The deck heeled once more, staying at an angle. They were wearing round to the north again, seeking new opponents. Kydd leaned from a gunport two or three vessels could be seen away to the north, but the guns of all those nearer were silent. The background rumble and thunder of heavy guns was no longer there.
The battle was over.
It was hard, having to work at the pumps, repair the shot-torn rigging, and sluice the decks of blood smears and endless smoke-stains without the urgency of batde. But it was very necessary, for if the Dutch had any reinforcements they might descend on the weary, battered English and quickly reverse the verdict of the day.
Lines of batde dissolved. Beaten ships, now the prizes of war, bent on sail and set course for England while the men-o'-war lay together, working repairs for the voyage home.
'Mr Kydd - passing the word for Mr Kydd!' He looked up. T' attend the captain,' the messenger said importandy, 'in his quarters.'
Monckton was recovering in his cabin, the guns had spoken faithfully. He should not have any cause for worry.
The captain's door was open, a stream of people entering and leaving while he and his clerk sat behind a desk of papers.
'Kydd, sir?'
A flustered, battle-worn Essington looked up briefly. The redness in his face had turned to a bruising, and he had not yet changed his clothes. 'Go to Monarch, they're expecting you.'
'Sir?'
'Now, if you please, sir,' said Essington irritably.
'Aye aye, sir,' Kydd said hastily, wondering what his mission could be.
The boat joined others criss-crossing between other ships. Close to he could see that the sea was speckled with pieces of wreckage, some as big as spars, some smaller unidentifiable fragments. His eyes lifted to the loose cluster of men-o'-war ahead, every one showing where they had endured.
Monarch was the flagship of Onslow, vice admiral of the other division. Kydd went up the pockmarked side of the big 74 and, touching his hat, reported.
The officer looked at him curiously. 'Come with me.' He was escorted to the admiral's Great Cabin. 'Mr Kydd, master's mate, Triumph, sir.'
Onslow put down his pen and came round his desk. The splendid blue and gold, the stars and epaulettes — all the grandeur of naval circumstance — brought to Kydd a surge of guilt and apprehension.
'Ah, Mr Kydd.' He looked appraisingly at Kydd, who stuttered something about his tattered, smoke-grimed appearance. 'Nonsense, my boy. All in th' line of duty. Well, now, you must be feelin' proud enough that your captain speaks s' highly of ye.'
'Sir?' To his knowledge there was no reason that Essington could have even to mention his existence to such an august being.
Onslow's eyebrows rose. 'You don't know why ye're here?' He chuckled quiedy. 'Then I'll tell you. Since Admiral Duncan is entertainin' the Dutch admiral, he's left certain jobs to me. An' one of 'em is this. In the course o' such a day, sadly there's some ships have suffered more than others. Your captain was one o' those asked to spare a suitable man t' fill vacancies in these. He seems t' think you're suitable, so by the powers vested in me by the flag-officer-in-command, I order that, as of this moment, ye're to be known as Lieutenant Kydd.'
'S-sir, I -1—'
It was staggering — it was marvellous! It was frightening! It was—
'Unusual name, that — Kydd. Don' come from Guildford, b' any chance?'
'Sir—' He couldn't speak. Feeling his face redden with pleasure, the broadest of smiles bursting out, he finally spluttered, 'Aye, sir.'
'Related t' the Kydds who opened the navy school not so long past?'
'M-my father, sir,' he said, in a near delirium of emotion.
'A fine school f'r Guildford. Like t' pay my respects to y'r father at some time.'
Speechless, Kydd accepted the precious letter of commission and turned to go.
'And, Lieutenant, might I have the honour of takin' your hand? It gives me a rare pleasure to know that Guildford can still produce fightin' seamen. Ah — do ye not wish t' know which ship?'
'Sir?' Any ship that swam would do.
'Tenacious sixty-four. Good fortune to ye, Mr Kydd.'
His heart full, Kydd tried to concentrate in the boat on its way to the battle-worn Tenacious. But he was a lieutenant! An officer! A — gentleman! His universe spun as he attempted to readjust his world-view; stricdy, his father should touch his forelock to him, his mother curtsy when introduced — and what would they say in Guildford?
But what about Renzi, supposing they ever met again? Would he accept him as a gentleman? Would they . . .
His sea-bag and chest lay between his legs. When he had returned to Triumph to fetch them, Essington had cut short his thanks. 'We were signalled for a suitable man. Do you wish to dispute my choice, sir? I know something of your history. Pray you will live up to your step — and the best of luck, Mr Kydd.'