By the thump of the Admiral’s evening gun Duke William had completed taking in stores. Kydd’s back was seizing up with fatigue after the unaccustomed hours of drudgery manning the tackle falls used to sway in the innumerable forms of stores. Supper was a cheerless meal, with Whaley away in the gunner’s party and Doud nursing a wrenched shoulder. The inevitable acid barbs from Howell went unheeded in the depressing quiet and even Wong slumped over his meal.
Kydd noticed Bowyer’s set expression and, not liking to intrude, turned to Claggett. “We’s got good reason to feel aggrieved, lad. What yer don’t know is that Duke William’s been on the North Ameriky station for two years, ’n’ before that the Caribbee. She’s well due t’get a proper docking. When you’s at sea for years you gets druxy timber. See here …” He reached down and fumbled around in the gloomy recesses beneath the lashed muzzle of the gun. His hand came up with a dark substance. “This here is spirketting, believe it or not.” As far as Kydd could see it might have been so much forest mulch — a perfectly black piece of wood flecked with tiny white dots. Claggett squeezed it in his palm and a pool of brown-stained seawater formed on the table. “It runs fore ’n’ aft the whole ship. If you knows how a ship works at the seams in any kind of sea, you’d be powerful concerned ’s how even a First Rate’s goin’ to swim in the kinda blow you gets in Biscay in winter!” The seamed old face turned to Kydd. “You’ll’ve heard of what happened to the Royal George in the year ’eighty-two. A ship-o’-the-line same’s us, they didn’t see their way clear t’ givin’ her a good refit ’n’ the bottom fell clean outa her as she lay at her moorings, right here in Spithead.”
Long-faced, Bowyer fidgeted but listened as well.
“Admiralty says as how a land breeze overset her while heeled over fer a repair, but my cousin was cox’n’s mate aboard ’n’ he said as how there was a great loud cracking first, afore she went under.” His old eyes rested unseeingly on the ship’s side. “Took more’n a thousand souls with her, the women, the Admiral — they’re all down there together still, mate.”
The somber mood cast a pall, and Kydd made his excuses. He rose and made his way to the companionway. There was an ugly edge to the messdeck talk and he was troubled by it. He went up to the next gundeck. An argument had developed into a fight. Inside a tight ring of onlookers two men smashed into each other in brutal silence — meaty thuds, gasps and panting. It was not a match of skills: the transient flaring hatreds of the blood-smeared antagonists demanded immediate release. What chilled Kydd was that instead of the cheery crowds to be seen around any fights ashore, here the watchers growled and muttered against a glowering, dangerous quiet, taking long pulls from their grog and no joy in the action. He moved quickly to the ladder.
On the upper deck he saw that it was getting toward dusk, an overcast building overhead that brought with it a lowering, claustrophobic atmosphere. Lights were beginning to flicker ashore. The fitful offshore breeze carried out to him the scent of horses, mud and sea-coal smoke, the comfortable smells of land.
He stared hungrily at the shoreline, as he gripped one of the myriad ropes coming down to the ship’s side; his foot rested on the low fife-rail of the fo’c’sle.
His mind wandered across the small stretch of water to the odd few figures still waiting forlornly at the Sally Port. Farther along, washing fluttered among the tightly packed houses of Southsea and he could discern the ant-like movements of carts and people. Folk would be wending their way home now to a welcome by the hearth, and victuals worthy of a man. He remembered that at this time his mother would be at work on the Tuesday beef pie in the old kitchen at the back of the workshop. He and his father could always be sure of a fine hot meal, no matter how hard the day. In fact, he realized, if he were over there on the foreshore he could board the London stage. For a few silver coins he could be at the Angel post house in Guildford the same day, safe and sound, and telling his story.
He tore his gaze away from the tantalizing sight of land. All around the ship boarding nettings had been rigged and the rowguard in the pinnace pulled slowly around the vessel. On deck close by was the bowed figure of Buddles. Kydd felt a sudden burst of fellow feeling for the man, who was taking his plight so desperately hard. He moved over to greet him, but Buddles jerked around, staring at him from swimming eyes. He turned away to shuffle below, without a backward glance.
Kydd stared over the water. Who could say how long he would have to wait before he saw his family again? It was quite possible that his ignorance of the sea might cost him his life in some accident, or perhaps there would be a great battle … Emotion welled up. He clutched at the rope.