Hesitating, Essington went on quietly, ‘The boy is, er, eager to please, having latterly formed a pressing desire for the sea life, which will not be denied, but his ideas of life in a midshipman’s berth are somewhat whimsical.’
‘Sir, I—’
‘I have instructed him that under no circumstances should you be approached on matters not pertaining to the sea profession,’ Essington said. ‘He’ll find his place soon enough – or suffer. Either way, this is not a concern of yours.’
He hauled a gold hunter from his waistcoat. ‘I see it is past eleven – I have to go ashore now. It only remains for me to wish you good fortune, Mr Kydd, and to thank you.’
Kydd watched the gangling midshipman he had seen in the captain’s cabin emerge from the cabin spaces aft. The lad, in brand new blues and a too-large cocked hat, looked bewildered. Seeing Essington, he went to him, remembering at the last moment to remove his hat. His fingers worked nervously at his dirk as they exchanged murmured words; the boy attempted a last embrace and then Essington went down the side amid the ceremonial shriek of pipes. Kydd caught the glint of tears, the rigidity of barely held control.
‘Mr Rawson!’ he bellowed, up to the poop deck, where he knew his signal midshipman had been working at the flag locker.
Rawson appeared at the poop rails in his shirtsleeves, then slid down the ladder to join him. ‘Sir?’
‘Mr Rawson, this is Mr Bowden. Be so good as to convey him t’ the midshipmen’s berth, and settle him in – an’ none of y’r guardo tricks if y’ please.’
Kydd turned away, feigning disinterest, but listened to the exchange that followed.
‘So what do we call ye, then?’ Rawson teased. ‘Spit it out, younker!’
‘Er, Charles, sir.’
‘No, all of it,’ Rawson said, with relish. ‘We’ll find out from the ship’s books anyway.’
‘Well, er, it’s – it’s… Her-Her—’
‘Damn it, fellow, we haven’t got all day.’
‘Her-Her-Hercules A-A-berdour Charles Ayscough, sir,’ said Bowden, in a small voice.
‘Well, now! What infernal bad luck for you!’ Rawson said fruitily. ‘I’d wager “The Honourable” as well?’
The boy nodded miserably. ‘Couldn’t be bettered!’ Rawson said, with a whoop. ‘Welcome to th’ Cockpitonians. Where’s your sea-chest, then?’
By later that forenoon Tenacious was in tolerable sea-going order, her gear inspected and renewed or turned end for end, spars scraped back and well blacked, guns and gunlocks minutely checked. Every conceivable corner and space was stowed with sea stores: a thousand miles into a hostile Mediterranean was not the place to discover deficiencies.
Sitting with the others scratching away at last letters, Kydd sucked his quill: there would be no mail sent or received as they sailed deeper into the ancient sea. He bent again over his letter to his family but was noisily interrupted by a midshipman hurtling into the wardroom. ‘All officers!’ he shrilled. ‘On deck instanter – it’s the admiral!’
The admiral’s barge had been seen putting off from Vanguard, but it did not shape a course inshore as usual: with Flag pennant a-flutter it headed straight for Tenacious, with an unmistakable figure, resplendent in gold lace and decorations, in the sternsheets.
An appalled watch officer sent messengers scurrying while he hastily pulled together a side party. Houghton shot up from below, roaring for the first lieutenant who, when he finally appeared, showed every evidence of hasty dressing.
Kydd took his place with the receiving party of officers on the quarterdeck, nervously tugging his hat and smoothing his waistcoat. No one was in fit state to greet an admiral; it was the usual custom to alert the ship well in advance, but this was the famed Nelson, who was known to be different from the rest.
The bowman of the barge hooked on with a quite unnecessary flourish. High at the deck edge the boatswain waited with his silver call poised, his mates and sideboys in a line inward to the group of officers.
At the instant the top of a cocked hat appeared, the calls pealed out together and Rear Admiral of the Blue Sir Horatio Nelson came aboard, his flag breaking at the mizzen. Houghton came forward and removed his hat. ‘Sir, welcome aboard HMS Tenacious. Might I have the honour of presenting my officers?’ The deck was absolutely still; not a man moved except around the admiral.
At the junior end of the receiving line Kydd dared a glance at the man who even now was known throughout the navy and increasingly by the general public, one whose reputation must shortly be tested in this daring foray.