To The Eastern Seas

Book 36: Thomas Kydd

by Julian Stockwin

Genres: Historical Fiction; Renaissance; War & Military

Synopsis

'In Stockwin's hands the sea story will continue to entrance readers across the world' - Guardian

Perfect for fans of Patrick O'Brian, Bernard Cornwell, and swashbuckling adventure during the great Age of Sail: To the Eastern Seas will be the twenty-second novel in Julian Stockwin's acclaimed Thomas Kydd series.

With Bonaparte held to a stalemate in Europe, the race to empire is now resumed. Britain's ambitions turn to the Spice Islands, the Dutch East Indies, where Admiral Pellew has been sent to confront the enemy's vastly rich holdings in these tropical islands. Captain Sir Thomas Kydd joins reinforcements to snatch these for the British Crown.

The two colonial masters of India and the East Indies face each other in mortal striving for the region - there can be only one victor to hold all the spoils. The colonial genius, Stamford Raffles, believes Britain should strike at the very centre of Dutch spice production, the Moluccas, rather than the fortresses one by one but is fiercely opposed. Kydd, allying himself to this cause, conspires to lead a tiny force to a triumphant conclusion - however the Dutch, stung by this loss, claim vengeance from the French. A battle for Java and an empire in the East stretches Kydd and Tyger's company to their very limits.

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Praise for Julian Stockwin's Kydd series

'Paints a vivid picture of life aboard the mighty ship-of-the-line' Daily Express

'This heady adventure blends fact and fiction in rich, authoritative detail' Nautical Magazine

'Fans of fast-paced adventure will get their fill with this book' Historical Naval Society

(P)2019 Hodder & Stoughton Limited

Release date: October 17, 2019

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

*Sir Thomas Kydd, captain of HMS Tyger, a.k.a. Tom Cutlass



There was nothing to be seen but a dismal miasma of grey fret, a drifting curtain of mizzle over the listless water. It hid everything to seaward, but the crowd on the high vantage point were not deterred from their vigil. They were not going to miss the occasion – rumour had it that in these dispiriting times there’d been a great clash of fleets somewhere far out there. Why else would the flagship, now expected hourly, be said by the dockyard to be standing in for this great naval port?

Another wash of cold light rain settled on the sodden spectators, who doggedly continued their watch. It eased off and visibility slowly extended out. Suddenly there was a cry: out of the grey murk firmed the unmistakable outline of a man-o’-war.

‘Clear a path, you villains!’ an elderly gentleman with the distinct air of a mariner spluttered, wiping the lens of a large old-fashioned sea telescope and bringing it up to train on the vision.

Respectfully, the press of onlookers pulled back to give him a clear view.

‘What is it, L’tenant Danby?’

‘As I needs time t’ sight their colours!’ he replied gruffly.

‘Well?’

‘A frigate, is all.’

‘Which one?’

‘How do I know?’ Danby said irritably, finding it difficult to hold the big glass steady. Then he lowered it and paused before declaring, ‘An’ if I’m not wrong, you’re clapping peepers on none other than the flying Tyger 32, Cap’n Kydd!’

There was a ripple of comment.

‘Not a flagship, then?’

‘No, you loon – she’s an escortin’ frigate. Your flagship’s still out there on her way in.’

All eyes were on the warship as she worked into the Sound in the fitful light airs. Unaccountably, she did not shape course around Drake Island for the last run into the Hamoaze and the dockyard. Instead, as one, her three topgallant sheets were thrown off letting the sails flog about disconsolately.

‘My word, an’ they’re a sorry crew,’ murmured someone in the crowd.

Danby had his glass back up. ‘Not at all, m’ friend. That there means they’re signalling distress as to they’s had a sad loss o’ life.’

The crowd grew silent, watching as the frigate rounded to, took in sail and anchored before them in the Sound.

‘Bless me an’ I don’t like what I see,’ the old lieutenant muttered. ‘It’s no grand victory she’s telling us of, that’s for certain, lads.’

It was nearly an hour before Ville de Paris hove into view, the great bulk of the 110-gun flagship emerging out of the featureless grey drizzle before she, too, came to anchor out in the Sound.

Danby had his glass up again. ‘Be damned to it – she’s lost her flag!’

‘Wha—?’

‘Not her ensign,’ Danby said impatiently, ‘Her admiral’s flag. What the devil …?’

