‘I want ’em in two watches and messed before the dog-watches, if y’ please,’ he snapped. ‘Ship goes to routine after supper.’
It was asking a lot, but this would occupy them with the choosing of mess-mates for each six-to-eight-man mess-table, the stowing of their chests and ditty-bags, and settling the unwritten assumptions of the pecking order.
Howlett would have overnight to produce a watch and station bill for sailing; that for quarters could wait until later. Kydd would then himself take decisions on divisions. This was the partialling of the ship’s company behind each officer so that, with a fair cross-section of skills in each, they could undertake risky tasks such as a cutting-out expedition – storming aboard an enemy ship in its own harbour, setting sail on a strange ship and getting it to sea.
Divisions was as well the Navy’s way of ensuring the men were cared for, that there was his own particular officer a humble seaman could call on whenever things turned against him.
Then it was a matter of storing ship for foreign service and putting to sea, away from the continual sight of what the men could not have. Days only!
Kydd slept well and was up before dawn. Gilbey had nothing of significance to report overnight, but at first light a wretched sight unfolded. Word of Alceste’s turning over had leaked out and a number of boats bobbed beyond the watchful row-guard. From the ship Kydd could see the colours of the dresses of wives and sweethearts who had watched and waited so long for their men to come home from their far voyaging and now expected to be let on board.
A murmuring spread along the deck as men came up from below to see. An occasional hopeful wave from the boats was returned with shouts, but Kydd was stony-hearted. It was asking for trouble to let some men have women and others not and, no doubt, they were bringing more spirituous than spiritual comforts – the ship would be in uproar in a very short time.
‘Keep ’em away!’ he told the officer-of-the-deck.
When hands were piped to muster for Howlett’s watch and station bill to be handed out to the senior rates to acquaint every man with his duties, Kydd decided it was the right time for their captain to address the L’Aurores and tell them of their stern calling to Nelson’s side.
The men assembled on the main-deck, chivvied by petty officers, looked down on by Clinton’s marines from the gangways and hectored by the pig-eyed master-at-arms, Jolley, whom Kydd had inherited from Alceste. They were quiet and sullen.
‘L’Aurores – I can call you that now, as we’ve finally our full company.’ There was little movement, only a hard muteness. ‘This I’ll tell you, there’s no greater service than we’re about to do for our country: to join Admiral Lord Nelson and his fleet and throw ourselves athwart Napoleon’s course for invasion.’
He could sense the officers behind him stirring at the words but it was the seamen he had to win over. ‘I’m sorry this has been so – so difficult for you all, but at the same time you’ll agree that England stands in greater peril now than at any time in her history.’
He paused, looking down on the mass of sailors. He saw strong-featured characters, long-service seamen with carefully maintained pig-tails, neatly stitched clothes, standing tall but scowling resentfully at him. Others had glassy expressions and the characteristic loose-limbed look of the old shellback.
He knew he wasn’t getting through.
‘We’ll start storing as soon as you’ve got your parts-of-ship, and never forget, it’s all England that will thank you.’ He waited for reaction, and when it was obvious there wasn’t one, he turned to Howlett and barked, ‘We’ll start taking ’em aboard by five bells, Mr Howlett.’
The lack of reaction disturbed him. Usually some kind of shout or cheer went up and the hostile reserve was disquieting.
When the storing began he tucked his hat ostentatiously under his arm and went about the ship. It was a mistake: on every hand he met contemptuous silence and flashing glances of naked hatred. Tension radiated from each group. They worked slowly, grudgingly, calling to each other in mocking tones, testing the limits. As he passed the fore-hatch there was a sudden squeal of a block and rushing slither of rope followed by a crash as a cask of dried peas smashed at the bottom of the hold. Harsh laughter broke out: when Kydd looked about him the eyes did not drop but caught his in open challenge. It was getting out of hand, and not helped by an outer ring of boats hopelessly waiting, expectant bum-boats irritated and frustrated.
He had noticed Stirk was with the gunner’s party but when Kydd looked in his direction he pointedly turned his back.
A hot rush of resentment flooded him. This was not something he was proud of or that he had done without considering the implications. He had been at the Nile and remembered Nelson’s heartfelt lament at the preceding chase that ‘Were I to die this moment, want of frigates will be found engraved on my heart!’
Kydd had to keep faith with Nelson and bring L’Aurore to join his fleet when so much needed. He turned on his heel and stalked off.
Renzi held back, keeping out of his way while he sat down and attended to his growing pile of papers. A knock at the door heralded the quiet and courteous sailing master. ‘Sir, I’ve passage charts f’r Biscay an’ the strait. Do ye want others?’
‘Mr Kendall, we sail as soon as we can. We’ve a fine crew but I don’t like their temper. What’s your taking on ’em?’
The master paused, then said carefully, ‘Sooner we’re outward bound the better, I’m thinking. But have ye thought the ship’s untried, we don’t know her handling? We might carry away our sticks or worse wi’ an unwilling crew.’
‘That could be so, Mr Kendall, but I’ve a mind to come down on ’em before then. Ask Mr Howlett to step along to see me when he’s the time, please.’
The first lieutenant entered warily. ‘Do sit, Mr Howlett. Wine?’ He accepted a half-glass from Tysoe as Renzi gathered up his work and left.
‘I mislike the way the Alcestes are shaping up,’ Kydd said slowly. ‘I want vigilance from everyone, nothing left to chance, but no provocations.’
‘Aye aye, Mr Kydd.’
‘What’s your estimate of our readiness?’
‘Storing will be soon complete per your instructions. We take on water, beer and greens at Plymouth for Gibraltar, a few ocean necessaries still to ship – we haven’t your cabin stores, incidentally, sir.’
‘I haven’t had the time. Readiness?’
‘We can sail more or less when you desire, sir.’
‘Very well – shall we say the day after tomorrow? The ship’s under sailing orders, Mr Howlett.’
‘Sir.’
Howlett made no move to leave. ‘Sir. The men – they’re in as ugly a mood as ever I’ve seen.’
Kydd grimaced. ‘They’re not the first to be turned over, and never the last while Boney has any ambitions. There’s no other way I can think on, and don’t forget, while it’s been three years they’ve been gone, the last I was in the Caribbee there were redcoats there who’d been seven years since last they’d clapped eyes on England – and not likely to do so again this age.’
‘I know that, sir, but—’
‘What are you saying I should do? Let ’em step ashore on the ran-tan for a month? We’d never get ’em back. No, they’re to turn to as ordered or I’ll make an example as will put a stop to their galley-skulking behaviour.’
Howlett hesitated. ‘Our Jack Tar is sensible of his rights as the custom of the Service allows, Mr Kydd, and in this—’
‘L’Aurore will put t’ sea in two days and that’s an end to it, sir! Advise the ship’s company of the sailing orders and if they growl bring ’em before me.’
Kydd made a point of doing his rounds of the ship before hammocks were piped down and the hands were sent to supper. Grim-faced, he paced slowly ahead of his entourage of officers and master’s mates while the boatswain led the way, pealing out the ‘still’ on his silver call as they entered each space.