Tyger (39 page)

“Do fill and stand on, sir!”

“The people conceive that they will not step ashore while
Tyger
awaits her rest. Their wish is to stay aboard until then. We’re at a stand for comforts and so …”

“Yes?”

“I ask that you do send out the marines to every tavern, ordinary and hostelry in Sheerness. They’re to bring back to
Tyger
a piping hot pie or similar, enough for all our company. This to be to my expense, of course.”

The admiral looked at him in astonishment, then leaned forward and barked, “Impossible!”

“Sir?”

“I won’t have it!”

“Sir.”

“This will be done—but to
my
expense.”

After Kydd had seen him over the side he called for Bray once more. “The men to remain aboard. There’s only one thing I can do.”

“Wives and sweethearts?”

“Just so.”

The word was passed and spread ashore. In a remarkably short time a joyous armada of boats put off and
Tyger
was invaded by a gay throng of womenfolk.

Kydd watched from the quarterdeck, his heart full. The mortal tiredness had receded and it was time to take joy in the hour.

He especially rejoiced at the news of gunner’s mate Stirk. The tough old seaman had come to and, with no sign of derangement, was able to let his views be adequately known about being landed from
Tyger.

Then across the thronging decks he saw a pair threading through, moving purposefully towards him—and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

“Nicholas! Cecilia! Wha’?”

“Well, we were just passing by and—”

“My love, don’t chouse Thomas so. Dear brother, your hero fight is known throughout the land these last days, since those dispatches. We heard even in Wiltshire, and Nicholas put a carriage on the road in the same hour, you must believe! He worked out that the nearest dockyard you’d make for would be Sheerness and he was right, the darling man, and here we are!”

To see his sister and her noble husband, his sea companion of years, was touching to a degree. He’d sent a terse message before he’d first joined
Tyger
under a cloud and they would have had no news since then.

“So this is your new ship, Thomas,” Cecilia said, looking around her curiously. Her striking dark good looks were arresting in such bare surroundings. “It’s so much bigger than
L’Aurore
.”

“Yes, sis. An eighteen-pounder o’ the first water,” Kydd said proudly, then led them below to his cabin

She saw the needlework sampler on the bulkhead and rose to read it.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

“How intriguing!” she said in admiration. “Who wrote these words, I wonder?”

They turned simultaneously to Renzi, who held up a hand and gave a wry smile.

“It was written while we two were in
Seaflower
cutter in the Caribbean. By a gentleman who was taken up for sedition on the eve of Trafalgar for saying, ‘Damn the King. The soldiers are all slaves!’ Your William Blake is not to be claimed by those who set at an eminence England’s crown and sceptre.”

“But Thomas’s ship was named after this, I’m sure of it!”

“I feel that it is rather more the stout
Tyger
of Sir Francis Drake, as mentioned by Shakespeare, my love.”

“I’m keeping it anyway!” Kydd said rebelliously, and shepherded Cecilia back to her chair.

Tysoe entered with refreshments. The silver salver had an ugly twist and scoring on one side. “My lord, I do apologise for its appearance. We did not entirely escape the malice of the enemy as you may see.”

“And I didn’t like to remark it, Thomas, but your ship is sadly out of countenance. She must have suffered, poor creature.”

“No more than our gallant crew, Cec,” Kydd said, in a low voice. Then in a stronger tone he declared, “But she’s blooded now, and when she’s set to rights we’ll take the tight little barky out to meet the enemy and bid Boney do his worst!”

“I’ll drink to that in a bumper!” Renzi said, raising a glass.

The three did so, then Renzi regarded Kydd with a quizzical look. “Knowing you, old trout, I’m sanguine you’ve given no thought to what it is you’ve brought to pass.”

“We came through it without disgrace, Nicholas. That’s all I desired.”

“As I thought. I beg you will understand that the world will no longer remember Sir Thomas of Curaçao. From now on, the frigate captain who faced three frigates and bested them will be ranked with Pellew and Blackwood, his name coupled with his ship, like Keats of the
Superb
, to the glory of this kingdom. It will be by his bare name that Kydd of the
Tyger
will be spoken of henceforth.”