Her sail was brought in, and one by one from forward her yards slowly canted over to one side on one mast, then to the other on the next.

‘A-cock-bill,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It … It can only be …’

‘Tell us!’

Danby lowered his telescope and addressed them gravely. ‘I’m truly sorry to inform you that there’s been a dreadful battle o’ some sort, in which we’re seeing just them as survived. It’s saying as how the commander-in-chief himself must have been mortally struck down in the action, just as the great Lord Nelson was. Friends, ye should prepare yourselves for some grievous news.’



Lieutenant Brice, Tyger’s third lieutenant, returned on board promptly after delivering Kydd’s report to the shore. Soon after, the bleak sound of a minute gun thudded from the Citadel and its flag descended to half-mast.

‘No one to hail ’em or tell ’em anything!’ snarled Bray, the first lieutenant, eyeing the swarm of small craft putting off from the waterfront. Like all aboard Tyger, he wore a black armband in shared grief.

The boats arrived and began circling, shouted questions from them going unanswered by the frigate’s crew.

‘Er, one to board, sir?’ asked the second lieutenant, Bowden, indicating a passenger craft heading determinedly towards the side-steps.

‘Of course not, damn it,’ Bray barked.

‘Sir, I believe it’s the captain’s wife,’ he said quietly, eyeing the slight figure standing alone in the stern-sheets.

Bray hesitated. ‘Ah. I’ll speak with her, then.’

He went to the side and motioned the boat in. Persephone, Lady Kydd, looked up at the sea-worn frigate, her eyes searching, her hand clamped tightly to a stay.

She went up the side like the admiral’s daughter she was. Bray took off his hat and stood uncomfortably.

‘Where’s the captain, Mr Bray?’ she demanded, looking about in anguish, her face white and strained.

‘Ma’am, I has my orders an’ none to land or come aboard, I’m sorry t’ say.’

‘I’m going to him!’ she blurted, and hurried over to the main hatch.

‘My lady—’

But Bray was too late, and she thrust past two sailors. Flying down the ladder-way, she hurried aft to the great cabin and threw open the door.

Kydd looked up from his desk in surprise, then rose in delight. ‘Persephone, my dearest!’

She burst into tears, hurrying to his arms, burying her face in his shoulder and weeping uncontrollably.

‘What’s this, my darling? It’s not been so long that—’

‘Thomas! Oh, Thomas, my love,’ she sobbed. ‘I was so frightened!’

‘How’s this?’ Kydd said softly, holding her tightly, kissing her hair. ‘You’ll upset the men, they see you like this.’

She choked back the sobs and said unsteadily, ‘I heard about the great battle only this morning while at market here – they’d just seen you make port. And … and I looked, and there you were, and they were right. Tyger lets fly her t’gallant sheets and Ville puts her yards to mourning. There’s minute guns at the Citadel and – and—’ She broke off to look up, searching his eyes. ‘My dearest – what terrible fight have we lost?’

Kydd gently held her at arm’s length. ‘There’s been no battle, Seph. All this – it’s our grieving for the admiral, Lord Collingwood, now gone from us.’

‘But—’

‘Not in action but worn out by duty, the noble fellow. Did you know he’s been at his post since taking command from the dying Nelson at Trafalgar, never once returning to England? When he finally lays down his arms to take his rest with his family he dies at sea, only three days out from Minorca on his way home.’

‘Mr Bray’s orders …?’

‘None to land? That the government might make announcement of the grave news in their own time, my love.’

‘So how long …?’ she asked, a small smile breaking through the tears.

‘We lie in the Sound for two days more. Gives them time to set in train as grand a funeral as they may contrive. There’s talk they mean to lay him next to Nelson in St Paul’s. We’ll stay by him while he lies in state and then I’ll pay my sincerest respects at the service.’

Kydd’s servant appeared bearing a restorative.

‘Thank you, Tysoe. Has the captain been diligent with his morning constitutional, pray?’

‘Just so, your ladyship,’ he replied, blank-faced.

‘That is well.’

The man left quietly, and they kissed passionately.

‘I’m such a silly,’ Persephone said softly, breaking away. ‘But when you didn’t return from London after your last visit to Lloyd’s I did worry so. And then I heard you’d been sent away, and you didn’t see me before you left.’

‘Oh, yes. A pier-head jump, as it were. I was going to write, Seph, but—’

‘Never mind, dearest.’ She laid a finger on his mouth. ‘You’re here and that’s what counts.’

