He felt the gun-captain’s darted glance at him but he gave no notice and continued his gaze to seaward.
The second round was closer still but if the target had been extended to be an imaginary frigate it would have missed astern of it. “Off the target, complete miss,” he growled.
The gunner made much of noting the expenditure of each ball but it was within allowance and Kydd ignored him.
Other guns on the larboard side did even worse, and after he had given orders to wear ship to bring the starboard side to bear, he paced grim-faced along.
The first two guns did not improve the showing. The third gun took its time but the result was dramatic-the sudden rise of the plume within only a couple of yards and perfect for elevation. Its second round was even better, the ball within feet of the flag, so close it fluttered in alarm.
He turned to congratulate the gun-captain, who looked back at him with a controlled blankness. It was Stirk, come up from his station as yeoman of the powder room.
“Well done, that gun,” he said loudly. Stirk folded his arms and gazed back without comment.
It was too much to expect the next gun to match up. Neither did the remainder on that side.
When it was all over Kydd summoned the gunner to him. “Mr Darby,” he said acidly, knowing that his words were being overheard by all. “Pray do explain to me why the Tygers are so wanting in the article of laying a gun. With one exception, that is.”
He knew very well, of course. Not only had he kept the L’Aurores on their toes with exercises but they’d been in savage actions many times, while Tyger …
“Most would think it good practice, sir,” the gunner said woodenly.
“But I don’t. The rest of the afternoon all gun-captains will muster in the fore-bay and take instruction from the yeoman of the powder room.” He waited, then said, “And in the last dog-watch we’ll try again.”
This time there were savage murmurs and he looked around sharply until they’d subsided. “Carry on, Mr Hollis.”
It was unfortunate for them, what with all the impedimenta of live firing to set up yet again and in their own time, but he was well aware that these two days were the only ones he was going be free to do as he wished.
“Can’t do it!” the gunner said, with a smirk.
“Oh?”
“We’ve shot away our allowance. Ain’t none more!”
“Then we’ll use next quarter’s in advance!” Kydd retorted icily, turned on his heel and stalked away.
The next day was the last before arriving. With names noted previously he harried the first lieutenant to make changes, demotions, rating up the promising and reconfiguring watch and stations against the strengths and weaknesses he’d seen. Then he piled on more pressure at guns and sail.
They had to succeed!
There was some improvement, but apprehension crowded in on Kydd at the vision of a well-found French frigate circling for the kill-it was common knowledge that, with his battle fleets helpless in port, Bonaparte was taking the opportunity of sending his frigates to sea on predatory cruises with ample, picked crews against the short-handed and weather-ravaged British. The odds were against them from the start.
Kydd flopped into his chair in his cabin and held his head in his hands, thinking of his days in L’Aurore, the ship he had left so reluctantly, which had borne him to glory and distinction and in which he had put down so many memories.
“Come!” he called irritably, at a knock on the door that interrupted his thoughts.
It was Dillon, with a sheaf of papers. “Sir Thomas, they’re outstanding these five days-”
“Not now, Mr Dillon.”
“I do advise they are-”
“I said not now!”
“Sir, if another time is more convenient, I’d be happy to comply,” Dillon said, with quiet dignity.
“Damn it-just go!”
“Very well, sir.”
At the door Dillon hesitated, then turned to face Kydd. “Sir, I’m your confidential secretary and-and I think there’s something you should know.”
“I told you to leave. Now do so or I’ll have you thrown out!”
Pale-faced, Dillon stood his ground. “Touching as it does on your command of this vessel.”
Kydd shot to his feet, the chair knocked askew. “What in Hades gives you the right to criticise me?” he barked in a fury. “If you’re not out of here in ten seconds I’ll give you a spell in the bilboes, so help me!”
“Sir. The officers are convinced you’re a glory-seeker, and the men that you’re a blood-and-guts hellfire jack!”
Kydd went red and bawled for the sentry.
The marine entered, confused, looking from one to the other. Dillon slipped out past him.
“Go,” Kydd croaked at the sentry, who lost no time in making his exit.
Shaken by the episode, Kydd tried to think. His thoughts steadied as he realised that Dillon had risked a great deal by telling him what he thought-and that took back-bone. He’d felt that it was important Kydd should know the mood of the ship, and that could only have been motivated by a sense of respect and loyalty to him personally. In his black mood he’d wronged the young man.
And what Dillon had said-that the ship believed he was a despised glory-seeker, one who put personal vainglory first before the needs of the service-stung. From the choice of words he must have heard the seamen’s verdict first-hand and it was a damning one. Nothing was held in more contempt and loathing than an officer who looked to honours and glory over the bloodied bodies of his recklessly sacrificed men.
Nobody, officer or man, in Tyger knew the full story of why he’d been sent to the ship. As far as they were concerned, the Admiralty had sent a known hero to turn around a mutinous ship in the shortest possible time and he had-but he’d not left it there. His bullying haste to get the frigate to what they would see as impossible levels of perfection could only mean that his head had been turned by public adulation and he wanted more, no matter what it cost.
How ironic! He was doing it for his own very real reasons, but because of his single-minded and unforgiving drive even Bowden and Stirk, who knew him of old, must be persuaded of his glory-seeking.
Soon he’d lose any loyalty that was left, and end in the forefront of the battle waving his sword but none following. He’d seen it happen in the Caribbean to another captain and squirmed at the thought that it could happen to him.
But if he slackened off not only would he lose his chance to bring Tyger to warlike readiness but the whole thing would be put down to tyranny and nit-picking over drill times.
If only Renzi were there to calmly dissect and analyse! In fact there was no one-not a soul-with whom he could talk at the level he needed.
But he had known that when he first boarded the ship and must live with it.
He summoned Tysoe. “Find Mr Dillon and, with my compliments, if he is at leisure I should be happy to see him.”
Dillon entered, his expression set and defensive.
Kydd rose and, with a smile, indicated a chair. “I’ve asked you here to offer my apologies for my unforgivable lapse in behaviour.”
“Sir.”
“Which was not occasioned by your good self, I hasten to add.”
It was not proving easy. “A captain must have many worries.” The tone was careful, noncommittal.
“Ah, just so. As you of all must know.”
“Sir. May I speak plainly?”
“Please do.”
“What I’ve seen of you in these last weeks is not the Captain Kydd I know.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t wish to pry but I’m of the mind that a matter of great personal moment lies upon you at this time, Sir Thomas.”
“That may be so.”
He continued, in a low voice, “And of all men within the compass of this vessel there is only one who does not have the comfort of … a friend. If it is of service to you, I would be honoured to share your burden, the matter most scrupulously to remain between us alone.”