At anchor, Cadiz
It was near deserted when Tyger sailed in on the balmy zephyr that was promising sultry conditions before night. Apart from Conqueror and a gaggle of victuallers, there were no others and she had no difficulty in finding a berth.
The mystery fleet Tyger had seen had turned out to be Admiral Strachan’s unannounced return from Toulon to his station off Rochefort, with a coincidental same number of vessels as the French commander, and while the preventive sinking of a prize was unfortunate, it was by no means unusual.
In full dress Kydd took boat for the flagship to make his report, but on boarding he stepped into a graveyard-like gloom.
Not a smile, careless remark, or light-hearted leap for the shrouds – it was a disturbing feeling.
The flag-lieutenant who met him had all the appearance of a whipped dog, and when Kydd asked if something was amiss he mumbled inaudibly and led the way below to the admiral’s day cabin. Outside he paused, as if about to say something, then seemed to think better of it and announced Kydd, then retreated rapidly.
Rowley was behind his desk and looked up as Kydd entered. There was an ugly set to his expression and his eyes narrowed. Was this where the ship’s bad feeling had its origin?
‘Well?’ he barked.
‘My cruise report, as is required by you on its conclusion, sir,’ Kydd said mildly.
‘So?’
Kydd placed a single folded sheet in front of the admiral. The sooner this was over the better.
‘I’ve no time to read that! What does it say?’
‘The coast south is largely quiet, no hostile activity to speak of. In the last week, I fell in with an enemy frigate close inshore and, despite a stratagem to deceive, I succeeded in raking him twice in succession at which he struck.’
‘Then where is your prize, damn it all?’ Rowley stood to gain a one-eighth share as presiding admiral and was taking a rapacious interest now.
‘At that moment there was sighted well to seaward a large amount of sail, in number the same as Allemand’s squadron. I judged it more important to go after the fleet than secure the prize, which I destroyed by touching off its main magazine.’
‘You did what?’ Rowley spluttered. ‘Caused a perfectly good prize to be put down when … when …’
‘Are you saying I was in error to put the unknown sail under chase?’ Kydd said tightly, noting Rowley’s complete disinterest in the fleet and where it was at this moment.
‘Damn right I am! Any naval officer with half his wits would have left a prize crew and-’
‘Not possible … sir.’ Kydd bit off. ‘Two hundred prisoners, a full-rigged ship needing sail handling, and Tyger facing a close-run voyage with half her crew? I don’t think so … sir.’
Rowley glowered. ‘There’s always a way for those with a mort of seamanlike backbone. The trouble with you is-’
Kydd smouldered, then looked directly in Rowley’s face. ‘It had a lading of mercury,’ he said icily.
Recoiling as though slapped in the face, Rowley goggled. ‘Mercury? You mean … the Spanish Atlantic shipment? In a frigate?’
‘Disguised as a United States Navy frigate. Far smarter than using a transport.’
Rowley exploded. ‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ His voice was a rising squeal of outrage. ‘We’d be as rich as Croesus, every one! I stripped the whole coast of every frigate and lay off Mazagon as where the intelligence said it was – and nothing! Then you’re lucky enough to trip over it and you think to throw the whole stinking lot away! What kind of gooney fool are you, Kydd? Hey? Hey?’
Kydd felt a slow burn rise up as it struck him. Stripped the Inshore Squadron of all frigates? Then why hadn’t he been called, too? He’d been deliberately excluded from the tawdry affair in order to miss the share-out.
His face went red. ‘You wanted me out of it, didn’t you? You didn’t need a frigate in the south. You knew it was peaceful. You deliberately decided not to bring me in.’
Rowley glared dangerously but Kydd went on recklessly, ‘So, now you’re hoist by your own petard. If I’d had company the mercury would be under hatches now, but you took ’em all to go off on your fool errand. False intelligence – and you fell for it!’
Breathing deeply, Rowley ground out, ‘As soon as you came before me I knew you’d be trouble, Kydd. You’re a foremast jack who’s clawed his way up and wants to be mistaken for a gentleman. Oh, yes, I’ve heard about your dandy prat rollicking in Town but, let me tell you, I know where you came from and you’re not getting away with it in my command. You’re under me and, by God, you’ll dance to my tune when I tell you. What do you think of that, hey?’
‘What do I think? I’ll tell you. When I first clapped eyes on you, I knew what you were. Yes, I was a common jack tar in Artemis but I knew your kind. Got your place by arse-licking at the highest and never deep-water seamanship or standing with the guns. Because of you I spent years in the Caribbean, nearly lost my life, all to save you from-’
‘Shut your mouth, sir!’ Rowley shouted. ‘I’ve heard enough! Know that I’m going to see to it you pay for your words, Kydd. Pay dearly for them, you hear? Now get out! Get out!’
It was in the open. The balance of power had shifted. Rowley was admiral with all dominion and authority, but Kydd could, if he wanted, bring him ruin and disgrace on his own station.
In the famed frigate Artemis, Kydd had been quartermaster at the conn when Rowley, as lieutenant officer-of-the-watch, had allowed the ship, through a foolish helm order, to become embayed, then wrecked on the wicked reefs of the Azores. At the subsequent court of inquiry Kydd had refused to withdraw his damning evidence and been shipped, through Rowley’s bare-faced exercise of influence, to the fever islands of the West Indies before a court-martial could be convened.
At the time he’d burned with the injustice, but at his lowly level there was nothing he could do and he’d let it go, with the resilience of youth, moving on to greater things and even, in the fullness of time, to the quarterdeck. It was all part of a different world, a different time and place, and he’d put it aside in the face of more momentous events.
Until now, when the man’s arrogance and greed had brought back all the emotional revulsion.
Should he do it? Let the world know what kind of poltroon occupied the admiral’s cabin in the flagship? After all these years to take sweet revenge for the hurt Rowley had done Kydd and those sailors whose bones still lay with Artemis? But did he want to become known as the officer who destroyed an admiral for his own gratification? And would his respect for the naval code of an officer’s duty to a superior hold him in check?