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would be his bed—but it would be in the captain’s cabin— his cabin! He grinned inanely in the darkness and a sudden thought struck.
    Kydd found a lanthorn and carried it into the great cabin. The clerk had laid out the books of account, logs, journals and other necessary instruments in systematic piles, each new, some with slips of paper, scrawled notes, others with Teazer ’s name boldly inscribed. He began searching, and it was not long before he found what he was after. He lifted it reverently up to the carpenter’s table that did duty for a desk.
    Finding an ink-well and quill he opened the book, smoothed its pages and, in the dim lanthorn-light, he penned the first entry in the ship’s log.
    “Winds SSE, Clear Weather, at single anchor. Hoisted a Pennant on board His Majesty’s Brig-Sloop Teazer by Virtue of a Commission from Admiral Keith . . . on the Malta Service . . .”
    Duty done, he claimed his bed.
    In the morning, the decks were wet following a light shower.
    Kydd called his standing officers to conference in the great cabin, the clerk at his notes. The cook finally arrived: a bushy-browed half-Italian, whose voluble explanations were cut short by Kydd: he wanted to feed fifty-odd hungry seamen whatever it took—he had just received a message that he should prepare to receive the body of men called for.
    The seamen would come with their sea-bags but no hammocks or bedding; those must be supplied. And without doubt there 2
    Julian Stockwin
    would be some who had, by accident or carelessness, been left with no spare clothing; a slop chest would need to be opened.
    More largesse, it seemed, would secure an early release of stores.
    The ship must aim towards self-sufficiency as soon as possible.
    Water, firewood for the galley, provisions, grog, its complement of ensigns, pennants, all proper devices. But this was only the first stage—mere existence. Then would come the main act: fitting out the ship for sea, using the skills of the seamen.
    “They’re alongside!” spluttered Purchet, as a confused bumping was felt through the ship’s side, but it was not the hands, only the stores lighters from the yard being poled out as promised.
    There was barely time for Kydd to apportion his best estimate of tasks by priority when the first launch was sighted. A small table was set up abaft the mainmast and Kydd took his place, his clerk to one side to note his decisions.
    “Mr Purchet, any man desirous o’ the rate of petty officer make himself known t’ ye. Those I’ll see first.”
    The men came over the bulwark with their sea-bags and bundles, and were ushered forward indignantly by the boatswain. Kydd wondered whether he should make a rousing address but realised he would have to repeat himself when others came aboard.
    The first prospective petty officers came to the table: hard, skilled men, but wary as they spoke to Kydd. He immediately accepted those who had served in the rate before—he would have the measure of them later.
    Laffin, a boatswain’s mate in Tenacious, showed no sign of recognition and stood four-square, gazing at a point above Kydd, even when spoken to. Purchet was entitled to one mate, he would do. Another, Poulden: Kydd recalled his fine seamanship and reliability, and rated him quartermaster. The man responded with a broad smile. One further was made quartermaster’s mate.
    The first wave of aspirants had no sooner been dealt with than a second boat arrived with more. Kydd attended to them, then

    Command
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    stood up and hailed the boatswain: “Mr Purchet!” he called loudly. “I’ll be dealing with th’ rest later. But I’ll have ye know that I want all these men t’ have the chance to choose their own watch ’n’ mess. As long as we has the same numbers in both watches they’re free t’ choose.”
    There was an immediate stir: it was routine that men joining were assigned by ship’s need and had little chance to stay with their friends. Wide grins spread and a