Tyger: A Kydd Sea Adventure (Kydd Sea Adventures) Page 10

  Kydd took a quick breakfast of burgoo and went up to see the change of watch.

  It was a sullen, listless show. The oncoming officer-of-the-watch, Paddon, seemed disinclined to stretch them and contented himself with the minimum necessary. Was he concerned that if he had them knees down deck-scrubbing it would provoke a rising?

  Now would be the right time for a taut captain to come down hard and lay out just how he wanted his ship run, but Kydd had a bigger problem: how to get Tyger to sea.

  At ten a shore boat brought the welcome sight of Tysoe, imperturbably seeing his baggage and stores up the side.

  “The boat to lay off,” Kydd ordered.

  To his credit, there was only a moment of wide-eyed disbelief as Tysoe entered the bare cabin. Kydd had ordered all of Captain Parker’s personal ornaments and knick-knacks to be placed in the cot and taken ashore by the waiting boat. For some reason he kept the needlework but everything else went.

  “Sir Thomas,” Tysoe said, troubled. “You have no bed.”

  “Draw a hammock from slops, there’s a good chap,” Kydd replied instantly.

  The morning went quickly. He put off seeing the purser with his accounts but asked for the master, telling him they would be going to sea in the near future. “To join the North Sea squadron. Do you have good charts from the Texel to France? I rather think that’s where we’ll be employed, Mr Le Breton, and I’ve never served on that coast.”

  “Ah, I’d feel happier were I to have the new ‘Antwerp approaches,’ sir. May I send for one?”

  Kydd nodded, distracted. Sooner or later he must complete the paperwork and put to sea. If anything, this would be the thing to bring it all to a head. But it couldn’t be delayed for much longer—all the time they lay at anchor they were consuming victuals and water and the canker of idleness was spreading.

  Then he had an idea. An outrageous idea that fitted the bill perfectly, solving several other problems for him but which was fraught with unknowns. In the privacy of his cabin he penned a quick note, sealed it and asked the officer-of-the-watch to signal for a shore boat. When it came he handed over the message with the instruction to deliver it to the senior naval officer, Yarmouth Roads.

  Too late to change his mind now.

  He slowly paced the quarterdeck, sniffing the wind, a fresh westerly breeze. “Mr Paddon.”

  “Sir?” There was wariness in his manner.

  “Hands to stations to unmoor ship.”

  The officer goggled. “W-what did you say, sir?”

  “Am I being unclear? I ordered stations to unmoor ship. Carry on, Mr Paddon.”

  When a ship put to sea there was a notice period—known as being under sailing orders—that warned all that the ship was about to leave port. The Blue Peter was hoisted to signify it.

  Men on liberty ashore would repair back on board, mail would be quickly written and consigned to the mailbag, last-minute stores and various to-ings and fro-ings would occur before the final ceremony of closing up the ship’s company for departure.

  Kydd had cut through all that: they were going to sea with no warning period whatsoever. If there were troublemakers, they had no time to plan anything and could not, for they would be closed up at stations.

  Tyger had no men at liberty ashore, no ties, no port admiral and ceremonies: there was no need of a notice for sea.

  A frigate generally victualled for a six-month voyage—three months in home waters—and, stored not so long before, Tyger had all the sea endurance she needed to join the squadron.

  In his note he had explained that his orders had stressed his losing no time in joining the North Sea squadron and this had priority over petty matters such as signing for stores accounts and the like.

  They were on their way.

  There was utter confusion for the first ten minutes or so as men below had to be convinced of what was happening but eventually they took station.

  He didn’t ease the pressure and, with the capstan manned, he gave orders to get under weigh.

  In rising feeling he saw that he’d been right: in the controlled chaos that was putting to sea there was no one point that gave chance for a banding together in refusal.

  In well-worn sequence the anchor was won clear, sail dropped from the yards and, with a gentle sway to leeward, Tyger got under way for the open sea.

