In the wardroom the table filled quickly with paper and books. Kydd jotted down his octant reading, returned the instrument to its case, and found his Moore’s Nautical Almanac. In practised sequence he entered the tables, applied the corrections and neatly summarised his workings, his final latitude and longitude boldly there for all to see.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ the master said, collecting the workings. They agreed within a minute or so, but Kydd’s was the closest of all to Hambly’s own.
‘Mr Kydd.’ The captain was standing on the weather side of the quarterdeck.
‘Aye, sir,’ Kydd replied, moving quickly to him.
‘As you must be aware,’ he said gruffly, ‘with four watch-keeping officers, having a second officer-of-the-watch forces them to watch on, watch off. The first lieutenant has asked that the ship’s officers now move to single watches.’
‘Sir.’
‘Therefore you will oblige me by assuming your own watch,’ he said drily. ‘Should you feel unsure in any situation, you will call me at once. Do you understand?’
‘Instantly, sir.’
‘Carry on, please, Mr Kydd.’
The last dog-watch was nearly over when Kydd appeared by the wheel to take the next watch. In the early night-darkness the men stood about quietly, their faces eerily lit from beneath by the dim light of the binnacle lamp.
‘Mr Bampton,’ Kydd said in greeting.
The second lieutenant grunted, and turned to look at Kydd. ‘Course sou’west b’ south, courses are in to topsails one reef, last cast of the log five and a half knots.’ He glanced once at the dark, near invisible sea, speckled prettily with golden pricks of lanthorn light where the convoy sailed on quietly through the night.
‘Convoy still seems to be with us, carpenter reports nine inches in the well, we have two in the bilboes.’ These unfortunates would spend all night in leg irons until hauled before the captain in the morning, but it was necessary to pass on the information. In the event that the ship was in danger of foundering they must be released.
‘You have the ship, I’m going below. If you get into a pother, don’t call me. Good night.’
It was done. A momentary rush of panic, then exultation. The man standing on the quarterdeck in command, around whom the world that was HMS Tenacious would revolve, was Thomas Paine Kydd.
A duty quartermaster held out the chalk log. The watch always started with a clean slate and Kydd took it, his notations of course and sail now holy writ to be transcribed later to the master’s log. He heard the quartermaster murmur the heading to the new hand on the wheel, then saw him squint at the compass before returning to report, ‘Sou’west b’ south, Brown on the wheel, sir.’ Much as Kydd himself had done not so very long ago.
The figures dispersed, leaving the new watch in possession of the deck. Kydd’s midshipman messenger was behind him, and the mate-of-the-watch with his boatswain’s mate stood to leeward, waiting for orders. The rest of the watch were at different positions around the deck under their station captains, for now Kydd, as an officer, could never treat with them directly.
Eight bells clanged forward. It was the first watch, and in accordance with practice, the ship went to evening quarters. Mess-decks were transformed as ditty bags were taken down, benches stowed below, mess-traps placed in racks and the hinged table removed. Once again the broad space reverted to its true purpose – a gun-deck with martial rows of heavy cannons.
At the guns, the fighting tops and in the waist of the ship, men stood ready. It was a time to muster them, to ensure they knew their place in combat intimately, and also it was an opportunity for the seamen to learn about those in authority over them. But this did not concern Kydd, who maintained his watch from on high over them all.
Quarters over, the men were released. Hammocks were piped down from their stowage in the nettings around the bulwarks and slung below. In the same hour the space passed from a dining room to a ship of war and then a dormitory. The ship changed from a busy working place to a darkened domain of slumber.
It was a clear night with the wind steady on the beam. Kydd stepped inside the cabin spaces to the lobby, where a small table bore a chart. It was now his duty to think of the bigger picture. A seaman before the mast simply accepted that a course was set to a compass heading. Beyond that, it was of no interest to someone who could have no say in his destiny, but who at the same time did not have to worry about it.
Kydd lowered the dim lanthorn so its soft golden light was enough to see their pencilled course pricked out. They were heading mainly south with the Canary current to avoid the strong trade westerlies, and to pick up later the countervailing seasonal north-easterlies in a swing across the width of the ocean.