under at this time, sir, and will persist in coming to me with their petty vexations. Daniel Hawkins had the effrontery to claim allowance against local victuals used in place of the scale of salted provisions, the rogue.”
A seaman’s horizons were necessarily limited: if he saw that the safe, secure round of his daily routines was in disarray it was fundamentally unsettling. Sea routine would see to that, but Kydd knew that here an unwritten bargain was at risk: that of an officer’s duty to provide for his men in return for their loyalty. Again, the comfort of settled routine at sea would take care of this. Hawkins was trying an old trick; there would be many more such.
Dacres was keeping his distance from the men, not understanding them, distrustful. Kydd did not let this dampen his spirits.
“But on th’ whole a splendid day,” he said to his first lieutenant.
“Do ye care to join me f’r dinner, sir?”
It was the first time Kydd had entertained; his great cabin was not yet to his satisfaction because he had had no time ashore and diminishing means to pay for the necessary adornments that would give it individuality. As a result it now possessed a Spartan plainness.
He felt Tysoe’s unspoken disapproval as he ladled the soup from a white china mess-kid acting as a tureen into plain wardroom dishes, and noticed his steward’s raised eyebrows at the sailcloth table runner, but he did not care. Here he was king and owed excuses to no one.
Dacres sat opposite, his face a study in composure. He said nothing after the preliminary pleasantries; it was the custom of the service never to address the captain directly, politely waiting until spoken to.
52
Julian Stockwin
“The ship all ahoo like this,” Kydd grunted, “how we shall get t’ sea this age I can’t conceive.”
“Order and tranquillity will be pleasant enough when they come,” Dacres agreed carefully, and finished his soup.
It was quite a different experience from the warm conviviality of the wardroom that Kydd had been used to, the to and fro of opinions, prejudices, desires. “Do ye come from a seafaring family, Mr Dacres?” he asked.
“That I do, sir,” he replied, loosening. “You may have heard of my uncle, Admiral Peyton, now in the Downs, and perhaps Captain Edward Duncan who has hopes of the position of deputy controller at the Admiralty. We pride ourselves that we have provided sea officers for England since the first Charles and . . .”
He tailed off stiffly at Kydd’s polite boredom.
“Tell me of y’r sea service, Mr Dacres.”
“Well, sir, I entered Pompee as a youngster in 1793—we took her at Toulon, if you recall—and served in the Channel Fleet until ’ninety-five.”
“So you were at th’ Glorious First o’ June?”
“To my great regret, no. We were in for a repair. I—I did suffer indignity at the mutiny of ’ninety-seven. Were you drawn into that evil affair at all, sir?”
Kydd had been under discipline before the mast, accused of treason after the Nore Mutiny. He had joined the insurrection in good faith, then been carried along by events that had overwhelmed them all. But for mysterious appeals at the highest level, he should have shared his comrades’ fate. He drew a breath. “It was a bad occasion f’r us all. Have ye service in the Mediterranean?”
“Not until my commission into Minotaur, Captain Louis, a year ago.” Minotaur was a 74, part of Admiral Keith’s fleet and on blockade duty.
“So all big-ship service. How do you feel about Teazer? ” It
Command
53
had probably been a shock to experience the tight confines of a small vessel: the closeness of the men, the lack of privacy and the sheer diminutiveness of everything aboard.
Dacres paused. “Small, I grant you, but I look to keen service in her. I have heard your own service has been rather eventful?”
he said, with a touch of defiance.
“I was fortunate enough t’ be at both Camperdown and the Nile,” Kydd
A seaman’s horizons were necessarily limited: if he saw that the safe, secure round of his daily routines was in disarray it was fundamentally unsettling. Sea routine would see to that, but Kydd knew that here an unwritten bargain was at risk: that of an officer’s duty to provide for his men in return for their loyalty. Again, the comfort of settled routine at sea would take care of this. Hawkins was trying an old trick; there would be many more such.
Dacres was keeping his distance from the men, not understanding them, distrustful. Kydd did not let this dampen his spirits.
“But on th’ whole a splendid day,” he said to his first lieutenant.
“Do ye care to join me f’r dinner, sir?”
It was the first time Kydd had entertained; his great cabin was not yet to his satisfaction because he had had no time ashore and diminishing means to pay for the necessary adornments that would give it individuality. As a result it now possessed a Spartan plainness.
He felt Tysoe’s unspoken disapproval as he ladled the soup from a white china mess-kid acting as a tureen into plain wardroom dishes, and noticed his steward’s raised eyebrows at the sailcloth table runner, but he did not care. Here he was king and owed excuses to no one.
Dacres sat opposite, his face a study in composure. He said nothing after the preliminary pleasantries; it was the custom of the service never to address the captain directly, politely waiting until spoken to.
52
Julian Stockwin
“The ship all ahoo like this,” Kydd grunted, “how we shall get t’ sea this age I can’t conceive.”
“Order and tranquillity will be pleasant enough when they come,” Dacres agreed carefully, and finished his soup.
It was quite a different experience from the warm conviviality of the wardroom that Kydd had been used to, the to and fro of opinions, prejudices, desires. “Do ye come from a seafaring family, Mr Dacres?” he asked.
“That I do, sir,” he replied, loosening. “You may have heard of my uncle, Admiral Peyton, now in the Downs, and perhaps Captain Edward Duncan who has hopes of the position of deputy controller at the Admiralty. We pride ourselves that we have provided sea officers for England since the first Charles and . . .”
He tailed off stiffly at Kydd’s polite boredom.
“Tell me of y’r sea service, Mr Dacres.”
“Well, sir, I entered Pompee as a youngster in 1793—we took her at Toulon, if you recall—and served in the Channel Fleet until ’ninety-five.”
“So you were at th’ Glorious First o’ June?”
“To my great regret, no. We were in for a repair. I—I did suffer indignity at the mutiny of ’ninety-seven. Were you drawn into that evil affair at all, sir?”
Kydd had been under discipline before the mast, accused of treason after the Nore Mutiny. He had joined the insurrection in good faith, then been carried along by events that had overwhelmed them all. But for mysterious appeals at the highest level, he should have shared his comrades’ fate. He drew a breath. “It was a bad occasion f’r us all. Have ye service in the Mediterranean?”
“Not until my commission into Minotaur, Captain Louis, a year ago.” Minotaur was a 74, part of Admiral Keith’s fleet and on blockade duty.
“So all big-ship service. How do you feel about Teazer? ” It
Command
53
had probably been a shock to experience the tight confines of a small vessel: the closeness of the men, the lack of privacy and the sheer diminutiveness of everything aboard.
Dacres paused. “Small, I grant you, but I look to keen service in her. I have heard your own service has been rather eventful?”
he said, with a touch of defiance.
“I was fortunate enough t’ be at both Camperdown and the Nile,” Kydd
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