Invasion

which had a capstan to the front with men working on them or just sitting in the sun with a comfortable pipe and baccy. Kydd wandered up. Every tiny sea-place on England's coasts had its own peculiarities and he was curious to see how the unusual steep shingle landings had influenced the boats' construction.

They were all substantial craft, few less than forty feet long and fifteen broad, long-yarded with a square- headed dipping lug sail and handy mizzen, and remarkably high-waisted. Most had an iron skeg with an eye at the turn of the forefoot to assist in hauling up, and all were bright-sided, the varnish work on them as winsome as a new-fallen horse chestnut.

Eyes turned suspiciously on Kydd as he crunched through the shingle to take in the bluff lines of one, the Kentish Maid. He bent double to catch the rise of bilge. As he suspected, the high gunwale was matched by a broad, flat bottom, ideally suited to coming ashore on a steep beach in anything of a sea.

He peeped over the gunwale. It was simply equipped with a small shelter forepeak; it was easy to sense great strength. The boat stank richly of its sea gear. Caressing the sturdy sides in admiration he was startled when a shrill voice challenged him. 'Oi! Th' young man yonder! I seen ye—what are y' doing wi' that boat?'

A wizened but bright-eyed old man sitting on a pair of shipwreck timbers shook a knobby stick at him. Kydd chuckled and went over to him. 'Why, sir, I'm taking m' pleasure in the sight of as fine a barky as ever I've seen. Elm-built, is she?'

The man squinted at him. 'Then who are ye, then?'

'M' name is Thomas Kydd. May I know . . . ?'

'Tickle—William Tickle—an' ye hasn't said as why ye're so taken wi' th' Maid.'

Kydd had passed an ancient tap-house on the way. 'Sir, if you'd tell me more o' these I'd be honoured t' stand you a glass o' the true sort in the tavern.'

'No.'

'Well—'

'I likes th' prospects here,' Tickle said, waving his stick at the boats drawn up. 'Go to y' tavern an' get me a jorum of ale an' I'll tell ye all there is t' know.'

Kydd returned with a potboy and, leather tankards a-flow with dark beer, he learned from the Deal boatman.

'A hard life, t' be sure,' Tickle began. 'Hovellin' an' foyin' is all we got, isn't it? That an' the other.'

'The other?'

'Gift o' the sea. Free tradin', like.'

Smuggling.

'Er, tell me of your foying, Mr. Tickle.'

'Aye, well, it's naught but plyin' for trade wi' the merchant jacks out in th' Roads as wants fresh wegetables, dry provisions, y' knows.'

Kydd nodded. There would be many a blue-water merchantman inbound from a lengthy voyage who would be more than willing to pay over the odds for fresh victuals.

'And we'm Channel Pilots o' the Cinque Ports—Trinity lot gives best t' us, any which wants t' try th' Goodwins in a fog.'

'Hovelling—can't say as I've heard of it afore,' Kydd said.

'Then I guess ye haven't been t' sea much. Where ye from?'

'Um, Guildford, Mr. Tickle. The hovelling . . . ?'

It turned out to be as colourful and dangerous a sea trade as any he had heard of in his years of voyaging. Thoroughly at home around the treacherous Goodwins, on fine-weather days the hovellers would hoist their distinctive blood-red sails and occupy themselves sweeping the seabed close to the great banks for anchors and ground tackle lost in storms. They would sweat to recover them by art and sea craft and either bring them aboard or sling them beneath and return, storing them in an anchor field close to the King's Naval Yard.

On foul-weather days they would keep close watch on the edge of the Goodwins for signs that a ship was dragging her anchors or had lost one and was nervously eyeing the remainder. A stout Deal lugger would then be launched into the violence to take out a complete anchor, weighing tons, along with heavy coils of cable, and offer it to the anxious captain for a handsome fee. It was seldom refused.

That explained the high-sided construction and generous scantlings of these hardy boats. Kydd could only imagine the fearful effort required to set the boats to sea with such a load.

'Why, thank 'ee, Mr. Tickle,' he said, happily back to his old self. 'You've quite explained it all for me. I'm much obliged.' He doffed his hat politely and required the old seaman to accept a small contribution in token of the time he had spent.

'How goes it, Mr. Purchet?' Kydd asked, looking doubtfully at the cluttered larboard deck. The King's Naval Yard had done well to have five shipwrights and their sidesmen out to them within two days and their clunking and chipping had sounded ever since throughout the daylight hours.

'Main fine, sir.'

It seemed that their primary concern, the slide on which the car-ronades recoiled, was simple enough to repair, the design being nothing more than a sliding bed on a longer one and secured by a thick pin. The quarterman shipwright was therefore sanguine that Teazer's armament would be whole again within the week. The bulwarks were another matter, seasoned timber of such length apparently not in ready supply and . . .

Kydd promised to take better care of his command in the future and, in the meantime, offered an earnest by which it would appear the timbers would be more expeditiously acquired. It would be a frustrating wait. but in Deal, rooms were to be had for sea officers at the genteel end of Middle Street, and Kydd established a presence ashore, where Renzi's valuable work on his treatise could be kept in a place of safety.

'Yes, Mr. Hallum?' Kydd said, about to step ashore one morning.