‘Well, now is not the time for rejoicing, my love, but I can tell you that your land is secured.’

Kydd was now able to buy a nearby farmer’s land that they’d learned was to be sold to a mining venture. There would be no clay pits above Knowle Manor trickling their vile effluent down from the moor on to them.

‘Oh, you are a clever man!’ she said, clapping her hands in delight. ‘You go to wage marine insurance with the best of them and win!’

Kydd coloured, the emotion of near bankruptcy and ruin from his ventures at Lloyd’s still with him. ‘Well, such was a sight too much hard work, I can tell you, Seph.’

She knew nothing of what had really happened, and he had his story ready. ‘It’s just that I was lucky with a prize, is all. You’ll read about it in the newspaper, I’d think.’

His wise friend Nicholas Renzi, now Lord Farndon, had been correct, and even after rights of various eighths and sixteenths had been allocated, his share had well taken care of his debt, with enough left over for the land purchase. ‘They’ll make over much of its value in the rag, I’ve no doubt,’ he added, carefully offhand, ‘but after the partialling there’s not so much more, I’m afraid.’

It certainly wasn’t the case that they were suddenly wildly rich. At least Tyger’s company had done well and there would be a glorious roystering, once leave was granted.

‘I don’t care where it comes from, my darling – you’ve got us the land. And do you know what I’m going to do with it?’

‘What’s that, Seph?’

She smiled winningly. ‘Start a riding stable of my own, for the daughters of gentlefolk.’



It was a brave sight. The monstrous bulk of the ship on its ways ready for launch was festooned with enormous flags and pennants in honour of the occasion – the committing of an East India Company trading vessel to the waves.

This was a substantial-sized ship, intended for the China trade in voyages of up to six months at a time with a freighting of unimaginable wealth in her bowels. Built like a man-o’-war on the outside these were impressive creatures, and the crowd attending the launch paid due respect to her and the distinguished guests on the ornamented stage-work near her rearing bow.

Chairman of the Honourable East India Company Charles Grant could be seen in the front row and beside him sat Robert Stewart, the Viscount Castlereagh and secretary of state for war, but it was the Duke of York whose splendour gave the scene its moment.

‘Should you wish a more sedate refreshment afterwards, old fellow, I dare say East India House will be open to us,’ murmured Grant, his long face set in disapproval.

Two bands below were now raucously out of beat one with each other. Castlereagh said nothing, his composed features in contrast with the fuss and uproar below them.

‘Always quantities of the mobility abroad at these launch occasions,’ said Grant, through his kerchief. ‘It is a trial, but I hold myself philosophical in this providing due entertainment to the common public.’

On signal the Duke of York moved to the front of the stage and the bedlam calmed.

His words were brief and military, punctuated with good-natured shouts.

Fortune was duly enjoined for the good ship Earl of Malmesbury and all who sailed in her as she went about her business on great waters, adding both to the wealth of the nation and those who had caused her to be set a-swim.

Traditional observances having been made, the great moment arrived. With a deafening screeching and thunderous rattle of drag-irons, the thousand-ton vessel slid down the way and into her native element where she slowed in a decorous wallowing to await her tow to the fitting-out wharf.

‘Well, Charles, you mentioned refreshment …?’

The calm and opulence of the dining saloon was at a startling distance from the genial squalor of Bellamy’s, that which passed for supping at the House of Commons, and Castlereagh always appreciated his visits. It would have to be paid for, of course, the price being to give ear to whatever was exercising the overlord of the most powerful and influential source of revenue in the land.

Over the admirable serving of turbot, Grant opened, ‘A fine thing, I believe, our launching.’

‘Quite,’ Castlereagh answered cautiously.

‘And we’ve lost two of her sisters to the French so far this season,’ Grant continued. This would be a fearful blow to the Company and Castlereagh gave a guarded expression of sympathy.

‘Indian Ocean and Bay o’ Bengal.’

‘Not in convoy?’

‘Does it signify?’ Grant said huffily. ‘What we need is a damn sight more King’s ships as can put themselves about. Things are quiet in Europe, Boney getting what he wants, so there must be some ships o’ force to spare.’

‘The Bombay Marine?’ This was essentially a private navy run by the East India Company.

‘A green-water force only and, pray, why should we pay for protection against the King’s enemies when others do not?’

