Free Quarterdeck by Julian Stockwin Page B

on the cable, which would then be ready for hauling in at the hawse. He wheeled round, and cannoned into the second lieutenant, winding him.
    “Have a care, damn you, sir!” Bampton said venomously.
    “Aye, sir.” Kydd burned; the offi cer had no right to be there 70

Julian Stockwin
    in a diffi cult operation for which he had no responsibility. The situation was well in hand: on hearing the “hook on” the quick-witted fo’c’sle party had, without orders, taken the strain and begun hauling vigorously on the big cat-fall. Kydd had seen Poulden’s leadership in this and blessed his recommendation to have the seaman transferred from the waist.
    The squealing of sheaves stopped as the anchor rose to the projecting cathead. “Well there, the cat.” It had done its duty by hoisting the anchor out of the sea. He turned back to the side and called down: “Pass th’ ring-painter—get that stopper on fast!”
    The three and a half tons of forged black iron was now being buffeted by passing waves.
    There was a problem with the stoppering, the ropes passed to restrain the great weight of the cable. A hundred pounds in every six feet, it was a slithering monster if it worked free. Another fo’c’sleman swung round the beakhead to help, but with the vessel now under way and a frothy bow-wave mounting, the situation was getting out of control.
    “Poulden!” Kydd barked. “Get down an’ get the fi sh-tackle on.” The tall seaman dropped to the swaying anchor and, balancing on its arms like a circus acrobat, took the fi sh-tackle and applied it fi rmly below the inner fl uke.
    Kydd’s early intervention enabled the anchor to be hauled up sideways out of the race of water while the crossed turns at the cable were cleared away.
    “Walk away with the fi sh, y’ sluggards!” Kydd ordered, satisfi ed. He had been right: Tenacious was a sea-kindly ship, her regular heave on the open sea reminiscent of a large frig ate, even if there was more of the decorum of the mature lady about her.
    Kydd lingered on the fo’c’sle after the party had secured. The hypnotic lift and crunch of the bows was soothing and he closed his eyes for a moment in contentment—but when he opened them again he saw four seamen looking at him resentfully.

Quarterdeck
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    Straightening, he took off his hat, the sign that he was there but not on duty, and left; it was their fo’c’sle and the men off watch had every right to their relaxation. He no longer belonged there: he had left their world and entered a higher one, but in its place did he now have anything that could provide the warmth and companionship he had enjoyed before?
    On the way back, as he passed the belfry, there was a sharp clang: seven bells of the forenoon watch. Until safely anchored once again there would always be, for every hour of the day or night, a full complement of hands taking care of the ship, keeping watch and ward over their little community in the endless wastes of ocean.
    Kydd was due to go on duty with Mr Bampton as offi cer-of-the-watch and himself as second. He made his way to the quarterdeck, where the captain held conference with the fi rst lieutenant.
    They paced along the weather side, deep in conversation, while Kydd waited respectfully on the leeward.
    At ten minutes before the hour Bampton mounted the main companion to the deck. He was in comfortably faded sea rig, with the modest gold lace allowed a lieutenant bleached to silver.
    A few months at sea would have Kydd’s brand-new blues in the same way. Kydd was at his post early, and he said peevishly, “I thought to see you below, Mr Kydd.”
    “Sir.” Kydd touched his hat.
    “No matter. Pray keep station on me, and don’t trouble to interrupt, if you please.” Bampton waited impatiently for the captain to notice him. “Sir, to take the deck, if you please.” Kydd heard the captain’s wishes passed—course and sail set, special orders.
    “I have the ship, sir,” Bampton said formally, and