Command

Kydd felt in his heart that they were ready: men were familiar with their stations, drill at the sails was now acceptable, gear had been tested. He had some anxieties: the master was elderly and his navigational skill was still unknown, and the Maltese seamen appeared capable but would they remain steady under fire?

Yet more than any other worry he had one crucial concern. Would he measure up? Or was there to be this day a blunder that would set all Malta laughing? Or, worse, a casting of Teazer ashore in a helpless wreck . . . 'Mr Dacres, if th' hold is stowed, I believe we shall hazard a short cruise t' try the vessel. Pipe the hands to unmoor ship in one hour, if you will.'

The die was cast. Watching the preparations for sea, Kydd tried to appear impassive. He sniffed the wind: a playful southerly with a hint of east. They were going to be let off easily in their first venture to sea, just a matter of slipping from the mooring buoy and at the right moment loosing sail to take up on the wind on the larboard tack and shape course for the open sea.

It should be straightforward enough, but Grand Harbour was dotted with sail and no place to be aimlessly straying about. The sooner they opened deep sea the better.

Kydd heard the squealing of blocks as the boats were hoisted and saw the decks being readied fore and aft: braces, sheets, tacks, halliards—these were laid along clear for running; the helm was put right over on each side to prove the tiller lines, and all the other familiar tasks, large and small, that were essential before proceeding to sea, were completed.

Activity lessened. Then, finally, the shriek of Purchet's call, quickly followed by Laffin's, told Teazer that every man aboard should take station leaving harbour. There was the sound of a rush of feet, which gradually died away into silence. Dacres was in position at the foot of the mainmast, Bowden at the foremast, groups of men ready at the pin-rails looking warily aft. From right forward the knot of men on the foredeck at the moorings straightened and looked back expectantly.

Kydd's pulse raced. 'I have th' ship, Mr Bonnici,' he said, formally, to the master next to him. If there was to be any mistake it would be his alone. 'Lay aloft t' make sail, the topmen!' he roared. Men swarmed swiftly at his command.

He had already decided to move out under topsails alone, with staysails and jibs and the big mainsail—on Teazer, the large fore and aft sail abaft the mainmast. 'Lay out an' loose!' he bawled, and the topmen moved out along the yards, casting off the gaskets that held up the sails tightly. 'Stand by—let fall!'

It was a heart-stopping time: while sail cascaded down from fore and main they had to slip the mooring cable at just the right time to catch the wind and release the vessel for a surging start in the right direction. 'Man tops'l sheets 'n' halliards,' he bellowed to those on deck. 'An' clap on t' the braces!' A last glance aloft and alow, then: 'Let go!'

The crowning moment! The slip rope slithered free through the mooring buoy ring and Teazer was now legally at sea!

'Sheet home: brace up, y' sluggards!' Kydd roared, fighting to keep the exhilaration from his voice. Teazer 's bow even as he watched was paying off to leeward, her bowsprit sliding past the long line of ramparts across the water. 'Haul taut!' There was a perceptible heel as her canvas caught and the headsails were hardened in. He snatched a glance over the side. They were making way: Teazer was outward bound!

A ponderous merchantman began a turn dead ahead and Kydd's heart skipped a beat. 'Two points t' starb'd,' he snapped at the helm. This was taking them perilously close to the castellated point under their lee but he guessed that the shore would be steep to there and a quick glance at Bonnici ressured him that this was so.

Teazer picked up speed as they passed to leeward of the ungainly merchantman and before he knew it they were clear of the point. The brig had a fine, uncluttered view forward and Kydd shaped course seaward with increasing confidence.

Excitement rose in him as the swell from the open sea caused the first regular heaving and the deck became alive under his feet. On either side grim fortresses guarding the entrance slipped past until the coast fell away and Teazer —his very own ship—felt the salt spray on her cheeks and knew for the first time the eternal freedom of the ocean.

She was a sea-witch! Her lines were perfect—her willing urge as she breasted the waves, and eagerness in tacking about, would have melted the heart of the most calloused old tar. Kydd's happiness overflowed as, reluctantly, they returned to moorings in the last of the light.

But there were things that must be done. He had learned much of Teazer 's ways— every ship was an individual, with character and appeal so different from another. As with a new-married couple, it was a time to explore and discover, to understand and take joy, and Kydd knew that impatience had no place in this.

There was not so much to do: the lead of a stay here, the turning of a deadeye there, redoubled work with holystone and paintbrush. His mind was busy: the ship's tasks included, among other things, the protection of trade and it would be expected that he begin showing the flag at some point, the ideal excuse for an undemanding cruise to shake down the ship's company.

*  *  *

Kydd found time to go in search of cabin stores: it was unthinkable for a captain to go 'bare navy'—ship's rations only—for there would be occasions when he must entertain visitors. It seemed, however, that 'table money' for the purpose of official entertainment was the prerogative of a flag officer alone, and therefore he must provide for himself. Fortunately he had been careful with his prize-money won previously, knowing that prospects of more were chancy at best.

He was no epicure and had no firm idea of the scale of purchases necessary, but he knew one who did. The jolly-boat was sent back for Tysoe, who had been previously in the employ of a distinguished post-captain. It was an expensive but illuminating afternoon, which left Kydd wondering whether the cherries in brandy and a keg of anchovies were absolutely necessary on top of the currant jelly and alarming amount of pickles; Kydd hoped fervently that the wine in caseloads would not turn in the increasing heat of early summer, but he trusted Tysoe.

Kydd took the opportunity as well to find some articles of decoration: the bare cabin was stiff and unfriendly—it needed something of himself. Diffidently he selected one or two miniatures and a rather handsome, only slightly foxed picture of an English rustic scene. These, with a few table ornaments and cloths, made a striking improvement—the silver would have to wait: his substance was reducing at a dismaying rate. Later, if he had time, he would do something about his tableware. If only his sister Cecilia were on hand . . .