Quarterdeck by Julian Stockwin Page B

t’ talk to you about our convoy to Halifax an’ Newfoundland,” he said, trying to toughen his tone. “And especially the conduct o’ your ships when given direction by th’ escorts. My captain has particularly asked me to—”
    “So what if we can’t agree wi’ your direction, young feller?”
    A hard-faced man towards the front had risen to his feet. “The King’s service knows aught o’ what worries us, so why should we do everythin’ you tell us? Eh?”
    Kydd stuttered a weak reply.
    Another master got up, more to the back, but his voice boomed out effortlessly. “Tell us, Mr Lootenant Kydd, truly now, have ye ever crossed the Atlantic in a blow? Come on, son, don’ be shy!
    When it’s blowin’ great guns ’n’ muskets, squalls comin’ marchin’
    in a-weather, lee gunnels under half th’ time. Have ye?”
    “Er, myself, I’m no stranger t’ foul weather.”
    “Good. Then you’ll be able t’ tell us how in Hades we c’n spy all your fl ags an’ numbers in a fresh blow an’ all!” The two captains sat down to a murmur of agreement.
    In front of him were experienced seamen who had been to sea before he was born and whose sea wisdom cast his own into pale insignifi cance. Kydd saw that Bryant had returned, and was standing at the end of the hall, listening to him. “Should ye not make out our signal, y’ keep the answering pennant at the dip,”
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    he went on hesitantly. He saw some leaning forward, straining to hear. “If th’ weather—”
    Bryant marched up the aisle, grim-faced. Kydd yielded the lectern to him.
    “I’m L’tenant Bryant, fi rst o’ the Tenacious, ” he began, challenging them with his tone and glowering at them individually.
    “L’tenant Kydd is my assistant.” He fl ashed a dispassionate glance at Kydd. “Now we have a convoy to get under way afore noon tomorrow, so no more nonsense, if y’ please. Any who wants to argue with a King’s ship knows what to expect.”
    He took a wad of instructions and held them up. “As you all know, this is how we conduct our convoy. As usual I’ll start at th’
    beginning, remembering all you’ve been told about keepin’ this under lock ’n’ key.
    “Convoy assembles in Falmouth Roads, outside the harbour.
    Each ship t’ rig their coloured vane to fl y at the fore or main, accordin’ to the instructions, not forgetting your number good and plain on each stern-quarter. Order o’ sailing and fi rst rendezvous, you should have by you, before we leave.”
    Bryant leaned forward on the lectern. “Now, here’s a thing.
    My captain’s a right Tartar, he is, a hard horse driver who’s always on our necks. He’s your senior offi cer now, so I advise you all t’ spread what canvas you need to keep the convoy closed up an’ all together.” He allowed that to sink in, then went on,
    “Signal code for the convoy is in two parts, and provision is made . . .”
    The presentation continued. Kydd stood awkwardly beside Bryant, resentful yet admiring of his easy competence.
    Then the conference drew to a close and a line of merchant captains came forward to sign the register and take custody of their convoy instructions. They left to return to their ships; the Blue Peter would soon be at each masthead.

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    Kydd picked up his gear, avoiding Bryant’s eye. He was startled to hear him give a quiet laugh. “They falls out o’ the line of sailin’, you know what we do? Give ’em a shot in the guts! Sets
    ’em into a more co-operative frame of mind, it does.”
    Bryant helped Kydd heap paper rubbish into the bag; this would later be burned. “But the biggest threat we can use is to report ’em to Lloyds,” he continued. “They show stubborn, we tell Lloyds, an’ then they have to explain to their owners why their insurance premiums just doubled.” Before Kydd could say anything, Bryant had consulted his watch and stalked off.

Chapter 4
    “God blast his eyes!” Houghton’s fi sts