Quarterdeck

Bampton held rigid.

The next morning the land was gone. There was just empty sea and the convoy. In loose columns, they bucketed through the long heaving swells from the west, substantial Hudson Bay traders with fine passenger cabins, hardy vessels headed for the Newfoundland cod fishery, slab-sided timber ships that would return with precious masts for the dockyards of the kingdom. And impoverished immigrants crammed among supplies for the settlements.

The night-time shortening of sail now became a resetting of plain sail to reach maximum speed of the slowest. A tedious schedule of hauling and loosing was necessary to adjust speeds; the leading-edge ships had to be reined in while slower ones, which had slipped to the back during the night, were bullied into lengthening their stride.

Routine was only re-established mid-morning when Tenacious was free to go to quarters for exercise of the great guns. After an hour or more of hard work the welcome sound of the tune 'Nancy Dawson' drifted up from the main deck, announcing grog and dinner for the hands.

But first, on an open deck nearly deserted of seamen, the officers gathered on the quarterdeck for the noon-day sight. Every officer performed the duty, including the midshipmen, but only the 'workings' of the lieutenants were pooled for reliability.

This would be Kydd's first occasion as an officer, for although since those years in the Caribbean he had known how, it was now that his contribution would be a valid element in the navigation of a King's ship.

He readied his octant, an old but fine brass and ebony instrument, by setting the expected latitude down to the tangent screw. This would shorten the time needed to do a fine adjustment in the precious seconds of a meridian altitude. Next, he took the precaution of finding his 'height-of-eye' on the quarterdeck. There was an appreciable correction to be made—from there the distance to the horizon of a ship-of-the-line was a full seven miles.

Cradling his instrument Kydd took his place, feeling the long swell come in fine on the bow in a heave down the length of the ship. He estimated it at no more than twelve feet, which meant another correction to height-of-eye. Then, like the others, he trialled the sun—close, but some minutes to go.

He was aware of the helmsman behind him, silently flicking the wheel to catch a wave, glancing up at the weather leech of a sail, then resuming his blank stare ahead. Kydd knew what he was thinking—the wielding of sextants, the consulting of mysterious figures in the almanac marked out an officer from a common seaman.

He lifted the octant again: the reflected lower edge of the sun was getting near the horizon. Kydd waited patiently, shifting the vernier with delicate twists of the tangent screw. Then it was time, the sun was at its highest altitude: reflected by the octant, its image kissed the line of the horizon.

'Stop,' he called, his voice mingling with the others. The time to a second was recorded by a master's mate: this was the exact instant of local noon along this line of longitude, the meridian. By the elevation of the sun above the earth, the distance along that line from the equator, the latitude, could be found, and where the two intersected would be the ship's position.

He lowered his instrument and, through habit, glanced into the binnacle: at noon on the meridian the sun was exactly due south so this was a good time to check the compass.

In the wardroom the table filled quickly with paper and books. Kydd jotted down his octant reading, returned the instrument to its case, and found his Moore's Nautical Almanac. In practised sequence he entered the tables, applied the corrections and neatly summarised his workings, his final latitude and longitude boldly there for all to see.

'Thank you, gentlemen,' the master said, collecting the workings. They agreed within a minute or so, but Kydd's was the closest of all to Hambly's own.

'Mr Kydd.' The captain was standing on the weather side of the quarterdeck.

'Aye, sir,' Kydd replied, moving quickly to him.

'As you must be aware,' he said gruffly, 'with four watch-keeping officers, having a second officer-of-the-watch forces them to watch on, watch off. The first lieutenant has asked that the ship's officers now move to single watches.'

'Sir.'

'Therefore you will oblige me by assuming your own watch,' he said drily. 'Should you feel unsure in any situation, you will call me at once. Do you understand?'

'Instantly, sir.'

'Carry on, please, Mr Kydd.'

The last dog-watch was nearly over when Kydd appeared by the wheel to take the next watch. In the early night-darkness the men stood about quietly, their faces eerily lit from beneath by the dim light of the binnacle lamp.

'Mr Bampton,' Kydd said in greeting.

The second lieutenant grunted, and turned to look at Kydd. 'Course sou'west b' south, courses are in to topsails one reef, last cast of the log five and a half knots.' He glanced once at the dark, near invisible sea, speckled prettily with golden pricks of lanthorn light where the convoy sailed on quietly through the night.

'Convoy still seems to be with us, carpenter reports nine inches in the well, we have two in the bilboes.' These unfortunates would spend all night in leg irons until hauled before the captain in the morning, but it was necessary to pass on the information. In the event that the ship was in danger of foundering they must be released.

'You have the ship, I'm going below. If you get into a pother, don't call me. Good night.'

It was done. A momentary rush of panic, then exultation. The man standing on the quarterdeck in command, around whom the world that was HMS Tenacious would revolve, was Thomas Paine Kydd.

A duty quartermaster held out the chalk log. The watch always started with a clean slate and Kydd took it, his notations of course and sail now holy writ to be transcribed later to the master's log. He heard the quartermaster murmur the heading to the new hand on the wheel, then saw him squint at the compass before returning to report, 'Sou'west b' south, Brown on the wheel, sir.' Much as Kydd himself had done not so very long ago.