Tenacious

French line, but Kydd's attention to these was cut short when Houghton sent for him. 'Mr Kydd, do you take possession of the French seventy-four.'

To take possession? It was every officer's dream to board a vanquished enemy and this day Thomas Kydd would do so! It was incredible, wonderful. All trace of fatigue left him. 'Aye aye, sir,' he stammered. He had no doubt, however, of why he had been chosen: he could be spared in the continuing conflict—others would continue the fight.

'Carry on, Mr Kydd.' Houghton gave a dry smile and turned away.

Kydd's heart rose with pride, but the formalities must be observed. His mind scrambled to recall the procedures as he told a messenger, 'Pass the word for Mr Rawson.'

The midshipman appeared, his features drawn.

'How does Mr Bowden do?' Kydd asked.

'He's near-missed by a ball. Mr Pybus says he is tolerably sanguine for his life but he's sore concussed an' will need care.'

'Which can be arranged, I'd wager,' Kydd said. 'But now we go t' take possession of the Frenchy yonder,' he added briskly. It had the desired effect. The resilience of youth ensured that a smile appeared on the midshipman's face. 'Beg Mr Pringle for a half-dozen marines and ask the first lieutenant for a boat's crew.' There were things to remember—he had heard of the embarrassment of one lieutenant who had arrived triumphantly aboard a conquered ship but had omitted to bring along a flag to hoist over that of the enemy.

And he had no French to deal with their captives, but that could be remedied: 'We'll have Petty Officer Gurnard in the boat.' This man, he knew, came from Jersey in the Channel Islands and would have the French like a native.

He wished he could shift from his grey-stained uniform to something more presentable, but all his possessions were struck below in the hold. His cocked hat was passed into the boat, where the crew and marines waited, then Kydd swung over the bulwarks and down the side.

They pulled steadily towards the motionless French ship-of-the-line and as they did so the men began to cheer and whoop— the second vessel aground had lowered her colours. 'Silence in the boat!' growled Kydd. He would see to it that the surrender was seemly and in accordance with the strict and ancient customs of the Royal Navy.

As they rounded the stern, they saw, below the shattered windows and trailing ropes, the vessel's name: Heureux. 'Means 'happy,' sir,' the nuggety Channel Islander offered.

'Thank you, Gurnard,' Kydd replied, thinking it an odd name for a ship-of-the-line. 'We shall find a better when she's ours, you may depend upon it.'

The bowman hooked on at the side steps, ignoring stony looks from the French seamen above. Kydd addressed himself to the task of going up the side. It would be disastrous if he lost his footing or stumbled. He jammed on his hat firmly and, keeping his sword scabbard from between his legs, he heaved himself up.

The noisy jabbering lessened as Kydd stepped aboard. A knot of officers stood before him, their eyes hostile; around them were scores of seamen, staring and resentful. Others were coming up from below, filling the decks.

An older officer with the gold of authority removed his hat and gave a short, stiff bow. Kydd returned it, removing his own hat.

'Je suis Jean Etienne, le capitaine de vaisseau national de France Heureux.' His voice was hoarse.

'L'tenant Thomas Kydd, of His Britannic Majesty's Ship Tenacious.' Bows were exchanged again as Gurnard translated, the captain's eyes never leaving Kydd's.

'Pour I'honneur de la patrie...'

Gurnard spoke quickly to keep up: it seemed that only in the face of so patently an overwhelming force and the unfortunate absence of their great commander had they been brought to this pass. 'He seems t' be much concerned, sir, that you, er, recognise the heroic defence of their vessel ... He says, sir, t' avoid further, um, effusion o' blood it were better they acknowledge their present situation ...'

'Par consequent... a bas le pavilion... je rends le vaisseau.'

'An' therefore he must strike his colours and give up the vessel.' A hush fell over the upper deck as the word rippled out.

Kydd returned the intense look gravely. 'I sympathise with Captain Etienne's position, an' can only admire the courage he an' his ship's company have shown.' He searched for more words but it was difficult to suppress the leaping exultation that filled his thoughts. He tried to think of what it must be like to yield up one's ship. 'And I do hope, sir, that th' fortune of war sees you soon returned t' a fitting place of honour.'

The captain inclined his head and stepped forward. His eyes released Kydd's as he unhooked his sword and scabbard from its belt fastening. There was a pause for just a heartbeat, then Etienne held out the lengthy curved and tasselled weapon in both hands.

It was Kydd's decision: if there had been a truly heroic defence he had an option to return the sword; in this instance, he thought not. With a civil bow he accepted the sword and handed it smoothly to Rawson. Etienne made a courtly bow, then straightened. It was impossible to discern any emotion in his expression.

'Thank you, Captain. I accept th' sword of a gentleman in token of the capitulation o' this vessel.' Something like a sigh went up from the watching company as Gurnard spoke the words of finality and closure.

Kydd paused and looked about: this was a memory that would stay with him all his days. He turned to a seaman. 'Hoist our colours above th' French at the mizzen peak halliards, if y' please.'

Facing Etienne he said directly, 'If you'd be good enough to leave the magazine keys with me, sir ...' There was no compromise in his tone: any madman with a taste for glorious suicide could put them all in mortal peril.

Etienne muttered briefly to another officer who left and returned with a bunch of keys, which he handed to Kydd, who gave them to the sergeant of marines. 'Now, sir, you are free t' go about your business until I receive my further orders. Good day to you, sir.'