‘You have a not inconsiderable force stationed there now, commanded by the best we can find for you.’ Castleleagh was referring to the East India Squadron based at Madras and the ships-of-the-line and frigates under the flag of the carefully picked Pellew, respected commander of the famed Indefatigable of a previous era.

Grant raised an eyebrow. ‘Who is himself the loudest of all in demanding an accession to force.’

Castlereagh was well aware of this: he’d passed Pellew’s latest plea to the first lord of the Admiralty, who had promptly returned it with the best of reasons why it was not possible. What Grant did not know was that the government was considering a daring but very risky stroke: an actual landing on the continent itself. This was not to be in Spain, where Wellesley remained helplessly immured behind the defences of Lisbon, but directly into the heart of Napoleon’s Europe – a strike against Antwerp, the pistol pointed at the heart of London. It was all in aid of the newly raised Fifth Coalition and took precedence over any other, but he couldn’t reveal this to Grant.

‘You have my most considerable sympathy, Charles, but there’s been lately much call on our resources and—’

‘I’ve eighty-seven votes in the Commons who say you’ll find a way,’ Grant said smoothly.

‘One such does cross my mind,’ Castlereagh came back, without missing a beat.

‘Oh?’

‘While I haven’t at hand the weight of metal you’re proposing, I’ve something even better. A proven thief-taker of privateers and such scum, whose exploits are much in the public eye. Should he and his dauntless frigate be let loose in your part of the world, I dare to say his effectiveness and reputation will terrify same, multiplying the deterrence extremely.’

‘Hmm. Together with a clutch of lesser others, possibly. Who do you have in mind?’

‘How does none other than Lord Cochrane and his famed Imperieuse sound?’

‘Rosas and the Spanish coast? That’s more the medicine.’

‘He’s yours, then. He’ll be receiving Admiralty orders within the week.’

Castlereagh stifled a smile of satisfaction at his plan. The troublesome frigate captain whose ranting in Parliament was so upsetting the nation would be given employment he couldn’t refuse – in the richest grounds in the world and at a gratifying distance from the centre of things.



‘Oh, do come in,’ said Mulgrave, first lord of the Admiralty, rising to greet his visitor. ‘I shan’t offer you sherry at this hour but a refreshment?’

Disdainfully, Cochrane strolled over to the window and, pursing his lips, stared out over Horse Guards Parade where a troop of redcoats was raising dust in a complex series of manoeuvres. ‘No, thank you. I can only imagine you’ve interrupted my important public life to offer me some species of command at an eminence. Am I not right?’ He looked sideways, his expression antagonising with its patronising air.

Mulgrave held himself in, then replied, ‘You are, sir. As being the most suited to the peculiar circumstances of the situation.’

Cochrane turned to him, clearly pleased. ‘Basque Roads writ large.’ He laughed.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Why, all the world knows of your Antwerp invasion. You are now going to offer me untrammelled command of the first wave of assaulting – the explosion vessels and mortar ships that will clear the Scheldt of hostiles before ever the soldiers get their feet wet.’

Mulgrave swallowed awkwardly. This was not going to be easy. ‘Ah, yes. Not in so many words. Planning is still under revision. We rather thought that a more immediate post would satisfy, one with considerable long-term advantages, not the least of them being a most gratifying degree of prize to be had.’

Cochrane drew back. ‘What post?’

‘Senior frigate commander on station.’

‘Under?’

‘Admiral Pellew, a frigate captain like yourself.’

‘Ha! You’re saying, then, the East India Squadron! Do you take me for a fool? Banishment to past the Cape where I’d be lost to my people? No talk of fat prizes – which I very much doubt in these starvation times – will induce me to abandon their cause! No, sir, I will not accept.’

A dangerous glint appeared in Mulgrave’s eyes. ‘My lord. You are aware that continued refusal to take post, even by the most lauded of commanders, usually finds their lordships unable to offer any further employment. Should you—’

‘You threaten me with that? The public would never stand to see one of their number, a hero of the sea, lie idle for want of backbone at the Admiralty. No, sir, your proposition I reject utterly. Good day to you!’

Mulgrave followed him out with his eyes and, after the slightest of pauses, rang his desk bell. His secretary appeared with commendable promptness.

‘Kydd and Tyger. Where are they both at this moment?’ he demanded crisply.



