Inferno

Chapter 33

That evening Kydd dined his officers in his great cabin. He entered in full dress uniform, resplendent in sash and star. Without a word all rose in respect until he had taken his chair.

Kydd sat in affable humour, but there was no getting away from it: he was being held in a reverence bordering on hero-worship. He didn’t know whether to be irritated or touched but one thing was clear: it had put a distance between himself and them. Would Dillon, his confidential secretary, who had not yet arrived back on board, be in the same thrall to one whom history had singled out for notice?

After the murmured toasts a deferential silence descended once again. Kydd tried small-talk with his first lieutenant, Bray. The man rumbled a polite reply in monosyllables while the table waited: it was tradition that no officer might address the captain unless spoken to first, but this didn’t mean they couldn’t talk among themselves.

The first dishes were brought in and wine poured. Still the stiff formality. The dinner progressed, an elegant repast. The cloth was drawn and a stoppered decanter of port was placed before the mess president. An awestruck Mr Vice intoned the loyal toast and glasses were raised.

Everyone sat rigid.

Something had to be done. Excusing himself to the president Kydd left the great cabin. He returned shortly with a smug expression. Out of sight beyond the polished bulkhead there was movement and into the respectful quiet came the sound of a violin, experimentally drawing long chords before launching into a lively tune. Then, a fine voice broke into song. It was Ned Doud, quartermaster’s mate and long ago shipmate of Tom Kydd. His once-youthful timbre was now broad and full and he sang powerfully, with feeling, the old forebitter favourite, ‘The Saucy Arethusa’:

‘Come all ye jolly sailors bold,

Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould,

While English glory I unfold,

Huzzah for the Arethusa!’

The officers looked about, bemused. Kydd watched, waiting for reaction. Then he slapped his glass down and sang lustily, in a fine baritone:

‘Let each fill a glass

To his fav’rite lass;

A health to the Capt’n and officers true,

And all that belong to the jovial crew

On board of the Arethusa!’

Brice, the boatswain, and the gunner took up the refrain, waving their glasses in time with the music but the others hesitated.

Kydd roared out, ‘Mermaid!’

The capstan fiddler launched the sprightly tune and the hidden Doud lifted up his voice:

‘One Friday morn, when we set sail,

And our ship not far from land;

We there did espy a fair pretty maid

With a comb and a glass in her hand, her hand, her hand -

With a comb and a glass in her hand.

‘While the raging seas did roar,

And the stormy winds did blow …’

This time there was no hanging back in the calamitous tale of the ship that dared sail on a Friday – producing, in the confined space of the cabin, a deafening roar of good humour.

It was not until much later in the evening that the gathering broke up.