The Privateer's Revenge

men.' He pointed at the colour sergeant. 'Tell me, what do you see there?'

'A marine?' Kydd grated, without humour.

'No, sir. If you will observe, the man bears facings and cuffs of royal blue. This to the knowing signifies a royal regiment. Sir, he is a Royal Marine and has been since His Majesty in the year two did us the signal honour of recognising our services to the Crown of the last century or so.' 'Sah!' the colour sergeant blurted in satisfaction. 'Loyal an' royal it is. Sah!'

'So, you see, these are proud men and are entitled to their honours. Should you take aboard Royal Marines you will find no more loyal and courageous a band of men anywhere.'

Kydd glowered.

'Now, let me see, I have the current sea roster here. Pray tell, where do you see your service mainly? What rate of ship? It does matter, you know.'

'Brig-sloop, Channel Islands Squadron,' Kydd snapped.

The officer sighed. 'Not as who might say an active station.' He leafed through the book. 'A brig-sloop, ship's company of eighty—a hundred? Then you'll be looking to a company of a sergeant, corporal and a score of privates.'

'No officer?' Kydd came back testily. Even a junior lieutenant would be better than none for no one in Teazer could talk soldier lingo enough to take charge.

'None. But you'll find a Royal Marine is different from your regular soldier—more initiative, more reliable on his own.' He leaned back. 'I'll find you a long-service sergeant you might rely on, Commander. As for the men, it takes some two hundred Royal Marines to get a ship-o'-the-line to sea and I rather fancy you'll have to be satisfied at this time with near a dozen.

'Have no fear, sir, the men will be found. The barrack-master will need the details, of course, and I'm assuming you have made application for complement in the usual form. Our quartermaster will kit them for service and you shall have them before you sail. Good luck and good day to you, sir.'

'Our marines at last, thank God,' Standish muttered peevishly, spying 'Teazer's longboat putting out from Stonehouse Pool.

'I rather think they would wish to be referred to as Royal

Marines, Mr Standish,' Renzi murmured, watching the boat full of red coats approach.

'Lobsterbacks,' Standish said. 'Well, as long as they're inboard and victualled in by noon we'll be in a fair way of putting to sea before dark. Our lord and master is in a right taking, I tell you—wants to up hook and bowting the briny without losing a minute.'

'You've applied for a removal out of Teazer, Renzi said quietly.

Standish looked at him sharply. 'Who told you that?' His gaze swung back to the boat. 'But it's true enough. Since he's crossed the admiral's hawse there's no hope o' Teazer being put in the way of a good fight and chance of distinction—the Channel Islands, I ask you!' He continued moodily, 'And it's got to be said, since his dolly had the bad grace to get drowned he's been knocked athwart and no use to any. I fear our Mr Kydd's appetite for glory has gone, and with it any desire I have to stay in this ark of misery.'

Renzi did not reply. The rot was setting in. Only the previous day they had lost Boyd, one of their only two midshipmen. There had been a rambling letter from his father about a fortunate placement in a ship-of-the-line but the real reason was obvious: society was unwilling for their sons and heirs to learn their officer-like qualities from someone of Kydd's reputation. And none had come forward to take Boyd's place; this was unfortunate for a midshipman counted as a petty officer and, among other things, could stand a watch in harbour under the mate-of- the-watch. It would not improve Prosser's attitude.

From his tiny cabin Renzi could not fail to overhear mess-deck conversations: at the moment the men were generally understanding of their captain's grief but he would quickly lose sympathy if he could not soon come to himself and give the ship and her company the attention they deserved.

Word was passed of the marines' imminent arrival, then Kydd appeared and stood motionless with a look of inward distraction. Renzi noted the resulting movement of officers and men: they were crossing the deck to keep their distance, not out of respect.

The boat's coxswain hooked on abreast the side-steps. Renzi moved unobtrusively to watch. After the sergeant and corporal had swung themselves inboard less than half seemed confident in their movements boarding a ship- of-war. However, the sight of so many identical red-coated uniforms was striking beside the individual dress of the seamen.

When the men had been drawn up to satisfaction by the corporal, the sergeant swung about and marched down the deck. He had strong, confident features with an easy cheerfulness. 'Sar'nt Ambrose, sah! Corporal Jay, sah! An' twelve privates come t' join,' he reported.

'An' not before time, Sergeant,' Kydd said. 'We're t' sea directly.'

'With only one midshipman?' murmured Renzi beside him. 'A mort hard on Mr Prosser, I believe.'

'Do him good, th' lazy villain!' Kydd flared. But he knew this was no minor quibble: the lack of a midshipman in the opposite watch was going to affect more than just the watchkeepers for in any kind of action they were effective in standing between officers and men.

He rounded on Renzi: 'So, if y'r polite society doesn't see Teazer a fit berth f'r their sons, why, I'm th' captain, an' it's m' right to set on the quarterdeck as midshipman any I please!' he retorted. He turned back with a sardonic smile. 'Send Able Seaman Calloway aft, if y' please.'

Teazer put to sea on the tide and stood out into the Channel. Seen from the rolling green hills of Devon, there was nothing to suggest that this was anything other than one of the many small men-o'-war going about their vital business in great waters. Her spars and rigging properly a-taunto, her pennant streaming out, sails trimmed to perfection, she was a picture of grace and warlike beauty—but on her quarterdeck, with the marks of grief and misery on his face, a figure stared astern over the widening seas at the receding coast.

Renzi watched Kydd unnoticed. It would be long months before England was sighted once more. Was there a chance that his friend could heal, away from the memories? He made his way below, guiltily aware that for himself the exile would not be wasted: he had heard enough of the Channel Islands, with their neither truly English nor certainly French character, to be looking forward keenly to his time there. An earnest guidebook was waiting on the