Quarterdeck

himself?

'Now, think on it. Should y' decide to serve King George and y'r country you could end up th' same. Give your names t' the first lieutenant as a volunteer this afternoon and tell him y' want to do well in the sea service o' the King and he'll give ye a good chance.'

Kydd turned to Lawes. 'Carry on, these men. Stand fast that one an' the two at the pinrail—we'll send 'em back. Rest go below to see the doctor.' The men still had their eyes on Kydd, one in particular, a thick-set seaman, who lingered after the others.

'Good haul, I think.' It was Bryant, watching them leave. 'Surly-looking brute, the last. Shouldn't wonder if he's shipped for some very good reason.'

The sun at last became visible through a pale cloud cover, a perceptible warmth on the skin, and Kydd's spirits rose. Ashore, he could make out a different green from the sombre green-black of the boreal forest, and he thought that the country might seem quite another in summer.

The captain left with the first lieutenant to call on the officers of York Redoubt, and a young lady whom Adams had taken up with demanded his constant presence. For now, Kydd decided, he would continue his acquaintance with war's wider canvas.

This time he prepared to take notes. Sitting at the wardroom table, his back to the stern windows, he picked up his book and resumed reading. He discovered that the thousand-year republic of Venice had been sacrificed in a cynical exchange between France and Austria and that the Corsican Napoleon Buonaparte must now be considered England's chief opponent.

It was truly astonishing how much of momentous significance to the world had happened since he had gone to sea—and to think that he had been unknowingly at the heart of these events. The evening drew in, the light faded, but he had found another book, more dog-eared and harder-going, which purported to be a treatment of the economic consequences of a world at war, and he set to.

He felt a small but growing satisfaction: this was one positive course he could take, and it was shaping into a workable aspiration in life. If he could not be a natural-born officer, at least he would be an informed one.

He became aware of a figure standing and looked up. It was Tysoe, cupping a small peg lamp that glowed softly with a clear, bright flame. 'Thank 'ee, Tysoe—but does Mr Hambly know I have his lamp?' It was charged with spermaceti oil and used only for painstaking work at the charts.

'Sir, he will be informed of his generous assistance to you when he returns aboard.'

Kydd inclined his head to hear better. 'Er, what seems t' be afoot on the upper deck?' There had been odd thumpings and occasional cries, but nothing the mate-of-the-watch could not be relied on to deal with.

Tysoe bent to trim the lamp. 'The hands, sir. They wish to dance and skylark.' Kydd nodded. There were men aboard, visiting from other ships, the weather was clear and it would be odd if there was not some kind of glee going in the fo'c'sle. He laid down his book. Perhaps he should cast an eye over the proceedings.

Darkness had fallen, but it was easy to make out activity on the foredeck by the light of lanthorns hung in the rigging. A hornpipe was being performed beside the jeer bitts of the foremast. Kydd wandered forward unnoticed. The seaman was skilled, his feet flashing forward to slap back rhythmically, the rigid body twirling in perfect time, while his upper body, arms folded, remained perfectly rigid and his face expressionless.

The fiddler finished with a deft upward note and, with a laugh, took a pull at his beer. 'Ben Backstay!' The call was taken up around the deck, and eventually a fine-looking seaman from another ship stepped into the golden light and struck a pose.

When we sail, with a fresh'ning breeze,

And landmen all grow sick, sir;

The sailor lolls with his mind at ease,

And the song and can go quick, sir.

Laughing here,

Quaffing there,

Steadily, readily,

Cheerily, merrily,

Still from care and thinking free

Is a sailor's life for me!

The violin gaily extemporised as cheers and roars delayed the next verse. There was no problem here: these were the core seamen of Tenacious, deep-sea sailors whose profession was the sea. They were the heart and soul of the ship, not pressed men or the refuse of gaols.

With a further burst of hilarity the singer withdrew to receive his due in a dripping oak tankard, and Kydd turned to go. Then a plaintive chord floated out, it hung—and a woman's voice sounded above the lessening chatter. 'Sweet Sally, an' how her true love Billy Bowling was torn fr'm her arms an' pressed.' A blonde woman, standing tall and proud, continued, 'Sally's heart's near broken, she can't bear t' be parted—so she disguises as a foremast jack 'n' goes aboard that very night.' Kydd moved closer: the woman resembled his lost Kitty.

Aboard my true love's ship I'll go,

And brave each blowing gale;

I'll splice, I'll tack, I'll reef, I'll row,

And haul with him the sail;

In jacket blue, and trousers too,

With him I'll cruise afar,

There shall not be a smarter hand

Aboard a man-o'-war.

Her voice was warm and passionate. Talk died away as she sang on. Kydd's mind took him back to other ships, other ports — and evenings such as this with his shipmates—when he'd had not a care in his heart.

She finished, but the memories she had aroused came on him in full flood, stinging his eyes. He became aware that faces were turned towards him, conversations dying away. A woman moved protectively towards her man and the expressions became dark, resentful.

Poulden came across. 'Sir?' he demanded suspiciously.

These men had every right to their territory, little enough in a ship of war. And he had no right—he did not belong. 'Er, just came t' hear the songs,' he said weakly. 'Rattlin' good singing, lads,' he added, but it fell into a silence. 'Please carry on,' he said, louder.