Parker stood alone. A party of seamen was ranged down the deck with the yard-rope fall ready to pull. The signal to haul would be a fo'c'sle gun, their cue apparently Parker's handkerchief.
In that endless moment Kydd struggled for control, the edge of madness very near.
Without warning Parker jumped into space. Taken by surprise, the gun then fired, and the sailors ran away with the hanging rope, jerking Parker's body up. It contorted once, then hung stark. A handkerchief fluttered gently to the water.
Kydd bit his lip. Even to the last Parker had thought of the seamen: he had effectively hanged himself to spare them the guilt.
The next day five vessels at the Great Nore flew the Blue Peter; Triumph was one. The North Sea squadron would be whole again, and at sea.
Of all the memories Sheerness would hold, there was one that shone like a beacon for Kydd. He secured an understanding permission to go ashore for a few hours before the ship sailed, and stepped out for the hulks.
'Kitty, how do I find ye?' He hugged her close.
'Come in, Tom, darlin',' she said, but her voice was tired, subdued.
Kydd entered the familiar room and sat in the armchair. Kitty went to fetch him an ale. 'I'm master's mate in Triumph seventy-four,' he called to her. 'She's gettin' on in years but a good 'un - Cap'n Essington.'
She didn't reply, but returned with his tankard. He looked at her while he drank. 'We're North Sea squadron,' he explained. 'C'n expect to fall back on Sheerness t' vittle 'n' repair, ye know.'
'Yes, Tom,' she said, then unexpectedly kissed him before sitting down opposite.
Kydd looked at her fondly. 'Kitty, I've been thinkin', maybe you 'n' me should—'
'No, Tom.' She looked him in the eyes. 'I've been thinkin' too, m' love.' She looked away. 'I told ye I was fey, didn't I?'
'V did, Kitty.'
She leaned forward. 'Tom Kydd, in y'r stars it's sayin' that y're going t' be a great man — truly!'
'Ah, I don' reckon on that kind o' thing, Kitty,' Kydd said, pink with embarrassment.
'You will be, m' love, mark my words.' The light died in her eyes. 'An' when that day comes, you'll have a lady who'll be by y'r side an' part o' your world.'
'Aye, but—'
'Tom, y' know little of the female sex. Do y' think I'd want t' be there, among all them lords 'n' their ladies, knowin' they were giggling' behind y'r back at this jumped-up seamstress o' buntin'? Havin' the fat ol' ladies liftin' their noses 'cos I don't know manners? Have you all th' time apologisin' for your wife? No, dear Tom, I don' want that. 'Sides, I couldn't stand th' life - I'm free t' do what I want now.' She came over and held his hand. 'Next week, I'm leavin' Sheerness. What wi' Ned 'n' all, there's too many memories here. I'm off t' my father in Bristol.' 'Kitty, I'll write, let me—'
'No, love. It's better t' say our goodbye now. I remember Ned once said, 'A ship's like a woman. To think kindly of her, y' have t' leave her while y'r still in love.' That's us, Tom.'
Triumph put to sea, her destination in no doubt. She would be part of Admiral Duncan's vital North Sea squadron, there to prevent the powerful Dutch fleet emerging from the Texel anchorage. If they did — if the Channel was theirs for just hours — the French could at last begin the conquest of England.
It was at some cost to ships and men: beating up and down the coast of Holland, the French-occupied Batavian Republic, was hard, dangerous work. The land was low and fringed with invisible sandbanks, a fearful danger for ships who had to keep in with the land, deep-sea ships whose keels brushed shoals while the Dutch vessels, designed with shallow draught, could sail down the coast and away.
But it was also a priceless school for seamen. With prevailing winds in the west, the coast was a perpetual lee shore threatening shipwreck to any caught close in by stormy winds. And as the warm airs of summer were replaced by the cool blusters of autumn and the chill
