Quarterdeck (8 page)

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 dignifi ed 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
Seafl ower,
who had patiently taught him the elements of navigation and whose octant he now used, pressed on him after his famed open-boat voyage.

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55

“A fi ne 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 offi cers 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 fi tting 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 fi rst lieutenant has assured me he has now a complete watch and station bill.”

Bryant nodded emphatically, then glanced around at the offi -

cers 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 fi ve bells?”

“Mr Lawes?” Kydd addressed the only master’s mate among the group of about twenty men.

“Aye, sir.”

“Pleased t’ see you,” Kydd said, touching his own hat at Lawes’s salute. He turned to survey the men drawn up on the poop-deck. Most of his division, the able seamen, landmen and idlers, would still be below for these fi rst proceedings. “Our petty offi cers, Mr Lawes?”

“Sir.”

These men were the hard centre of his division, the ones in local charge of the seamen at masts, yards and guns. They would
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Julian Stockwin

also be at his right hand when his division was tasked for special duty, whether the boarding of a prize or the cutting out of an enemy—and they would be looking directly to him for their lead.

“This is Mr Rawson, signal midshipman.” It was the previous day’s coxswain of the ship’s boat, Kydd remembered.

“And Mr Chamberlain, midshipman.” He was absurdly youthful, thought Kydd, observing his curls and slight build, yet he knew this boy had a status and duties that placed him well above the hardiest able seaman.

“Samuel Laffi

n, bo’sun’s mate

.

.

.” Dark-featured and

oddly neat in his appearance, on his hat he wore a ribbon with

“Tenacious”
in gold lettering.

“Henry Soulter, quartermaster.” Kydd recognised a natural deep-sea mariner, and warmed to his softly spoken ways.

And there were others, whom he knew he should remember—

petty offi cers of the fi ghting tops, quarter gunners, petty offi cer of the afterguard—and rarer birds, such as captain of the hold, yeoman of the powder room and the carpenter’s mates. In all, he would have a fair proportioning of the fi ve hundred-odd of
Tenacious
’s company, such that most of the skills of a man-o’-war would be at hand if Mr Kydd’s division was called away as a unit.

Kydd stepped forward and braced himself to address them: they would be expecting some words to set the tone. “Ye’ll fi nd that I play fair, but I expect the same from you all. You know I come fr’m before the mast, that’s no secret, but chalk this in y’r log—I know the tricks, an’ if I see any of ’em, I’ll be down on ye like thunder.

“I like a taut ship. If y’ see an Irish pennant, send a hand t’

secure it. If the job’s not fi nished b’ end of watch, stay until it’s done. And look after y’r men! If I see you warm ’n’ dry on watch while a man has a wet shirt, I’ll have ye exchange with him.”

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57

He felt their eyes on him, and he knew what they were thinking: how would all this translate to action, or was it mere words?

Would he leave it to them, the senior hands, to deal with things on the spot so long as the objective was achieved, to administer justice in the time-honoured ways of the sea? In effect, would their status be properly acknowledged?

“Y’ have your lists?” Each petty offi cer would have the watch and station details of every man he was responsible for, and Lawes would have a master list. After today there would be no excuse for any seaman not to know where he should be in every circumstance foreseeable by experience and necessity.

“Mr Lawes, I shall inspect my division in one bell.”

The territory allotted for mustering Mr Kydd’s division was the after end of the main deck. His men assembled in order, three rows on each side facing inboard, their ditty bags of clothing at their feet. There was controlled bedlam as watch and stations were explained, noted and learned, friendships discovered between those of like watch and part-of-ship, and new-rated petty offi cers got to grips with their duties.

Kydd paced quietly down the middle. He could leave it to Lawes to muster the men and report when ready while he eyed them surreptitiously.

A Royal Navy warship was divided into as many divisions as there were offi cers. In this way each man could claim the ear of his own offi cer for complaint, requests and someone to speak for him at a court-martial. It was a humane custom of the Navy, but it required that the offi cer was familiar with his men.

But the men had other allegiances. Apart from the specialist artisans, the idlers, the crew was divided into two watches for routine working of the ship—starboard and larboard watches.

These would in turn be divided into parts-of-ship—the fo’c’sle,
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Julian Stockwin

maintop, afterguard on the quarterdeck and so on. As offi cer-of-the-watch, Kydd would therefore be certain to meet his men in another guise.

If there was a break in routine, as when a ship came to her anchor or took in sail for a storm, each man had his own particular post of duty, his station. Whether this was up at the main yard fi sting canvas, or veering anchor cable when “hands for mooring ship” was piped, he had to close up at his station or risk the dir-est punishment.

Now, before
Tenacious
faced the open sea, was the time to establish that the ship’s company was primed and ready for their duty.

“Sir, division ready f’r your inspection,” said Lawes cautiously.

He was an older master’s mate and Kydd suspected that his origins were also from before the mast.

They stepped forward together to the front row. The sailors looked ahead vaguely, but Kydd knew he was under close scrutiny. In the future he could be leading them into the hell of a boarding, the deadly tensions of a night attack in boats—or seeing them spreadeagled on a grating under the lash.

