Piped aboard through the entry-port to the middle gun-deck of Prince of Wales, Kydd could see the flagship was in an advanced state of readiness. Were they expecting trouble this early? There was a welcome on the crowded quarterdeck: Gambier and no less than four other flag officers. Kydd paid his respects to the unsmiling, formal commander-in-chief, aware that this was a careful-to-the-point-of-cautious admiral whose devotion to the Good Book had earned him the nickname ‘Dismal Jimmy’ from irreverent sailors. There was one other rear admiral he recognised instantly. ‘Why, well met, sir!’ Kydd said warmly, crossing to the figure. This man had been captain of Triumph in which Kydd had served before the mast as master’s mate. After the bloody battle of Camperdown it was he who’d given Kydd the acting lieutenancy that had set him on the path to where he was today. The two had last met shortly before the politically charged court-martial of Commodore Popham. Essington beamed. ‘Why, how singularly gratifying to be noticed by the hero of the hour.