  “Set sea watches, Mr Hollis. I’ll be below.” It would be some time before things settled down, and he allowed himself a grimace of sympathy for the hapless officer-of-the-watch.

  But it was done! Tyger was safely to sea and the healing could begin.

  CHAPTER 9

  IT TOOK HOURS ONLY to reach the rendezvous line of the squadron on the front line of the defence of Britain.

  Vice Admiral Russell’s force of a handful of sail-of-the-line came into view off the treacherous and hostile Texel and Scheldt. Their task: to keep the seas in all weathers and deny Bonaparte any chance to break out. A no less vital role was the tight blockade on the Netherlands coast and all the enemy ports either side to choke off trade in this new economic war.

  The squadron was part of the strategic North Sea Fleet under Admiral Keith, with responsibility for the entire eastern approaches to Great Britain. With the Channel Fleet they’d succeeded in keeping England inviolate for more than a dozen long years.

  Admiral Russell was welcoming. A frigate with its multiplicity of possible roles was the most valuable reinforcement a lonely commander might wish for. And at this remove Russell seemed not to have heard of the turbulence following Popham’s court-martial.

  “You’ll stay for supper, my boy?”

  “I thank you, sir, but there’s a matter of urgency I need to discuss with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “My ship Tyger was lately taken in mutiny.”

  “I know about that. I’d hazard you’re going to tell me you’ve an entire new ship’s company and wish to train ’em to satisfaction. I can give you a week, that’s fair enough.”

  “No, sir. Her company is the same as rose up.”

  Russell frowned. “Not dispersed among the fleet at all? A rum do, that. The Admiralty knows b’ now what’s needed in such. I’m supposing they’re hard pressed for men—ha! Ha!”

  “Ah, yes, sir. It’s just that—”

  “I do apologise, Kydd. I didn’t mean to make light of such a drear affair. So all the officers the same, Captain Parker sent away and you hoisted in to sort it all out?”

  “Sir.”

  “So. I don’t envy you, old fellow. Are they settling, at all?”

  “This is what I wanted to speak to you about. They’re as fractious and discontented a crew as ever I’ve seen and show not a sign of being reconciled. I don’t wish to revile Captain Parker’s commanding but—”

  “You can take it I understand what you’re saying, Kydd. And a hard thing indeed when you know not a soul of your seamen, their temper.”

  “I should tell you now, sir, that my judgement was to get to sea as quick as I could, and sadly therefore had to put aside much in the way of paperwork—handover accounts and similar until I’m in better position to give them attention.”

  “Quite right.”

  Relieved, Kydd went on, “Sir, what I ask is that you give orders as will see Tyger in action against the enemy just as soon as we may.”

  “Done!” Russell agreed. “The inshore flotilla. Hard sea conditions but you might even snap up a prize or two, you never know. First, you’ll have to satisfy me you’re in a right and proper state for it.”

  “The ship’s new stored, no powder and shot expended, and my boatswain’s survey gives me no concern for her sticks. It’s her crew only—that they’ll fight when called on. If they do, I can’t think of a more sovereign medicine for what ails ’em.”

  “And if they don’t?” Russell frowned. “I admire your spirit, Kydd, but you’re taking a risk, m’ boy. Can I interest you in taking a fair-sized detachment o’ marines who—”

  “Thank you
, sir, no. They’ll not pull together if they see they’re under guard, and when they finally do, they’re to see it’s all their own efforts.”

  “Well, anything I can do, give me a hail. Go now, you’ve things to attend to. I’ll have Flags get your orders and signals to you as soon as I can. Then it’s up to you.”

  Unfamiliar with the waters, Kydd carefully scanned the charts. He had a frighteningly short time to get to know them enough to risk throwing his frigate into action.

  The Texel, their nominal blockade station, was an island with the naval base of Den Helder that lay strategically across the main entrance to Holland’s inland waterways. North of it were the Frisians, an endless stretch of sandy islands in a continuous chain to Prussia, nothing but low dunes and mud-flats. South of it were the fertile plains and main population centres of the Netherlands—Amsterdam was beside the waters of the Zuider Zee, safely inland halfway to Rotterdam in the south, itself not far from the great port of Antwerp and the Scheldt river.

