'll find you a long-service sergeant you might rely on, Commander. As for the men, it takes some two hundred Royal Marines to get a ship-o'-the-line to sea and I rather fancy you'll have to be satisfied at this time with near a dozen.
"Have no fear, sir, the men will be found. The barrack-master will need the details, of course, and I'm assuming you have made application for complement in the usual form. Our quartermaster will kit them for service and you shall have them before you sail. Good luck and good day to you, sir."
"Our marines at last, thank God," Standish muttered peevishly, spying "Teazer's longboat putting out from Stonehouse Pool.
"I rather think they would wish to be referred to as Royal
Marines, Mr Standish," Renzi murmured, watching the boat full of red coats approach.
"Lobsterbacks," Standish said. "Well, as long as they're inboard and victualled in by noon we'll be in a fair way of putting to sea before dark. Our lord and master is in a right taking, I tell you—wants to up hook and bowting the briny without losing a minute."
"You've applied for a removal out of Teazer, Renzi said quietly.
Standish looked at him sharply. "Who told you that?" His gaze swung back to the boat. "But it's true enough. Since he's crossed the admiral's hawse there's no hope o' Teazer being put in the way of a good fight and chance of distinction—the Channel Islands, I ask you!" He continued moodily, "And it's got to be said, since his dolly had the bad grace to get drowned he's been knocked athwart and no use to any. I fear our Mr Kydd's appetite for glory has gone, and with it any desire I have to stay in this ark of misery."
Renzi did not reply. The rot was setting in. Only the previous day they had lost Boyd, one of their only two midshipmen. There had been a rambling letter from his father about a fortunate placement in a ship-of-the-line but the real reason was obvious: society was unwilling for their sons and heirs to learn their officer-like qualities from someone of Kydd's reputation. And none had come forward to take Boyd's place; this was unfortunate for a midshipman counted as a petty officer and, among other things, could stand a watch in harbour under the mate-of-the-watch. It would not improve Prosser's attitude.
From his tiny cabin Renzi could not fail to overhear mess-deck conversations: at the moment the men were generally understanding of their captain's grief but he would quickly lose sympathy if he could not soon come to himself and give the ship and her company the attention they deserved.
Word was passed of the marines' imminent arrival, then Kydd appeared and stood motionless with a look of inward distraction. Renzi noted the resulting movement of officers and men: they were crossing the deck to keep their distance, not out of respect.
The boat's coxswain hooked on abreast the side-steps. Renzi moved unobtrusively to watch. After the sergeant and corporal had swung themselves inboard less than half seemed confident in their movements boarding a ship-of-war. However, the sight of so many identical red-coated uniforms was striking beside the individual dress of the seamen.
When the men had been drawn up to satisfaction by the corporal, the sergeant swung about and marched down the deck. He had strong, confident features with an easy cheerfulness. "Sar'nt Ambrose, sah! Corporal Jay, sah! An' twelve privates come t' join," he reported.