The funeral had been dignified, redolent of the strongest feelings of noble sacrifice and duty done. In keeping with the deceased’s modesty his tomb bore only the legend ‘Cuthbert, Lord Collingwood. Died 7th March 1810 Aged 61’ and was indeed placed next to that of his friend Horatio Nelson.

Kydd felt the passing of an age. These were his heroes, who had held the helm of high command steady through the worst that Bonaparte could bring against England until Trafalgar had locked him in his continental prison. Only the granite-faced Earl St Vincent remained of these men of courage and individuality. They deserved to be remembered.

He was in company with two first lords, thirty admirals and countless captains. He stood talking with them afterwards for over an hour, even winning a distant acknowledgement from Cochrane who, it seemed, had attended for the same reason as they all. Kydd’s friend Renzi had been devastated to be unable to attend due to pressing matters on his estate but had insisted Kydd and Persephone stay at his London residence.

The wan sunlight outside somehow emphasised a new, greyer world of war and endless striving.

Persephone met him with their carriage, touched also by the mood.

They sat in silent contemplation as they returned to the town house.

‘Sometimes I believe this war will continue for ever,’ Kydd murmured, his whisky untasted. ‘It’s been, what, seventeen years now, and where have we reached? Boney supreme on land, we rule the seas and it’s a right stalemate.’

‘There’ve been some famous victories, my love,’ Persephone soothed, sensing his depression. ‘Even if they’ve all been at sea.’

‘For what? We’re like two bare-knuckle bruisers who’ve knocked each other about until we’re too done in to go on.’

Something had touched him and she was not sure what it was.

He went on, ‘But we dare not throw in the towel, not with Bonaparte owning near the whole of the civilised world. If peace were declared this very day, trade everywhere starts again tomorrow. And what is its character? Where today we have the planet our marketplace, tomorrow we compete against one who can throw open the entire continent for import, industry and then export. Our small islands could never stand.’ Moodily he took up his whisky. ‘To tell you true, Seph, to think we’d then be rated a far outsider among nations doesn’t bear thinking on.’

‘You’re cast down by laying Lord Collingwood to rest,’ she said.

‘Old Cuddy? About the last of the heroes I grew up with and admired. The world’s a sadder place – a lonelier place without him, sweetheart. Who do we look to as will teach us the meaning of duty? Where are the heroes of the day, that we’re in sore need of ’em?’

A soft smile appeared. ‘Some would say I’m looking at one, right here before me.’

Kydd turned to her, his expression fond. ‘I’m not really, dear love. It’s you that I take into battle, you that I want – need – to come back to.’

‘And others would say that you’ve done your part,’ she said steadily, ‘from the first days of the French wars right to now. Without stopping. And it could be time to lay down your weapons and claim reward – in the arms of your loved ones,’ she ended, rather less steadily.

He closed his eyes, reaching for her hand. ‘That would be Heaven itself, sweetling.’

She half tensed, knowing in her heart what was coming next.

His eyes opened again and in them was a faraway look that did not include her. ‘Seph, it’s the navy alone as keeps these islands shielded and preserved and it needs me. I can’t let ’em down like that.’

‘There’s so many young men coming along who—’

‘They haven’t the experience in a navy stretched thin like it is and besides …’

‘Besides?’

‘My dearest, have you ever thought where I’d be if the navy hadn’t come to claim me for its own that night in the Horse and Groom? I was contented to be a common wigmaker and then my life was all upset. And I tasted what the sea was – is – and it agreed with me. I’m now a knight, known to the King and his tribe, and all because, for some reason, I’m one with the sea. It’s saying I owe it all to the navy and I’m not about to turn my back on ’em now.’

‘I dare to say I have a debt to the navy as well as you.’

‘What’s that, Seph?’

‘It was the navy that made you, shaped you into the most desirable and handsome catch a woman can possibly ask for.’

‘Why, thank you, m’lady,’ Kydd stuttered, in masculine embarrassment.

Persephone paused for a long moment, then said in a barely controlled voice, ‘Wherever your navy sends you on the seven seas, you go with my love and longing, in the trust that you’re where you belong. I promise you shall never find me jealous.’

The note was brief and to the point. ‘I should attend on the first lord at my convenience, Seph,’ Kydd told her. ‘That means directly. I’ve a feeling the navy is about to trifle in my destiny again.’

He was back promptly. ‘Well, and I’m right in the particulars.’ He took his wife’s hands and looked into her eyes, ‘It’s the Indies.’

She waited for him to go on.

