If he was wrong in his reasoning the whole thing would end in failure. Did he have the confidence in his own judgement to go ahead? The worst they could do was strip him of his command, which they were doing anyway.
But would Tyger and her crew back him in his last great adventure?
CHAPTER 13
“No, AN’ THAT’S M’ LAST WORD on it!” Horner folded his arms and returned Kydd’s gaze defiantly.
“Sir, you’re engaged to be this ship’s pilot in polar waters. I fail to see why Spitzbergen is not to be included in such.”
The sturdy whaleman said nothing.
“And I have a duty to the admiral to satisfy myself that there are no Frenchmen there. The only way to do that is go and find out,” Kydd added.
“Cap’n, this is y’r true Arctic. Ice floes, wind blast as’ll freeze your soul, ice mountains bigger’n a ship-of-the-line-it’s no place for a King’s ship, I’m telling you!”
“You’ve been to Spitzbergen.”
“Aye. Mate of a Scowegian whaler f’r two year. That’s how I knows-”
“I’ll double your fee.”
“I got no charts o’ the place. No one has. Whaling seamen know it by eye, hand on the lore down the generations. You have to, your lives depend on it.”
“As that may be, but-”
“Double and a half.” Horner bit his lip, hesitating. “And a certificate sayin’ as how I’m agin the voyage and I’m t’ be cleared o’ blame should we run afoul of the ice or such.”
“Done,” Kydd reluctantly conceded.
In the senior petty officers’ mess Stirk slapped down his cards in annoyance. “Matt, stick y’r head out an’ see what all that fuckin’ noise is about.”
Brewer, captain of the main-top, leaned over and pulled aside the painted canvas screen. “Hoi! Jemmy, what’s to do, as you’re disturbin’ the peace, like?”
A tow-haired ship’s boy detached himself from an excited group and raced across. “You ain’t heard? We’s going t’ the North Pole an’ all!”
“What’s he say?” grunted Pollard, the hard-faced boatswain’s mate, fingering his cards impatiently.
“Says we’re goin’ to the North Pole, Kip.”
“He what? Squeaker, get y’r arse in here an’ explain y’self!”
“We are an’ all, Mr Pollard. I heard the sailing master say as we ain’t got no charts for the North Pole.”
“He’s joshing, is all,” Brewer said, grunting. “An’ where’s he say we’re really off to?”
“T’ the north, Spitsbugger or somewheres,” the boy came back.
“An’ where the hell’s that?” Pollard growled, looking at the others.
“Spitsbuggen,” Brewer said loftily. “I heard on it from m’ dad. Was in Carcass when they went explorin’ in the High North thirty, forty year ago. Had along Our Nel as a younker, nearly lost the number of his mess to a polar bear an’ then they all gets trapped in the ice, ready to be froze t’ death, when the wind changes and they gets out.”
The thought of Horatio Nelson taken by a bear before ever he could go on to glory made them blink.
“What’s he say it’s like, cully?”
“Straight outa Hell!” Brewer said. “As no man wants t’ go back. Cold as’ll freeze your tears, quit calm in the forenoon, ragin’ black storm in the afternoon. I could tell ye a yarn or three as’ll curl your whiskers-”
“What we goin’ up there for?” Pollard snarled. “Bears an’ ice-we’s a frigate. Mongseers are what we’re after and we ain’t seen a hair o’ one since we came t’ this turdacious hole!”
“Stow it, Kip,” Stirk said. “Owner knows what he’s doing. Where’d you hear for sure there’s no Frenchy hidin’ there? Come on, mate, tell us how y’ know.”
“That’s not m’ point. If’n it’s as bad as Brewer says, they got no right t’ send us inta the ice. Stap me, the North Sea oggin gets t’ my bones, this’n is like to have m’ balls fall off. No, mate, this is bad cess, nothin’ good t’ come of it and all round sailors droppin’ dead wi’ cold.”
“So what are you goin’ to do about it, mate?”
“Me? Not just me-all on us! It’s agin justice to make common sailors go where it ain’t natural, like that there. We stands square up against an enemy, yeah, but not go prancin’ around in the snow an’ ice. Besides, we-”
“An old shellback like you, Kip, don’t like the sea life cos it’s uncomfortable?”
Pollard breathed deeply. “I don’t have t’ take that from you, Toby! You know right well what I mean, it’d be a hell voyage an’ they got no right to force us. I say we stand fast, refuse t’ sail!”
Stirk made to rise. “If I’m a-hearing what I think I am …” he grated.
“Give us a clinkin’ good reason, then, why we has t’ go.”
“I’ll give ye a few, cully! Ever thought why a prime fighting captain like Tom Cutlass gets removed into a piss-poor barky like Tyger?”
“T’ sort us out, like.”
“No, y’ doesn’t know the half of it. It’s a punishment, for talkin’ wry about the Admiralty an’ standin’ up for his old commodore. In all the papers, ’cept you wouldn’t know that. He faces down you shy cocks who mutiny and looks fair to makin’ this ship a half good ’un. You do it again, he’s finished.”
“A dead shame,” sneered Pollard.
“You want more? Then why d’ye think me an’ Ned came aboard this rotten scow-f’r our health? No! Becos we knows Mr Kydd from way back. He’s always treated us square, never shy of a mill, an’ sees his men right afore ’imself. And he’s a lucky bastard-I’ve got a tidy pile o’ prize-money just a-waitin’ for when I swallows the anchor, thanks to followin’ him. Now, you wants to throw him over for some scruffy strut-noddy as is the admiral’s son?”
“Yair, well.”
“An’ I tell you this, Kip. He’s on to somethin’-I’ve seen the signs afore! Don’t know what it is, but when he treads up an’ down the quarterdeck with that looby quiet smile o’ his, then he’s got it planned. We’re in for some high bobbery afore long, I promise ye.”
“Doesn’t change things, mate. It’ll be mortal cold and-”
“See here, y’ codshead. I’m layin’ a guinea to a shillun’ that before ever the hook is up Our Tom’ll see us right in the way o’ cosy rig an’ such. You on?”
“I know what you’re saying to me, Mr Harman, believe me, I do,” Kydd said.
The purser sniffed as if he’d been asked to commit a crime.
“Very well. See Mr Blunt and treat with him against this list of clothing-and you’ll go with a note drawn on my own account in London. Will that satisfy?”
The story given out was that the frigate was making motions to the east before returning in a broad sweep in keeping with their mission to search out any French presence.
The sailing master was cast down. “If’n you’d told me, sir, I’d have found charts somewhere. All I has is this geographical picture o’ the High North as I uses to get m’ bearings. Shows your Spitzbergen but we can’t navigate by it, much too small.”
“I should have given you instructions, I admit this. But if you’ll get us to a few leagues off, Mr Horner will be there to tell us our reckonings,” Kydd consoled him. “And think on this. We’ll be the first navy to visit for a long time. The hydrographicals will want good observations, so know that I’ll have a good journal kept to pass in at the end of our voyage.”
Joyce visibly brightened. “I knows procedures. When I was in Volcano fire-ship in Halifax, back in ’eighty-one-or was that three? Before the peace, anyways. Well, we headed out-”
“Thank you. You’ll want to prepare so I won’t keep you longer.”
Under advice from Horner, particular stores were laid in and Tyger readied for the trial as well as she could.
Then one morning the last whaling ship slipped by for the open sea.
It was on.
Their navigational objective was plain. Like a rough inverted triangle, Spitzbergen was of considerable size, some two hundred miles from its southern tip to the north, which was marked as indistinguishable from the great polar ice pack. The east coast was even at this time still encased in ice so the whaling station had to be in the west.