But, an inner voice offered, hadn’t his greatest laurels been won at Curacao, part of a squadron?
He grimaced. There was little of the far exotic about duties with the North Sea Fleet and far less likelihood of such derringdo in these waters but it couldn’t be ruled out entirely. His future course was now clear: while there was even the slightest chance of distinction he would make damned sure he was ready.
He would bring Tyger up to a fighting pitch such as he’d achieved with L’Aurore-forge a blade that he could take into any contest and be sure of victory.
Before, he’d not felt a rightful captain of Tyger. She’d started as a punishment ship, a place of exile, and he’d not given her the interest and attention she deserved, especially with the shadow of losing her before him: then she had been a fleeting and temporary command, which it would have been unwise to take to his heart.
It was different now and he vowed he would cleave to his new ship. There were pleasing and appealing aspects of her character that reached out to him-those bluff, no-nonsense bulldog lines, the massed eighteen-pounder great guns, her willingness to brute through head seas and fearlessly carry high sail …
He and the ship’s company had met in the worst possible circumstances and he’d not been inclined to test their limits under those conditions. Now they’d seen him in action and he’d given them a prize of sorts. It was a start but he was not naive enough to think that this meant he’d won their loyalty-that only came with trust and that, in turn, with shared danger. But time was not on his side …
He began jotting down what he must do. Gunnery, sail-handling-these prime battle-winners were top of the list.
Their brush with the frigates in the “bullion shipment” had been revealing: there’d been no flinching or hanging back but there’d been a stiffness in working the guns, betraying a woeful lack of practice compared to the fluid choreography in L’Aurore. He’d long learned the lesson that halving the time for the load-and-fire cycle had the same effect as doubling the number of guns, in a frigate duel effectively pitting the enemy against the broadside to be expected from a ship-of-the-line. Every split-second saved would translate in a long, close action to many more strikes, any one of which could be a settler.
Smart working of sail was far more than mere practice. Necessarily, there was a distancing in the layers of command. In a first-rate man-o’-war the captain on the quarterdeck would issue an order, which would go to the officer in charge of that part-of-ship and his team; the petty officers would pull the men together and make it happen, knowing their individual strengths and weaknesses and alert to any slacking or fumbling, while the officer stood braced for any external change in circumstances. It took trust by the officer, trust from the petty officers and mutual professional respect. So recently emerged from mutiny, these strands of interdependence were frayed at best and his officers must look to restoring them as soon as possible.
Bowden understood the importance of this, he felt; Brice was gifted, his men at the foremast the only ones showing positive signs, but his first lieutenant …
Hollis was from a good family, but in a ship of war that was a disadvantage. Used to unquestioning obedience from servants, his instinct was to issue a stream of directions and leave it at that. Under stress of a mutinous situation he’d become more strident, distant and critical, and while at present the men took his orders, that precious two-way reliance was lacking.
There were other elements that affected Tyger’s fighting spirit, as Kydd remembered from his own origins before the mast. Petty tyrannies could reign when bullies gained positions of power as petty officers. This would be invisible from the quarterdeck but would corrode a sailor’s loyalty quicker than anything. He knew the signs and would deal ruthlessly with any he saw. Incompetence was another real concern. The faith in authority that made men at a word go out on a yardarm in the teeth of a gale would vanish in an instant at any misgivings, and then it would be a hesitant, cautious crew.
Because he was taking over an existing ship’s company he’d had to accept the decisions of Tyger’s previous captain in the matter of who had been rated into vital positions, and this was not something he was happy with. It was, of course, the prerogative of every captain to rate any seaman petty officer on the spot-and to disrate. If any failed him he wouldn’t hesitate to act.
So much depended on the one thing he didn’t have: a first-hand appreciation of the qualities of his men.
It would probably shock the common seaman to discover just how much his captain knew of him. Restraining every instinct to join in, a captain necessarily had to pass over responsibility for the execution of his order to others, then stand back and watch. He could, without them knowing, make out who were the impulsive, the stolid, the reluctant, the reliable. He could quietly observe the interplay between leaders and followers, their character and potential, and be ready to act on it-but all this took time.
Kydd balled his fists in frustration. Their testing might be upon them without warning and a frigate could expect to be first in any action.
There was only one way forward: to show no mercy to his men or his ship in the race to succeed. From this moment on, all hands could expect blood, toil and sweat until Tyger was as effective a fighting machine as L’Aurore had been. Resolved, he jammed on his cocked hat and strode out on deck.
The squadron was comfortably in a loose extended line ahead as they ploughed the seas off the Dutch coast under easy sail, and there was nothing to challenge the afternoon watch. The men at the conn were in relaxed conversation, the others around the deck going about their business in unhurried, economic movements.
Bowden detached from the group and came over, touching his hat. “A fine afternoon, sir, don’t you think?” he said pleasantly. “We’ve-”
“You think so? What’s going on there on the main hatch?” Kydd demanded.
The men were sitting cross-legged on the gratings in companionable gossip with canvas spread over their knees, stitching sails, an agreeable task in the sun.
“Sir, the sailmaker asked for hands to complete our fair-weather suit of sails.”
“When the ship’s in such a state?” Kydd crossed to the lee main shrouds and fingered into the deadeyes, sniffing the result. “This is scandalous! There’s been no hog’s lard in here for a cat’s age. How can you keep equal strain on all parts save you grease it?”
“Sir, it’s the boatswain’s-”
“No, Mr Bowden, it’s your duty-to see the boatswain does his. The watch-on-deck is there to be employed when not working ship and I’ll have it so while we’re sadly ahoo.”
Around the helm dark glances were exchanged.
Kydd turned and glared forward grimly.
After some minutes a flustered Hollis appeared, having caught word of Kydd’s mood. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said carefully. “I rather thought we’d-”
“Just what I was thinking, Mr Hollis! We could be up with an enemy at a moment’s notice and then where would we be? Quarters at six bells, and the men may stand down just as soon as they make my times.”
In the last hour before supper the gun-crews were set to intensive drill under eye and pocket-watch.
The individual timings were dismally slow, movements awkwardly co-ordinated, and under pressure, gun-captains became flustered.
Kydd’s expression grew glacial. Their rate of fire was abysmal, the eighteens served at a slower rate than he’d ever seen before. If they went up against a well-manned and resolute French frigate, their survival could not be assured, let alone a victory. Appalled, he grunted to Hollis to stand the men down and stalked off to his cabin.