Command

Fernly seemed to sense Kydd's feeling and changed the topic. 'Can't say I've seen Teazer in Malta before. A trim craft, very handsome . . .'

Kydd thawed. 'Goes like a witch in anythin' like a quarterin' blow, an' I'm going after more b' crossing a main- yard in place of the cro'jack. Rattlin' fine work b' y'r Maltese shipwrights.'

'You mount fours or sixes?'

'Six-pounders, an' hoping t' find carronades. Couldn't help but notice—Mayfly's clencher-built, not s' common as who would say. I was in a cutter in the Caribbean, Seaflower b' name, an' she was lap-straked as well.'

'Caribbean? I was there in Wessex frigate in 'ninety-four.'

'Were ye really? I remember . . .'

The talk livened agreeably at the subject of old ships. Fernly had been an able seaman with the good fortune to have impressed a captain sufficiently that he had been plucked from the fo'c'sle and placed on the quarterdeck as a mature midshipman. This had led to promotion in due course, but the later demise of the captain had left him without interest at high level and he had not been noticed.

Dinner was served, the conversation turning now to landfalls and seaports across the seven seas; between them they had seen so much of a world unknown and unexplored to the generation just past.

As justice was being done to a cunning Buttered Meringue La Pompadour, Fernly cocked his head and listened, holding up his hand. The strains of a violin and sounds of merriment from the main deck had stopped and there was a sudden quiet.

Then, faintly on the night breeze, from forward came a familiar air:

We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors;

We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas

Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old Eng-a-land

From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues . . .

'That's m' quartermaster,' Fernly said softly, 'an' a right songster indeed.'

Kydd looked at Fernly. 'Spanish Ladies,' he blurted happily.

Fernly returned the look with impish glee, mouthing the words while waving a glass in the air and Kydd responded in a creditable baritone, his own glass spilling as he beat time. Soon Fernly came in with a fair tenor.

The old sea-song finished and, faces flushed, they moved back to the easy chairs. 'Rare time,' Kydd said, easing his waistband.

'It's a sad profession, without it has compensations,' Fernly agreed, helping himself to Madeira. Tysoe had cleared decks without either man noticing and a baize cloth now bore a neat cluster of decanters.

Kydd sighed deeply. His gaze slipped down to the glittering gold of the epaulette on his coat, which was now draped over the back of his chair. He looked up and his expression became wistful. 'I own that I've been a copper- bottomed, thorough-going lucky wight. Here am I, a Guildford wigmaker, topping it th' mandarin as commander, writing m'self orders f'r a cruise. Who would've smoked it?'

He stopped. 'Ah—that is not t' say . . .' In the fuddle of wine, words failed him. His guest was still only a lieutenant and a silver-haired one at that, with only a tiny cutter to show for his years at sea. And a lieutenant-in- command could not possibly compare with a commander of a sloop.

Fernly lifted his glass and, closing one eye, squinted at the table candle through it. 'Y' told me before as I was t' talk free. Should I?' He spoke as though to himself.

'Fill an' stand on, I beg,' Kydd said warmly.

Still staring at his glass Fernly continued in the same tone: 'You're senior in rank, an' I in years. Gives you a different slant on things, y' must believe.' His voice strengthened. 'Only f'r the friendship I bear ye for the night's company do I speak out, you understand.'

'Just so,' Kydd said neutrally.

'You're new made t' commander, this is plain.'

'Why Keith gave me th' step I still don't understand.'

'Nor will you ever. My guess is, he had others waitin' that by movin' the one into a sloop the other would protest. You were to hand and got th' berth—but if half th' reason was fortune, the other half must be y'r shinin' past. That must still the tongues o' those who would object.'

Kydd leaned forward and refilled his glass. 'But you—'

'Do I hear a dash o' pity on my account? Pray don't trouble y'self, sir. I'm content with m' lot because I'm a philosophical. I'm a tarpaulin an' know it—I never hoisted aboard y'r polite ways, I had no one t' teach me. My pride is in good deepwater seamanship an' prime sailing.'

Looking steadily at Kydd he continued, 'I'll be straight—I've been in the sea service long enough t' take inboard some hard facts, which I'll share with ye.

'The first: y' speaks of a cruise you means to take. That's a brave thing t' do when y'r Articles of War—I mean th' thirteenth— says much about any who, an' if I remember th' words aright, hangs back fr'm 'pursuing the chase of any enemy, pirate or rebel,' which chasin' prizes instead must surely be.'

He sipped his wine, regarding Kydd calmly. 'An' the seventeenth—pain o' death or other, should ye fail in protecting trade, which is goin' after the privateers and similar and not lookin' after th' merchant jacks.' He paused, then added, 'Y'r flag officer likes prize-money shares but likes better zeal agin the enemy—just ask His Nibs, Adm'ral Nelson!'

Kydd coloured. 'I know the Articles well enough,' he muttered.

Fernly went on remorselessly: 'Still an' all, I've knowledge that the eastern Med squadron will be returning here shortly f'r their regular repair 'n' store, which will be fatal to your enterprise in any case.' So much for his