‘The East Indies, sweet love, which is to mean the opposite to the West Indies, comprehending India and all its seas.’

She fell back in dismay. ‘So far away, darling,’ she said faintly. ‘And strange and … and unhealthy.’

‘It may be, but it’s where the biggest fortunes of all are to be made. Think on it, Seph – I may return a nabob with an elephant and troop of servants to carry my pearls. Or—’

‘Don’t jest, Thomas. This is a serious matter.’

‘Yes, my love. But who knows what India has for me? All I’ve heard is that most of those coming home after a spell there are rich as Croesus and call no man master. Why not me?’

‘And just as many have left their bones. Dear Thomas, do take care. The navy has no use for dead men.’ Her eyes filled.

‘I’ve a notion there’s a purpose behind my going. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something to do with what I was saying before.’

‘You owing a debt to the navy?’

‘I do, but it’s not that. No, it’s more concerning our two nations being at stalemate. Here in Europe there’s nothing will happen, but out there it could. We took most of India from the French in the last century, who knows if there’s more for the taking?’

‘I’ve not heard talk of any rich lands there as are waiting for a flag,’ she replied tartly.

‘Nor me, my love. That is not to say there aren’t any, o’ course.’

‘How long?’ she asked, in a small voice.

‘I suppose you should not expect me back for at least a couple of years, Seph, if not more. The Admiralty doesn’t relish the expense of sending a ship halfway around the world for it then to turn about and come back.’

Kydd’s throat tightened. This talk of years apart was hard to say, and he could see the effect of his words on her. ‘All the more time to pile up our spoils, sweetheart,’ he tried, with forced gaiety.

She turned away and sobbed, once.



‘Mr Bray, turn up the hands, if you will. I’ve some news for them.’

Kydd was not known as a loose tongue and the lower deck cleared rapidly to hear him. Crowding the after end and settling in the rigging to get a better hearing, they waited patiently. Behind him were the officers whom he’d taken delight in not enlightening – they were just as much in the dark as the seamen.

‘Ship’s company mustered for ye, sir,’ rumbled Bray.

‘Thank you.’

Kydd stepped forward to face his men. ‘Tygers. Tomorrow we sail.’

There was an immediate ripple of interest, and disbelief. The ship was neither stored nor with her full stow of powder and shot. What did it mean?

‘For Portsmouth.’ Incomprehension showed on their faces. Why lay aft his men to tell them of a routine shift of naval ports?

‘To fit foreign.’ This was met with a massed sigh of understanding, quickly suppressed.

‘We are part of a reinforcement sent to join Admiral Pellew – in the East Indies.’

Excited babble broke out and Kydd let it spend itself before nodding to the master-at-arms, who roared for silence in confected outrage.

‘I don’t need to tell you that things have quietened in this part of the world, including Spain, and we are being sent to support Admiral Pellew guarding our most valuable trade route – that to India and China.’

Every man had heard of the fabulous treasures crossing the ocean in those stately Indiamen, on their way to enrich both shareholders and those with some snug placing in the grand East India Company. Tales were told of the huge riches that had been made in India, those returning with vast wealth the envy of all.

‘This is to say that we shall be on station, not passing through on a cruise and as such might expect to remain for some years.’ A hush fell.

‘There may be among you those who do not desire to go foreign for this length of time for one reason or another. I’m going to make these men an offer. Should they find one of the same rate among the ships in the fleet at Portsmouth willing to exchange into Tyger then so be it.’

Kydd turned to his first lieutenant. ‘Mr Bray. Ship is under sailing orders. Carry on, please.’

That evening Tyger was curiously deserted: officers had hastened ashore with much to tell their folk, only Brice, whose family was in the north, remaining. A skeleton crew of ‘non-native’ seamen left aboard settled down agreeably as even their captain had been seen to step off indecently quickly.

They weighed for Portsmouth the next morning with no stragglers reported, but Kydd knew it was there, on the last eve before sailing foreign, that laggards might contemplate, through the bottom of a bottle, with consternation, years of service in exotic parts. But there’d be no trouble in finding those around the fleet more than willing to exchange into a frigate of the renown of Tyger, wherever she was bound.

As they shaped course around the Mewstone, he reflected that Persephone was somewhere under their lee travelling in the Portsmouth mail – they’d agreed to meet in the George – but Tyger, with a fair westerly, would be making better time.

Tyger t. . .