horses on a following deep blue sea.
Teazer ’s sturdy bowsprit rose and fell. Kydd was concerned to notice the foredeck flood several times, even in these moderate conditions, the water sluicing aft before it was shed to the scup-pers—with the working of the vessel’s seams this would translate into wet hammocks for those below.
He heard a tinny sound above the sea noises: a young sailor at the main hatchway was enthusiastically beating away at an odd-looking small drum, breaking into the ordered calm of the early morning.
“Wha—”
“Quarters, sir,” said Bowden, hiding a smile. As master’s mate, he was taking watches opposite Dacres and had the deck. Kydd wondered at his confidence: he remembered his own first watch on deck as an officer and the nervous apprehension he had felt.
But that drum would have to go: the martial thunder of Tenacious ’s marine drums left no doubt about their purpose—
the men to close up at their guns to meet the dawn prepared for what the new day would reveal.
With no enemy sail sighted, quarters were stood down, hammocks piped up and the men went to breakfast. There was no need for Kydd to remain on deck but he found it hard to stand aside from the routine working of the ship. He had been an in-timate part of it since he had first gone to sea, and particularly since he had become an officer.
He turned abruptly and went below to his cabin. If he chose, there was nothing to stop him remaining in the comforts of his great cabin for the entire day—but then he would not know what
0
Julian Stockwin
was going on on deck. “Thank ye, Tysoe,” he said, as the man brought in coffee. As routines became evident Kydd’s needs were being intelligently anticipated: Kydd blessed his choice those years ago of Tysoe as servant.
An unexpected surge of contentment surfaced as he gazed through his stern windows at the swelling seas. Teazer had a pleasing motion, predictable and rarely hesitating—that was the sign of sea-kindliness: neither crank nor tender, she would lean before the buffets of wind and sea and smoothly return to a stable uprightness.
Today he would discover more of his men and his ship. Dacres was the most imperative task: he was the entire officer corps of Teazer and, in practical terms, a deputy-captain. Kydd needed a right-hand man—but, more than that, someone he could confide in, trust, one with whom he could not only mull over ideas and plans but whom he could place in hazardous situations and discover how far he could rely on him. The trouble was that Dacres’s studiously polite but reserved manner made him difficult to approach.
As he finished his coffee, the thumping of bare feet sounded loud on the deckhead above. It would be the afterguard racing across the top of his cabin to the cro’jack braces, which, as in all Navy ships, were crossed and led aft. He longed to know why they were being tended but forced himself to stay seated.
Then the ship heeled to larboard for a space before returning. It was too much. He left his cabin, just remembering his hat, and bounded on deck. A quick glance at the binnacle and out over the exuberant seas told him, however, that all was well. He saw Dacres steadying himself by the weather main shrouds and looking fixedly forward.
At Kydd’s appearance, Dacres moved to leeward, as was the custom. Kydd asked him, “How does she go for ye, Mr Dacres?”
Command
1
Dacres glanced at him briefly, his pale face taut, then hastily looked away without speaking.
Kydd frowned. “I said, how is she, Mr Dacres?”
The officer remained silent, obstinately turned away. If there was going to be bad blood between them due to some imagined slight the situation would become impossible. “Mr Dacres. I desire you should wait on me in my cabin—directly, if y’ please!”
he snapped, and strode below.
“Now, sir!” he said, rounding on Dacres as he entered. “You’ll tell me what it is ails ye, d’ye hear me?”
Holding
Teazer ’s sturdy bowsprit rose and fell. Kydd was concerned to notice the foredeck flood several times, even in these moderate conditions, the water sluicing aft before it was shed to the scup-pers—with the working of the vessel’s seams this would translate into wet hammocks for those below.
He heard a tinny sound above the sea noises: a young sailor at the main hatchway was enthusiastically beating away at an odd-looking small drum, breaking into the ordered calm of the early morning.
“Wha—”
“Quarters, sir,” said Bowden, hiding a smile. As master’s mate, he was taking watches opposite Dacres and had the deck. Kydd wondered at his confidence: he remembered his own first watch on deck as an officer and the nervous apprehension he had felt.
But that drum would have to go: the martial thunder of Tenacious ’s marine drums left no doubt about their purpose—
the men to close up at their guns to meet the dawn prepared for what the new day would reveal.
With no enemy sail sighted, quarters were stood down, hammocks piped up and the men went to breakfast. There was no need for Kydd to remain on deck but he found it hard to stand aside from the routine working of the ship. He had been an in-timate part of it since he had first gone to sea, and particularly since he had become an officer.
He turned abruptly and went below to his cabin. If he chose, there was nothing to stop him remaining in the comforts of his great cabin for the entire day—but then he would not know what
0
Julian Stockwin
was going on on deck. “Thank ye, Tysoe,” he said, as the man brought in coffee. As routines became evident Kydd’s needs were being intelligently anticipated: Kydd blessed his choice those years ago of Tysoe as servant.
An unexpected surge of contentment surfaced as he gazed through his stern windows at the swelling seas. Teazer had a pleasing motion, predictable and rarely hesitating—that was the sign of sea-kindliness: neither crank nor tender, she would lean before the buffets of wind and sea and smoothly return to a stable uprightness.
Today he would discover more of his men and his ship. Dacres was the most imperative task: he was the entire officer corps of Teazer and, in practical terms, a deputy-captain. Kydd needed a right-hand man—but, more than that, someone he could confide in, trust, one with whom he could not only mull over ideas and plans but whom he could place in hazardous situations and discover how far he could rely on him. The trouble was that Dacres’s studiously polite but reserved manner made him difficult to approach.
As he finished his coffee, the thumping of bare feet sounded loud on the deckhead above. It would be the afterguard racing across the top of his cabin to the cro’jack braces, which, as in all Navy ships, were crossed and led aft. He longed to know why they were being tended but forced himself to stay seated.
Then the ship heeled to larboard for a space before returning. It was too much. He left his cabin, just remembering his hat, and bounded on deck. A quick glance at the binnacle and out over the exuberant seas told him, however, that all was well. He saw Dacres steadying himself by the weather main shrouds and looking fixedly forward.
At Kydd’s appearance, Dacres moved to leeward, as was the custom. Kydd asked him, “How does she go for ye, Mr Dacres?”
Command
1
Dacres glanced at him briefly, his pale face taut, then hastily looked away without speaking.
Kydd frowned. “I said, how is she, Mr Dacres?”
The officer remained silent, obstinately turned away. If there was going to be bad blood between them due to some imagined slight the situation would become impossible. “Mr Dacres. I desire you should wait on me in my cabin—directly, if y’ please!”
he snapped, and strode below.
“Now, sir!” he said, rounding on Dacres as he entered. “You’ll tell me what it is ails ye, d’ye hear me?”
Holding
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