Command

the log, it was this that had to be at fault.

'Mr Purchet, I'll have the log-line faked out an' measure the knots, if y' please.' Speed was arrived at by casting astern a weighted triangular piece of wood, the log-ship, that was carried astern as the ship sailed on. The line flew off from a reel held overhead and at the end of a thirty-second period it was 'nipped' to see how far it had gone out, indicated by the number of knots in the line that had been run off. As the ratio of thirty seconds was to an hour (really twenty-eight, to allow for reaction times) so the length of line was for one knot—at forty-seven feet and three inches.

The carpenter's folding rule was wielded industriously. And, without exception, the knots fell close enough to their appointed place.

Kydd stood back, trying to think it through.

'Sir—the glass?' suggested Bowden.

It was unlikely: the twenty-eight-second sand-glass was a common enough object and the grains were specially parched to prevent clogging. 'Go below an' check it against the chronometer,' Kydd ordered doubtfully.

While this was done he set Teazer about and they headed safely off shore in darkening seas; during the night he and Bonnici would take careful astronomical observations. Compasses were inaccurate at the best of times but it was possible that when they had adjusted theirs in Malta harbour they had been within range of the influence of iron on the seabed, perhaps an old cannon.

Bowden returned. 'No question about it, sir. This is a thirty-three-second glass,' he said, trying to hide the smugness in his voice.

Kydd looked accusingly at Bonnici, who reddened. 'Er, a Venetian hour-glass it mus' be, sir,' the master mumbled. 'We take fr'm the Arsenale when we store th' ship.'

But it was nothing that could not be put right, thought Kydd, with relief, thankful that the heavens had been restored to their rightful place and his ship sped on unharmed into the warm night.

Free from the routine of night watch-keeping, Kydd could take no advantage of the luxury of an all-night-in: excitement and anticipation coursed through him making sleep impossible. Then came memories: that lonely, exhausted night as a press-gang victim, new on board; the first time he had stood watch as a green and terrified officer-of-the- watch—and the bitter time following when he had felt he could never belong in the company of gentlemen. And now he was past it all and elevated above every one of them. Restless and unsleeping, he longed for morning.

At long last he heard the muffled thump of feet on deck and lay back, seeing in his mind's eye the activity of hands turned out and irritable petty officers urging them on to meet the break of day at quarters. He remained for a few minutes longer in his cot, aware that voices in the after end of the ship were respectfully subdued in deference to his august being.

As the early light strengthened he came on deck. Only his word of a clear horizon would be sufficient to allow the men to be stood down from quarters and go about their day. He acknowledged Dacres's salute and gave the word, savouring the instant activity it produced while he breathed deeply of the zest of a sea dawn.

Reluctantly he went for his breakfast, to be eaten in solitary splendour. He took his time, knowing that his presence would be unwelcome in the scurry of striking down hammocks, lashing them tightly and sending them up to the nettings, the domestics of the evening mess deck now to assume a martial readiness.

A discreet knock: it was the carpenter, duly reporting inches only of water showing in the well. Then came Dacres, with a question about employment for the hands in the forenoon. The rhythms of the morning took hold without him and he was free to attend to his own concerns.

Later he ventured on deck; Dacres moved to leeward of the quarterdeck, as was the custom. Kydd, keyed up with feeling, acknowledged him politely, then began strolling down the deck.

The effect was instant: on either side men fell silent and stiffened, ceasing their work to straighten and touch their hats. He ducked under the main staysail and the men on the other side, tailing on to a jib sheet, lost their hauling cadence and came to an untidy stop. The petty officer in charge looked at Kydd warily, clearly at a loss.

It was no good. Kydd knew full well what was happening: there had to be some pressing reason why the captain, next down from God, should march the length of the vessel to see them—it could only mean trouble. He had to face the fact that, as captain, he was not at liberty to wander about his own ship as he pleased.

Every movement, intentional or careless, had significance for the men, who would now be watching him as the creatures of the jungle regarded the pacing lion.

'Carry on,' he told the petty officer, and made his way back to the quarterdeck. The next time he wanted to stretch his legs and enjoy the sights forward on his pretty ship he would need to make some excuse to have the master or carpenter with him.

On impulse, Kydd crossed to the boatswain. 'Mr Purchet. I'm not comfortable with th' play we're seeing in the main topmast cross-tree, th' t'gallant mast in the cap.'

'I'll take a look, sir,' Purchet said, glancing up.

'No, thank 'ee,' Kydd said quickly. 'I've a mind t' see myself.'

He handed his hat and coat to an astonished Dacres and swung easily into the rigging, mounting with the fluid agility of the top-man he had been those years ago. He climbed around the futtock shrouds, ignoring the startled looks of two seamen working in the maintop, and on up to the cross-trees.

The lookout could not believe the evidence of his own eyes and stared at Kydd as he heaved himself up and on to the trestle-tree. Kydd hung on in the lively movement, muscles aglow, and took his fill of the lovely symmetry of Teazer's foreshortened length far below, hissing through the seas in a sinuous line of foam-flecks. After making a pretence of inspecting the topgallant mast as it passed through the cap he then shaded his eyes and looked away to the horizon.

An immensity of sparkling sea stretched before them as Teazer sped eastwards into emptiness, mainland Greece more than a hundred leagues distant and nothing ahead but the unchanging even line where sea met sky. It was a breathtaking sight from this height, one that in times past he had always thrilled to.

Reluctantly, he started to descend, then became aware that the clean line of horizon was broken. Eyes honed