Mullion broke the quiet. 'So it's Manila - what's this, then?' The question was plainly directed at Renzi, and the others kept their silence.
Renzi's half-smile appeared. 'We show the Dons we have the force to protect our interests, in the event a good plan while we have a prime frigate in the area.' He flicked a glance at Haynes. 'The Spanish are a proud race, but they have let this part of their empire decline. We will have no difficulty in impressing them here. But if we are already at war . . .'
'The Manila Galleon - we knows about that,' Crow said, but in a not unfriendly tone. He opened the door across the racks at the ship's side and drew out crockery and pewter spoons.
'Then as we have no strategic interest in the place, we will quietly withdraw.'
Haynes's eyes narrowed. 'Yer sayin' . . .'
'If we take the town, then garrison, defend it — to what purpose? What have we won? What are we defending? There is no sense in this.'
Crow looked over at Haynes with a smirk. 'He's right, an' all.'
Kydd was happy that no one had commented on Renzi's cultured accent. But he had his misgivings. How would Renzi fare shouting orders to his men in the mizzentop? And for that matter, he himself?
Hallison was a dour man whom Kydd remembered as having a short way with helmsmen who failed to measure up. He looked at Kydd doubtfully. 'Now, lad, your main dooty is the helm, but there's a mort more t' being a quartermaster.' He automatically looked up to the weather leech of the mainsail, just beginning to catch the first of the weak dawn sun. 'Steer small, damn you,' he growled at the helmsman, and turned back to Kydd. 'All kind o' things, fr'm stowing the ballast to leadin' the boarders who are cuttin' out an enemy, 'cos we're the ones who always know how, see?' He stared directly at Kydd.
'Aye, Mr Hallison.'
At that moment sailors began to appear on deck, some bleary-eyed, others surly. Kydd knew very well what this meant but never again would he be expected to join them in scrubbing the deck.
'After end o' the quarterdeck,' Hallison told him. Kydd started; then recollected himself and strode to the taffrail.
He glared about him but inwardly he was flinching. 'Get a move on, you heavy-arsed dogs,' he snarled. At the resentful looks of the sailors he realised that perhaps this was going too far. The men stood in front of him, shuffling their feet, resigned. 'You,' he snapped, picking one at random, 'wash-deck hose.' The man didn't say anything but went forward obediently. 'Sand,' he said to another. The holystones were issued and he set the line of men abreast the helm to work their way aft to the stern.
'Get those men going, th' maudling old women.' Parry stomped on deck: he was in a bad mood, and wanted to take it out on the men.
Kydd had seen it before. He called, 'Parry!' in a low voice to the men, who took his signal and feigned fear at Kydd as they worked hard with their holystones.
Parry glowered at the group of men who knelt amid the cold gushing water and gritty sand. At Kydd's questioning gaze he turned away to stamp forward.
Kydd knew he was under eye from Hallison, and conscientiously applied his men, knowing the little tricks they could be up to so well himself.
When they had reached the full extent of the deck, Hallison nodded and waited while the swabbers did their work drying the deck before calling Kydd over. 'Good. I don't hold with startin' m'self - you'll do.' Kydd couldn't conceive of wielding a rope's end on good men either. He beamed, but Hallison went on, 'Cap'n will be after yer skin, lad. He wants all his petty officers in blue jackets 'n' buttons when they're on deck.' He looked meaningfully at Kydd's striped shirt and knotted kerchief.
Kydd nodded. Hallison glanced again at the weather leech and said, 'Go 'n' have some breakfast - be sure an' relieve me at one bell.'
It was greatly satisfying, the way that seamen gave way to him at the sight of his blue jacket and twinkling brass buttons. His confidence soared as he bounded up the ladder to relieve Hallison. He had skipped his burgoo and hard-tack, quickly stitching the buttons with their stout anchor to his best and only blue jacket. He would not be found wanting in any particular.
Hallison raised his eyebrows in surprise at Kydd's transformation, but did not comment. He crossed to the binnacle and reached below for the log-board. Opening it out he referred to the chalked entries. He looked at the hanging traverse board to check that it agreed and turned to Kydd. 'Course sou'-east b' east, good breeze fr'm the nor'-west. Mr Party 'as the deck, Evans on the wheel. You has the conn.'
'I have the conn,' Kydd repeated, with beating heart.
'Petty Officer Kydd has the conn, sir,' Hallison called to Parry, who looked around at the hail, but only grunted and turned back.
'Are ye ready, lad?' Hallison said gravely. If anything went wrong there would be no time for Kydd to rush below and call him - and the blame would be entirely his.