  He summoned the master, the only one in the corrosive atmosphere he felt able to turn to. “Mr Le Breton. As you know, I’ve not seen service in these waters and I’d value your advice concerning likely objectives for our operations.”

  “Of course, sir,” he said politely, but with an odd avoiding of Kydd’s eye.

  Was this a reluctance to be drawn into the often dehumanising confidences of preparations for warfare? What Kydd was asking was irregular: a master had no part in operational planning and he was in effect opening a discussion about a course of action, a matter more properly for his lieutenants. But Kydd didn’t feel inclined to rely on them at this time and continued, “I have it in mind to give the men a taste of action, a chance to pull together.”

  “Sir.” The guarded reply gave nothing away.

  “And what I’m thinking is, to do the Dutch a mischief on their own doorstep. Tell me, how does shipping go about its business in these waters?”

  Le Breton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The larger ships may never put to sea for fear of the blockade and cruisers offshore, and only a gale of wind from the southeast will release them. The smaller—well, with the coast so risky for ships as we, these are really meat for our inshore squadron, the sloops and cutters.”

  “I know that, but times are strange and we’ve a need to prove ourselves. So—what game is there for the taking?”

  The master looked away, then turned back with an aggressive gleam in his eyes. “The coast trade, this is in sizeable fluyts, which are flat-bottomed with leeboards and can take to shallows that vex our sloops. They are then safe, for no lesser draught cutter or similar dare approach a vessel of such size.”

  “So these then sail up and down the coast without being troubled by our cruisers?”

  “A considerable trade. When they sight same they head inshore where we cannot follow and continue on. But if we could just …”

  “I can see what you’re saying, Mr Le Breton. If we could …”

  He traced the depth figures for the coast south of the Texel. It was certainly hazardous: sandbars marked that were twenty miles or more out to sea, reversing tidal currents and worse, but if they were bold and conditions were right …

  Nearly halfway down, the five-fathom soundings closed with the shore until at one spot they were within three miles. If they dared everything they could be within full view of any watcher ashore.

  It was what he wanted.

  Kydd had at one time been a privateer master and knew the tricks. Now what he was after was a nearby cove, an inlet, perhaps, or a creek. There were few but there was a small river issuing out at a place called Breesaap and well within the area.

  “Here,” he announced, tapping the chart. “And this is what we’ll do. I mean to cruise along the five-fathom line, give ’em all a fright, as we’ll be plain within sight. They’ll think it a lunatic captain to bring a frigate in so close, and to take no chances with such they’ll go to ground somewhere safe, which I’ll wager will be this pawky river here.” He smiled. “And then it turns into a cutting-out expedition.”

  “Sir. The hazards are many. We draw twenty-two feet aft and in anything of a sea …” In a five-foot swell, at the lowest point there would be just the length of a man’s arm depth of water under their keel.

  “Indeed so. But mark that we have at the moment a slight swell only, a fair sou’westerly as goes with the coast, and not forgetting that these depths are chart datum only. Should we have the tide in our favour I do believe we must attempt it.”

  The full moon would bring spring tides, in this part of the world a good six, seven feet.

  They had a chance.

  “We go in, Mr Le Breton. Keep it quiet for now while I complete plans—and thank you.”

  “You’ll be acting soon, sir?”

  “That you may believe,” Kydd said firmly.

  “Yes, sir. Then might I know what you have in mind until then?”

  “With these winds, I’d think to press on north. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, just that I’d give it thought for anything I can suggest to you, sir.”

  It didn’t take long for Kydd to work up the plan and he asked the first lieutenant to come to his cabin.

  “This is by way of a bracer, Mr Hollis.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve a notion we’ll be seeing some action against the enemy this night. We’ve some preparing to do.”

  The man jerked upright in astonishment, banging his head on a deck beam. “You can’t be serious, sir!”

