Quarterdeck: A Kydd Sea Adventure

by Julian Stockwin

  Bryant leaned forward on the lectern. ‘Now, here’s a thing. My captain’s a right Tartar, he is, a hard horse driver who’s always on our necks. He’s your senior officer now, so I advise you all t’ spread what canvas you need to keep the convoy closed up an’ all together.’ He allowed that to sink in, then went on, ‘Signal code for the convoy is in two parts, and provision is made . . .’

  The presentation continued. Kydd stood awkwardly beside Bryant, resentful yet admiring of his easy competence.

  Then the conference drew to a close and a line of merchant captains came forward to sign the register and take custody of their convoy instructions. They left to return to their ships; the Blue Peter would soon be at each masthead.

  Kydd picked up his gear, avoiding Bryant’s eye. He was startled to hear him give a quiet laugh. ‘They falls out o’ the line of sailin’, you know what we do? Give ’em a shot in the guts! Sets ’em into a more co-operative frame of mind, it does.’

  Bryant helped Kydd heap paper rubbish into the bag; this would later be burned. ‘But the biggest threat we can use is to report ’em to Lloyds,’ he continued. ‘They show stubborn, we tell Lloyds, an’ then they have to explain to their owners why their insurance premiums just doubled.’ Before Kydd could say anything, Bryant had consulted his watch and stalked off.

  Chapter 4

  ‘God blast his eyes!’ Houghton’s fists were clenched and he shook with fury. ‘I’ll see this rogue roast in hell! Hoist his number on the lee fore halliard and give him another gun.’

  The signal for ‘lie to, and await orders before proceeding’ still flew from Tenacious’s mizzen peak together with Lady Ann’s distinguishing number. It was inconceivable that the shabby timber ship could not understand the need to form up the convoy properly before their voyage began. She seemed intent on heading off into the general distance, vaguely bound for the west, despite the plain sight of so many other ships hove to with brailed-up canvas waiting for the remainder of the convoy to issue out from the inner anchorage.

  Kydd marvelled at the sight in front of him: 148 ships, large and small, a vast mass of vessels filling the wide bay. Bustling between them were the two smaller escorts. The whole scene was an expression of economic strength – and vulnerability. If Britain could preserve this great stream of trade goods arriving and leaving the kingdom, her survival was assured. If not, the end of this cataclysmic war would not be far off.

  At last Lady Ann slewed and hove to, but her actions had meant Tenacious had moved well out of station and had to heave round back to the assembly points. Her captain was fuming, his officers on edge, and the ship’s company thoroughly bad-tempered.

  The last of the joiners came through the harbour entrance, past Black Rock and into the open sea. ‘Convoy will proceed,’ roared Houghton, glaring at his signal lieutenant as though it was all his fault.

  Kydd found the place in the signal book, and hastily shouted the hoist to those at the taffrail flag-locker. Flags were bent on, soaring up the halliards as the thump of their fo’c’sle gun drew attention to them.

  ‘Have they acknowledged yet?’ snapped Houghton.

  Kydd had his telescope up, trying to locate Trompeuse and Viper, just two sail among so many.

  ‘Well?’

  Kydd saw the three gunboats of the port’s standing force, which had been detached to see the convoy to sea and were temporarily under Houghton’s command, but he could not spot the low, half-decked, two-masted craft.

  ‘Good God! Do I have to—’

  ‘Viper acknowledges, sir.’ It was Bampton at the officer-of-the-watch’s telescope.

  ‘And Trompeuse,’ Kydd added, finding the small ship-sloop. Then he spotted the vessel sliding into the line of sight from behind a bulky salt-carrier, a red and white pennant at her signal halliards. ‘A gunboat answers, sir.’

  Houghton took a deep breath. ‘Then hoist and execute for pennant ships, damn your eyes!’

  Rawson already had the signal bent on and swooping up the rigging where it fluttered gaily for several minutes then jerked down. One by one, from random places in the milling ships, trusted merchant vessels followed the lead of Tenacious and hoisted a yellow triangular flag above an unmistakable red-and-white square – the Halifax convoy.

  First Tenacious, then the pennant ships marking leading positions in the convoy purposefully set their bowsprits to the open Atlantic, and a pattern formed after them. Ship after ship fell into column, jockeying with shortened sail into their order of sailing; men-o’-war chivvied and snapped at the heels of the laggardly, and the vast fleet headed away from the land. The gunboats returned to port.

  Well before they had left the outer Falmouth Roads and laid the deadly Manacles to starboard, the signal for escorts to take station was made. Tenacious led the convoy, she and her consorts on the windward side of the mass of shipping – the best position to drop down quickly on any of their charges if they were attacked.

  ‘Viper to leave the stragglers and come up to station,’ Houghton ordered testily. ‘Never know what’s waiting for us out there.’ The inevitable late starters would have to catch up as best they could. One lumbering merchantman was caught flat aback when avoiding another, and Kydd could see its helpless gyration through his glass as it gathered stern-way and turned in reverse in obedience to the last helm order.

  A grey-white wall of drizzle approached silently. In the westerly wind the craggy loom of the peninsula to starboard was no threat. But when they reached its end, the notorious Lizard, they would leave its shelter and face whatever the Atlantic Ocean could bring.

  ‘Damn!’ Bampton cursed. The light rain had reached them and was beginning a damp assault. While Houghton kept the deck no one dared go below, and all had to suffer coats heavy with wet and rivulets of cold water wriggling down their necks. The captain stood aggressively as the rain ran down his face. Kydd’s crew shivered and clutched their coats but none dared ask to leave the deck.

  Suddenly Houghton started. ‘Who has the watch?’

  ‘I, sir,’ responded Bampton.

