A little later a jolly man of some years in a characterful tricorne of a past age clambered aboard. “Cap’n Sir Thomas?” he breezed, snatching off his hat. “An’ I was tipped the wink b’ Mr Burke as y’ might be in need of a sailing master. I introduce m’self-Nehemiah Joyce, master o’ the Ramillies as was, come t’ offer m’ services.”
Kydd had reservations at the man’s age. “What recent service have you, Mr Joyce?”
“Why, not three years afore-Queen Caroline, ninety-eight.”
“I thought she was a guardship at Sheerness, and hulked?”
The man’s face fell. “As it was m’ last ship before I swallowed the anchor t’ be with m’ lady wife in Yarmouth.”
It was the way of it for a long-service warrant officer, given a soft berth in his final post in the navy before retiring. For all that, he looked spry enough.
“You’ve seen your share of service, I’d wager.”
His open features creased with remembrance. “Aye, sir! Started in Ferret, cutter, removed into Terrier, sloop, and after … No, I tell a lie, it were Crescent first, then Terrier-rare sailer, she! Nothing from Ameriky could stay with her on a broad reach. Then it was-”
“Frigates?”
“Sir,” Joyce said, affronted. “First one I has after I gets m’ paper from Trinity, an’ it were Quickmatch. Naught but a sluggard, whatever we does. In Lacadaemon ’twas another story. Why, when we had bowlines up-”
“Thank you. So now you think to abandon your good wife to return to adventuring at sea.”
“Oh, but that’s me answerin’ the call t’ duty, sir!”
“I see. Very patriotic of you, Mr Joyce. I can only offer you an acting position.”
“That’ll do me, sir.” His joyous smile couldn’t help but bring a twitch to Kydd’s lips.
“We sail shortly on a voyage to Gothenburg. See we’ve charts to suit, if you will and welcome on board!”
With the secret freight in her bowels he had no intention of delaying and, despite the hour, by the first dog-watch, stations for unmooring ship was piped.
Kydd watched discreetly. There were no visible signs of discontent among the seamen but on the other hand neither was there the peculiar mix of exuberance and rueful acceptance that usually went with a ship outward bound.
It was now entirely up to him. The heart and soul of Tyger was his to win.
Then as they tripped their anchor, just as it had happened in L’Aurore, the last boat from the shore brought Dillon, a cheery figure standing perilously in the sternsheets of a fishing smack.
It was their first night at sea and Kydd’s invitation to the gun-room came promptly. Their heads turned respectfully as he entered and took his place at the end of the table.
“So kind in you to invite me,” he said formally, to Hollis on his right, the mess president.
A subdued murmur was his polite welcome from the rest.
Kydd looked forward keenly to this time: it was the only occasion aboard ship that he could reach out and make sociable contact with the officers who would run his ship for him-and, of course, for them to take measure of the captain who would rule over them.
“Our pleasure, sir,” came the first lieutenant’s equally formal reply.
Down the table faces steadily looked his way, expectant or apprehensive, curious and guarded.
He motioned to the servants who stood behind their chairs. “Gentlemen,” he began genially, “I’d be interested in your opinion of this Frontignac from my private stock. It’s much cried up in London, these days.”
When they were served, Kydd tasted his and went on pleasantly, “I rather think I should introduce to you Tygers the strangers we see here tonight. On my larb’d side is Mr Bowden, a gentleman of long acquaintance, who was with me at Menorca when we entertained the Dons with our patent signal method of pantaloons and bloomers.”
It was gratifying to see the goggling eyes at this admission from the legendary Sir Thomas Kydd.
“And opposite is Mr Brice, who’s no stranger to the North Sea, preferring more of a blow than is offering now. It was diverting indeed to see him standing forrard in L’Aurore, scornful of the Turk that they had no bigger shot to throw at him than a marble ball a fathom around.”
This brought admiring chuckles and a tangible easing around the room.
“And at the end there you’ll find Master Dillon, my confidential secretary, a scholar and staunch landlubber, whose ancient Greek confounded not only the treacherous Ottomans but also the ship’s entire complement of midshipmen.”
This was met with relaxed laughter.
“Captain Clinton sits yonder, new-rigged and splendid, but I remember him best as a pox-doctor flamming the Spaniards in South America.”
Incredulous looks flashed across the table at the pink-faced Royal Marine.
“And, finally, our newest member who seems set fair to be our oldest-Mr Nehemiah Joyce, sailing master, who I’m sure if pressed could conjure a yarn or two.”
A babble of talk rose as the evening progressed, and while the conversations ebbed and flowed, Kydd discreetly took in the others.
Dawes, the portly boatswain, was clearly out of his depth, fiddling with his glass and confining his talk to the tight-faced gunner, Darby, who held back from the growing merriment.
Oxley, the surgeon, a portly but sharp-eyed individual, sat back with an expression of distaste, listening to a laboured tale from Harman, the shrewish purser and across from them the absurdly young lieutenant of marines, Payne, who sat petrified and mute.
There would be many more miles under their keel before this company became one.
With the arrival of the lamb cutlets, Kydd judged the time right and gave a smart ting on his glass to call their attention.
“Gentlemen-Tygers all! A traditional first night at sea. But this one-this is out of the ordinary run and by any man’s reckoning a special one. It marks a dawning, a new life-a fresh beginning. We’ve been through a fierce time, when no man may trust his shipmate, fear and dread stalking our decks-who can say where it’ll all end?”
He let it hang for a space before he continued. “But it’s over! Finished-the canker purged! Never more will this King’s ship need hang its head in shame. I for one refuse utterly to bring it to mind ever again and will hear nothing from any who can’t let it go. We’re outward bound, shipmates, to adventures and challenges we can’t possibly dream of, and I’m here to tell you, this world holds more in store than ever we can imagine.”
“Shakespeare,” murmured Dillon, and was immediately silenced with a glare from Bowden.
“Gentlemen, we’re all on notice. We in England lie under such peril as never was, since even before Trafalgar. Boney stands astride the whole of Europe, and if we in Tyger are to play our part we’re going to have to be a damn sight better than we’ve been. I’m sure we will, but each one of you must haul and draw alongside our company with a whole heart and to one purpose.”
It was reaching most, but not all.
“In token of which I can tell you that we’re on a mission of national importance, their lordships having seen fit to entrust this to Tyger and no other.”
This brought a ripple of interest and, despite himself, the gunner dared, “This special ordnance, sir. An’ what is it exactly, as must be kept from us?”
“Shame on you, Mr Darby!” Kydd came back without hesitation. “Are you not aware that Swedish iron makes the best guns there are? And what better to trade with than … I cannot go further, you must understand.”
The gunner subsided, satisfied. The Naval Chronicle had been detailed in its descriptions of all manner of new inventions, from Captain Popham’s catamaran torpedoes to Major Congreve’s war rockets, and it was not outside the bounds of possibility that a two-way exchange was taking place, with Tyger in the centre.