Seaflower

of control of the rudder lay: the mighty twenty-six-foot length of a tiller, high up just under the deckhead, connected by tackle and an endless rope up through the decks to the wheel-drum. As Kydd watched, it creaked and moved with the motions of the unseen helmsman high above, with its powerful leverage ready to sweep from one side of the deck to the other.

Three seamen arrived with a spare tiller to lay along the deck. Kydd's arms ached as he held up one side of the relieving tackles to be reeved. If the tiller-ropes parted in furious seas, these tackles would do no less than save the ship.

'Ask th' boatswain t' kindly step over, lad,' Quist told his messenger, a solemn midshipman, when they had regained the deck. The boy darted off. As master, Quist was senior to the boatswain, who arrived without delay. 'C'n we have rudder tackles rigged, d'ye think, Nathan?'

There were chains leading up each side of the rudder from its trailing part. They were unshackled and taken to the channel of the mizzen shrouds. A strong luff tackle was applied, its fall led into a gunport, and the chain becketed up under the counter. This was pure seamanship and Kydd looked down thoughtfully while he worked above the noisy foaming around the rudder — he had voyaged around Cape Horn and knew what heavy seas could do.

Back at the wheel, Quist paused as a portable compass was lashed in place near the binnacle. Nodding approval, he said, 'And we'll have a quartermaster on th' wheel, and his lee helmsman's going t' be his mate.' Kydd would be experiencing his first hurricane from the helm, mate to Capple.

'And we'll have weather cloths in the shrouds.' Quist was considerate as well as competent: these old sails stretched along the shrouds to weather would take some of the brutal sting out of the spindrift and blast coming in on the helmsman.

While they laboured Kydd kept his eye on the ominous build-up to their larboard. They were crossing the path of the storm rather than trying to outrun it, a rationale that made sense to the master - he would ask about the reasoning afterwards. If there was an afterwards ...

Rolling tackles were clapped on to the big lower yards. Vicious rolling could have the heavy yards moving out of synchrony with the hull, tearing sail and rigging; the whipping movement would be damped with the tackles. At the same time, at the ends of the yards where the big braces pulled them round to meet the wind, preventer lines were applied. If the braces parted and the yard swung back it would probably take the mast with it like a felled tree.

It was hard, continuous work, but there would be no complaints. Double tacks and sheets rove, storm canvas roused out; fore, main and mizzen storm staysails were cleared away and baggywrinkle mats seized on everywhere. In the complexity of rigging there was a danger that cordage madly flogging in the bluster of the storm would chafe to destruction.

Kydd took a last look at the vast storm before going below for his meal. It stretched now across half the sky and, labouring at her best speed as she was, Trajan was not going to escape. The frigates were nearly out of sight ahead and would probably get away with a battering, but the old ship-of-the-line would be facing the full force of the hurricane.

There was no chatter at the mess-table. All the petty officers knew the odds, could bear witness to tempests around the world. There was nothing to be said. Kydd met Stirk's eye: there was an imperceptible lift to his eyebrow but beyond that the hard-featured quarter gunner seemed unruffled. He had been with Kydd in Artemis when the vessel had been racked to pieces on an Atlantic rock and lived through many other dire times that he had never discussed. Kydd felt claustrophobic. The hatches were sealed with tarpaulin over the gratings, which were secured with nailed battens along the sides. Thus battened down there was no air movement and he felt breathless.

With a terrifying creaking along the whole length of the gundeck there was a massive unseen lurch to leeward. 'Ere she comes, mates,' Stirk said, and got up. Kydd rose also; he had an urgent need to be out on deck.

The pealing of the silver calls of the boatswain's mates met him on the way up. 'All haaaands All the hands ahoy! All haaaands on deck! Haaands to shorten sail!'

There was now no point in trying to get away. Like a fleeing animal, Trajan could no longer run and had to turn, confront her pursuer, then fight to survive. Reduced to topsails and staysails, the Captain wanted more. First the topgallant and next the topmasts were struck on deck, the lack of high canvas resulting in a different kind of movement, an ugly, whipping roll that felt sullen and resentful. The sight of the truncated masts, only reaching up to the fighting tops, added to Kydd's unease.

The reliable trade winds fell away, then returned, but in gusts. The energetic waves were falling over themselves and the first rain drove in, coming in fretful