Julian Stockwin - Quarterdeck

Landfall was made on a low, dark land. It soon resolved to a vast black carpeting of forest, barely relieved by stretches of grey rock and blotches of brown, a hard, cold aspect. Kydd had studied the charts and knew the offshore dangers of the heavily indented rock-bound coast flanking the entrance to Halifax.

"I'm advising a pilot, sir," the master said to the captain.

"But have you not sailed here before?" Houghton's voice was muffled by his grego hood, but his impatience was plain: a pilot would incur costs and possibly delay.

Hambly stood firm. "I have, enough times t' make me very respectful. May I bring to mind, sir, that it's less'n six months past we lost Tribune, thirty-four, within sight o' Halifax—terrible night, only a dozen or so saved of three hundred souls . . ."

While Tenacious lay to off Chebucto Head, waiting for her pilot, Kydd took in the prospect of land after so many weeks at sea. The shore, a barren, bleached, grey-white granite, sombre under the sunless sky, appeared anything but welcoming. Further into the broad opening there was a complexity of islands, and then, no doubt, Halifax itself.

The pilot boarded and looked around curiously. "Admiral's in Bermuda still," he said, in a pleasant colonial drawl. "Newfy convoy arrived and he not here, he'll be in a right taking."

Houghton drew himself up. "Follow the motions of the pilot," he instructed the quartermaster of the conn.

With a south-easterly fair for entry, HMS Tenacious passed into a broad entrance channel and the pilot took time to point out the sights. "Chebucto Head—the whole place was called Chebucto in the old days." The ship gathered way. "Over yonder," he indicated a hill beyond the foreshore, "that's what we're callin' Camperdown Hill, after your mighty victory. Right handy for taking a line of bearing from here straight into town."

Running down the bearing, he drew their attention to the graveyard of Tribune. Up on rising ground they saw the raw newness of a massive fortification. "York Redoubt—and over to starb'd we have Mr McNab's Island, where the ladies love t' picnic in summer."

The passage narrowed and they passed a curious spit of land, then emerged beyond the island to a fine harbour several miles long and as big as Falmouth. Kydd saw that, as there, a southerly wind would be foul for putting to sea, but at more than half a mile wide and with an ebb tide it would not be insuperable.

Tenacious rounded to at the inner end of the town, there to join scores of other ships. Her anchors plummeted into the sea, formally marking the end of her voyage.

"Gentlemen," Houghton began, "be apprised that this is the demesne of Prince Edward, of the Blood Royal. I go now to pay my respects to His Royal Highness. I desire you hold yourselves ready, and when the time comes, I expect my officers to comport themselves with all the grace and civility to be expected of a King's officer in attendance on the civil power."

The wardroom took the orders with relish. Every port had its duties of paying and returning calls; some were more onerous than others, with entertainments that varied from worthy to spirited, but this promised to be above the usual expectation.

For Kydd it would be high society as he had never dreamed of. Receptions, royal dinners, lofty conversations. All grand and unforgettable. But would he be able to carry it through like a true gentleman? Just how could he strut around as though born to it? It was daunting—impossible.

Soon the wardroom and spaces outside became a beehive of activity with servants blacking shoes, boning sword scabbards, polishing decorations, and distracted officers finding deficiencies in their ceremonials. The ship, however, lay claim to attention first: dockyard stores brought from England were hoisted aboard lighters and taken in charge, and a detachment of the 7th Royal Fusiliers came aboard to escort the regimental pay-chest ashore.

Fore and aft, Tenacious was thoroughly cleaned down, then put in prime order: the cable tiers were lime whitewashed, brick-dust and rags were taken to the brasswork, and cannon were blackened to a gloss with a mixture of lamp-black, beeswax and turpentine. Bryant took a boat away and pulled slowly round the ship, bawling up instructions that had the yards squared across exactly, one above the other.

Then the first invitations came. The captain disappeared quickly, and Pringle, who had old friends in Halifax, vanished as soon as he was decently able, accompanied by Lieutenant Best. The others prepared to find their own way ashore.

"Spit it out, man!" Adams demanded. The note handed in by a messenger was addressed to Renzi, who gravely announced to the wardroom that it seemed both himself and Lieutenant Kydd were invited to the home of the commissioner for lands, Mr Lawrence Greaves.

"Ah, as this eminent gentleman no doubt wishes to honour Tenacious in the proper form," said Adams smoothly, "it would be seemly, therefore, that a more senior officer be present. As it happens, gentlemen, I shall be at leisure . . ."

The boat landed them next to the careening wharf where a carriage waited. The stone steps of the landing-place were reasonably dry, but when they moved forward the hems of their boat-cloaks brushed the snow-mush.

On leaving the dockyard area they turned north, away from the town, and had their first glimpses of a new land. Kydd marvelled at the rugged appeal of the snow-patched raw slopes, the countless spruce and jack-pine—and the silence.

At their destination a gravel track led to a mansion, and as they drew up their Falmouth acquaintance came to the door. "This is most kind in you," Renzi said, with a bow. "May I present Lieutenant Gervase Adams, sir, who cannot be denied in his desire to learn more of your remarkable realm."

Greaves acknowledged him with a bow and slight smile. "Calm seas and a prosperous voyage indeed, gentlemen. Your brisk action at the outset of our voyage has been particularly remarked."

They settled inside by the large fire. "Calibogus?" Greaves offered. At the puzzled looks he smiled, "A Nova Scotian cure for the wind's chill—spruce beer stiffened with rum. I believe we will have King's calibogus, which is taken hot, and is a sovereign remedy."

Mrs Greaves joined them. "To an English eye, our country may appear outlandish, gentlemen, but to us it is an Arcadia indeed," she said proudly.

"With the fisheries to bring wealth and substance to your being," Renzi replied.

"The cod kingdom you will find in the north, in Newfoundland. Here we glory in trade—you have seen our convoys, hundreds of ships and sailing almost every month . . ."

"Such a crowd of shipping—all from Nova Scotia?" Adams asked, puzzled.

"Ah, no, sir," Greaves said. "This is the trade of the North American continent—not only Canada but the United States as well. The seas are alive with privateers and other vermin, and without a navy of their own Cousin Jonathan likes to consign his goods here for safe passage across the ocean."

Renzi rubbed his hands as the generous pinewood fire blazed, warming and cheering. "This is spring," he ventured. "I believe in truth it may be said your winter is worse?"

"It can be a sad trial at times," Greaves replied, "but when the snows come and the great St Lawrence freezes a hundred miles from bank to bank, Halifax with its fine harbour is always free for navigation."

His wife added gravely, "Last winter was dreadful, very severe. Our roads were impossible with ice and snow and we ran uncommonly short of the daily necessaries—the Army could get no beef and the common people were being found frozen in the street! Goodness knows how the maroons survive."

In his surprise Kydd forgot himself and interjected, "Maroons— you mean black men fr'm Jamaica?"