Command (30 page)

This had to be where his fortune changed.

Time passed even more slowly; his nervous pacing and rehearsal of his words was watched cynically by the others but Kydd knew this was his only chance. At five minutes to four he presented himself and was ushered upstairs to a large room.

“Commander Kydd, m’lord,” the functionary said, and with-drew, closing the doors.

Kydd stood before the great desk and tried to meet the hard grey eyes of Earl St Vincent, whose splendid uniform and decorations filled his vision. “S-sir, it is kind in ye to see me at this time.”

The eyes were level and uncompromising—and red with tiredness. “You wish a ship.” The words were bitten off as though regretted.

“Sir. As ye can see fr’m my—”

“I can read as well as the next man, sir.” He had Kydd’s painfully written petition in his hands and glanced once at it, then resumed his impaling stare. “If this were a time o’ war you should have one, Mr Kydd. Since we are not in that state, I cannot give you one—as simple as that, sir.”

“Then, sir, any sea appointment would be more than acceptable . . .”

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“If you were a l’tenant, that might have been possible, but you are not. As a commander you must command, and I have no ships.”

“Sir, not even—”

“Sir—do tell me, which vessel do you propose I should turn out her captain that you should take his place? Hey? Hey?”

At Kydd’s silence he went on in a kinder tone: “Your situation is known. Your services to His Majesty’s Navy are well noted, but I can give you no hope of a ship—no hope, do you understand me, sir?”

Kydd stared unseeingly at the damp walls of his rooms, his mind full of bitter thoughts. St Vincent was upright and honourable and he had had a fair hearing. Probably no amount of interest or influence could overturn the odds against him. The very situation he had feared since that fateful talk with the cutter lieutenant had now come about, ironically so soon after he had secured the distinction he had sought.

His means were fast dissipating and there were few alternatives. He had gone over these in his mind many times—there was the Impress Service that ran the press-gangs, the Sea Fencibles that were in effect a naval militia, the Transport Board with its storeships and craft for the Army, and finally hospital and prison ships. Even supposing he could find a berth, there was the un-deniable fact that any would be poison to his future career as a first-rank sea officer: it was generally expected that a gentleman officer should retire to his country estates to await a call if there was another war.

A knock at the door brought a quickly scribbled letter from Cecilia. Kydd bit his lip as he read that Renzi had disappeared—

had simply vanished from his sick-bed without hint or warning and was presumably wandering the streets, disturbed in his intellects and not responsible. Remembering the doctor’s strictures

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about depression and suicide Kydd’s first thought was to rush back to look for Renzi. Then cold reason came and told him that Cecilia would ensure that measures were taken to find him and he could add little by returning to Guildford. He set the letter down.

The cheap candle guttered like his hopes. Things had gone now from disappointment to real worry. Living in London was ruinously expensive and at some point he would find that he must let go his hopes of any more sea employment—and return home. To what?

A sudden thought struck. There was little difference between a merchant ship and a warship if ship-rigged. He was a known quantity in the matter of leading men and, as for the seamanship, he was sure he could make a better fist of it than many he had seen in his convoy days. He would do as the common sailor always did—slip easily between man-o’-war and merchant jack.

The cream was the East India Company, vessels run on naval lines of discipline and efficiency and with ample prospect of profitable ventures for the captain. But John Company was known for its closed structure and there was probably no opening for an outsider. The élite Falmouth Packet Service? Greyhounds of the sea, these little ships would race across the Atlantic with mails and even chests of gold to the New World, again with rich pickings for the captains. Was it worthwhile to make the long trip to Falmouth on the off-chance that he, among so many in like circumstances, would be able to break into such a sea community and secure a command? Probably not. London was, however, the premier maritime centre of the kingdom and if he could not achieve something here, then . . . The heart of this activity was just downstream of the Tower of London, at the final resting place of the ceaseless stream of vessels from all parts of the world. The factors, agents, owners and others all had their offices nearby. He tried to remember company names, any who
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would favour a naval officer as captain. That was it—Burns, Throsby and Russell; they had been the prickly owners, he remembered, of the brig once chartered for a cartel voyage to the Mediterranean. He set to work to prepare an approach that would persuade them to take on a new captain.

