Command

Thrusting past, Kydd strode across. The hatches were well secured: battens nailed down firmly over canvas sealed the contents of the hold and the little hutch that normally allowed entrance to the hold was nowhere to be seen.

'Get a fire axe!' Kydd told Stirk, who found one at the ship's side. The master's eyes widened in horror as he saw what was happening and he threw himself at the hatch, shouting hoarsely. The axe splintered the first batten as he tried to wrestle it away. 'Carry on,' Kydd barked. Two seamen forcibly held back the frantic master.

Using the pointed end of the axe Stirk levered aside the battens on one side, then dealt with the opposite side. The master's struggles ceased and he now moaned loudly. Kydd looked warily at the rest of the crew, but they stood stolidly as if the events were none of their business.

'Quickly now,' Kydd urged. The top of the hatch was merely planks that were smartly lifted away but under— there was straw. Nothing but straw to the very top of the hatch.

Kydd told Stirk to stab down with his cutlass point. Such a heavy cargo—it could not be straw. Stirk's thrust brought the unmistakable sharp clash of metal. He tried in another place— the same betraying clang.

The master now fell to his knees, imploring, sobbing. 'Ghiaccio! Per amor di Dio—ghi-acc- io!'

'Clear th' straw!' Kydd knew his voice sounded weak, nervous. The straw was quickly pulled away to reveal an expanse of shiny metal sheeting. 'Open it,' he said thickly.

Seeing no easy way Stirk brought the axe to bear on it, and began to hack a hole through to see into the interior. The smash of the axe in the stillness sounded against the moaning of the master. Then Stirk fell back abruptly and pointed to the hole. Glistening through the rent torn in the metal was tons and tons of ice and snow.

Kydd stared at the sight as the hot sun began to melt the top layer. He was completely at a loss. Then he heard Bowden mumble, 'I did hear once, sir, as how there are ships that bring ice from Mount Etna to the tables of the Barbary princes . . .'

'Then why th' devil did you not tell me, y' bloody villain?' Kydd snarled.

In the seclusion of his great cabin Kydd smiled wryly. The aggrieved master had been mollified with silver and a hastily scrawled pass, but it had been a less than glorious first encounter for Teazer.

Still, as they beat further to the east the ship was pulling together well; his insistence on daily practice at the guns was paying off and small tokens of homely sea life were making an appearance. A dog-vane cunningly crafted of cork and feathers on each shroud to indicate the wind direction for the benefit of the quartermaster, an elaborate turk's head knot worked on the centre spoke of the wheel so the helmsman could find the midships position by feel—all reflected an increasing pride and respect in the little ship.

Kydd quickly retrieved his equilibrium and when Teazer had reached far enough into the eastern Mediterranean and needed to put about for the remaining leg of returning to Malta he was sincerely regretful. The watch-on-deck was now, without being told, taking the trouble to flemish down lines neatly after sail trimming and he had seen several sailors pointing rope, an unnecessary but most seamanlike ornamenting of a rope's end in place of the usual twine whipping.

'Mr Dacres!' he called.

The officer came up, touching his hat. 'Sir?'

'I have it in mind t' grant a make 'n' mend for all hands this afternoon—make today a rope-yarn Sunday, as it were. Did y' have anything planned for 'em?'

Dacres frowned, but could not object. A make and mend was given to allow seamen time to make repairs to their working rig and draw slops from the purser to fashion clothes. It also meant that they could sit on the foredeck in the sun gossiping amiably while they sewed, out of reach of an irascible boatswain or others wanting men for duty about ship. But Kydd knew the value of allowing the men time to add individuality to their rig and their ship: later it would translate to ownership, pride in themselves and their sea home.

Thus it was that after the grog issue and noon meal Teazer 's men set out their gear for an agreeable afternoon.

'Mr Dacres, a turn about the decks?' Kydd removed his hat ostentatiously and placed it firmly under his arm, a sign that he was off duty; Dacres reluctantly followed suit and they paced forward slowly. The decks were crowded and Kydd was careful to step round the industrious; others drew back respectfully.

There were some with the gift of the needle and they were turning their talents to account for their messmates, a favour that no doubt would be returned in grog. To Kydd, it was not odd to see hardened seamen deftly turn a seam in a smart jacket complete with white piping, or crafting exquisite buttons from bone, but it might just extend Dacres's education.

Some sailors told salty yarns or closed their eyes in the simple luxury of the sun, others busied themselves at whalebone scrimshaw: fine pieces would fetch a good price ashore. At the bow, pairs of seamen plaited each other's pigtails—Kydd's own tiemate had been Nicholas Renzi.

Teazer was a small ship with tight living conditions and it was essential her company quickly settled into amicable sea routines: the process, Kydd was pleased to see, seemed already well under way.

CHAPTER 4

'DAMME, BUT YOU TOOK YOUR TIME, Captain,' General Pigot grumbled but Kydd detected a certain satisfaction. 'So, we can account the good ship Teazer one of our company, hey?'

'We are ready f'r operations now, sir,' Kydd said carefully.

It was a delicate matter: his direct allegiance was to his commanding admiral, yet he was on detached service from the fleet and in the service of Malta, now governed by a civil power. In turn the civil commissioner would rely for military matters on the garrison general, Pigot. Thus, in elliptical fashion, Kydd would in effect report to Pigot— but he had no wish to become a creature of the Army with its ignorance of the sea and its perils.

The general looked at Kydd speculatively. 'T' be quite honest with ye, Captain, I didn't think you had it in you to get your ship up to scratch in time. What is it? A brig?'

'Aye, sir—a brig-sloop.' Then Kydd added warmly, 'She mounts eight 6-pounders a side, an' more besides for close-in work.'

Pigot nodded slowly. 'Well, as long as ye don't come up against a bigger,' he said, as if to himself. He raised his eyes to meet Kydd's. 'I'd be obliged if you'd wait on me in the morning. I may have a service for you.'