Julian Stockwin - Quarterdeck

Bryant's gaze slipped to Adams, who took up his cue. "Gentlemen, you see before you one Gervase Adams, relict of the Raven, eighteen, fir-built and cast ashore. Take heed all ye who would place Baltic fir before good British oak . . ."

"And?"

Renzi's manner was perfect: his easy affability brought approving grunts from around the table. He raised his glass in Kydd's direction. "Might I bring forward my particular friend Thomas Kydd, whom you see before you as junior aboard, but whose shining parts his modesty forbids him to mention. His actions in thwarting a fearful case of barratry while still a child of the sea is well remarked, and I owe my continued existence to his acting forcefully in a curious circumstance on an island in the Great South Sea. He it is who conned the longboat in the Caribbean that preserved Lord Stanhope, and in all, gentlemen, we must conclude that Mr Kydd be truly accounted a favoured son of Neptune!"

Bryant rumbled loudly, "Hear him!"

Kydd reddened, and mumbled something. The table remained silent.

"That may be so," exclaimed Adams, "but be advised, Kydd, it's the custom of the service that if you've been around the Cape of Good Hope you're entitled to one foot on the table. If you've doubled Cape Horn, both feet on the table, but nothing entitles you to spit to wind'd!"

There was warmth in the easy laughter that followed the old saw. Kydd had no idea that there was such a fraternity in the officers in their wardroom, and he longed to be truly one of them.

Introductions continued. The marine turned out to be a Captain Pringle, with a well-polished line in wardroom wit. It seemed that later a brand-new lieutenant of marines would also grace the ship.

Renzi's new friend was a Mr Peake, a quietly spoken and erudite gentleman who would be their chaplain, and completing the company, further along, was one not in uniform but wearing a comfortable green-striped waistcoat. He announced himself laconically as Pybus, the ship's surgeon.

The wardroom dissolved into talk and laughter, and a violin out of sight behind the mizzen mast began a soft piece Kydd did not recognise. At the same time the smell of onion soup filled the air, and silently a bowl appeared before him. Simultaneously, a number of covered dishes arrived.

"Kydd, dear fellow, may I assist you to some of these fresh chops?" Adams said, as Kydd finished his soup. "Sadly, we shan't see their like again, I fear, before we next make port."

Behind the chair of each officer stood a seaman or marine to wait at table; Tysoe was at the back of Kydd. Adams waited until he had withdrawn to see to Kydd's glass. "That old blackamoor you have there, come down in the world since he was valet de chambre to Codrington, who, you might recollect, died of an apoplexy in our very great cabin." He leaned forward. "You don't have to stay with the old fellow—ask Pringle for a marine, they know the sea service."

Kydd looked round at the other servants. There was none who appeared to be above thirty; Tysoe had substantial grey in his bushy hair. Having seen the scrimmages that sometimes took place as servants jostled to see their masters' needs met first, he had his doubts that Tysoe would hold his own. But something about the man's quiet dignity touched Kydd. There were advantages to youth, but different ones with maturity and, besides, were they not both outsiders? "Er, no, I'll keep Tysoe," Kydd answered.

He saw the glow of contentment in the others as his eye roved over the animated officers. Eddying talk rose and fell, then lulled. He heard Bampton call down to him, his voice studied and casual: "Kydd, something or other tells me you're no stranger to the lower deck. Can this be right?"

Bryant frowned. The table fell quiet, and faces turned to Kydd.

He took a deep breath. "True, very true, sir. I was untimely taken up as a pressed man and, unable t' run, I find myself still here."

Awkward grins surfaced, and Pringle murmured to the table in general, "That won't please the owner—not by half, it won't."

Bampton persisted: "Was this not alarming? For your family is what I mean."

"Damn it all!" Bryant exploded, glaring at Bampton. "We were promised figgy duff—where the devil is it?"

It was a pearly calm winter's day when Kydd appeared for duty on the deck of the man-o'-war, a King's officer. After their pressed men had been claimed and come aboard, the ship's company would be mustered by open list into divisions and Kydd would see his men for the first time.

A hoy from the receiving ship came alongside in a flurry of flapping canvas and shouted orders. Kydd continued to pace the quarterdeck, the arrival of pressed men not his concern. Out of sight, in the waist below, the first lieutenant would be setting up to receive them, rating the seamen by their skills and consigning the rest—landmen—to the drudgery of brute labour.

Kydd felt contentment at the thought that within a week or so this deck would be alive and heeling to the stern winds of the open ocean.

Renzi fell into step beside him.

"Nicholas! How did y' sleep?" Kydd's own experience had not been of the best. Alone in the dark, he had tried to keep the thoughts that surged through him under control. The cot, a square-sided canvas frame suspended from the deckhead, was comfortable, but he had not realised that bedding was his own responsibility, and were it not for Tysoe's silent intercession, he would have gone without.

"Well, it must certainly be admitted, our elevation to society in this watery world has its distinct attractions." Renzi wore an indulgent smile, which triggered a jet of frustration in Kydd. After his own experiences, it was galling to see Renzi take to his new life so easily.

"It is agreeable, perhaps, but today we get th' measure of our men," he said impatiently. Adams was on the opposite side of the deck, deep in conversation with a master's mate, and also appeared anxious to be started.

"Mr Kydd?"

He turned to see a dignified older man in plain uniform. The man touched his hat. "Hambly, sir, sailing master."

"Good morning, Mr Hambly," Kydd replied. A full master, Royal Navy, paying his respects, the highest professional being in Kydd's universe before. The man's steady look had a quality of appraisal, cool judgement.

"Thought I'd make y'r acquaintance, sir." Before Kydd could speak, he continued, "Mr Jarman is m' friend."

Kydd remembered the master of the topsail cutter Seaflower, who had patiently taught him the elements of navigation and whose octant he now used, pressed on him after his famed open-boat voyage.

"A fine man, Mr Hambly," Kydd said sincerely. "I owe him much."

The master smiled slowly, touched his hat to Kydd, then Renzi, and left.

A double strike on the bell sounded forward: this was the time for the officers to repair to the great cabin where the shape of things to come would now become apparent.

"Gentlemen, be seated." The captain remained standing, staring out of the stern windows. "I won't keep you long," he said. "It is my intention to conclude the fitting of this vessel for sea as soon as possible. I desire that today you shall muster the people by open list, and prove your divisions. The first lieutenant has assured me he has now a complete watch and station bill."

Bryant nodded emphatically, then glanced around at the officers meaningfully. There had been frantic work by his writer and clerks the previous night.

Houghton continued sternly, "He wishes that this shall be advised to all hands—with a view to shifting to sea routine within a small space of days. The quarters bill will be posted this evening, I am assured." He withdrew a silver watch. "Shall we say, divisions at five bells?"

"Mr Lawes?" Kydd addressed the only master's mate among the group of about twenty men.