Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

While Renzi helped Hamilton with his stakes, chain measures and thermometers, Kydd wandered along the path, fascinated and repelled. It felt like some great sleeping beast that was harmless until a careless act woke it to terrible life. He was not sorry when Hamilton concluded his work and they set off down the track to the horses.

When they arrived it was already late afternoon and a spectacular sunset promised to the west, directly at their feet.

"Sir," Renzi said suddenly, "it would gratify my spirit beyond words were we to linger a while to partake in the close of this day ..."

Hamilton grunted as he heaved himself up on to his pony. "I understand you, Renzi, please believe me, but tonight I am to receive someone who has travelled far, and must prepare. Should you wish, however, I shall send my carriage back for you."

"That is most kind in you, Sir William," Renzi said, with a bow.

Kydd sighed with exasperation, but as he had seen in the South Seas, Renzi was always most at peace in the midst of one of nature's displays and it would not be a kindness to fret about moving on. They settled on the cinders and watched the unfolding beauty. "And afterwards, dear friend, we shall sample the entertainments of the night at the first hand," Renzi said softly.

There was peace of a kind here, on the flanks of a volcano that had devoured all of two ancient towns, but to Kydd it was the peace of the dead. What he could not get out of his mind was the magnitude of their recent success—and all the consequence of a single mind's contriving and command.

" 'Like madness is the glory of this life,'" Renzi murmured, his eyes fixed on the gathering rose and gold display.

"What was that you said, Nicholas?" Kydd asked politely.

His eyes still on the gathering sunset, Renzi declaimed, "'Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall. Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay.'"

Kydd frowned. "That's as may be, Nicholas, but you'll agree, we've a famous victory t' be proud of."

Renzi, rapt with the heavenly closing ceremony of the day, said nothing.

"I've been thinking about things," Kydd said seriously.

"Working through m' life, y' understand."

"Oh? What did you conclude, brother?" Renzi answered distantly.

Kydd held on to his temper. "I was considering m' position in the light o' recent events," he said.

"Ah, yes."

"Do ye want t' hear, or no?"

Renzi turned to Kydd. "Of course, dear fellow—do fill and stand on, as it were."

Kydd caught his breath. It was difficult enough to put into words the powerful feelings he had found within him, the insight into himself that he sensed was there for the perceiving. "It's—it's that steppin' ashore a hero, I—I find it agreeable, is all."

"Some would find it diverting," Renzi murmured, his attention clearly elsewhere.

"What I mean is—if y' take my meaning—I'd rather it were me, my doing, my victory." His eyes burned. "Is it so necessary to crave pardon f'r the sin of ambition? Why should it not be me?"

"Indeed, why not?" Renzi said drily, then noticing Kydd's anger he sat up. "That is to say, it would be well to reflect that to be in the character of a hero necessarily involves elements of chance as well as merit."

Kydd glowered at him. "Chance? O' course there's chance. Was it mischance or luck that had me in the Horse 'n' Groom sinking an ale just when th' press-gang went in? Or when Seaflower went ashore over the reef in that hurricanoe?

"I don't deal in logic overmuch—I've seen too much o' how quick the world c'n go all ahoo to worry about plotting m' course too far ahead. But what I've learned—an' it's a lesson well taken—is that when things are on the flood f'r you, take it in both hands an' clap on all sail. If it's going a-foul then snug down an' ride it out without whining."

"This is an observation I cannot disallow."

"I've been fortunate, this I'll be th' first t' admit to—a foremast hand crossed t' the quarterdeck. But who's t' say that this is an end to my portion o' luck? Where will I go to next?"

"Quite so. Be you always ready for anything that chances by."

"No!" Kydd snapped. "That is not what I'm going t' do."

"Er—"

"I've seen how a reg'lar-built hero goes about it. Nelson—is he one t' wait for what comes his way? Heaves to 'n' waits f'r the enemy to sail over to him? No! He makes his chances by rising up an' seizing 'em."

Renzi watched him but made no comment.

Kydd folded his arms. "You see, Nicholas, from this day forward, I'm t' make my own luck. Like Adm'ral Nelson I'm looking for my chances an' taking 'em the very instant I see them. An' if that means perils an' hazard t' me, then this is what I must do, an' I hope I won't prove shy in that hour."

As the heat of his words cooled he gave an awkward smile. "So y' see—I mean t' make something of m'self, is all."

Looking at him seriously, Renzi said quietly, "This I can see, brother. Let us pray it leads you not into tempestuous waters some day."

"Nicholas, be sure an' this is what I mean—"

" 'Finish, good sir; the bright day is done, and we are for the dark ...'"

Heat built quickly in the morning calm. The ships lay listlessly at anchor in the bay and Kydd and Renzi walked languidly about the decks of Tenacious. The gunports were triced open to allow the small zephyrs to bring some measure of relief to the humid conditions in the 'tween decks.

Boarding nettings were not rigged below them, less in respect of the unlikelihood of unfriendly visitors than in recognition of the disinclination of seamen to desert in such an unfamiliar port.

Bumboats, however, were always to be seen alongside, hoping to entice sailors through the open gunports with gew-gaws.

Wiping his forehead, Kydd tried to ignore his dull nausea and uncertain footing, and asked Renzi, "Tell me true, did you mark what th' dwarf was doing with the blackamoor and the straps?"

Renzi avoided his eye. "I rather feel that on this occasion we were unfairly gulled into a lower class of entertainment owing to our—our agreeable acquaintance with the famed Lachryma Christi wine."

Kydd peered over the side at the bumboats, but he was not an officer-of-the-watch in harbour: this was a job for a master's mate who would turn sullen if advised of his duties by an idle officer. Signals were now in abeyance: in port the admiral would distribute his orders and dispatches by midshipman and boat, and in any case it was rumoured that Nelson had accepted an offer of hospitality from Sir William Hamilton and was staying ashore in their house, resting.

Treading carefully around three seamen who were eyeing him warily, he noted that their splicing and bolt-rope sewing had not progressed far since his and Renzi's last turn round the deck, for this was the second occasion that the boatswain had been too "ill" to take charge of his men.

It was inevitable, the toll on discipline and spirit in a harbour of such allure. Rawson and Bowden had sampled the delights together, overstayed their leave and were now confined to the ship, while Adams was refusing morosely to show his face ashore after a mysterious encounter involving a lady.

Other incidents were more serious: one seaman had been brought back by his messmates stabbed in the neck, and over fifty were unfit for work. It was proving difficult to overcome the lassitude that seemed to pervade the air after their recent extremity of effort.

With Houghton and Bryant away up country inspecting fortifications, Bampton had been left acting captain and at seven bells there was the depressingly more frequent "clear lower deck— hands to witness punishment."

"Sir, Henry Soulter has been a top-rate petty officer an' fo'c'sle hand, always ready t' step forward when there's perilous duty to be done—"