“Not much of a catch locally,” he was told, on showing Russell’s letter of encouragement, “but with this authorisation, I can send to Sheerness for you. Can’t promise you’ll get your full entitling but …”
Back on board Kydd publicly railed at the purser for not moving faster in securing the sweets of the land for his ship’s company: “soft tommy”-baked bread in place of hard tack-beer, fresh beef, greens and all the little things that went far in making a sailor’s life a modicum more bearable.
When that had been put in train he called for the big Swede and put the question again.
“Aye, sir,” Halgren said slowly. “I’d like it right well, sir.”
He now had a captain’s coxswain.
On the third day the press tender arrived with barely satisfactory numbers, and later Bowden and Brice reported aboard, recounting how they had suddenly been plucked from the disconsolate crowd of petitioning lieutenants in the Admiralty and told to join HMS Tyger that very day.
Barely suppressing his delight as he welcomed them, Kydd told them briefly what had happened and they handed over orders they were carrying.
Kydd was a little taken aback as he was under the command of the North Sea squadron and therefore not normally at the disposal of the Admiralty.
In his cabin he opened the packet quickly: a single page only. It seemed it was convenient to their lordships that Tyger lay at Yarmouth at this time, for they were minded to detach her for a short but important service: he should hold himself at readiness. In the event a Mr Stuart of the Foreign Office would make contact with him in the near future for a mission of great discretion.
His eyes narrowed. Was this to be a malicious complication to crowd in on Tyger before he had worked the ship up to something like effectiveness?
But it was no use worrying about it: this Mr Stuart would reveal all when he came. Meanwhile he had other matters to attend to.
There was the mountain of paperwork he had necessarily set aside. If only Dillon … but might he be expecting too much? So little notice and the young man might have decided that the comforts of Eskdale Hall were to be preferred to the stern realities of sea life.
He took a deep breath and set to on the pile.
When the Foreign Office emissary arrived in Yarmouth he insisted he saw Kydd in the office of the senior naval officer ashore, with no one else present.
“You come highly recommended, Sir Thomas,” he said, studying Kydd with interest, “for this mission, which is of a singular importance, I might say.”
“Thank you, sir. Yet I should warn you that my ship is untried, many of her crew having newly joined. In the article of fighting I cannot be sanguine that-”
Stuart smiled thinly. “It should not come to that, Captain. A straightforward assignment but one that touches on the very core of England’s struggle against Bonaparte.”
Kydd felt irritation. “I’ve had my share of hard service, Mr Stuart. Be so good as to tell me the details directly.”
“Very well. What I’m about to tell you is for you alone. Not another soul, you understand me?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Kydd sighed.
“Then this is the essence. It is of the utmost importance to keep Tsar Alexander in the war against the French. Since the fall of the Third Coalition after Austerlitz, Russia is the only power of significance left on the continent of Europe to oppose the tyrant. At all costs we must preserve relations or we stand on alone-none other by our side!”
“I see.” This much was common knowledge and Kydd had only recently returned from a close liaising with Admiral Senyavin of the Imperial Russian Navy.
“Captain, we want you to convey to Gothenburg a subsidy due the Tsar, in the amount of one half of a million pounds in specie.”
Kydd caught his breath. Never in his life had he heard of such an amount mentioned anywhere. With his own pay recently raised to fifteen pounds and eight shillings a month, he’d have to serve something like a thousand years and more to see its like. “That’s a great deal of responsibility, Mr Stuart.”
“Your ship is the only one of sufficient weight of metal available. Now, please to pay particular attention. At seven in the morning a detachment of the Royal Horse Artillery will arrive in Yarmouth with their field pieces. In the limber of every odd-numbered gun will be concealed a number of cases labelled ‘Explosive Shot.’ These will be taken directly to the jetty where your boat will be waiting under guard from the Yeomanry. Clear?”
“I understand.”
“Once aboard you will treat the cases as experimental ordnance, to be stored in the ship’s magazine.”
“Yes.”
“On arrival at Gothenburg you will be approached by a member of the British Embassy, who will be identified by a paper that you will now sign.”
“Presumably sent ahead by dispatch boat.”
“Quite.”
Kydd scrawled his signature on the paper.
“You will then follow any instructions you are given. Do not fail, sir, upon your peril!”
The next morning the men in Tyger’s launch and a cutter lay on their oars and precisely on time two carts, guarded importantly by the Norfolk Yeomanry, ground to a stop by the jetty.
A mystified gunner stood by Kydd’s side on the rain-swept pier.
With a flourish, the subaltern in charge produced his paper and considerately held his cape over Kydd while he signed: never again would a fabulous treasure such as this be in his charge.
“Strike the cases into the launch-and be damned careful of it!” he snapped nervously.
Half a million pounds, it seemed, required seven stout chests, and as they took their place along the centre-line of the big boat, Kydd suffered a moment’s giddy vision: halfway to Tyger the weight of the gold becomes too much for the planking, which gives way and sinks the launch, putting the fortune out of reach for ever.
But he was being paid freight money, awarded to the captain of any naval vessel charged with the carriage of bullion in consideration of the worry at its presence. Lately the amount had varied, a small percentage of the value, he’d heard. And on half a million that stood to be a useful sum.
In heartfelt relief he saw the cases swayed aboard and carried forward by the gunner’s party to the main magazine. Fending off murmurings from the gunner, he turned to greet a welcome figure.
“Mr Clinton!” He started in mock surprise at the brand new epaulettes. “Or should it be Captain Clinton?” He shook hands warmly, touched to see the man who had calmly done his duty in the final days at Buenos Aires only to be cut down with a near-mortal wound at Constantinople. “You are well?”
“Perfectly recovered, sir-that is, Sir Thomas,” he added, with a broad grin.
There was no sign of Dillon but Hollis was waiting with a surprise. “The pressed men mustered and rated, sir. No prime hands but the Sheerness draft has a few that look promising.” He waited a moment, then added, in an odd voice, “And when shall you rate the volunteers?”
“Volunteers?” Kydd said, in amazement. Who the devil would sign up to join a ship recently in mutiny? Nevertheless he promised he would see them shortly.
In his cabin Tysoe was distracted with the unpacking and stowage of the new furniture and stores. Kydd left him to it and returned on deck. “So. Where are these volunteers, Mr Hollis?”
They were brought before him … Toby Stirk, gunner’s mate and fine L’Aurore seaman. Next to him, Doud and his inseparable shipmate Pinto, shuffling their feet bashfully.
“You’re right welcome, all of you,” Kydd said, conscious of Hollis’s curiosity. “As I’d never wish for a better parcel o’ hands. But how …?”
“Heard you was shipping out, thought we’d join ye, sir! Wouldn’t be right, puttin’ to sea without we looks after the barky.”
Kydd knew there would be no further explanation given.
Pinto and Doud would certainly find a petty officer’s berth but for Stirk this was another matter. He’d been a gunner’s mate, which could prove difficult as Tyger had one already, a wizened old sailor who was apparently a friend of the gunner. A comfortable situation like yeoman of the powder room would serve for now.