yer speechifyin' — when are yer comin', Admiral?'
'I've said not t' call me that,' Parker grumbled.
'Aye aye, Yer Majesty.'
In front of the Chequers a space had been cleared and several boxes pushed together formed a stage, already bedecked with flags and boughs of greenery. A few chairs were in precarious position atop the boxes.
A roar went up when Parker appeared. He stood to acknowledge the cheers, then jammed his beaver hat at a rakish angle and mounted the stage. Beaming, he held up his hands for silence, and the crowd subsided, while more ran up to catch the occasion.
'Friends! Brothers!' he began, his face flushed. 'How dare their lordships presume to try the patience of the British tar, to deny him his rights, to ignore his courage and resource? I will tell you something that even these false ministers, these traitors, cannot conceive of — the true value of a British seaman!' He paused, and looked into the crowd. 'Ah, there he is!' he cried. 'Brother Tom Kydd, new-won to the cause. Come up here beside me, Tom!'
There was a warm roar of welcome. 'Tom here was a master's mate in Achilles, but that didn't stop him standing for what he believed. The first lieutenant hales him to the quarterdeck and calls him to account — but Tom Kydd here, he tells him to sling his hook! So it's Heave-ho Hawley in the boat and turned ashore, mates, all because Tom didn't flinch when the time came. How can m' lords of the Admiralty prevail when we've got the likes of him in with us? Let's hear it for Brother Kydd, friends!'
Chapter 8
At dawn the soft grey coastline of England appeared far ahead. After the tedium of a Baltic convoy, complicated by an outbreak of ship-fever in the fo'c'sle, it was a welcome sight. But Renzi had mixed feelings: it was now just a few months before his term of exile was over. Then he must make his peace with his family, and resume his life on the land. It would be hard to leave the sea. The gentle lift and surge of a deck had its own compelling sensuality and the life perspective to be gained from numberless foreign horizons was precious - but there was no going back. Before the year was out it would be finished, all over.
As he paced back along the gangway, a depression settled, one that was never far away these days. There would be no interesting exotic finale to his last months. They were to spend a couple of days in Sheerness, repair and victual, then Glorious was to rejoin the North Sea fleet in Yarmouth, resuming its watch over the Dutch in the Texel, a powerful fleet now loyal to the French and which, sooner or later, would have to be dealt with.
The low coastline ahead hardened to a deep blue, then acquired features; dark splotches, pale blurs. There was sail in all directions, converging to the south, a river of commerce, for here was the entrance to the Thames and the port of London.
Renzi sighed heavily, and started pacing the other way. Glorious was not a happy ship: the captain was unimaginative and set in his ways, remote from his men, and the first lieutenant was a bully. The ship's company was a collection of individuals, not a team, and petty tyrannies flourished.
They joined the flow of vessels into the Thames, the master watchful and alert for the lookouts' hail as another buoy was sighted. Then the dark forest of masts that was the Great Nore came into sight, reassuring in its powerful presence at the entrance to the capital.
Signals fluttered up from Glorious's quarterdeck. The mass of fifty-four ships of the Baltic Trade astern were now released and broke into an undignified straggle as they jockeyed for position for the beat up-river to the docks.
cHaaaands to moor ship!'
They closed with the fleet. Saluting guns were loaded, but as Sandwich was not flying her admiral's flag they were not needed. Glorious glided in, her anchors tumbled down to the muddy seabed, her sails were furled and she prepared for storing.
Finished with the veering crew at the hatchway, Renzi regained the deck to find the officer-of-the-watch, but his curiosity was taken by three boats making for Glorious.
A giant Union Flag was in one, and from another what sounded like 'Rule Britannia' was being pounded out by a scratch band.
'Hail them, if you please,' ordered Murray, the officer-of-the-watch. Aboard Glorious, sailors crowded to the deck edge, astonished by the display. The lead boat shaped course to come alongside;
