Kydd turned to Bowyer, who pushed the lee tricing line into his hands, himself taking the weather. Their eyes met — and Bowyer nodded slowly, a deep smile spreading over his whole face.
In the relative shelter on the main deck below the boats, the watch resumed.
“See yer mate is a regular foul weather jack, then, Joe,” said one.
Bowyer grunted casually. “Yair — expect to see him out on the yardarm soon, mate.”
A vicious squall bullied and blustered at the ship for long minutes; Duke William heeled and staggered, then recovered.
“Needs to learn a bit more about th’ sea afore he c’n call hisself a sailorman,” an older voice continued.
“Ah, leave him be, Nunky.”
“No, what I means is, that which you doesn’t hear about unless someone gives yer the griff. Ye know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t, Nunky, what do you mean?”
“Ye’ll not hear this from any else.” The fierce hiss of seas along the hull nearly drowned the words. “’Twas a long time ago, lads, ’n’ we needed water bad. Shipped in Seaflower we was, on a v’yage to the Spice Islands, and we landed a party ashore to look fer water. Now, I wuz a green hand, thought I knew it all, so when I climbs over this ’ere sand hill, all I thinks about is water. That’s when I sees ’em! Seven of ’em! Each one enough to set a sailor’s heart afire. Right saucy ladies they wuz. So I sets meself down in the rushes to watch. Then I notices they’s passing around this ointment, see, putting it on ’emselves. So I creeps nearer an’ nearer, and when they wasn’t looking dips me finger into the jar.”
A violent clatter from aloft drew attention until the helmsmen let the bows fall away, and the sail filled again.
“Then I rubs it in me eye and, dang me, I gets so surprised I nearly cries out! What I saw then was they were mermaids. Damn me fer a chucklehead — the ointment clears me eyes and I c’n see ’em plain as day. So I creeps away again, goes back aboard ’n’ tries to forget. Then we makes Port Anjer an’ we steps ashore like. An’ what do you think I sees there?”
“What did you see, Nunky?”
“With me eye treated with th’ ointment, I sees that the doxies walkin’ up and down the street, bold as brass, are really mermaids in their steppin’-ashore disguise. Yessir! Means that any trug you takes on a cruise could be a mermaid — and they’ll suck yer soul out, as any sailor knows!” He eased his position.
The younger voice spoke again. “Can yer see ’em now, Nunky? I mean, has yer got the power still?”
“Well, now, this is where I makes me mistake, being young an’ all. See, I ends up half cut on this arrack, see, and I thinks as ’ow I’d like to make me respects to the girls. We gets down on the job ’n’ while she unrigs, with me eye I sees as ’ow she’s a mermaid! ‘Be damned,’ I says. ‘Ye’re a mermaid, we’ll not swive!’ She gets taken right aback, I’m tellin’ yer. But then she gets all cunning like, ’n’ asks me how I knows. ‘With this eye I has, so none o’ yer tricks!’ I says. But mates, she flew at me like a harpy ’n’ with her long nails she douses me glim in one!” He sniffed disconsolately. “When I comes to, there I see this doxy — an’ she’s jus’ yer usual fusty luggs a-grinnin’ at me! And that’s as ’ow you’ll notice I’ve got no starb’d peeper to this day!”
The morning came with no relief to the foul weather; the sea was an expanse of seething waves, each with a feather of spume on the crest whipped away by the onrushing blast of the gale. It saw Duke William diving, shuddering, her bowsprit burying in the white seas ahead before emerging in a broad smash of spray.
Kydd thrilled to the spectacle. He instinctively knew that snugged down under treble-reefed topsails the old battleship was in no real danger, and he set his teeth to the gale. Movement along the deck was hard work. He staggered forward, the deck diving down and down while he tottered on his toes as light as a child, before the irresistible heave up that made him as weighty as a hippo with legs that felt like lead. The spray rattled aboard constantly, striking his tarpaulins like hail and reddening his cheeks, the wind never ceasing its forceful bluster. Encrusted salt made his eyes sting. It was with guilty relief that he went below at midday for the rum issue.
Even in the close coziness of the lower gundeck there was a swash of water, most coming through the hawse bucklers, which were taking the underwater pressure of the bows when they plunged heavily beneath the waves. Lanthorns swung together, sending shadows swaying over the packed messdeck, the strained, tired men and double-breeched guns. Kydd slid into his place at the table and, bracing himself against the surging movements, let the rum spread its cheeriness through his vitals.