He left the deck, feeling a need to claim at least some part of the ship as his own.
The great cabin, with a table big enough to seat eight, was broad and spacious, the sweep of stern-lights square-patterned and plain, the curve of side timbers restrained but massive.
Pathetic traces of its last occupant remained: a wistful miniature of a woman in lace, an amateurish landscape, a side-table with unremarkable ornaments. On one wall there was a needlework sampler with some doggerel beginning, “Tyger, tyger, burning bright …”
The bed-place still had the cot and wash-place trinkets-it would all have to go. His personal effects from L’Aurore were in store and this space would be achingly bare but it couldn’t be helped.
His gear was a change of linen only: Tysoe would be arriving in the morning with his remaining baggage and what cabin stores he could lay hands on at this notice.
There was only one chair at the table-it seemed that Captain Parker expected his visitors to stand. He sent for wardroom chairs and settled to wait.
They came together. Kydd motioned Hollis to the opposite end of the table and let the others find their places.
The next few minutes could make or break him. Much depended not on what he said, but how he said it. Should he come in hard and single-minded, tough and unbending-or was it to be understanding and forgiving, willing to give them latitude?
“Mr Hollis, be so good as to introduce the warrant officers.”
The gunner, Darby, came across as professional enough but bit off his words as though he paid for each one.
The boatswain, Dawes, did not inspire. Defensive and fidgety, he did not seem to know the condition of Tyger as well as he should, and Kydd sensed an element of mistrust in the attitude of others to him.
The sailing master was of another stamp entirely. In his thirties, young for the post, Le Breton was from Guernsey, its countless reefs and currents a priceless school in seamanship. Soft-spoken and quiet, he let others make the running and only then offered intelligent comment. Kydd warmed to him.
The surgeon and purser were not present, having sent their apologies.
“I’m Sir Thomas Kydd, late of L’Aurore frigate,” Kydd began. There was little change in their expressions but he knew what they were thinking: what was a knighted sea-hero so lately in the public eye doing in a contemptible mutiny ship?
“I’m sent here on short notice to relieve Captain Parker.”
They listened in watchful silence.
“I know of this ship’s past. Mutiny. I don’t care about the details. I don’t want to know about it. There’s only one thing I care for-that Tyger is restored to the fleet as a fighting frigate and in the shortest possible time. Is that clear?”
There were indistinct murmurs.
“I’ll not accept anything less than your full duty to that end.”
He paused significantly. “Their lordships have done me the honour of allowing me to name my officers. That’s as may be, but know thereby that if there are any who fail me, I swear I’ll have them turned out of the ship directly.”
As soon as it came out Kydd knew it was the wrong thing to say. After their searing experience, and now being virtually imprisoned in an unhappy ship, they’d no doubt welcome any chance to get out.
“We’ll start shortly. I’ll desire each of you to make report individually and alone, no need for formality. Mr Hollis to begin, other officers and warrant officers after.”
They made to rise and he added, “I take it the ship is in routine. I’ve no wish to interrupt. Please continue watches as usual.”
Kydd was left alone and he leafed through the existing captain’s orders. There were no surprises, no concessions or idiosyncrasies that he could see. Almost certainly these had been inherited from the preceding captain unchanged. He’d leave it a while before he-
There was a knock and a face appeared around the door. “Sir?”
“What is it?”
“Ah, then, oi’m Flynn, y’r steward, sir,” the man said, letting himself in. “Just thought how ye might fancy a bite, like.”
Unusually, Kydd preferred his manservant to attend at his meals as well. Tysoe was one of nature’s gentlemen, quiet and unobtrusive, and knew him and his ways completely. “Not at the moment, Flynn. I’m very busy. We’ll have a talk about things later.”
“The ol’ cap’n, why he-”
“Later.”
Hollis arrived soon after and began to lay out the quarters bill. Kydd asked him bluntly, “How’s Tyger’s manning at the moment?”
“Complement of two hundred and eighty-four. We’re seventy-one short-handed.”
Kydd nearly choked. This amounted to the loss of one in every four men at every gun and station. How could they possibly …?
“I see. Are you able to-”
“Watch and stations are complete, quarters one side of guns.”
There was something hostile about his manner, a holding back. Probably he’d considered it reasonable to be promoted to command but instead must stay where he was while an Admiralty favourite had been put in over his head.
A twisted smile surfaced on Kydd’s face: he’d find no ally or friend in this officer.
“Well done then, Mr Hollis. I’ll take it that we’re ready for sea.”
There was no response. The man sat rigid, tense.
“Tell me, what’s your feeling of the people at the moment?”
Hollis gave a thin smile. “Whatever ails the rogues is still there, cankering, festering. They’re in an evil taking and are not to be trusted. Nothing that a taste o’ discipline won’t cure in the end.”
“Very well. I’ll take your views into account,” Kydd responded. But this was confrontation, not enlightened leadership-and he’d noticed not a single “sir” in the whole exchange.
The boatswain was visibly sweating when he lumbered in. He had his books but Kydd waved them aside. “I see much that needs attention, Mr Dawes. How can this be?”
“Why, sir, and how this ship’s bin in a rare state for months. I dursn’t come hard on ’em, if y’ gets m’ meaning.”
The man was cowed and intimidated-broken by the mutiny?
“Mr Dawes, I desire you as of this moment you take survey of this ship. Any line or spar as can’t stand up to a North Sea blow, do tell me directly.”
The gunner was brief and to the point. Short near half the quarter-gunners and with a sick armourer, he could not vouch for the condition of their armament, although in the absence of any past engagement with the enemy they retained a full complement of powder and shot.
It would have to do.
Then the sailing master came in.
“Sit down, Mr Le Breton. I’ve a notion you’ll know your nauticals, a Guernseyman like you. I had service there in a brig-sloop some years ago and well do I remember the Little Russell at low water springs.”
“Sir.”
“You’ve long service in Tyger?”
“A little over a year, Sir Thomas.” As with many of his countrymen there was the quaint tinge of a French accent in his words.
“Then you’ll know her little tricks. Do tell me something of her, if you please.”
He deliberated before he answered. “A strong ship, full bow and clean tail. Likes a blow but needs a firm hand always. Stays about reliably, up to twelve knots on a bowline, and tends to sail stiff, so sky-sails will not be impossible. Deep in the hold and so plenty of endurance.”
Kydd was a little disappointed that for some reason Le Breton had not shown anything like affection for his charge, describing the ship as if standing outside her. But then he reasoned that, after going through what he must have during the mutiny, he could be forgiven for holding Tyger at arm’s length.
“Fair weather?”
“Prefers a fresh, quartering breeze is all I can say.”
“Foul weather?”
“A good sea-boat. Dry.”
Again, distancing. “Would you say she’s ready for sea?”
“Yes, Sir Thomas.”
“Confidentially, Mr Le Breton, what is your opinion of our ship’s company?” It was an unfair question but he could glean much from his answer, both about his crew and the man himself.