Conquest

When first on board this ship I went,

My belly full, my mind content –

No sorrow touched my heart:

I view’d my coat, so flash and new,

My gay cockade, my hanger too,

And thought them wondrous smart;

But now, alas! My coat is rent,

My hanger’s pawned, my money spent;

Shiv’ring walk the quarterdeck,

Dreading first lieutenant’s check

Who struts the weather side!

Amid the appreciative applause Curzon came in with another, delivered in a charming boyish falsetto:

I’m here or there a jolly dog,

At land or sea I’m all agog,

To fight, or kiss, or touch the grog –

O! I’m but a jovial mid-ship-man!

About to launch into the second verse, he stopped awkwardly and ribald cries went up. ‘Go on, sir! Can y’ not remember the words?’

But in the august presence of their captain it would never do to continue the rest of the racy ballad. Bowden came to the rescue, the only one in the gunroom who knew their commander had a voice. ‘Sir, can you feel it in your heart to favour us with . . . ?’

Kydd quickly reviewed his repertoire, which now included pieces from salon and drawing room, but they were not what was wanted. Instead he held up his hand and in the respectful hush began in a soft but manly baritone:

Tom Truelove woo’d the sweetest fair

That e’er to tar was kind;

Her face was of a beauty rare,

More beautiful her mind;

This tale, his mess-mates sorrowing tell,

How sad and solemn three times rang;

Tom Truelove’s knell . . .

When he finished there was an incredulous silence then a storm of acclamation. It had brought a rush of sailorly feeling, the age-old warmth of mariners alone together in a far-off sea, tender remembrances of a native land stealing into their thoughts to soften their existence.

Another wistful song was offered by Bowden, one more from Curzon and, after obliging remarks on the efforts of the officers’ cook that evening, the gunroom lapsed into an introspective quiet.

‘I’m thinking we should be raising a glass t’ our little piece o’ empire,’ Gilbey reflected moodily, ‘as they’ve got so much going against ’em.’

Clinton snorted, his face flushed. ‘Blaauwberg showed Johnny Dutchman what we can do, damn their eyes!’

‘An undefeated army in the field, nothing in the granary and a country half the size of Europe to hold down – I’ll wager we’ll be packing our bags for England in the space of a three-month,’ Peyton said cynically, helping himself to the bottle.

‘Never so, Doctor!’ the master, Kendall, rumbled. It was the first he had spoken that night and heads turned to listen. ‘We’ve a navy second t’ none other, c’n keep ourselves well supplied an’ them Hollanders starving. An’ never forget, any wants t’ take the Cape back has to get past us.’

‘Get past us?’ Peyton drawled sarcastically. ‘Then you haven’t heard of the heavy squadrons Bonaparte sent to sea after Trafalgar? Three, or was it four, sir?’ he challenged Kydd.

‘Five, I believe,’ Kydd said mildly. ‘Let me see . . . We’ve L’Hermite in the Gulf o’ Guinea with frigates, Leissegues with four o’-the-line – but he’s for the Caribbean, I fancy. La Meillerie with four frigates off West Africa, but Willaumez with six battleships in the South Atlantic at this moment and Marechal still in the Indian Ocean.’

‘And we with a couple of paltry sixty-fours and a single pair of frigates – even if one be none other than His Majesty’s Ship L’Aurore,’ Peyton returned, his words heavy with irony.

There was an edge to Kydd’s voice as he replied, ‘I should leave the strategicals to us, Doctor. The gentlemen here are not concerned, neither should you be.’

‘Has anyone stepped ashore in this Lourenco Marques?’ Bowden asked lightly. ‘I’ve never heard of it before now.’

It seemed there were none who had in fact done so. ‘As it needs our Mr Renzi t’ tip us the griff,’ Gilbey said, solemnly regarding his port. There was a general murmur of agreement: Renzi was a valued member of the gunroom and his presence missed.

‘The pilot hasn’t much t’ say,’ Kendall said thoughtfully. ‘Around twenty-five south latitude, one o’ the last half-