‘Er, what d’you want me to do, sir?’ Buckle said eagerly. A generous-sized portmanteau lay at his feet.
They picked up speed, the coral bottom flicking past in the crystal-clear waters. ‘Mr Oakley, double up the fo’c’sle hands. I want ’em to sweat when the time comes,’ Kydd threw at the boatswain.
‘Can I help at all?’ Buckle persisted.
Kydd saw red. ‘Get off the deck, blast y’r eyes. I’ll wait on your explanation later!’ he ground out, trying to see past him to the rapidly growing bulk of the merchant ship. Buckle stood irresolute and Kydd thrust him aside savagely.
‘Stand by, for’ard!’ he roared. But, as he had fervently hoped, close to the merchant ship the wind veered and eased.
‘Helm up!’
As they rounded the ship’s stern there were frightened faces at the rail on one side, and on the other the men at the sweeps in the barge simply gazed up in shock as the frigate swashed heavily past.
‘Wh-where shall I put my baggage, then, sir?’
Not trusting himself to speak, Kydd waited until L’Aurore emerged on the seaward side to take the breeze happily, leaning into it with a will as they made for the blessed expanse of the open sea.
‘Get below to the gunroom and wait until I send for you. Give him a hand, Mr Searle.’
They had done it, but the situation should not have arisen in the first place.
Course set westward and order restored, Kydd went to his cabin and summoned Buckle.
Leaning back at his desk he took in his new lieutenant. An agreeable-looking young man in his twenties, with an anxious-to-please expression, he was still in his wildly out-of-place shore clothing.
‘This is damned irregular, joining ship out of rig, Mr Buckle,’ rasped Kydd.
‘Oh, that’s because m’ friends insisted on a righteous send-off, is all.’ The accent was peculiar, touched with a slight Caribbean lilt.
‘And?’
‘Why, nobody thinks to see you put to sea so quick, an’ when they spy you ready to go, I threw m’ gear together an’ here I am.’
‘Was it you fired those shots?’
‘I did! Always take m’ duck gun everywheres and it surely came in handy this time.’
Incredulous, Kydd began, ‘You thought to fire away in a naval anchorage …’ He let it go rather than endure another explanation. ‘Be so good as to show me your orders, Mr Buckle.’
They were correct, the commission dated only the day before and with Cochrane’s signature. ‘Weren’t you in a sickly way betimes?’
‘Er, I took the fever an’ was landed from m’ last ship, but I know my duty when I sees it. When the call came, how could I not arise an’ answer?’
‘Quite. We’d better ask the doctor for a survey, just in case.’
‘Oh – that won’t be necessary,’ Buckle said hastily. ‘I’m feeling prime.’
Kydd frowned. There was something odd about the whole business. And the commission referred to Acting Lieutenant Buckle.
‘Do tell me something about your sea time, Mr Buckle – and I’m bound to tell you that in L’Aurore it’s customary to throw out a “sir” every so often.’
‘Aye aye, sir! Well, I starts in Mediator as a volunteer o’ thirteen years and—’
‘No, your last few commissions.’
It came out. From a prominent Barbados planter family, he had made midshipman at fifteen, managing to serve his entire career in the Caribbean, but had been unfortunate in the matter of promotion. His first service as lieutenant was in his previous ship and had been brief, terminated by a near-mortal but mysterious fever.
‘What, then, was your last ship?’
‘That would be fourth o’ Hannibal 74, Captain Tyrell. A hard man, sir, cruel hard!’
A midshipman with no shortage of interest, yet well past the usual age for a lieutenancy, was questionable, but what raised Kydd’s hackles was the suspicion that he had shammed illness in order to be quit of a lawful appointment – at Bowden’s expense. No wonder he had ‘recovered’ so quickly, the thought of shipping out in a frigate too good to miss.
‘I’ll be honest with you, Mr Buckle. I mislike the cut o’ your jib. You’re not my idea of a naval officer and I doubt others on board L’Aurore will disagree. We’re at sea now and I don’t have a choice, but mark my words, sir, there’s no passengers on a frigate. If you’re not in the trim of a sea officer by Jamaica I’m having you landed as useless. Understand?’
‘You can count on me.’ Seeing Kydd’s expression, he squeaked hastily, ‘Um, sir!’