Kydd went below to find a dry shirt. He was watch-on-deck for the last dog-watch and wanted to be as comfortable as possible; there would be no going below later. As he came back up the companionway he saw the master, face set grimly, entering his tiny sea cabin. ‘Do ye think th’ easterly will hold?’ Kydd asked, wedging himself against the door for balance. The hanging lanthorn cast moving shadows in the gloom.
‘See this?’ Hambly tapped the barometer, its vertical case on gimbals also a-swing. His face seemed old and more lined in the dim light. ‘Twenty-nine ’n’ three fourths. These waters, as soon as we gets a drop more’n a tenth of an inch below our mean f’r the season, stand by. An’ we’ve had a drop o’ two tenths since this morning.’
He checked the chart again and straightened. ‘North Atlantic, even at this time o’ year, it’s folly to trust. It wouldn’t surprise me t’ see it veer more southerly, an’ if that’s with a further drop we’re in for a hammering.’
Kydd turned to go, then asked, ‘You’ll be about tonight, Mr Hambly?’
‘I will, sir,’ said the master, with a tired smile.
In the last of the light the foretop lookout sighted strange sail. It was Lord Woolmer with no fore and aft canvas from the main or anything above her course. She put up her helm to run down on Tenacious, and Kydd could imagine the relief and joy aboard. With luck they would be safe in Halifax harbour in two or three days and the story of their crossing would be told in the warmth and safety of their homes for months to come.
By the time the ship had come up with Tenacious it was too dark for manoeuvres, so they waited until the big, somewhat ungainly merchantman pulled ahead then fell in astern, three lanthorns at her fore-yard to comfort the other ship, whose stern lanthorns were plainly visible.
The morning brought the south-easterly that the master had feared; the wind had strengthened and the barometer dropped. It was time for even a well-found ship like Tenacious to take the weather seriously.
Houghton did not waste time. ‘Mr Pearce, Mr Renzi, we’ll have the t’gallant masts on deck.’ The jibboom was brought in forward. Aloft, all rigging that could possibly carry away to disaster was doubled up, preventer braces, rolling tackles put on the yards, slings, trusses – nothing could be trusted to hold in the great forces unleashed in a storm.
Anchors were stowed outboard – they would be of crucial importance should land be seen to leeward – and were secured against the smash of seas on the bows with tough double ring painters and lashing along the length of the stock.
The rudder, too, was vital to safeguard: a relieving tackle was rigged in the wardroom and a spare tiller brought out. It would need fast work to ship a new one – Rawson could be trusted in this, or to rouse out a portable compass and align its lubber-line to the ship’s head for use if the tiller ropes from the wheel on deck broke. The relieving tackle would then be used to steer.
On each deck a hatchway forward and aft ventilated the space through gratings. These now were covered with strong canvas and fastened securely with battens nailed around the coaming. Seas breaking aboard might otherwise send tons of water into the ship’s bowels.
The most feared event in a storm was a gun breaking loose: a big cannon might smash through the ship’s side. The gunner and his party worked from forward and secured them; each muzzle seized like an ox to the ringbolt above the closed gunport, with double breechings and side frappings. Finally, on deck, lifelines were rigged fore and aft on each side of the masts, and on the weather mizzen shrouds a canvas cloth was spread to break the blast for the helm crew.
Tenacious was now snugged for a blow. Kydd hoped that the same was true for the merchantman. What would probably be of most concern to her captain was the state of his noble passengers. However splendid their appointments, their cabins would now be a hell on earth: the motion would be such that the only movement possible would be hand to hand, their only rest taken tied into a wildly moving cot, their world confined to a box shaken into a malodorous, seasick chaos.
The ships plunged on into the angry seas. Aboard, muscles wearying of the continual bracing and staggering along the deck, eyes salt-sore in the raw cold and the streaming wet, Kydd made a circuit of the deck looking for anything that could conceivably fret itself into a rapidly spiralling danger. He checked little things, that the drain-holes of the boats were kept open, their deck-gripes bar-taut, spare spars under them lashed into immobility. When he stripped off in the damp fug of the wardroom, he could see his own concern reflected in others’ eyes, and Renzi wore a taut expression.