  “Why not, pray?”

  “The—the men, they’re near mutinous, out of discipline!”

  “All the better to find something to give ’em heart, don’t you think?”

  Hollis looked incredulous. “How can you know they’ll fight? This is rank lunacy and–”

  “Yes, Mr Hollis?” Kydd said dangerously. “Am I to believe you’re not in favour of taking the war to the enemy?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Then don’t you think we’d better begin our preparations, sir?” He pointed to the chart. “We close with the coast to the five-fathom line and cruise north. Then—”

  “To … to five fathoms?”

  “Yes. Tide’s with us from into the dog-watches—there’ll be fifteen feet or more under us. The Dutch run their fluyts inshore—you knew that, o’ course …”

  “As you say.”

  “We give ’em a fright by being so close, and they go for the nearest bolt-hole to wait it out until we’re past. That’s just what we want ’em to do, for that night we go in with the boats, cut out any we find and … What is it ails you now, Mr Hollis?” Kydd finished irritably.

  “I can’t help remarking it,” the first lieutenant said stiffly, “we’re officers in the boats without marines, trusties? This is begging for calamity! The ship’s in a state of mutiny and we’re inviting anarchy. Have you never suffered mutiny? I have, and—”

  “Enough!” Kydd grated. “There’s one damn good reason they’ll follow and you’ve not the wit to see it, sir!”

  “Oh?” Hollis’s face was now a mask of hostility.

  “This is not a yardarm-to-yardarm smashing match with a butcher’s bill to follow, all for the honour of the flag. No, sir! In this little exercise they stand to make a fat bag o’ prize guineas each, but only if we return to write their tickets.”

  Kydd had the satisfaction of seeing the dawning of respect and continued, “I want the barky on a long board to seaward, to return on the starb’d tack to meet up with the coast at fifty-two twenty latitude where we’ll begin our cruise north.”

  “Sir.”

  “Carry on, then, Mr Hollis.”

  After the lieutenant had left, Kydd reflected on what had been said. He, too, had suffered mutiny, the biggest the navy had ever experienced, but this was quite another species. At the Nore there had been good and clear reasons for the rebellion but here in Tyger …

  He couldn’t put his finger on it; this was not
how he’d foreseen things developing once they’d put to sea. There’d been no healing that he’d been able to detect. The same closed faces, silent and sullen working together, whispering, off-watch hours spent below instead of the usual hum of companionship on the fore-deck—all was profoundly disturbing.

  Having served before the mast himself, Kydd knew what it was: the dire portent of a deeply riven ship’s company, the sign of “us and them” that was at the root of the most violent surges of discontent.

  And it was unbridgeable. The worst thing he could do was address them with words to try to allay it, for that would be admitting his anxiety. Through his lieutenants he might have been able to spread a message that things were on the change for the better but with Hollis in open confrontation with them, his second, Paddon, retreating into himself and the third, Nowell, terrified and next to useless …

  This united front against him, undiminished and sustained, implied that ringleaders were still at large, planning and co-ordinating. If so, what in Hades did they expect to get out of it? The most probable was that his sudden dash to sea had caught them by surprise, but that would suggest the rising was just to be deferred, almost certainly to when they got back to port. There was precious little time left to him to bring about a miracle.

  None of it made any sense. But what he was about to do was the best course: to conjure some prize-money for them.

  So much hung on the next few hours. If his reasoning was wrong and they came away empty-handed, it would be a serious matter. But in his bones he knew he was right: this was the way merchantmen behaved under threat.

  Sitting alone in the bare great cabin, he hailed for Tysoe. There was no refinement such as a summoning bell yet. He waited. “Tysoe—ahoy there, you rascal!”

  His manservant appeared at the cabin door. “Sir Thomas?” he said thickly.

  Kydd started in surprise. Tysoe had a bloody scrape on the side of his face, his nose was battered and he moved awkwardly. “You’ve …”

  “A disagreement only, Sir Thomas, not to concern yourself.”