Command

from scratch as the final arbiter of conduct for every man aboard Teazer.

Restless, he rose and went on deck. If Teazer was to be an effective warship of His Majesty, there was so much to do.

The next days saw satisfying progress. A milestone was passed when yards were crossed—now his ship had a lofty grace that was both fetching and purposeful. More standing rigging began to appear. Within her hull less spectacular matters were in hand: tables were fitted for messes, neat stowage for mess traps against the ship's side above each.

The cabins aft were varnished and outfitted: tiny, but snugly appointed, they were on each side of the main hatchway companion, while further forward the master and boatswain on one side, the surgeon and purser on the other completed the officers' accommodation.

The purser went ashore once more, this time with 'necessary money' provided by the Admiralty. Among his tasks was the purchase of lanthorn candles sufficient for the entire ship, the seamen making do with a 'purser's moon,' a rush dip in an iron saucer.

Teazer received her allowance from the boat pond: a twenty-four-foot cutter, a twenty-two-foot pinnace and a jolly-boat. They were hoisted aboard on each quarter of the ship by davits, stout timbers that stood out over the sea and allowed the boats to be plucked directly from the water instead of the usual laborious arrangement with tackles from the yardarms.

The standing rigging went forward apace, taut and trim; the shrouds, stays and gammoning were stretched along and sailors then began to tar down with the rich, resinous, dark-brown Stockholm tar whose fragrance always spoke to Kydd of the sea and ships.

The end was not far off. Following Kydd's stated preference, the outside hull was 'bright-sided.' Above the waterline the side was scraped back and payed with rosin, the distillation of turpentine. When cured it would give a yacht-like brightness. It cost him dear from his own pocket but he was determined—and soon the gilders were at work with gold leaf about the pretty stern-quarters. Surveying their work from a boat, he longed to feel Teazer's lively deck in the open sea and test her mettle against the winds, but he would have to contain himself a little longer.

Nearby, Stag was preparing to return to Gibraltar. The Blue Peter rose at her masthead; she would be gone from Malta within twenty-four hours. But her captain had not forgotten and a charmingly worded invitation arrived for Kydd to dine with him that evening.

'Give you joy of your command, sir!' It was a heady moment for Kydd. After he had been rowed out to the frigate, arrayed in his best uniform with its gold lace, then piped aboard in his own right as a full commander of a sloop of the Royal Navy, he had been greeted by the waiting Captain Winthrop, who took him below to his great cabin—just two captains for dinner.

'Thank ye, sir!' Kydd raised his glass. In his euphoria the twinkling gold from the lamps playing round its rim seemed a magical circlet of happiness. 'You're away t' sea tomorrow?'

'Gibraltar through the Adriatic. But then, I fear, more service off Toulon,' said Winthrop, with a smile.

The wide expanse of Stag's mullioned windows opened on a view of the Maltese evening that was in turns mysterious and electric. In the future this would be Teazer 's home and Kydd's elation mounted. 'It could be interestin' service here, I'm thinking,' he said casually.

Winthrop uncovered the dish the steward had brought. 'Do try this baked lampuka. Local fare, but I dare to say it would be applauded in any company.' He helped Kydd to some succulent strips and continued, in the same tone, 'Interesting. That's quite the word I would have chosen myself.'

Kydd was anxious not to appear naive and kept silent. Winthrop moved on smoothly: 'Tell me, how is your fitting out progressing? Every morning I stand amazed at how your trim little brig is showing her plumage and stretching her wings. Quite your little peacock, I fancy.'

Glowing with pleasure, Kydd answered, 'Aye, sir, she's a fine enough craft. A little full in the run but long- floored and with a clean entrance. She'll do.'

'I'm sure she will,' said Winthrop, strongly. 'And her people? Are you satisfied?'

'I've some prime hands fr'm Tenacious, sir, an' others come from the fleet—I count m'self lucky they're sent for th' Malta Service at this time.'

Winthrop's smile widened. 'Should you ask Sir John you may receive a different opinion. Most would believe the men to have been destined for him.' Such a core of skilled seamen was almost certainly intended for the commander of the Eastern Mediterranean squadron of battleships continually at sea to thwart French moves east of Italy.

'I lack a sailing master,' Kydd said, changing the subject as quickly as he could. 'M' gunner's on his way, I'm told, but still there's no word on a master.'

Winthrop's expression turned grave. 'Then, in course, you are unable to sail. No doubt you are not relishing a month or so at a buoy waiting while the omission is rectified?'

Kydd gave a bleak smile.

Some years past, the rank of 'Master and Commander' had been discarded in recognition of the fact that navigation had become too specialised for fighting captains, and now, for all sloops and above, a professional master, certificated by Trinity House, was required.

Winthrop considered for a moment. 'There is a course you may wish to consider. In the customs house I met a gentleman who has been a master with us before. Stayed here when we evacuated the Mediterranean as something or other in the mer-chantry. The French seizing Malta must have put paid to that. He may be amenable at this time to an offer as acting master, the commander-in-chief to confirm. There can't be many masters at large in this end of the Med.'

'Thank you, sir, I'm indeed grateful for y'r suggestion.'

'He is Maltese, of course.'

'He c'n be a Chinaman for all I care if he gets me t' sea,' said Kydd, with relish. Impulsively, he went on, 'Sir— can I ask— what is it ye sees will make life interesting in these waters?'

Winthrop leaned back, delicately touching his lips with his napkin. 'As I remember it, for a brig-sloop your corsair will be an annoyance—Mahometans from the Barbary coast seeing it their holy duty to prey on the Christian, and you'll find privateers enough in the Sicily Channel to vex any convoy escort . . . but do believe that where you'll find it the hardest beat to wind'd is with our 'allies.'