Cursing, weary men picked up their ropes and prepared to haul round for the third time in a row. But when the due point was reached Tenacious had not picked up enough speed, and when the helm went down she headed up languidly into the wind – and stayed there, held in the wind’s eye, in irons.
The master lunged over and took the helm, bawling at the men forward as the ship drifted astern, the hapless officer-of-the-watch nervously clutching his telescope and watching the captain, appalled. Kydd, with nothing to do, could only stand and suffer as the ship tried to regain her dignity.
Finally in her place at the rear of the line stretching away to the east, Tenacious settled down and Kydd turned to his captain, prepared for the worst – but yet another signal streamed out from Resolution. ‘Fleet will heave to,’ Kydd reported carefully. Main topsails were backed and way fell off. There had to be a reason why the whole squadron was coming to a stop.
‘Flagship, sir – our pennant and, er, “Send a lieutenant.”’ The admiral wanted an official explanation from Tenacious for the recent display – and there would be no bets taken on who would go as the sacrifice . . .
Admiral Vandeput did not spare his squadron. Between Cape Sable and Cape Cod, seven ships sailed resolutely in formation, assuming tactical divisions by signal, running down invisible foes, shortening sail for battle. Curious fishing-boats were diverted by strings of flags run up the flagship’s rigging, followed by instant animation aboard every vessel of the squadron – and the occasional gun for attention.
Kydd doggedly improved his acquaintance with the Fighting Instructions and attached signals, and when the squadron was ready to return to port several days later, he was fully prepared. ‘Sir, vessels in the squadron to retire in order of sailing.’ It was the return to Halifax. ‘Signal to wear, sir,’ Kydd added, as the flags broke at the masthead. This would see the ships turning on their heel and facing where they had been – but this time with Tenacious leading the squadron back to port.
Now was the time to show her breeding in the manoeuvre of going about completely, stern to wind. ‘Brace in the afteryards – up helm!’ The mizzen topsail began shaking, the main just full and the fore up sharp. Tenacious started her swing, the line of ships ahead commenced their wheel about. ‘Lay y’r headyards square! Shift headsheets!’ Her rotation brought the wind right aft, and the weather sheets were eased to become the lee. ‘Brace up headyards – haul aboard!’ Men laboured to get the tack hard in forward and the sheets aft as she came on to her new heading. Tenacious responded with a willing surge.
‘Draw jib!’ It was the last order before she settled on her new course, the sheets hauled aft to bring the headsails to a full tautness. The fo’c’slemen responded heartily, the thought of safe haven in Halifax just hours away lending weight to their hauling.
A crack as loud as a three-pounder gun came from far forward. The crew on the jibsheets fell to the deck, others crouched down and looked about fearfully. It was impossible to see what was happening from aft as the clews of the big courses effectively shut out the scene.
‘Can’t ’old ’er, sir!’ bawled the helmsman, as Tenacious immediately fell off the wind and inevitably out of line. An incomprehensible hail came from forward, amplified by a breathless messenger. ‘Lost our jibboom, sir!’ he yelled, his voice cracking.
Houghton lifted his speaking trumpet. ‘Douse the fore t’gallant instantly, d’ye hear?’ He wheeled round, his face set. A volley of orders brought sail in, and way off the vessel. ‘You know what to do, get forrard and bear a hand – now!’ he snapped at Kydd. Rawson could be relied on to hoist the necessary ‘not-under-command’ general signal that indicated Tenacious was no longer in a position to obey her captain.
Kydd hurried forward. This was Renzi’s part-of-ship: Kydd would take orders from him without question. He arrived at the scene to see a tangle of rigging from aloft – and a truncated bowsprit. A thumping from the lee bow and men staring down showed where the failed spar was now.
‘Poulden, do you clap on the t’gallant bowline as well.’ It was strange to hear the crack of authority in Renzi’s voice, to see the gleam of hard purpose in his friend’s eyes.
‘Sir,’ Kydd reported to the fourth lieutenant.
Renzi flashed a brief smile. ‘Martingale stay parted, the jibboom carried away,’ he said, flicking his eyes up to watch the progress of the jib downhaul, which was clearly being readied to hoist the spar back aboard. ‘I’m sanguine we’ll have it clear soon – it’s to loo’ard, and I’ve taken the liberty to set the fore-topmast stays’l to make a lee while we see to the jib.’