The Burns, Throsby and Russell building was set back from the noise and stench of the Ratcliffe Highway, a haughty paean to the empire of trade. It seemed that Mr Burns was unavailable but Mr Russell would be in a position to accept Kydd’s calling in half an hour.

Kydd sat in a high-backed chair and tried not to appear too obvious as he looked about the great hall. The entire floor was populated with scores of identical raised desks, each with its clerk and scratching quill. An overpowering musty odour of old paper and ink pervaded the air in much the same way as the fug of a frigate’s berth deck but here there was no sound other than an echoing susurrus of half a hundred pens.

“Cap’n Kydd?” A kindly old clerk hovered in front of him.

“Mr Russell can see you now.”

Russell was old-fashioned in appearance, punctilious, his small pince-nez glittering as he peered at Kydd. “Well, Captain, it is certainly not every day we are able to receive such a distinguished sea officer as your own good self, sir.”

“You know of my action with
La Fouine?
” Kydd said, in surprise.

“
La Fouine?
I’m not sure I follow you, sir. I was simply referring to your remarkable sagacity in devising a stratagem to preserve a convoy off Sicily from depredation. Our agent in Malta speaks highly of you, Mr Kydd.”

Kydd looked down modestly. Was he right to hope . . . ?

“And now, sir, of what service may we be to you?” Russell said mildly, taking off his spectacles to polish them.

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“Mr Russell, as ye will be aware, with th’ late peace, the King’s service is less a place f’r an enterprising officer. As a mariner of ambition I see that th’ merchant service may provide me more of a future, an’ I ask if ye will consider me as suitable f’r your ocean-going trade—” he took a deep breath “—as a master.”

The polishing stopped. At first Kydd thought that Russell had not heard, but then he answered, with no change in his expression: “You’ll be sound in your nauticals, I will believe,” he said,

“Pray tell me, sir, your notion of the monetary risks the master of a merchant vessel incurs on behalf of the owner under a charter party voyage.”

Kydd shifted uncomfortably.

“Or the rule for calculating
per diem
demurrage should a particular freight require re-stowage by cause of the consignee? The bottomry premium if calculated on . . .”

At Kydd’s embarrassed silence he stopped, then resumed gently, “You will see, Commander, our ways are different, we have other concerns. You will understand if I say that I do wish you well for your future, but at the moment there does not appear to be a marine post now open with us that would be suitable for a gentleman of your undoubted quality.”

“I do understand,” said Kydd, meekly, “an’ I thank ye for your time, sir.”

He had come full circle: now there was nothing more. With a polite bow he turned and left, joining the streaming bustle of the street. He felt light-headed and detached; in a way he was relieved that it was all over, no more pretence, no more futile hoping.

Stepping round a pair of drunken, brawling sailors he made for the river but became aware of someone distant calling his name. He looked back and saw the old clerk hurrying after him.

“Sir, Cap’n, Mr Russell begs you will grant him a further minute of your time, should you be at liberty to do so.”

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Russell sat Kydd down and did not waste time. “Mr Kydd, my junior partner has just informed me that, indeed, we may well have a position vacant such as you describe. Due to an illness, one of our senior masters is unable to take post and we stand embarrassed in the matter of our obligations. Is it at all possible that you may consider taking the situation, bearing in mind that this will be an ocean voyage of some months and at short notice to sail?”

Kydd fought to appear calm. “Er, could ye tell me more of th’

ship, Mr Russell?”

“The
Totnes Castle.
A fine barque of four hundred and twenty tons, fully rigged and lying now at Deptford. I should think you will find yourself well satisfied with her.”

