marines were sent up first, and Kydd followed. Heaving himself over the bulwarks he was confronted by a tight circle of hostile faces. Under the guns of a ship-of-the-line and the stolid line of marines there was no trouble expected, but he watched warily until the boarding party was all on deck.
Binney introduced himself formally. 'Your papers, if you please, Captain,' he added politely.
'Cap'n Heppel, barque Highlander of Bristol. From Callao, bound f'r London.' He wore an old-fashioned long coat and tricorne, and his tone was frosty as he reluctandy produced the papers. Binney inspected them carefully: pressing men from ships of the wrong flag could flare up into an international incident with unfortunate consequences for the officer responsible.
Kydd looked around. A ship always had a domestic individuality that meant everything to a sailor, her litde ways at sea, her comfortable smells, the tiny compromises of living. This one had sailed continuously for six months or more; her ropes were hairy with use and her canvas sea-darkened to grey. There was evidence of careful repair of sea hurts and hard hours of endurance in some ocean storm far out to sea.
Binney handed back the papers. 'In the name of the King, I ask you will muster your crew, Captain,' he said uncomfortably. 'We mean to have a dozen good hands from you.'
'A dozen!' The owners of a merchant ship always kept crew to a bare minimum, and so many taken would mean grim and exhausting labour to work the ship for those left.
'Yes, sir. My captain will not allow me to return without them.' Binney was discomfited, but stood by his orders, patiently waiting for a response.
'It's an outrage, sir!' Heppel spluttered and moved to confront Binney. Kydd stepped up quietly beside his officer and the marines fingered their muskets. There was nothing this captain could do: under the law the ship could be stripped of all but the mates and apprentices.
'All hands on deck,' Heppel flung over his shoulder.
Kydd counted the sailors as they emerged from the hatches — just nineteen. It was impossible to work even a two-watch system with only these. There were more. He looked at Binney, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion. 'Come, come, sir, the sooner we have them, the sooner we shall leave.'
The nineteen were a ragged bunch, their sea gear worn and threadbare from thousands of miles of long voyaging, their bodies hardened and browned. They gazed back warily, stoically.
'Sir, ye want me t' go below, rouse 'em out?' Kydd said loudly. 'I know about th' hidey-holes an' all the tricks.'
Binney appeared to be considering Kydd's words: the best seamen were obviously concealed below-decks, and his hesitation implied that if the navy men were led a merry dance then their officer might vindictively press more than his dozen. He let it hang until more appeared resentfully from below, shuffling into the group abaft the main-mast.
Kydd thoughts stole away to his own ocean voyaging. These men had lived closely together, through dangers and hardships that, over the months at sea, would have forged deep respect and friendships the like of which a landlubber would never know — and now it would be ended, broken.
Stepping forward, Binney addressed them. 'Now, my men, is there any among you who wish to serve England in the King's Service? As a volunteer, you are naturally entided to the full bounty.'
This was a threat as much as a promise: unless they volunteered they would be pressed, and then they would neither get a bounty nor see much liberty ashore.
Three moved forward. Kydd guessed the others did not join them because of the belief that if they were later caught deserting volunteers would be treated more harshly as having accepted money; the others could plead, with some justification, that they had been forced against their will.
'Come on, lads, Achilles is only bound f'r Spithead an' a docking. Y're volunteers, an' there could be liberty t' spend y'r bounty. Good place f'r a spree, Portsmouth Point.'
Another moved over. The rest shuffled sullenly together.
'So. This means eight pressed men. Now who's it to be?' Binney was not to be put off by the stony hostility he met, and pointed to one likely looking young able seaman.
'Apprentice!' snapped Heppel.
