He stepped up to the lectern. ‘Off caps!’ Jolley roared.
Then, when all was quiet, Kydd began: ‘Master-at-arms?’
‘Two bells this afternoon, Patrick Doyle did strike me, ’is lawful superior, contrary to—’
‘Thank you, Mr Jolley. Doyle, is this true?’ An admission would stop Kydd’s plan in its track but, fortunately, the man stood doggedly mute.
‘Come, sir, this is no time for silence. Master-at-arms, tell me what happened – in detail, if you please.’
‘Well, sir, on bein’ h’ordered to apprehend Doyle, I proceeded down t’ the mess deck, where I saw the prisoner with his mates, like. When I—’
‘Who were these mates, then, Mr Jolley?’ Kydd said mildly.
‘Oh, er, there was Smythe . . . an’ McVitty and, er, others.’
‘Carry on.’
‘And then there was words, like. I goes t’ seize Doyle when he tips me a souser on the chops, so I—’
‘So Smythe and McVitty are your witnesses. Where were they standing, pray?’
‘Standing? Why, I reckons in front o’ the crowd somewheres.’
‘Not good enough, Mr Jolley. Was Smythe to larb’d of the others, at the back – the front? Where was McVitty then?’
‘Um, t’ starb’d, I reckons, Smythe near ’im.’
‘Call Smythe.’ When the sailor arrived, nervously kneading his shapeless cap, Kydd asked him, with all the gravity he could muster, ‘Now this is of vital importance – a man’s life hangs on your answer. Where were you standing when – when this incident took place? Think now!’
‘Abaft th’ fore-mast, sir.’
‘Upon which side?
‘Er . . .’
‘We’ll have your oath on it – which?’
‘I c-can’t rightly recall.’
‘Hmm. Call McVitty.’ A slightly built man with darting eyes stood before him. ‘Now, exactly where was Smythe during this time? Be very careful with your answer, sir!’
‘I – I—’
‘Well?’
‘Couldn’t be sure, sir . . .’ The man tailed off.
‘Can’t be sure?’ Kydd said, in exaggerated astonishment. ‘This is a fine thing to set before a court-martial.’ He found what he was looking for in the front row: a grey-haired seaman with steady eyes and a slight smile, as though he knew where Kydd was headed. ‘You, sir! Step forward. Were you on the mess-decks forrard when the master-at-arms was struck?’
‘I was, Mr Kydd,’ the man said, in a firm voice.
‘There, Mr Jolley. As your witnesses are unreliable I have found my own.’
‘Thank ’ee, sir,’ the master-at-arms said uncomfortably.
‘Well, tell me, who was it that struck the master-at-arms?’
‘I didn’t rightly see, sir.’ The expected answer came back instantly.
Kydd allowed disappointment to show, then called over another – with the same result. ‘Tut, tut. This is very unsatisfactory.’ He drew himself up and hailed the men. ‘Any man who saw who struck the master-at-arms to come forward!’
A ripple of murmuring spread out – but, extraordinarily, it seemed there was not one who had happened to be looking in that particular direction when the blow was struck.
‘Then I rather fear we cannot proceed in this, Mr Jolley.’
‘Sir? You can’t – sir, it’s Doyle, an’ that’s a—’
‘The court-martial would think the L’Aurores a sad parcel o’ loobies were we to present evidence like this. You’re not thinking to see the ship shamed so publicly, surely, Mr Jolley?’
‘It was Doyle! I’d stake m’ life on’t!’
‘Not sufficient evidence presented. Case dismissed, Mr Howlett,’ Kydd pronounced crisply.
The first lieutenant stood as though in doubt of his hearing. ‘Why, sir – it’s – we should question ’em individually, lay out the consequences, get the Articles o’ War and—’
‘No. Besides, I’m not finished yet.’ He hid a smile at Howlett’s agitation – this was only the opening act in what he had decided. ‘I’m going to do something about our lamentable situation.’
Instead of concluding the proceedings and returning to his cabin, he waited for the restlessness in the men to settle into baffled curiosity, then theatrically addressed the stunned Doyle. ‘I’d be beholden to you for your advice, sir, as pertaining to the situation in this frigate.’
Behind him, Kydd heard the gasps of his officers. The captain – asking a fore-mast hand for his views?
He smiled grimly. He knew precisely the feeling of the seamen for he had been one himself. ‘Doyle, I know the Alcestes were sorely used – this doesn’t need me to say it. The end of long voyaging, why, a sailor needs to blow out his gaff, raise the wind. I know this – that’s why I’m minded to overlook our little troubles for now.’
He took a deep breath and continued lightly, ‘In fact I’ll go further. Doyle – I’d like to know your opinion of what the hands would say to a little bargain. They get their ran-tan, grog a-plenty, even their wives aboard for all of a day, two days – even three days on the frolic. In return they agree that when it’s all over, we do our duty and put to sea, no questions asked.’
While the man visibly tried to grapple with what was being said, Kydd went on, ‘That is, for three days the main-deck as far aft as my cabin and the entire lower-deck is out of bounds to all officers not passing through. No account will be given to grog brought aboard, nor wives and sweethearts for all of this time.’
A grin surfaced and Doyle shifted restlessly. ‘Ah, but we don’t have the rhino.’
‘Out of my own purse I’ll see to it no man goes short of a right good muzzler. It’ll all be chalked down, never fear.’
‘Why, sir, an’ that’s right handsome in ye,’ Doyle said happily.
‘No hurt to the ship, o’ course.’
‘No, y’r honour.’
‘Then do talk it over with your mess-mates and let me know—’
‘Sir, don’t need to. Ye has y’r bargain.’
‘Very well. Mr Howlett, dismiss the hands, if you please.’
As Kydd turned and marched smartly back to his cabin, the officers crowded anxiously after him.
‘Sir!’ Howlett exploded. ‘Am I to understand you’re seriously intending to turn this ship over to – to those false-hearted rogues in disgusting revelry and licentiousness for three entire days? Are you—’
‘Hold your tongue, sir!’ Kydd said, white with fury. Howlett and the others fell back, looking at him in shocked disbelief.
‘We have one duty, and one only that transcends all others, and that is to go to our country’s aid when its need is greatest. And that means to provide Admiral Nelson with what he must have.
‘I was at the Nile. Lack of frigates nearly did for us then – and there’s going to be an even bigger battle soon when Bonaparte makes his move against England and no one knows when or where that’ll be. One thing only is certain: it’ll be frigates that’ll be telling Nelson.’
‘B-but—’
‘Consider for one moment what we’ve achieved. The mutiny’s been broke, we’ve a full crew and nothing to stop us sailing in three days. Isn’t that worth a little time out of discipline?’
‘Sir, are you prepared to take the word of those mutinous swabs?’
‘Most certainly. Mr Curzon?’
‘Sir, as I understand it, their complaint was that they’re not paid. And you’re . . . ?’
‘This is an evasion. They know damn well that a ship going out of commission doesn’t get a visit from the clerk o’ the cheque until the books have been sent to the Admiralty for the payment to be cleared. No – take my word on’t, it’s your old-fashioned Western Ocean rollick they’re wanting.’
‘But there are surely practical difficulties,’ Curzon came back.
‘How so?’
‘If you’re proposing to confine ’em aboard, how are they going to get their, um, women and grog?’