Trying to hide his soaring hopes, Kydd asked, “Th’ cargo? As y’ know, I have no experience in cargo handling.” He was dimly aware that cargoes such as textiles and rice were stowed differently from exotics like joggaree and Prussian blue.

Russell leaned back expansively. “She’s under government contract for the far colonies, so you will have nothing to worry about there—in any case you will have the first mate, Cuzens, to assist you,” he added smoothly.

On a long voyage Kydd knew he would have plenty of time to learn the ropes before they made port to discharge. And, glory be, he would be back at sea—as the captain of a ship once again.

Elation flooded him. “I’ll take her!” he blurted.

“Splendid!” Russell purred. “Then there’s just the matter of the formalities, Captain. We are a business, you know.”

Papers were sorted, presented and signed. Kydd sighed deeply.

He was now master of a ship in the employ of Burns, Throsby and Russell, expected to step aboard and take command directly.

“Er, what will be m’ first voyage?” he asked tentatively.

“The
Totnes Castle
will probably call at Tenerife before sailing south. You’re familiar with the Atlantic? Then it would be usual

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to touch at the Cape before dropping to forty south until you feel able to bear up for New South Wales.”

“New Holland!” The other side of the earth—four, five months at sea. And then, at the end of it, what in heaven’s name could be there to justify a trading voyage? Sudden suspicion dawned.

“My cargo—”

“Will be stores, grain, tools and so on, the usual supplies for our colonies in Port Jackson.”

“And . . . ?”

“A small number of convicted felons, of course, but naturally you will have guards.”

A convict ship. His mind froze in horror. He was to command one of those hell-ships that transported unfortunates beyond the seas to Botany Bay? It was . . .

“Mr Kydd,” Russell continued earnestly, “we have the utmost faith in your abilities at this very short notice and recognise that the post may not meet with your entire satisfaction. Therefore, subject to a successful conclusion to this voyage, we shall look to offering you a more permanent berth on your return.

“Now, sir, shall we look more closely at the details?”

Kydd gripped the paper fiercely. “This Charter Party of Affreightment made and Concluded upon . . . to Port Jackson in New South Wales, on the Terms and Conditions following, Viz . . . and shall be fitted and furnished with Masts, Sails, Yards, Anchors, Cables, Ropes, Cords, Apparel and other . . . the said Burns, Throsby & Russell, do Covenant that . . . the said Convicts, their Births, Sickness, Behaviour, or Deaths . . . at the rate of Seventeen Pounds Seven Shillings and Sixpence per head for each Convict . . .”

It was a bewildering and disturbing sea world he was entering. The familiar sturdy dimensions of conduct of the Navy were replaced by a different imperative: success in his profession was now to be measured in cost and profit, his acumen in dealing with traders and authorities to the best advantage of the owners, and the securing of an uneventful and minimally expensed voyage. However, it was the life he had chosen: if he was to move up to a better class of vessel on his return then he had to make a good fist of this, whatever it took—and so little time to learn!

The master’s cabin of
Totnes Castle
was small and utilitarian, gloomy with dark, oiled wood and a smell of close living. The ship herself was of a size, nearly double that of the lovely
Teazer,

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but her interior was undoubtedly for one overriding purpose: the carrying of cargo.

As ship’s master he had a dual role, as captain, and as representative to the world of the merchant company Burns, Throsby and Russell. In token of this, his signature was sufficient in itself to incur debt and expenditure without apparent limit in the company’s name. To Kydd’s disquiet, he had discovered that
Totnes
Castle
did not rate a purser and he was expected to function as one, with the assistance of the steward, whose other duties were to wait at table.

Then there were the officers. The mate Cuzens, a fat, blustering man, did not inspire Kydd; neither did the second mate, a sharp-featured Dane. The third was not yet appointed. In deep-sea three watches, if he sailed without one he would end up himself taking the deck. And the others: a sly boatswain, elderly carpenter and witless sailmaker, whose senseless muttering as he worked had got on Kydd’s nerves when he had first come aboard.