would never again see the open sea. She was now where the press-gang and quota-men were held before they were assigned to the ships of the fleet.
The old-fashioned elaborate gilded scroll-work around her bows and stern was faded and peeling, her sides darkened with neglect, but nevertheless she was the flagship of Vice Admiral Buckner, commander-in-chief of the Nore, now humiliatingly turned out of his ship and ashore.
Kydd grabbed the worn man-rope and went up the side. He was curious to take a measure of the man who had brought his shipmates to such peril. Stepping aboard he was met by two seamen. 'T' see Mr Parker,' he said.
'Aye, we know,' one said, 'an' he's waitin' for ye now.'
The ship was crowded. Men lay about the deck, barely stirring in attitudes of boredom; others padded around in not much more than rags. As well as the usual gloom of between-decks there was a reek of rot and musty odours of human effluvia.
They thrust through, making their way aft, and into the cabin spaces. 'One t' see th' president,' called his escort. A seaman with a cudass came out, and motioned Kydd inside.
It was the admiral's day cabin, with red carpets, hangings and small touches of domesticity. Kydd had never entered one before, but he was not going to be overawed. 'Th' admiral's cabin suits ye?' he said to Parker, who had risen from behind a polished table to meet him.
Parker stopped, a slight smile on his face. 'It's the only quiet place in the ship, Mr Kydd,' he said pleasantly. 'Please sit yourself down, my friend.'
Kydd brisded. He would be no friend to this man, but he thought better of challenging him openly at this stage. He found a carved chair with a gold seat and sat in it - sideways, with no pretence at politeness.
'It's kind in you to visit, Mr Kydd. I know you don't subscribe to the validity of our actions, so I particularly wanted to thank you for the handsome way you helped the delegates aboard your ship.'
'They're no taut hand as ye might say at words,' Kydd said carefully. This Parker was no fool: he was educated and sharp.
'I should introduce myself — Richard Parker, for the nonce president of delegates, but sometime officer in His Britannic Majesty's Sea Service. My shipmates are happy to call me Dick.'
'Officer?' Kydd said, incredulous.
'Indeed, but sadly cast up as a foremast hand after a court martial as unjust as any you may have heard.' Parker's voice was soft, but he had a trick of seizing attention for himself rather than the mere offering of conversation.
'Are ye a pressed man?' Kydd asked, wanting time.
'No, for the sake of my dear ones, I sold my body as a quota man back to the navy. You may believe I am no stranger to hardship.'
The dark, finely drawn features with their hint of nervous delicacy were compelling, bearing on Kydd's composure. 'Do y' know what ye've done to my men, Mr Delegate President?' he said, with rising heat. 'Y've put their heads in a noose, every one!'
'Do you think so? I rather think not' He leaned across the table and held Kydd with his intensity. 'Shall I tell you why?'
'I'd be happy t' know why not.'
'Then I'll tell you — but please be so good as to hear me out first' He eased back slightly, his gaze still locked on Kydd's. 'The facts first. You know that our pay is just the same as in the time of King Charles? A hundred and fifty years — and now in this year of 'ninety-seven an able seaman gets less than a common ploughman. Do you dispute this?'
Kydd said nothing.
'And talking of pay, when we're lying wounded of a great battle, don't they say we're not fit to haul and draw, so therefore not worthy of wages?'
'Yes, but—'
'Our victuals. Are we
