Command

*  *  *

'Now, I'd like you to get a sense o' how important these dispatches are, Mr Kydd,' Pigot said, leaning forward seriously. 'Our landings in Egypt are bein' hotly disputed—if Johnny Crapaud gets resupply it'll turn the situation right round.'

He looked at Kydd shrewdly. 'This is news of the French admiral, Ganteaume. A powerful crowd o' battleships an' such sailed from Leghorn to God knows where. Be a good chap an' let your Admiral Warren know about him just as quick as y' can.'

There had been a landing in Egypt by the British under Abercrombie with the objective of dealing with the still- potent French Army stranded there by Nelson's dazzling victory at the Nile. Any threat to its lines of support would be serious indeed. Kydd stuffed the dispatches crisply into the satchel. 'Aye aye, sir. I sail afore sunset.'

The rest of the day was needed to stow last-minute stores and water. This was going to be no simple exercise: Teazer would shortly be embarking on a deep-sea voyage to face all weathers and whatever enemy lay outside. What was not aboard when they sailed could not be obtained until they returned after their mission.

With the men below at their midday meal, Kydd called his officers to his cabin. 'I'll not have you in ignorance of th' ship's movements,' he said, trying not to sound pompous. 'It's straightforward enough, gentlemen. Dispatches —th' French under Ganteaume are out an' tryin' t' supply their army in Egypt. If they find they c'n beat us, I don't have to tell ye, it's as if the Nile never happened an' they have a royal road to India. We have t' rendezvous with Admiral Sir John Borlase Warren an' advise him in time.

'Mr Bonnici, show us y'r charts.' There was a new chart of the Alexandria coast by the Admiralty Hydrographic Office, the first Kydd had seen, but the others were of questionable reliability.

'Th' reigning wind's fair fr'm the north-west, o' course, and we'll make good time—I expect t' be at the rendezvous in five or six days at most. I shall be pressing Teazer hard, an' I want you all to be watching f'r strains aloft.'

He thought for a space, then added, 'Were we to fall in with an enemy, m' first duty is to the dispatches an' I will not offer battle. But we might have t' fight our way clear, so . . .' He tailed off at the blank faces. Then he understood—all this was so much a waste of words: the men knew full well what was to be expected of them and their ship without his needing to spell it out, but were too polite to say so.

He dismissed them, and remained alone in his cabin. It was the first proper mission of his first command and failure or mistakes were unthinkable. It was coming home to him just what being a captain meant: there was not a soul he could talk to, seek advice from or even reveal his feelings to about the momentousness of this occasion.

Other thoughts jostled. Now he had all of the responsibility but at the same time all of the power. He could give orders for anything within reason but unless it was the right order . . . Where before things had just happened, which his responsibility was to conform to and support, now it would be his role to think about and make those things happen or nothing would. In the past if he failed in a duty it would be a matter of reproof. Now it would be the ship and her company who suffered calamitous consequences.

Anxieties flooded in: supposing he had overlooked a vital task and Teazer suddenly found herself helpless before the guns of an enemy? What if a strange man-o'-war loomed up and he had forgotten to give out the secret recognition signal to the signals crew in time? And had he taken aboard sufficient of the right sort of stores, enough water, powder, charts—were they wise to trust in Kydd, the raw new captain of Teazer, to get the crucial dispatches into the right hands?

He tried to throw off the demons. Rationally there was no future in worry, in formless anxiety, and it was vital to keep a strong, calm manner in front of the men. He reached for composure. Then he found Renzi's reassuring image materialise before him. What would be his closest friend's advice, his calm and ordered appreciation of his position?

He saw Renzi's expression assume a saintly sorrow, as it always did when there was a hard truth. And he knew what it was before the vision faded. He was the captain: there was no other alternative than that he must find the strength, courage and intelligence from within himself.

'Let go!' HMS Teazer's last bond with the land was cast off; her jack forward was struck and her largest ensign, the blue of the Mediterranean Fleet, soared up her main halliards just as the crack of her salute to General Pigot sent gun-smoke wreathing agreeably across Kydd's nostrils.

In the brisk southerly, Teazer leaned to the wind, eased cautiously to the north-east in the busy harbour and made for the open water. The following seas, with their swelling rhythm from astern, seemed to urge the ship on to adventures ahead.

'Mr Dacres!' Kydd called across the quarterdeck. 'Set sea watches, starbowlines to muster.' From now on there would always be at least half of Teazer 's complement closed up on watch, ready to meet any challenge at every hour of day and night until they made port again.

He stood looking on as the watch mustered. The petty officers were consulting their lists and jollying the tardy to their stations. It was satisfying to feel the familiar routines establish themselves and Kydd found it difficult to keep a stern appearance.

He saw Stirk approaching. With a grin that could best be described as huge, he said, 'Ready t' scale the guns, sir.'

Kydd smothered an answering smile. 'Carry on, Mr Stirk.'

The six-pounders had been in store at the arsenal long enough for rust to form in the bores and scaling by dry firing would scour them clear. Soon the flat blang of the reduced charges sounded along the deck.

He looked across at Dacres. 'You have th' ship. Course east b' south, all plain sail.'

As simple as that! He brightened at the thought of never having to stand a watch again, instead taking charge or handing over whenever he felt inclined. 'Aye aye, sir,' Dacres murmured, and went to the conn.

Kydd knew he should go below and start on the work that was waiting in neat piles on his desk but it was too exhilarating on deck with the regular heave of the waves under the keel and their stately move forward, the boundless blue expanse of sea, flecked with white under a perfect Mediterranean sun.

The log was cast and the result pegged on the traverse board: nine and a half knots. Given the lateness in the day, he would leave until tomorrow the agreeable task of exploring Teazer's sailing