Free Quarterdeck by Julian Stockwin

sigh. “The mess commensal wine by quarter cask is half a pint a day, captain to dinner once a month. We lay in the usual cheeses, barrel oysters, tea and raisins, other conveniences for the pantry, such as cloves, pickles, ginger and the like, and when we consider breakages in glasses and dishes . . .”
    Kydd thought of the seaman’s broadside mess, with its square wooden plates and pewter tankards, the men using their own knives. There was little that could be considered breakable, and even the petty offi cers carried few crockery items in their mess racks. He decided to lie low while discussions raged about the mess subscription. He himself was not pressed for money and he had taken the precaution of appointing an agent. The Caribbean prizes had long yielded their bounty, but Camperdown was promising not only a medal but gun money in surprising degree.
    “That’s settled, then.” Bampton made a pencil note and sat back. “We agree to subscribe the sum of fi ve guineas per head.
    The offi cers’ wine store is near empty, and with the usual allowance I believe you shall fi nd room for four dozen apiece—you will be laying in your own cabin stores, of course.

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    “Now, it is usual to empower the mess caterer to go ashore on the wardroom’s behalf. I shall do so in Yarmouth, and will expect one guinea in advance from each offi cer.”

Chapter 3
    Over the next few days the rumble and squeak of gun trucks was a never-ending background to shipboard life. Not content with exercising the company of Tenacious at ship drill, their captain had a quarter gunner and his four gun crews in turn hard at work from dawn to dusk.
    Houghton had been on a gun-deck in the long-drawn-out battle of the Glorious First of June. “Different ships, different long-splices,” was the saying before the mast: some captains were particularly keen on appearances, others favoured the niceties of seamanship. With this one it was gunnery, Kydd had realised quickly.
    Then the awaited sailing orders came. Within minutes Houghton had summoned his offi cers to his cabin. “I have here the Admiralty’s instructions—and I have to say, they are not what I was expecting.” Houghton lifted his eyes from the paper, enjoying the suspense. “Indeed not. It would seem that their lordships believe that after Camperdown the North Sea Fleet may be safely reduced, and therefore we are to be sent to join the North American station.”
    Excited talk broke out. “Sir, if we should fi t foreign, then . . .”
    The fi rst lieutenant needed details. Not only did there have to be a wholesale hold-restowing but there would, no doubt, be

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    offi cial impositions, from carrying mails to chests of specie for a garrison, to prickly passengers and returning prisoners.
    “Now where in Hades do we fi nd real foul-weather gear in Sheerness?” Pringle muttered. “Gets cold as charity in Halifax.”
    “Quite,” agreed Houghton, “but we shall touch at Falmouth for a convoy. If my memory serves, there is adequate chandlery servicing the Atlantic packets. I’d advise you all to wait and pro-cure your cabin stores there.”
    “You’ve been to Halifax, sir?”
    “I have. But not since His Highness took up his post.”
    “Sir?”
    “His Royal Highness Prince Edward. Our only overseas possession to boast a prince of the blood. Quite turned society on its head, I’ve heard.” Houghton stood up. “Gentlemen, may I remind you there is not a moment to be lost? The fi rst lieutenant will provide a list of actions that will result, I trust, in our being under way for the Downs in two days.”
    “ Haaaands to unmoor ship! Aaaall the hands! All hands on deck!” Although expected, the order brought a rush of excitement at the fi rst move in putting to sea for a voyage of who knew how long.
    A smack poled away from the sides of the ship, the tender now released from its workaday fetching and carrying. Her crew waved up at the big two-decker fl