“Mr Brice. This is a happy ship and we’ve had adventures aboard together that must satisfy any. If you desire it, your place in our band will be professionally rewarding and personally gratifying-if you make it so by a whole-hearted commitment to L’Aurore, your ship and her company.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I do welcome you aboard, Mr Brice.”
There were two others joining L’Aurore. He was very busy but the least he could do was cast an eye over them.
“Pass the word for Midshipmen Clinch and Willock.”
It was some time before they appeared, breathless and wide-eyed.
“So. My two young gentlemen. Which one is Clinch?”
They were both so young-mere children in fancy-dress.
“S-sir.” The boy clutched his absurdly large cocked hat under his arm and stood awkwardly in his brand-new uniform. His eyes were a startling blue and seemed so innocent.
“Welcome aboard, Mr Clinch. Your sea service, sir.”
There was hasty fumbling inside his waistcoat and a paper was produced. It was a certificate of service for two years as a first-class volunteer in an Irish Sea dispatch cutter.
“Well, unusual sea-time but acceptable for all that. What were your ports-of-call generally?”
The boy stood in mute horror until it dawned on Kydd. “Ah, this is book-time, not sea-time, I gather.”
The lad nodded miserably, unable to speak, for at that moment his sea career could well be brought to an end. Regulations were that none could be rated midshipman without two years prior sea service. It was commonly flouted by the device of having the child’s name entered on a ship’s book while still at school, a course so widespread that Nelson himself had thought nothing of practising it. The crime was not so much in the false muster of the books, but in the venality of drawing pay for a fictitious boy.
“So you’ll need to try double-tides to earn your place on my quarterdeck,” Kydd said gruffly.
“Sir,” he whispered. Touchingly, the child’s relief had nearly brought him to tears.
Kydd turned to the other. “Right. Well, you must be Willock.”
“I am, Sir Thomas.” The cultured accent would endear him to Curzon but would be a sad liability to him in the gun-room.
“And your sea service?”
The boy blushed. “Um, none that would stand with a frigate.”
“Well, what ship, then?”
“Squirrel, sir.”
“I can’t say I can bring her to mind. What rate is she?”
The boy hesitated, then blurted, red-faced, “Tender to Royal William, s-sir.”
“Tender to a guardship?” Kydd said, aghast. It would be unlikely that the little craft would even have left Portsmouth harbour, tied to such a virtual hulk. He then realised that this was his admiral godfather, doing just the same thing as Jarman.
“Then no sea-time for you either, younker?”
The boy hung his head.
“Clinch-how old are you? Say up, and no stretchers!”
“Oh, fourteen, sir.”
With that childish voice?
Kydd snapped back, “What year were you born in, pray?”
“Th-that would be seventeen and ninety-three,” he stammered, after a pause.
“The year they did for King Louis?”
“Oh, did they?”
They were caught out and he found himself facing a child of eleven and another of twelve.
He had to make up his mind: a midshipman was rated as a petty officer and had a place on both the watch bill and at quarters and was expected to pull his weight with the men. These were under-age for a midshipman, even if it was only by a year or two, but that counted when in a position of authority, taking charge of a crew of hardened man-of-war’s men.
But then he recalled the slow-talking but meticulous Jarman patiently explaining the requisite tables to the eager young seaman he had once been. Without doubt he and his sister were anxiously waiting for word-and he hadn’t the heart to send the boy back. Besides, he had the look of a sailor and-who knew?-he might do well in a happy ship like L’Aurore.
And if he accepted one and turned away the other …
“I’m not pleased you’ve flammed me this way,” he harrumphed. “We’re a crack frigate, not a nursery. I should turn you both down, send you back to your mothers, do you hear?”
They stood rigid, their childish faces pale.
He let it sink in, then said sternly, “But I’m minded to give you a chance. Should you faithfully promise to me that you’ll bend your best efforts, night and day, to hoist inboard the elements of your profession in double-quick time, then there’s a berth as midshipman for each of you in L’Aurore.”
“We promise, sir!” they chorused ecstatically.
“So get your dunnage below, then report to master’s mate Calloway. Smartly now!”
They scurried away.
A wartime frigate on active service could see them without any warning in fearfully dangerous waters or under savage fire from the enemy. Was it fair to thrust a child into such peril when their school-friends were still at their books and games?
It was the way of the Navy. There were ship’s boys aboard L’Aurore who were still younger, one nine years old, who had been a whole voyage in her. They had found, among other things, that there was nowhere to hide in a ship-of-war but they had taken to the life-these lads, no doubt, would too.
He turned back to his work.
The next morning, amid all the bustle of storing ship, it was time to take stock. He was more than satisfied with the way L’Aurore was readying herself for sea. At this rate he could look to a departure the day after next, presuming the powder barges were alongside at the time promised.
“How’s the watch and station bill proceeding, Mr Curzon?” he asked the distracted first lieutenant.
The evolution of turning to the entire ship’s company for the task of victualling would be taxing enough for any brand new first lieutenant, without the added burden of the careful assignment of stations to every man. Each must know what was required of him, not only at quarters in battle but in all-hands exercises like coming to anchor-as well as his routine part-of-ship and station for watch-keeping.
It needed fine judgement to ensure there was an equal balance of skill in both watches but Curzon was starting with a crew he knew intimately and a ship that was already in commission, and if it cost him midnight oil, well, that had ever been the lot of a first lieutenant.
Later in the morning L’Aurore was visited by a respectful young officer. He was piped aboard by Boatswain Oakley, for he was the captain of his own ship.
“Lawson, Sir Thomas. Lieutenant-in-command Weazel, brig-o’-war.”
In the privacy of his cabin Kydd found out the reason for his coming. “We’ve a Mediterranean convoy scheduled to sail, sir. I’m senior officer escorts, and I’ve just been advised by the admiral that you’ll be accompanying us to Gibraltar.”
“Oh? I’ve yet to decide our sailing date, let alone our dispositions for the voyage.”
“The admiral assures us that should we await your pleasure, our escort will be greatly increased by your presence.”
“When did he tell you this?”
The young man had the grace to blush. “Perhaps an hour ago, sir.”
He had obviously found out L’Aurore’s deploying and had had the initiative to go to the admiral with a request. Just as he would have done, Kydd had to admit.
“What’s your number?”
“Ourselves, two cutters and a schooner. In the convoy, thirty-eight merchantmen.”
No wonder the lad had jumped at the chance: this was what it was to have prevailed at Trafalgar. Convoys worth millions were now being sent into the open ocean with the flimsiest protection, for had not the French been driven from the seas? It was a dangerous presumption and might one day cost the Treasury far more than any additional escorts.
“Very well. We’ll sail together.”