'You've got a frigate's touch at the helm, I see.' That did not require an answer, but it must have been apparent from his many light moves at the wheel instead of the more deliberate, slower action of a ship-of-the-line.
'What is your name?'
'Kydd, sir!' broke in the quartermaster's mate firmly. In direct charge of the conn, the petty officer had every right to deflect any interference from his helmsman.
"Thank you, Coltard,' the officer said smoothly, but continued to address Kydd, 'So you were in Artemis around the Horn?'
'Sir,' said Kydd briefly. He wished the officer would go away.
'At the helm?'
'Quartermaster's mate, sir.'
'Hmmm.' Kydd caught the quick glance at Coltard and wondered what it meant. The stumpy petty officer flushed and looked dogged.
The half-hour trick was over all too quickly, and Kydd felt reluctant to hand over to the able seaman waiting. The officer-of-the-watch contemplated him with a ghost of a smile, and he stood down with a light heart.
Kydd went forward along the moving deck to complete his watch, ready to lay aloft as a topman at the mainmast The Atlantic's influence was becoming more marked, the longer ocean seas sweeping up the Channel and adding stateliness and a wider range to Trajan's movements. He glanced up at the less-than-white canvas, noticing patches in her sails and signs of hairy chafing in her lines running aloft; as with Duke William earlier they were cutting corners to keep the most valuable units of the Fleet at sea.
Portland was disappearing astern. They would fetch Torbay on this tack, and from there, rumour had it, they would pick up the convoy to Madeira and then the Caribbean. Another surge of resentment swept over Kydd, this time dulled by resignation.
* * *
'An' here's ter pieces o' eight an' a right good frolic in Port Royal!' chuckled Larcomb, raising his pot His sally drew general approval, and expressions lightened along the table.
'Frien' o' mine in Daemon frigate was out there wi' Rodney in 'eighty-two — an' paid off in Plymouth carryin' home twelve guineas o' prize money,' said the man next to Larcomb, with evident satisfaction at the prospect.
'Yair, but I got three ol' shipmates went out too an' ain't one of 'em come back yet,' Doggo responded.
Kydd put down his tankard. 'But y' can have fever anywhere,' he said, 'C'n remember in Artemis we had th' fever after roundin' the Horn, 'n' on our way home — even did f'r the captain.'
'Aye, but—'
Larcomb broke in earnestly, 'Look, if yer gonna make fishmeat, yer number is a-written down already, no use wonderin' about it,' he said, 'S' why not rest easy 'n' take yer life as it comes t' yer?'
There were troubled looks, but Larcomb ignored them. 'Has anyone bin ter the West Indies?' he asked. It seemed none had, and he lifted his pot
Renzi stirred. 'It would seem that we are doing well in the Caribbean — we have taken Martinique,' he said, to general incomprehension. 'A big island, and wealthy,' he explained. 'I believe our intent is to detach, one by one, the enemy islands from the French.'
'But if our ships are out there, doin' this invadin', then the French will feel free to fall on England!' Kydd said, with spirit.
'Yet if we leave these islands to themselves, the enemy will take them! No, the islands are a wellspring of English wealth, and we must defend them.' Renzi's cool assessments were not to the taste of his new shipmates and the conversation faded.
Auberon, the first lieutenant, was on deck the next forenoon for Kydd's next trick at the helm. He took the wheel from a grey-haired able seaman and squared up. The quartermaster of the previous watch hovered, fidgeting with the traverse board and slate as the minutes lengthened and no one came to relieve him.
'For God's sake, what's the matter?' Auberon said peevishly to him.
'Er, 'aven't had m' relief,' he said hesitantly.
Auberon stiffened. 'You mean he's adrift?' he snapped.
With some hesitation the petty officer nodded awkwardly. Auberon showed him no sympathy. 'You shall quit the deck only when properly relieved,' he growled, and began to pace back and forth.
Kydd felt the rising tension, and kept a careful alertness. The duty watch on the quarterdeck fell silent as time extended, avoiding each other's eyes, trimming the sails and coiling down the lines from aloft, carefully and quietly.
The watch was set to exercise — loose and furl. Kydd noted the marked stability the ship showed on the helm even when the big foresail was dowsed and furled, unbalancing the forces of propulsion, then let free and sheeted in to take up again in the brisk easterly. This was a sea-kindly ship.
A single bell sounded from forward, sharp and clear.
Instantly Auberon rounded on the mate-of-the-watch. 'Pass the word for the master-at-arms!' he ordered.
In a short while the master-at-arms appeared. He touched his hat to the first lieutenant. 'Sir?'
'To wait, if you please, Mr Quinn,' said Auberon coldly.
Kydd handed over the helm to his relief, and went across to report to the captain of the maintop for his duties for the rest of the watch. Clearly the man did not want to miss anything and set Kydd to rehanking the falls around the forebrace bitts nearby.
It was unfortunate for the absent man that the first lieutenant was on deck. This was the officer next after the Captain in authority, and who, more importantly, had the responsibility for the watch and station bill detailing every man's place of duty.
A face appeared at the main-hatch, wary and hesitant Coltard came on deck as though treading on eggshells, darting looks about him. The rest of the deck watch busied themselves, but made sure they were within earshot
'You, sir!' snapped Auberon. His cocked hat was jammed on at an aggressive angle, his arms thrust down behind him. There was no question of what was to follow.
Coltard touched his forehead. 'Aye, sir?' His face was pale and set; his hat passed nervously from hand to hand.
'You are adrift, sir!' As if to lend point to his words, the bell forward sounded a sharp double-strike. 'An hour!'
Trajan rose playfully to a sea on the bow, sending Coltard staggering a few paces. 'Got gripin' in the guts, sir - feel right qualmish, if y' please sir.' His voice was weak and thick.
Auberon's expression did not change. 'You have attended the doctor,' he stated, in hard tones. There could be no answer. If he had, Auberon would have had the surgeon's morning report; if he had not, it would be assumed he was fit for duty. 'This is the third complaint I have had of you, sir. What have you to say to that, you rascal?'
'Me belly, it—'
'You have been taken in drink, I believe. And at this hour. You shall dance pedro pee, upon my honour!'
Coltard straightened, but his eyes showed fear. 'Sir! I'm a petty officer, not—'
'Master-at-arms!'
This was harsh treatment for a petty officer: they had privileges that stood them above the common sailor, yet Coltard could no longer count on them. Discipline was above all. Quinn moved eight paces away, then turned and faced Coltard. His foot tapped a black caulked seam in the decking.
There was no pretence at work now: everyone turned inboard to watch. Coltard stared down at the black line of tar. 'Get a move on!' Auberon snapped. As though it were a high wire, Coltard stepped forward, and within three paces had lost his footing. 'Again!' said Auberon.
Within seconds it was over, and Coltard stood dull but defiant.
'Mr Quinn, this man is fuddled with grog. He is to be triced up in the weather foreshrouds to dry. Then he is to explain himself before the Captain at six bells.'
* * *
'Haaaaands to muster! Haaands lay aft to witness punishment!'
Reluctantly seamen ceased work to make their way aft. Emerging up from the gundecks, dropping to the deck from the rigging, they crowded on to the quarterdeck. The officers stood above on the poop-deck, looking down with grave expressions on the little party below.