Tenacious(2)

The solemn courtesies complete, other toasts were made: ‘Foxhunting and Old Port’; ‘Our brothers at sea’; and the heartfelt ‘A willing foe and sea room!’ Red faces testified to the warmth and the wine, and when the brandy had circulated Houghton called, ‘Captain Pringle, might we press you to honour us with your flute?’

‘Should I be joined by our excellent doctor, I would be glad to, sir.’

The marine was a proficient and sensitive player, and a lively violin accompaniment from the normally acerbic Pybus set the mood of the evening. Adams was persuaded to render a creditable ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill’ in his light tenor, and Renzi delivered a reading from his new copy of Lyrical Ballads:

‘It is the first mild day of March;

Each minute sweeter than before,

The red-breast sings from the tall larch

That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air

Which seems a sense of joy to yield

To the bare trees, and mountains bare,

And grass in the green field…’



Houghton rose to his feet. He raised his glass and said softly, ‘To Tenacious.’

‘Tenacious,’ came the reply, with more than one murmured ‘Bless her!’ There were no ready words to describe the affection that the old 64-gun ship-of-the-line had won in the hearts of her officers, and Kydd felt a lump in his throat. He could see the others were affected, too.

In the quiet, a sudden knock at the wardroom door sounded overly loud. With rainwater streaming from his grego, the duty master’s mate awkwardly handed over an oilskin packet. ‘Cap’n, sir – urgent from Flag.’

It was unusual to the point of disquiet that the admiral had seen fit to act immediately instead of waiting for the usual morning postal round, and all craned towards the head of the table.

Houghton scanned the covering letter, then looked up gravely. ‘Gentlemen, you should be advised that the situation in Europe has intensified. Therefore we are to be recalled from this station to join that of Admiral the Earl St Vincent before Cadíz – we sail with the utmost dispatch.’

Taking the deck for his first sea-watch since leaving Halifax, Kydd strode to the ship’s side and looked down with satisfaction at the busy wake forming and spreading in a hiss of obedience, slipping astern to join the other side in a lazy track that stretched far into the distance.

He returned to the binnacle: the ship’s heading was within a whisker of east by south. His eyes rose to meet a look of reproach from the helmsman and he concealed a smile. He had no right to usurp the quartermaster’s responsibility for the course and knew only too well the irritation of a meddlesome officer-of-the-watch.

But these were momentous times. Since Houghton had received his orders from the admiral, he had been unsparing in his drive to get Tenacious to sea. Whatever additional information he was privy to had lined his face and he had issued each officer-of-the-watch stern instructions to clap on every stitch – but woe betide all should it cost even a single spar.

As he paced the quarterdeck, Kydd’s thoughts turned briefly to another matter: Gibraltar was less than a day’s sail away from Cadíz. It would serve his purpose well if they touched on that fortress port. It would give him great satisfaction to conclude a particular task there. He had decided on it after parting with his uncle in a remote settlement in the Canadian Maritimes.

Kydd stopped to feel the ship’s motion. Under all plain sail in the brisk, quartering south-westerly, Tenacious heaved and rose over the long Atlantic rollers in a strong and compelling rhythm, pleasing in its regularity. He sensed the waves meeting her bow and surging aft under the keel, the vessel’s slow pitch conforming to its motion. But there was something further – a trifle, perhaps, but out of harmony with the concert of movement.

He glanced across the deck. Captain Houghton was taking the air on the weather side, walking with the first lieutenant. There was a full watch of the hands on deck and others were at work on their part-of-ship. Kydd signalled to the quartermaster that he was going forward, then made his way to the foredeck and stood feeling, sensing.

The bow-wave swashed and hissed below; above him soared the headsails, taut and trim. But there was something. He turned to peer up, above the mighty fore-course, past the tops to the topsail and topgallant. Something was causing a hesitation, a brief interruption in the forward urge of the ship. He moved to one side until he could see the end of the bowsprit spearing into the sky ahead.

It soared and dipped but then Kydd saw what was happening. It was not an up-and-down motion. Instead, it described a circle in the sky, certain indication that the helmsman was having to ease the wheel each time the bows met an oncoming sea. That was it – a griping caused by the ship’s tendency to come closer to the wind when her forefoot bit deep into the wave. Kydd was annoyed that the quartermaster had not noticed it: he knew that with every billow Tenacious was losing way through the water – only a tiny amount, but there were countless thousands of waves across the Atlantic.