To the Eastern Seas: Thomas Kydd 22 by Julian Stockwin

Author:Julian Stockwin [Stockwin, Julian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2019-10-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 36

It felt like an age ago, the last time Kydd had sailed Tyger as part of a fleet, an obedient attendant on an armada, interceptor of strange sail for the admiral and guardian of the van. This one, however, was no majestic battle fleet covering miles of sea, only two ships-of-the-line, transports and a handful of frigates, but the flagship wore the colours of a commander-in-chief and was on an undeniably important mission.

Pellew had wasted little time in dispensing with the trappings of power: he was a successful commander who had held the line against all that Bonaparte had arrayed against the British Empire in the east and was in a hurry to return to England with his fortune. There was the little matter of handing over the sovereignty and responsibility of commander-in-chief of the East Indies station to Drury, waiting at Prince of Wales Island, then comfortably returning home as escort to the immensely rich China fleet.

Kydd had missed the high-society wedding of Pellew’s son Pownoll to the daughter of the governor general of Madras, but was not sorry, for although he had not heard of any consequences following his confrontation with the younger son he hadn’t wanted to see him again.

The army insurrection had largely been dismissed and the ringleaders hunted down with a view to a mass court-martial, but with Macdowall and his canker removed from the scene, order had been restored to general satisfaction.

Yet Kydd felt discontent and it centred on Tyger. Perhaps it was unfair – but he missed his old first lieutenant, Bray, his massive presence, the towering, battle-hardened figure always at the back of whatever difficult situation he and Tyger faced. His utter reliability and strength were token that the rest of his ship’s company would follow him without question into the fires of Hell.

Farrant was not in the same class: older, giving the impression that his years in the East Indies had desiccated his soul, taken the joy and ambition from him and were grinding him down. In a way Kydd could sympathise, for this station was one of security and defence, not war-winning deep-sea actions. Not his fault, of course, but it was the little things, like Bray’s habit of bursting out on deck in the cold of night to catch out a sheltering lookout, his prowling the gun-deck to check the priming hole under the apron of this gun or that, and woe betide the laggardly gun-captain who had not reamed it lately.

Farrant’s work was competent. He’d dealt with complications, such as ensuring the bitter and sullen pressed men from the Indiamen were integrated into Tyger’s far more willing and professional company by intelligently isolating them from each other to absorb the spirit of those around them.

What was increasingly sad to Kydd was that Farrant seemed not to take pleasure in the company of the gunroom. By all accounts he’d sit quietly through the meal and, as soon as he could, would retire to the loneliness of his cabin.

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