Kydd coloured, but muttered darkly, “As will give the Admiralty something to choke on!”

Renzi smiled gently. “Dear fellow, forgive me if I point out some home truths. Your contretemps with Lord St Vincent is as nothing in the eyes of the world now. No one is listening to the old gentleman these days, for the navy and the world are quite changed and his views are sadly set at naught.”

“His friends their lordships, the damned villains, have a lot to answer for, Nicholas. Why, when—”

“A mort of perspective will ease your ire, my distinguished friend. You’re as yet untutored in the dark arts of politics and power—do believe me when I say there are tides of animosity and adulation both of which swish about figures at an eminence. There are cabals and conspiracies, alliances and antagonisms that ebb and flow with the fevers of the hour.

“Inevitably you will be perceived as owing allegiance to one or another and therefore an enemy to the rest. I counsel you to accept your lot and pay no mind to the shrill cries of the other side, for at the height of your fame you may assuredly count on a quantity of the envious, the mal-prepensed, the petty to take pen and wit against you.

“Rest on your laurels, dear friend, for they’re hard-earned, and do scorn these lesser creatures.”

Kydd reddened again, then looked up and spoke softly. “Nicholas, my dear and true friend. Those times we were watch-on-deck together in
Artemis
, even through to the old
Tenacious
—do you remember? I took in a hill of your advice and it brought me to … to here, to this hour. How can I not hoist it aboard?”

There was a muffled sob as Cecilia got up and ran to Kydd, crushing him to her. “You wonderful, wonderful man!” She gulped, tears starting.

“Er, sir?” It was Bowden, standing at the cabin door and somewhat at a loss at the sight.

“Yes?” Kydd managed to disengage himself.

“So sorry, sir, but you’re wanted on deck.”

“What is it that …”

His words died away at the sight before him. Every one of the Tygers was silently standing there.

“Off hats!” roared the boatswain.

Bowden stepped forward. “Sir Thomas, I’m desired by the ship’s company of HMS
Tyger
to make presentation of this loyal address to you, captain of their ship and commander of same in the late battle.”

Dumbstruck, Kydd just had the wit to doff his own hat as Bowden unrolled the parchment written in a hand uncannily similar to Dillon’s.

In ringing tones he declared:

To his honour,

Captain Sir Thomas Kydd of the Royal Navy.

May it please you, sir. We, the dutiful and loyal ship’s company of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Tyger hereunder subscribed, do wish it known and witnessed our true and humble duty to you, our worthy and well-beloved captain, and pledge our undying devotion and obedience in whatsoever perils and adventure His Majesty commands his ship doth perform.

In this, our expression of fidelity and loyalty, we trust you will always be attended by success and happiness in the years to come.

Signed this day …

He concluded with an elegant bow, which Kydd jerkily returned. The scroll was formally presented.

“Th-thank you, Mr Bowden. And I do thank you for this, the Tygers. From the bottom of my heart. I’ll never forget you all—”

But Kydd couldn’t go on and had to turn aside as his vision misted, for he now undeniably had the greatest prize he could ask for:
Tyger
’s heart and soul.

Of all the characters in history I’ve come across while researching the sixteen volumes in the Kydd series to date, there’s been none like Rear Admiral Sir Home Riggs Popham KCB (as he eventually became). He served under the Duke of York in the army, was a scientist, secret-service manipulator, fellow of the Royal Society, inventor of Nelson’s Trafalgar code of signals, originator of the Sea Fencibles and a Member of Parliament all through the time of his contact with Kydd—but never once did he take his ship against the enemy.