“You, sir, what’s your name?” The grog-blotched skin, rheumy eyes and fl accid ditty bag were a giveaway.

“Isaac Hannaford, s’ please yer, sir.”

“And?”

The man’s eyes shifted uneasily. “Can’t rightly recolleck,” he fi nally answered.

“First o’ starb’d, sir, afterguard,” Lawes said heavily.

“Let’s see y’r clothing, then, Hannaford,” Kydd said. The ditty bag was upended to reveal a forlorn, unclean assortment. “Mr Lawes, what’s in this man’s list?”

“Sir, shirts, two, stockings, four.” Hannaford was an old hand and knew the ropes—but he had sold his clothing for illicit grog.

“Come, now, Hannaford, you’re an old haulbowlings. Can’t

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59

you see, without kit, you’re not going t’ be much use to the barky?” There was no use waiting for an answer, and he rounded on Lawes. “To see th’ purser for slops, t’ make up his list.” It would be stopped out of his pay; whether that would have any effect was doubtful. “And each Sunday t’ prove his kit to the petty offi cer of his watch.”

As Lawes scrawled in his notebook Kydd passed to the next man. “Thorn, sir.” Kydd nodded and moved on.

He stopped at a fi ne-looking seaman, so tall that he stood stooped under the deckhead. “Haven’t I seen you afore now?

Was it . . .
Bacchante,
the Med?”

“’Twas, right enough, sir,” the man said, with a surprised smile. “But you was master’s mate then—no, I tell a lie, quartermaster as was. Saw yez step ashore in Venice, I remembers.” At Kydd’s expression he hurried to add, “An’ it’s William Poulden, waist, sir, second o’ larb’d.”

Kydd decided he would see if he could get this good hand changed from the drudgery of being in the waist with the landmen to something more rewarding.

He stopped at a shy-looking youngster with a stye on one eye.

“What’s y’r station for reefi ng at th’ fore?”

“Ah—fore t’ gallant sheets ’n’ clewlines, sir,” the boy said, after some thinking.

“Hmmm.” This was a topman—he should have been quicker to respond. “And mooring ship?”

“T’ attend buoy an’ fi sh tackle,” he said instantly. Kydd knew that the quick reply was a guess. No topman would be left on the fo’c’sle while taking in sail. “Mr Lawes, this man c’n claim his tot only when he knows his stations. And he sees the doctor about his eye.”

The rest of his division seemed capable. He noted the odd character eyeing him warily—but he would see their quality soon enough when he stood his fi rst watch.

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Julian Stockwin

A distant call sounded from forward, a single long note, the

“still.” The captain was beginning his rounds.

“Straighten up, then! Mr Lawes, see they toe the line properly, if you please.” The rows shuffl ed into line, to Kydd’s eyes their alert and loose-limbed bearing infi nitely preferable to the perfect rigidity of a line of soldiers.

He saw the captain approach, accompanied by the fi rst lieutenant, looking under pressure, with the captain’s clerk and Pringle.

Kydd whipped off his hat and prepared for inspection, but the captain managed only a rapid glance, a nod at Kydd and a few words with Lawes before he passed to the gun-deck below.

The offi cers assembled for sail drill had no indication of the captain’s mind when he appeared from his cabin. His fi xed expression could mean disappointment at the quality of the men he had seen earlier or satisfaction with the relative ease with which
Tenacious
had been manned.

In any event, now would be the time that reputations were won or lost, weakness and strengths revealed, not least of which would be that of the captain himself, as he reacted to the success or otherwise of the morning’s evolutions.

Kydd felt the tension. His eyes met Renzi’s and provoked a slow half-smile as both turned to face their captain.

“Loose and furl by mast and watch. I shall not want to exercise further today—but if we are not striking topmasts within the space of three days . . .”

Already at his station on the quarterdeck, Kydd watched the other offi cers move to the fo’c’sle, main deck and forward of the mainmast.

“Larb’d watch o’ the hands—
haaaands
to stations for making sail!”

Two hundred seamen raced to their stations, the fore, main and mizzen shrouds black with men heading for the tops; others

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61

ran to the pin rails at the ship’s side and the massive square bitts at the base of each mast, around which hung a complex maze of ropes.

Along the deck men hurried to the belaying points for important lines running aloft, braces, halliards, sheets. Petty offi cers pushed and bullied the hapless landmen into their places, showing no mercy to the slow-witted. It all seemed so straightforward now, but Kydd recalled his fi rst daunting experiences at tailing on to a rope, in the old 98-gun
Duke William
in these very waters.

When the muttering, cursing and murmuring had settled, the captain lifted his speaking trumpet. “Foremast, loose all sail to a bowline.”

Adams, clearly tense and waiting for the start, instantly lifted his head and blared up, “Lay aloft, royal yardmen! Lay aloft . . .”

“Belay that!” Houghton’s face was red with anger, and the hard edge in his voice carried forward. “Brace around, damn it, lay the yard fi rst, you fool!”

Adams’s command had been a mistake. Firmly anchored, and with but one mast with sail abroad, there was no opportunity to use another mast, with sails backing, to balance the forces.