Free Caribbee by Julian Stockwin Page B

lieutenant. An agreeable-looking young man in his twenties, with an anxious-to-please expression, he was still in his wildly out-of-place shore clothing.
    ‘This is damned irregular, joining ship out of rig, Mr Buckle,’ rasped Kydd.
    ‘Oh, that’s because m’ friends insisted on a righteous send-off, is all.’ The accent was peculiar, touched with a slight Caribbean lilt.
    ‘And?’
    ‘Why, nobody thinks to see you put to sea so quick, an’ when they spy you ready to go, I threw m’ gear together an’ here I am.’
    ‘Was it you fired those shots?’
    ‘I did! Always take m’ duck gun everywheres and it surely came in handy this time.’
    Incredulous, Kydd began, ‘You thought to fire away in a naval anchorage …’ He let it go rather than endure another explanation. ‘Be so good as to show me your orders, Mr Buckle.’
    They were correct, the commission dated only the day before and with Cochrane’s signature. ‘Weren’t you in a sickly way betimes?’
    ‘Er, I took the fever an’ was landed from m’ last ship, but I know my duty when I sees it. When the call came, how could I not arise an’ answer?’
    ‘Quite. We’d better ask the doctor for a survey, just in case.’
    ‘Oh – that won’t be necessary,’ Buckle said hastily. ‘I’m feeling prime.’
    Kydd frowned. There was something odd about the whole business. And the commission referred to Acting Lieutenant Buckle.
    ‘Do tell me something about your sea time, Mr Buckle – and I’m bound to tell you that in
L’Aurore
it’s customary to throw out a “sir” every so often.’
    ‘Aye aye,
sir
! Well, I starts in
Mediator
as a volunteer o’ thirteen years and—’
    ‘No, your last few commissions.’
    It came out. From a prominent Barbados planter family, he had made midshipman at fifteen, managing to serve his entire career in the Caribbean, but had been unfortunate in the matter of promotion. His first service as lieutenant was in his previous ship and had been brief, terminated by a near-mortal but mysterious fever.
    ‘What, then, was your last ship?’
    ‘That would be fourth o’
Hannibal
74, Captain Tyrell. A hard man, sir, cruel hard!’
    A midshipman with no shortage of interest, yet well past the usual age for a lieutenancy, was questionable, but what raised Kydd’s hackles was the suspicion that he had shammed illness in order to be quit of a lawful appointment – at Bowden’s expense. No wonder he had ‘recovered’ so quickly, the thought of shipping out in a frigate too good to miss.
    ‘I’ll be honest with you, Mr Buckle. I mislike the cut o’ your jib. You’re not my idea of a naval officer and I doubt others on board
L’Aurore
will disagree. We’re at sea now and I don’t have a choice, but mark my words, sir, there’s no passengers on a frigate. If you’re not in the trim of a sea officer by Jamaica I’m having you landed as useless. Understand?’
    ‘You can count on me.’ Seeing Kydd’s expression, he squeaked hastily, ‘Um,
sir
!’
    ‘Go! And get in sea rig!’
    With a sketchy salute, Buckle left hurriedly.
    Sighing deeply, Kydd knew he had problems. He couldn’t let the ninny take a watch on his own. His first lieutenant Gilbey would have to stand his share, which would not please him. And what the hardened man-o’-war’s men aboard would think of Buckle to serve under …
    ‘Sir?’ It was the boatswain, knocking softly. He had an odd smile playing on his lips.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Bit of a predicament is all, sir.’
    ‘Oh?’ Mr Oakley didn’t often come across problems he needed to take to his captain.
    ‘Like, it’s the new lootenant. His dunnage don’t fit in his cabin. Three chests an’ other gear he has, sir.’
    ‘Has he, now. Then he’s to take what he wants as will stow, the rest to go over the side. Clear?’
    Grinning openly, the boatswain turned to leave.
    ‘Oh, and ask Mr Curzon to attend me,’ Kydd added. Buckle would be second officer-of-the-watch to Curzon and