Tenacious

'Very well, Mr Bryant. There will be time for supper for the men before we go to quarters, I believe—and everyone shall have a double tot, if you please.'

Kydd called Rawson over: 'Go below an' get yourself something t' eat, younker—after you've seen y' men get their grog.' It would not be long before they went to quarters. The enemy was now in plain view, on the right side of a low, sandy bay fringed by date palms, and inshore of a guardian island no more than thirty feet high, their line stretching away into the distance. On the left were some higher sand hills, which Kydd knew from their rudimentary chart was the Rosetta mouth of the Nile with its distinctive tower. In the evening sun he picked up knots of people coming down to the water's edge: there would be a big audience for the evening's entertainment. He wondered if the famed General Buonaparte was watching, perhaps from the small medieval castle at the mouth of the bay.

He went below: the men were in spirits, rough-humoured as he remembered himself when he had been one of them, the old jokes about prize-money, the lottery of death, the exchange of verbal wills.

In the wardroom he stuffed his pockets with hard tack, an orange and a large clean cloth, then accepted his fighting sword and cross-belt from his servant. His uncle, who had provided the fine blade, was now unimaginably distant. He eased out the blued steel far enough to glimpse the Cornish choughs, then clicked it home again and buckled it on. Whose blood would it taste first? Or would he yield it in surrender to great odds?

As he left he felt a stab of foreboding—he was going out on deck and perhaps would never return. But he shook it off and as he reached the upper deck his eyes immediately searched out the waiting enemy.

'This is a grave and solemn moment, Mr Bryant,' admonished Houghton, breaking into the first lieutenant's avid description of what he had once found in a captured French ship. 'We shall mark it with due reverence. Pass the word for the chaplain.' At length the man appeared. 'I desire to see a short service before we open hostilities if you please, Mr Peake.'

'A—a service?'

'Yes, certainly. Do you not feel it wise to seek the blessing of the Almighty on our endeavours?'

'You mean—'

'Do I have to instruct you in your duty, sir? A rousing hymn to get the men in spirit, some bracing words about the rightness of our cause, doing our Christian duty, that sort of thing. And, of course, finish with a suitable prayer calling for a blessing of our arms on this day. Steadies the men, puts heart into them. Make it brief—we'll be at the guns in an hour.'

As he hurried along the upper deck Renzi saw a figure he recognised, clinging to the bulwarks, head bowed. 'Why, what's this, Mr Peake? At your prayers, I see,' he said. With most of the men below there were only a few curious pairs of eyes to gawp at them.

Peake lifted his face: it was a picture of misery. 'I can't do it, Mr Renzi,' he said thickly.

'Cannot do what, sir?'

'The captain wishes me to—to speak words of violence, to incite men to acts of bloodshed, and this—this I find in all conscience I cannot do, sir.'

Renzi knew the man was finished if he was unable to function as expected. It would be construed as common cowardice. 'We must discuss this,' he said, taking Peake firmly by the arm and urging him below. They passed through the main-deck with its gun crews animated by grog. One called out, 'What cheer, the sin-bosun—ye'll have work enough t' do afore we sees the sun again!'

When they arrived in the orlop the cockpit table was ready laid with shining instruments; the surgeon lifted a fearful-looking long knife, and began stropping it deliberately. Peake shied away under his direct stare.

'Mr Pybus, you'd oblige us extremely by allowing us the temporary privacy of your cabin,' Renzi said.

The surgeon laid down the knife. 'Dear fellow, I can think of no better lair to wait out this disagreeable time. By all means.'

Renzi sat Peake on the patient's stool. 'Mr Peake, you came forward to serve His Majesty, is this not so?' There was no reply. 'And now your country needs you—and in particular at this time, you, sir,' he added forcefully.

Peake stared at him as Renzi pressed on. 'Our ship's company—all hands—are putting their lives at peril in the service of their country and their fellow man. They look for meaning and surety, words they can carry with them in their hour of trial. Can you not feel it in your heart—'

'Mr Renzi. You are no practised hand at dissimulation, so speak direct, sir. You assume a lack of moral fibre in me, a reprehensible shyness in the face of mortal danger. Let me assure you, this is far from being the case.'

'Then, sir, what prevents you in the performance of your divinities?'

'I have referred before to my abhorrence of any man seeking to wreak violence upon a fellow creature. I do not propose to explicate further.'

Renzi bit his lip. His immediate duty was to the gun crews under his command, and thence to his ship, and time was pressing. 'Do I understand that you take exception to the form of words used by the captain?'

'Of course I do!'

Renzi did not speak for a space. 'Then if your words to the men, suitably chosen, are thereby made acceptable to you, you would feel able to deliver your service?'

Peake looked doubtful, but answered, 'If they did no violence to my precepts, Mr Renzi.'

'Then to the specifics.' Renzi produced paper and a pencil. 'In fine, to which phrases do you have objection ...'

'Aaaall the hands! Clear lower deck, aaall the hands lay aft!' In the short time left to them before their ordeal, the men of Tenacious would bare their heads before their Maker to seek a benediction. With the officers standing on the poop-deck, an improvised lectern at the rail, the men assembled on the upper deck below.

'We shall begin with that well-loved hymn, 'Awake My Heart; Arise,'' Bryant announced.