‘Sir.’
‘And a berth in a frigate is no holiday.’
‘I knows.’
‘Then for now you’re bo’sun o’ L’Aurore, Mr Oakley.’
An enormous grin split his face, stretching his face into well-used laugh-lines that had Kydd hiding a smile. ‘Why, an’ that’s right oragious in ye, Mr Kydd.’
‘Tomorrow we’ll have the sheer-hulk to work on the masting. We’ll take measure of you then, I believe.’
Dismayed, Kydd watched the leisurely approach of the ugly barge with its sheer-legs. It was not so much the prospect of the hard work to follow but that the dockyard could spare only four riggers and a sorry-looking bunch of labourers. The work would get done – but it would stretch over weeks.
‘Mr Oakley, come with me.’ Kydd stalked across the dockyard to where Spartiate, a 74, was undergoing repair. A short time later he was talking with the officer-of-the-watch and a little after that he was in the berthing hulk alongside, calling for volunteers to help with the rigging.
It did not take much urging: these men were billeted out of their ship while it was in dockyard hands; they had nothing to do and had spent all their silver. Kydd had rightly guessed that they would welcome a change. Oakley took his pick and then the work could start.
The master rigger, however, insisted on a consultation first; it seemed that no good could come of a hasty commencing and Kydd sat dutifully as he learned that the ship was at the present in the style of the ‘French Pyramid’, a configuration of masts and spars that, with the logic of that nation, related everything to a ratio of spar to the beam of the ship. In proof, the main lower mast was pointed out to be at a ratio of 2.5 times the beam while the main yard crossed would therefore be in the region of 2.2. Might Kydd favour the broader British style?
He listened patiently but remained firm: if the original owners had seen fit to make it thus, then he would stay with it unless it proved inadequate. He did, however, compromise in the matter of the rake of the mizzen and allowed the master rigger his way that the bowsprit be steeved six degrees lower.
Oakley clearly knew his technicals and had a natural way with men, always leading from the front, passing turns, the first to reeve the girtline, clapping on to lines with his huge strength to encourage and inspire. If he was not to be L’Aurore’s boatswain it would not be for want of Kydd’s trying.
And the workmanlike lines of the standing rigging began to appear, the topmasts and then topgallant masts stretched skywards and in turn were crossed with yards, all proper stays and lifts, a soaring tracery of ropes criss-crossing aloft, while below the fitments of living were finally being put in place.
An astonishing mountain of stores appeared, requiring signature, and with the return of the gunner bearing the welcome news that a Board of Ordnance was shortly to inspect and put in hand their accession to eighteen-pounders, the end was suddenly in sight.
Tysoe had not been idle. Several times a day he would seek Kydd’s views on this or that piece of furniture, whether the few small ornaments he had rescued from Teazer might now be retired in favour of a grander show and if the competence of his table in entertainment might profitably be brought forward.
In foreign parts L’Aurore’s entering port would be an occasion of some moment, and if Kydd failed to provide handsomely and creditably at table it would reflect not only on the ship but his flag. A dinner service edged in green and gilt from Mr Wedgwood was acquired for daily use and strategic items in silver were secured, but he hesitated over the grander pieces – a woman’s touch would ensure the commensal subtleties were properly observed. He would talk to Cecilia.
The time had come – L’Aurore was ready for her company.
Her lieutenants must be summoned first, then, when they had made acquaintance with the ship, the senior petty officers and finally the rest. It was a significant step, for once men were aboard and consuming victuals, all at once the whole mechanism for managing a ship-of-war had to be in place and functioning.
A message to the port-admiral’s office requesting his officers to report aboard was therefore dispatched. The first to show was Curzon, his third lieutenant, a young but confident individual with the languid drawl of birth and wealth. Kydd asked Kendall, who had little to do until orders were received specifying their station, to take him around the frigate.
The most important of the officers was close behind: Howlett, the first lieutenant. He, essentially, would run the ship for Kydd: make up the watch and station bill of the hands, their quarters, and designate special sea-duty personnel for evolutions such as unmooring and taking in sail. On a more subtle level his handling of discipline would be cruciaclass="underline" by the time matters reached Kydd’s august notice only grave consequences could follow.
In the event his manner was all that could be desired. About the same age as Kydd, he was slighter in build but darker-featured and with a strong jaw. His speech was careful and he carried himself with a controlled energy, his eyes direct and appraising. Like Curzon, he was given Kendall’s tour and the rest of the day to shift his gear aboard.
That left Gilbey, the second lieutenant. The man did not report until late in the afternoon, pleading business ashore. Kydd accepted his excuse and asked Curzon to take him around.
Three officers: it seemed few enough in a ship’s company that would total 215 at full manning. Each one would be tested to the full when L’Aurore went to war.
And the men. When the purser advised that all books of account were ready, the first lieutenant was satisfied with his information on the ship’s establishment of skilled hands, and the dockyard was near to finishing aloft, Kydd would notify the port-admiral’s office. Howlett would then start the business of entering them in. After that sea trials could be made, probably in the sheltered waters around the Isle of Wight.
Kydd’s pulse quickened. If all went well, within days he would have a ship full of life, a watch on deck, the settled order of an unchanging domestic naval routine. It was an intoxicating thought.
In the matter of a figurehead he was in luck: when Legge, their grey-haired carpenter, reported with his tools he had already noticed the absence of adornment at the bows and had an answer. Before the fashion for individually crafted figureheads had taken hold, the Navy had employed a standard design in the form of a lion and crown. The old carpenter knew of one that, in the distant past, had been removed in favour of the newer kind and was now gathering dust in an office.
He undertook to fit it and now L’Aurore proudly boasted a sturdy figurehead of an upright lion surmounted with a neat crown that offered enough scope for scarlet and gilding to gladden the heart of any true son of the sea.
Now they were ready.
Kydd took pen and paper and wrote three letters. The first was to the port-admiral, advising of the near completion of his vessel and thereby requesting men to be released into her. The second was a note to Renzi, inviting him to take post, and the last was to Calloway: he had been a young seaman in Kydd’s day before the mast, and Kydd knew it would bring him the gladdest news. Now a midshipman without interest or patronage and of humble origins, it was unlikely he would find any quarterdeck open to him.
He sat back in satisfaction. In remarkably quick time he had brought the frigate to readiness. He had confidence in his ship and felt a growing respect and affection for her. She was not one of the new tribe of heavy frigates but she had breeding and promise.
She would never replace Teazer in his heart but that wasn’t the point. He had now taken a major advance in his profession and necessarily had moved up to a grander ship. He would never forget his first command but it was in the future that destiny lay – for him and his new frigate.