Mutiny (52 page)
'Mr Kydd - passing the word for Mr
Kydd!' He looked up. T' attend the captain,' the messenger said importandy, 'in
his quarters.'
Monckton was recovering
in his cabin, the guns had spoken faithfully. He should not have any cause for
worry.
The captain's door was
open, a stream of people entering and leaving while he and his clerk sat behind
a desk of papers.
'Kydd,
sir?'
A flustered, battle-worn Essington
looked up briefly. The redness in his face had turned to a bruising, and he had
not yet changed his clothes. 'Go to Monarch, they're expecting you.'
'Sir?'
'Now,
if you please, sir,' said Essington irritably.
'Aye aye, sir,' Kydd said hastily,
wondering what his mission could be.
The boat joined others
criss-crossing between other ships. Close to he could see that the sea was
speckled with pieces of wreckage, some as big as spars, some smaller unidentifiable
fragments. His eyes lifted to the loose cluster of men-o'-war ahead, every one
showing where they had endured.
Monarch was the
flagship of Onslow, vice admiral of the other division. Kydd went up the
pockmarked side of the big 74 and, touching his hat, reported.
The officer looked at
him curiously. 'Come with me.' He was escorted to the admiral's Great Cabin.
'Mr Kydd, master's mate, Triumph, sir.'
Onslow
put down his pen and came round his desk. The splendid blue and gold, the stars
and epaulettes — all the grandeur of naval circumstance — brought to Kydd a
surge of guilt and apprehension.
'Ah, Mr Kydd.' He
looked appraisingly at Kydd, who stuttered something about his tattered,
smoke-grimed appearance. 'Nonsense, my boy. All in th' line of duty. Well, now,
you must be feelin' proud enough that your captain speaks s' highly of ye.'
'Sir?' To his knowledge
there was no reason that Essington could have even to mention his existence to
such an august being.
Onslow's eyebrows rose. 'You don't know
why ye're here?' He chuckled quiedy. 'Then I'll tell you. Since Admiral Duncan
is entertainin' the Dutch admiral, he's left certain jobs to me. An' one of 'em
is this. In the course o' such a day, sadly there's some ships have suffered
more than others. Your captain was one o' those asked to spare a suitable man
t' fill vacancies in these. He seems t' think you're suitable, so by the powers
vested in me by the flag-officer-in-command, I order that, as of this moment,
ye're to be known as Lieutenant Kydd.'
'S-sir,
I -1—'
It was staggering — it was
marvellous! It was frightening! It was—
'Unusual name, that —
Kydd. Don' come from Guildford, b' any chance?'
'Sir—' He couldn't
speak. Feeling his face redden with pleasure, the broadest of smiles bursting
out, he finally spluttered, 'Aye, sir.'
'Related t' the Kydds who opened the
navy school not so long past?'
'M-my father, sir,' he
said, in a near delirium of emotion.
'A fine school
f'r Guildford. Like t' pay my respects to y'r father at some time.'
Speechless, Kydd accepted the precious
letter of commission and turned to go.
'And, Lieutenant, might I have the
honour of takin' your hand? It gives me a rare pleasure to know that Guildford
can still produce fightin' seamen. Ah — do ye not wish t' know which ship?'
'Sir?'
Any ship that swam would do.
'Tenacious
sixty-four. Good fortune to ye, Mr Kydd.'
His heart full, Kydd tried to
concentrate in the boat on its way to the battle-worn Tenacious. But he was a
lieutenant! An officer! A — gentleman! His universe spun as he attempted to
readjust his world-view; stricdy, his father should touch his forelock to him,
his mother curtsy when introduced — and what would they say in Guildford?
But what about Renzi,
supposing they ever met again? Would he accept him as a gentleman? Would they .
. .
His sea-bag and chest lay between his
legs. When he had returned to Triumph to fetch them, Essington had cut short
his thanks. 'We were signalled for a suitable man. Do you wish to dispute my
choice, sir? I know something of your history. Pray you will live up to your
step — and the best of luck, Mr Kydd.'
This was absolute
evidence for Kydd that the Admiralty held nothing against him over his support
for the seamen; there could be no doubt now, no more feelings of guilt,
betrayal or ambivalence. Now he was a naval officer, with all the rights and
privileges. It was altogether incredible.
Tenacious
loomed. 'Boat ahoy!' came the distant cry.
'Aye aye!' their bowman
roared. Kydd started — but then, of course, be was the naval officer they
carried! A long sigh came from the depths of his being.
The boat hooked on, and
Kydd sprang for the handropes. Impatiently he mounted the side, passing by an
open-mouthed boatswain's mate at the entry-port. Embarrassed, he retraced his
steps down and across to the entry-port. He entered the carved portal, the
silver call pealing out to all concerned that a naval officer was boarding Tenacious.
