Invasion

Saumarez reflected for a moment. 'Oh, quite. Then you shall have a new lieutenant. I see no reason to delay matters. The sooner this sorry affair is concluded the better for all. I shall draw up your letter of appointment immediately, Mr. Kydd.'

Having allowed Standish a couple of days to set his affairs in order and send his gear ashore, Kydd now stood proudly on North Pier watching Teazer's gig stroking towards him from where she lay at anchor in the Great Road of St. Peter Port. Hallum, his new lieutenant, waited behind him.

The boat approached and at the tiller Midshipman Calloway fought hard to keep a solemn face. 'Oars!' he snapped. Obediently they stilled as the gig swung towards the pier.

'Toss oars!' As one, each man smacked the loom across his knee and brought it up vertically. The gig glided into the quay; the bowman leaped nimbly ashore and secured the painter. Calloway snatched off his hat with a huge smile.

Kydd looked down into the boat: Stirk at stroke, Poulden next to him, others, all beaming.

As was the custom, Hallum descended first. 'Bear off!' Calloway ordered. 'Give way t'gether!'

It had happened. At last Kydd was on his way to reclaim his rightful place. Beside him, Hallum nodded agreeably and both took in the lovely ship until the gig was brought smartly around to the side steps to hook on. Conscious of the men lined up on deck, waiting, Kydd straightened his gold-laced cocked hat a second time, then clambered aboard.

There before him was the ship's company of HMS Teazer. With Hallum standing respectfully behind him he drew out his commission and read himself in as captain. Instantly, his commissioning pennant broke out proudly on the mainmast truck.

'Mr. Purchet.' He acknowledged the boatswain, whose smile split his face from ear to ear. Kydd went on to greet individually those he had come to know and respect in times past. 'Mr. Clegg. An' how's our little Sprits'l, can I ask?'

The sailmaker grinned and whispered shyly, 'Why, he's a berth in m' cabin, Mr. Kydd, an' nary a rat shall ye find in th' barky.'

'Mr. Duckitt.'

The gunner removed his hat and shuffled his feet in pleased embarrassment. 'Our metal's as good as ever it was, sir,' he muttered.

Kydd's eyes found others and the memories returned.

The rest of the Teazers were assembled forward, their faces leaving no doubt about their feelings that their old captain had been restored. Kydd had Teazer back and the future was up to him. He turned to address the men. Legs abrace, he took off his hat and opened his mouth, but a lump in his throat stopped the words. He drew out his handkerchief and spluttered into it until he had regained his composure. Then he began, 'Teazers. It's—it's with . . .' It was no good. He wheeled on the boatswain. 'Mr. Purchet, this afternoon a make 'n' mend for all hands!' In the storm of cheering that resulted he took refuge in his cabin.

It was bare and unkempt, with an alien smell. Standish had cleared it completely and, without furnishings, it looked immense. Kydd gave a bleak grin. After his dismissal from his ship he'd been reduced to the life of a wandering vagrant, sleeping in a sail-loft until he had achieved handsome riches through privateering. Standish's petty act was meaningless—with his new-found fortune he could easily purchase replacements.

There was a well-remembered knock on the door. 'Come, Tysoe!' he called happily, and stood to greet his old servant.

The man entered discreetly, his nose wrinkling in disdain at the sight of the forlorn cabin.

'Aye! Well, we've a mort of work to do in seeing this'n all shipshape— but there's none better, I dare t' say, as I trust to take it in hand.' In the absence of his sister Cecilia's womanly touch, he could safely leave it to Tysoe to go ashore and make the necessary purchases.

A murmuring outside resolved in to the anxious features of Ellicott, the purser. 'We should set th' books straight now, sir,' he said, holding a pack of well-thumbed papers.

'We will,' Kydd promised. He knew the reason for the haste: Standish had no doubt fudged the signing-off on some accounts. Ellicott feared that until Kydd signed them into his charge he, as purser, would be held responsible for any deficiencies in the boatswain's store, gunner's allowance and so forth.

Before Kydd started on the paperwork, though, there were a few things he must attend to first. 'Is the ship's clerk in attendance?' he asked carefully. It was a delicate matter: his friend Renzi had been acting in that role while Kydd was captain but had given up the post and gone ashore with Kydd when he had been dismissed from his ship. But if the new one was . . .

'Larkin, sir,' Ellicott said apologetically, ushering an elderly seaman inside.

'You!' Kydd said in surprise.

'Aye, sir,' Larkin mumbled. Kydd was taken aback: he knew him to be a fo'c'sleman with an unusual attachment to poetry. In the dogwatches it was his practice to copy out verse from books in large, beautifully formed copperplate. Clearly he had been 'volunteered' for the task by the previous captain.

'This is no task for a prime sailorman, Larkin,' Kydd said briskly. 'I'll see if Mr. Renzi is at leisure to relieve ye, an' then your part o' ship shall be fo'c'sleman again.'

The man beamed.

'So, Mr. Ellicott, I'm your man in one hour.' He turned to Tysoe. 'Now then, I'd like t' hear as how you think we should best fit out the cabin. Then ye're to step off an' secure it all. Oh, an' at six bells ye'll find Mr. Renzi on North Pier with his books. He'll want hands to bear a fist in swaying 'em aboard.'

In the afternoon the men settled to their make-and-mend, a time set aside for leisure and attention to sea-worn clothing or the crafting of a smart step-ashore rig. It was also a fine opportunity not only to make discreet survey of how his ship had fared out of his hands but as well to bring Hallum to a closer appreciation of Teazer's character. It would be a welcome respite, too, from the welter of paperwork that Ellicott seemed intent on drowning him in.

Hats firmly under arms, the two officers strolled along the deck forward. In favoured positions on the gratings, against the sunnier bulwark or simply sprawled out on the planking, men got on with the serious business of gossip and yarn-spinning while they skilfully stitched away. They fell silent as Kydd approached but, in the custom of the sea, off-watch this was their territory, and once the two had passed they resumed chatting.