Command

A tiny smile appeared. 'Is all as you expected it to be?'

Kydd's tensions eased a fraction. 'It's—different t' what I expected, yes, sir.' It was difficult to know whether the admiral was making conversation or had an object in mind.

'Expect the worst, Mr Kydd, and then you'll never be disappointed.' He looked pleased at his aphorism, adding, 'And give the men not an inch. They'll never thank you for it.'

'Have you any dispatches for Malta, sir?' Kydd asked.

'Malta? What conceivable interest would I have there? No, sir, carry on about your business and be thankful I'm not taking you under command.'

Teazer put about and made off to the west, her commander standing alone on the quarterdeck. As soon as the ship was settled on her new course he went to his cabin.

Kydd realised that he was still a very new captain but a future of being a lap-dog at the beck and call of any senior to him was not how he saw a fighting ship should spend her time. He had broadsides and fighting seamen ready for his country's service. He had achieved the peak of his ambition: his own ship.

For a captain loneliness was inevitable, but he hadn't realised how much he would feel it. It was something that came with the job, though, and he would have to get used to it. The only 'friend' he was in a position to contemplate was the single other officer, Dacres, but he could find little in common with the man.

The seas coming on the bow produced an energetic dip and rise and an eagerness in the motion that Kydd could sense even this far aft. The willingness in his ship reached out to him and his moodiness eased. Looking around his cabin he felt a quickening of the spirit: he was captain of the ship, damn it, and he was a sad looby if he failed to make the most of it.

'Tysoe!' he bellowed—he must find a bell or something: without a marine sentry outside ready to pass the word this was the only way he could send for his servant.

Tysoe appeared quickly, only slightly aggrieved at the manner of the summons. 'Sir?' he said quietly, now carrying himself nobly as befitted the manservant of the captain.

'I shall have some veal for m' dinner—an' open one of the pino biancos to go with it.'

'Certainly, sir. Could I be so bold as to remind you that your cabin stores include some pickled berberries that would accompany admirably?' The flecks of silver in the man's bushy hair added maturity to his appearance and Kydd knew that he could expect Tysoe to function with distinction on any ship's occasion.

'Yes, rouse 'em out, if y' will.' Tysoe inclined his head and left, Kydd smiling at the way he kept his dignity while bracing against Teazer's playful movements.

The papers on the desk, weighted with a half musket-ball, recalled him to duty. Captain's Orders: now, just how did he want his ship run? For Teazer there were no precedents from a previous commander, no existing orders to copy and adopt, and Kydd had the chance to set out his own ideas.

'Instructions and Standing Orders for the General Government and Discipline of His Majesty's Sloop Teazer.' The well-remembered heading now preceded his own orders: he must start with due obeisance to His Majesty in Council, the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty and so on—Peck could be relied on to chase up the wording.

And the meat. Conduct of the watch-on-deck with particular attention to the logs; the rough log of the mate- of-the-watch with entries by others listing provisions and stores expended, returned or condemned and so on, to be later taken to the appropriate officer for signature. And only then would the master deign to gather up the threads and transcribe this officially into the ship's log for Kydd's approval.

The signal log: this would most certainly be used in evidence in any court-of-inquiry as would officers' journals detailing the day's events and any reckoning of their position; he would, of course, require that Dacres regularly submit his journal to him.

The bulk of the rest would be as much advice as regulation: if the officer-of-the-watch sighted a strange sail at night, water shoaling—all the hundred and one things that could suddenly slam in on the unwary. If there was no provision for guidance in a Captain's Orders the negligent could plead ignorance. Kydd's rich experiences gave him an advantage in foreseeing these situations.

There were whole sections on the duties of the first lieutenant, master, boatswain, even the petty officers. They would all be left in no doubt about their responsibilities, as far as Kydd was concerned.

And on to working the ship: silence fore and aft when major manoeuvres were being performed; the precise line of demarcation between the captain, master and officer-of-the-watch, and other general matters. He debated whether to include instructions for topmen aloft for their varying situations but decided against it, not least because it was turning into a wearisome task indeed.

Kydd was thankful for midday and his necessary appearance on deck at the noon sight, with its welcome vision of sun and sea. He left the others comparing their readings and returned to his cabin to find Tysoe standing solicitously with a cloth-encircled bottle and a steaming dish neatly set.

While the men congregated noisily at their mess-tables and the officers gathered in their tiny gunroom Kydd sat down to his solitary dinner—and, be damned, he was going to enjoy it.

A timid midshipman knocked later at the door with their workings, the position of the ship at noon by their own estimation. He had asked to see these but the two sheets had identical handwriting. To succeed in their profession the young gentlemen must know their navigation faultlessly—and individually. He would speak to Bowden.

A passing shower pitter-pattered on the cabin deckhead above, then strengthened to a drumming and at the same time Teazer's leaning lessened as the wind dropped. With a surge of sympathy Kydd realised they must be having a wet time of it on the upper decks working at their gun practice.

When he picked up his own work again he focused on the people, the men and officers, aboard. His orders would see them properly clothed, the sanctity of their mealtimes preserved and hammocks maintained clean, lashed and stowed clear of seas flooding aboard. There was so much to think about—scrubbing decks: how often and by whom? Sea-chests or sea-bags allowed on the main deck? Slinging hammocks next to hatchways in bad weather? When to rig windsails for ventilation? It went on and on for as many things as Kydd could remember to include.

Yet was this what it was to create a taut, happy ship? He well knew the answer: it all depended on the goodwill and intelligent practicality of his subordinates, and their success, inspired by himself, in drawing out a spirit of excellence, of unity and pride in themselves and their ship.