'Sway aboard my dunnage, younker,' he
told a duty midshipman.
'Aye,'
the youngster said.
'What
was that?' Kydd snapped.
'Er, aye aye, sir,' the midshipman
corrected himself, stiffening and touching his hat.
'Very well.' Kydd
remembered too late that he still wore his master's mate plain coat, and
grinned at the discomfited lad. There would be time to find a uniform later.
'Where's the captain?' he asked.
'Dead,' the boy said.
'So's the first and third lootenant. We're getting replacements, o' course,' he
confided, then added a hasty, 'er, sir.'
Kydd went up the main
hatchway to the upper deck, marvelling at the ruin on all sides. There were
overturned guns, beaten-in bulwarks, broken spars hanging from aloft - and a
tattered figure hobbling about, using a broken rammer as a makeshift crutch.
He
stopped, staring keenly. It was - it couldn't be -Renzi? 'Nicholas! You're -
you're wounded!'
'I fear so, old fellow. It is but an
inconvenience, the doctor assures me that I shall be made whole in some weeks.'
A warm smile stole over his face. 'Thomas! You have survived our day of trial!'
He held out his hand. Kydd gripped it, the events of the day threatening to
unman him.
The midshipman appeared. 'Shall I
stow your gear in the third's cabin for now, sir?' 'Please.'
He turned back to Renzi, but the cat was
out of the bag. 'You — you have been—'
'I have,' said Kydd, in
the purest happiness. 'Ye have t' call me sir, now, Nicholas.'
'Oh.
I'm afraid that's not possible.'
'Er,
may I know why not?'
Renzi looked down for a moment, and when
he looked up again, Kydd could see he was struggling for control. 'Because,
Thomas, you will be grieved to hear that as senior master's mate, I also have
been elevated to the quarterdeck. And, given recent promotions, you will be
fifth, and I the fourth, so it will be you who are obliged to render the
honorifics to me.'
Their heartfelt
laughter brought grins from the others on deck.
Kydd had just one
question. 'Nicholas, does this mean that - y'r intent, you know, t' leave the
sea . .. ?'
A half-smile showed
briefly. 'It rather appears, dear fellow, that I may have to revisit that
decision ...'
Author's
Note
Some people have asked me how much
my books are based on my own life. In a way how could they be? The protagonist
and I are separated by two hundred years and a revolution in technology, and I
chose the sea while he had little choice; but as I got into the series I
realised that Tom Kydd and I do share much.
We both deeply relate
to the sea's magic, its potency and vast majesty, and both of us feel a clutch
at the heart at the sensation of a live deck beneath, with all its promise of
adventure and excitement. That first deep scend of the bows outward bound — the
'curtsy to Neptune' every ship must make on entering His realm. The contraction
of your world into the ship's comforting, never-changing rhythms — so different
to life ashore with all its distractions.
In the course of this
book I revisited Sheerness, the bleak setting of this most awesome of mutinies.
As I looked out over the cold, drab wilderness of the Nore one particularly raw
winter's day, seeing back into time to those great events, into my mind, too,
came remembrance of myself as a very small boy looking out from that very spot
to low, grey shapes slipping out to sea, disappearing over the horizon and
taking my imagination with them. You can still walk out at low tide over the
mud-flats and find clay pipes of Kydd's time, but he had quite a different
experience — this was where he first set foot on the deck of a man-o'-war, and
met his future.
As ever, this tale has
materially benefited from the time and kindness of people at the various
locations I researched; I think particularly of Lorna Swift, at the Garrison
Library of Gibraltar (which still exists) who found for me priceless documents
of the time; Admiral Lorenzo Sferra, Conservator of the Naval museum at the
Arsenale in Venice who at short notice deployed the full resources of his
museum for me; and David Hughes, a local historian in Sheerness who was able to
reveal to me fascinating hidden facts and colour of this underrated part of the
naval history of England. To the many others I consulted, my deep thanks.
I'm blessed with a knowing and
professional literary agent, Carole Blake, and Carolyn Mays, my new editor at
Hodder, heads an enthusiastic and hard-working team that is bringing the world
of Thomas Kydd to life for so many.
As each book is finally
launched on the world it only increases my respect and admiration for my
creative partner and wife, Kathy, who was originally responsible for my embarking
on the voyage of my life. And it is certainly time I acknowledge my
parents-in-law Keith and Cressey Stackhouse, who believed in us both from the
beginning.
The end of this book
marks a watershed in the series; Kydd is now an officer and in the next book he
begins the transition from the fo'c'sle as a common seaman to the quarterdeck
as a gentleman. It will not be an easy journey...
Hardback
— October 2004 o 340 832177
Paperback
-
April
2005
o
340
832193
Hodder & Stoughton