The grin vanished. It was now years since Kydd had been a victim of the Press; in the frigate Artemis there had been no pressed men in her famous voyage around the world. And since his lucky rescue from the dockyards to Seaflower he had had no contact with pressed men. Now Seaflower had to fall back on impressing hands from wherever she could.
'Where 're we raidin', do y' think?' Doud asked. It was well-nigh impossible to attract good seamen to a King's ship in the Caribbean — there were too many better-paid berths competing; merchant ships commanded good rates to man ships for the Atlantic run, and privateers could rely on the lure of fat prizes.
'Kingston town, I'd wager,' said Doggo, his face alive at the prospect of the entertainment. 'Port Royal’ll be awake up ter the press-gang.'
'I can't do it, Nicholas,' Kydd muttered into his grog, at the noon meal. 'I knows about it, is all,' he finished lamely.
Regarding him steadily Renzi appreciated that Kydd was exploring his feelings and needed to talk. 'So pressing men is an unmitigated evil?' he said coolly.
'I didn't say that,' Kydd retorted.
'Some would say it's nought but slavery.'
'So what's t' do if there's not enough t' man th' Fleet?' Kydd said heatedly. Then he subsided. 'You're turnin' it all around as usual, Nicholas. But you can't argue with me that tearin' a man fr'm his family an' all is a fine thing, dammit!'
Renzi lifted his pot and said, before taking a pull at his grog, 'Then may I hear what it is you propose in its place?'
Kydd's slow smile was his answer, and Renzi grinned back. 'So, we are overborne by logic. It is a disagreeable necessity while we cannot find any other means. Therefore you shall do your duty tonight, as is your bounden obligation.'
At an hour before midnight,
Plans were laid. The Sign of the Mermaid would be their victim, away from the centre of the waterfront, and it was hoped to take hands from a merchant ship carousing after a long, hard voyage across the Atlantic. The boatswain would stand back and allow Doggo, experienced at the press-gang, to lead in when all exits had been covered.
Kydd eased his broad belt with its cutlass. This would only be drawn if things grew ugly, and then there would be an accounting to the shore authorities. The main persuaders the party carried were stretchers from the longboat, the narrow lengths of wood against which the rowers braced their feet.
A brief memory of the Horse and Groom three years ago in Guildford flashed by, when sailors of a press-gang had burst in to change his life for ever. But he had secretly to acknowledge that there was no question as to which life he now wanted.
'So let's get under weigh,' grunted the boatswain, and they padded off at the trot. A few late-night citizens out on the street stared at the sailors, and there were scurries in the shadows.
Without speaking, Merrick indicated their positions outside the well-lit seamen's tavern. From within a riot of noise surged and fell, cackles of laughter and rumbles of conversation showing they were not expected, but the operation would not be easy: this was no gathering of unsuspecting rural lads.
The boatswain winked at Doggo who threw open the door and thrust inside. 'So who's fer a life on the rollin' sea? An' we c'n even save yez the trouble o' payin' yer reckoning!' he grated, into the falling silence. His stretcher tapped slowly in his palm.
A female screech pierced the blue haze: 'The fuckin' press!' There was instant pandemonium. Tables and chairs scattered as men leaped to their feet in their race for freedom. Into the chaos poured the Seaflowers. Kydd, right behind Doggo, sprang after one likely fellow and seized his collar, managing to avoid a wildly swinging fist. The man faced him, glaring and panting.
'Now,