Yet, gifted as he was, for some reason he had a genius for making enemies—from the visceral hatred of St Vincent and nearly the entire Board of Admiralty to many of the highest in the land. The closest I could come to putting my finger on it is to conceive that he never bothered to conceal his intelligence in his dealings with lesser mortals. I kept coming across asides like “incurably plausible” and “he suffers from an excess of cleverality.” Whatever the reason, his court-martial was the sensation of the age, leaving none in the land without an opinion. It polarised the navy and Kydd’s experiences were typical. You’ve not heard the last of this cryptic figure in Kydd’s future adventures …

Despite his taking against my hero I’ve to confess much admiration for John Jervis, Earl St Vincent. Denied the life of a sailor by his parents, he nevertheless ran away to sea. His service spanned the Seven Years’ War, the American War of Independence, the Revolutionary War, the Napoleonic War, and he was still standing at Waterloo. His devotion to the navy was intense and unwavering. When Britain was hysterical at the threat of invasion he famously said, “I do not say, my lords, that the French will not come. I say only they will not come by sea!” His uncompromising stand on mutiny and discipline made him much feared, but the same approach nearly cost England the war when, as first lord of the Admiralty, he ruthlessly moved against corruption in the royal dockyards and the timber cartel that was manipulating prices for the most vital raw material of all. They responded essentially with an embargo, and the crusty lord, utterly refusing to give way, provoked an instant crisis. It took all the diplomacy of Nelson himself to resolve it. Such a man of indomitable black-and-white views was never going to be biddable in politics and he was removed from office subsequently.

And I couldn’t resist the piquant tableau of the founder of Australia, Captain Arthur Phillip, in his old age acting the press-gang chief, hating it but doing his duty for his country in its time of peril. Incidentally, recent research has thrown up that, almost certainly, he was a paid secret agent of the Crown in deeds of derring-do that had considerable effect on the conduct of the war.

In the course of working on this tale I became particularly fascinated by my Arctic research. There was indeed half-hearted thinking to resurrect Archangel to act as a fall-back port if the Danes sided with the French to close off the crucial Baltic trade, but as it turned out, events took another course. Nevertheless, with my modern charts and pilot to hand, I stand amazed and humbled at the sheer grit and fortitude of those who voyaged in these regions in days of sail. In conversation with W. K. De Vaney, an Arctic hand of no small experience, it was eye-opening to pore over the great narratives of the historic Arctic to reveal what had to be borne to allow routine human existence in those latitudes.

Trade ventures there in Kydd’s day were mainly locally subscribed from England’s north. One of these was merchant broker John Bellingham, whom Kydd meets in a Russian gaol. He’d gone to sea as a midshipman in an East Indiaman and been caught up in a mutiny that sent the ship ashore. On return home he set up as a factor and businessman and was signally unsuccessful, ending up in Archangel, where he got on the wrong side of the Dutch, who probably framed him. Languishing for years in prison, he conceived a violent hatred of the British government, which he believed had failed him, and in 1812 sought revenge by killing Spencer Perceval in the lobby of the House of Commons, the only prime minister in British history to be assassinated. His friends’ attempts to have him declared insane failed and Bellingham was publicly hanged.

In this stage of Kydd’s career the greatest military drama was undoubtedly Napoleon Bonaparte’s campaign to the east of the continent, caused by Trafalgar and its consequences, which prevented his breaking out of Europe. A truly astonishing canvas of millions of men clashing under arms, spread over nearly a dozen countries, it was vastly bigger than the Peninsular War that was to follow and only ended with Bonaparte’s disastrous retreat from Moscow. The part Kydd plays in the fevered times before Friedland is based on contemporary events, the little-known heroism of the Royal Navy in the defence of Danzig and that of Kolberg at the time. England does not remember them but their part is certainly revered in Germany—Danzig eventually fell but the navy’s desperate help, including the night spent navigating under fire of a powder barge to the besieged, is cherished, while with their help Kolberg held out to the end.

The Prussian hero of Kolberg, Gneisenau, has a grand statue still venerated in the now Polish city of Kołobrzeg. The brooding but talented Gerhard von Scharnhorst, whom we see as chief of general staff to Blücher, afterwards joined with him and a brilliant pupil, Carl von Clausewitz, to transform Prussian military culture into the most feared in Europe, going on to defeat France and enter Paris as a prelude to taking all of Germany under one flag.

Ironically, in the Second World War these men and their epics of resistance were commemorated by the German Navy in their famous battleships
Scharnhorst
and
Gneisenau
, and were held out by Hitler as an example to follow in the most expensive Nazi film ever made, in the calamitous final year of the Third Reich—the Royal Navy, of course, held to a humble walk-on part.