  ‘I shall be in my cabin.’ Houghton wheeled round and left. Other officers followed his example and went below, but Kydd knew he must stay so he moved down from the exposed poop-deck. Bampton called for his watch-coat and Kydd his oilskins, but then the rain ceased and the wind resumed a chill buffeting.

  Kydd used his signals telescope to survey the slow-moving convoy. Once they made the open sea beyond the Lizard they would spread more sail for best speed, but if the stragglers could not make up the distance before they met the friendless ocean they would be in trouble.

  In the main they were closing manfully, but a small gaggle were now miles astern locked together. Kydd shuddered with the cold and lowered the telescope. But something made him raise it again. The larger of the stopped vessels had one corner of her main course drawn up to the yard, a peculiar action at sea. He steadied the glass, leaning back with his elbow braced on his chest to see better. There was activity, but it was not co-ordinated.

  Straining to make it out, he waited for a spasm of shivering to subside and concentrated on the other vessel. Something about her – she was not low in the water. ‘Sir!’ he said loudly. ‘Seems the stragglers are being taken!’

  ‘What?’ said Bampton incredulously. He brought up his big telescope. ‘Are you mad? That’s nothing but a parcel of lubberly merchantmen got in a tangle!’

  ‘But the main course! It’s up to—’

  ‘What are you babbling about, Mr Kydd? She still flies her pennant. The other vessel has her vane a-fly – leave them to it, I say.’

  ‘Sir, should we not send Viper down to ’em?’

  ‘And put her to loo’ard and having to beat back just when we make the open sea? I’m surprised at your suggestion, Mr Kydd, and can only ascribe it to your, er, lack of experience in these waters.’

  The captain appeared from the cabin spaces. ‘Ah, Mr Bampton. All’s well?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

/>   ‘Th’ stragglers are bein’ snapped up f’r prizes!’ Kydd blurted out.

  ‘What? Give me that,’ said Houghton, taking Kydd’s telescope.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir – Mr Kydd’s enthusiasm sometimes exceeds his experience and—’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Houghton snapped at Kydd.

  ‘Main course. It’s goosewings now, but that would be so if they only had time to haul one clew up to the yard, not both, and if the lubbers hadn’t yet loaded the signal guns or shipped aprons against the rain, they—’

  Bampton broke in, ‘What are you wittering about, Kydd? Those vessels have their numbers hoisted. They have not hauled down their colours or signalled distress – they’re in a god-awful mess. I’ve seen it many times before, and so will you.’

  Houghton’s telescope steadied. ‘Viper and Trompeuse to close and investigate,’ he bawled to the poop-deck.

  He rounded on Bampton. ‘Mr Kydd knows his signals – “Haul up your main course and two guns to weather” is the signal for the approach of strange sail. They must have been caught napping by some damned privateer disguised as one of our ships, who knows our procedures and that our attention is all ahead.’

  Trompeuse hurried back along the convoy, keeping to the windward edge. Viper angled off downwind.

  The master came up to watch developments but remained silent.

  ‘What is that idiot in Viper up to?’ Bampton said.

  Kydd had his own ideas about why the gun-brig had clapped on all sail away to the east, well to leeward of the action, but kept his silence.

  Tysoe arrived with Kydd’s oilskins and a warm jersey, which Kydd struggled into under his waterproofs.

  ‘Sail hoooo!’ The masthead lookout’s hand was flung out to seaward. As the Lizard opened up to the westward a respectable-sized frigate under easy sail close inshore came into view.

  ‘No colours,’ growled Houghton, ‘but we know what she’s up to. Quarters, Mr Bampton.’

  Then Tenacious heard the heart-stopping thunder of the drums in anger for the first time this voyage. Kydd’s post in battle was at the signals; he had but to send for his sword and see to the lead-lined bag ready for sinking secret material should the need arise.

  ‘She thinks t’ fall on the convoy while the escorts are to loo’ard dealing with the brig – they wouldn’t guess a ship o’ force was waiting for ’em,’ the master said. With grim satisfaction Kydd spared a glance astern.

  The enemy must have seen events swing against them, for both the hapless goosewinged merchantman and the anonymous brig loosed sail hurriedly and swung about – but it was too late. The reason for Viper’s move had become clear. She was now squarely between the enemy and his escape.

  ‘Spankin’ good sailin’!’ Kydd burst out. With Trompeuse now coming down fast from one direction and Viper well placed in the other, the end was not really in doubt.

  The smoke of a challenging shot eddied up from Viper, the ball skipping past the enemy and her prize. The two came briefly together, probably to recover crew, before one broke out French colours and crammed on all sail to try to make off, leaving the other with ropes slashed and drifting helplessly. So close to Falmouth there would be no trouble recovering the abandoned prize.

  As the brig attempted to pass Viper, she made a perfect target for raking fire and Viper did not waste it. When the smoke of her broadside cleared, the brig had already struck her colours. Jubilation rang out on Tenacious from the deck below, and satisfied smiles were to be seen on the quarterdeck.

  But as Tenacious thrust towards her, the frigate shied away and bore south-east, towards the distant French coast. When she had drawn away, and Tenacious stood down from quarters, Kydd saw that the convoy was now much closer together, and in impeccable formation.

  As one, the argosy rounded the Lizard, taking Atlantic rollers on the bow in explosions of white, hauling their wind for the south-west, the wanly setting sun and the thousands of miles that lay ahead.

  ‘Your health, Mr Kydd!’ The surgeon leaned forward, as usual in his accustomed evening-wear of a worn green waistcoat. He had an odd, detached way of regarding people, part earnest, part sardonic.

  ‘Thank ye, Mr Pybus,’ Kydd answered, ‘It’s always a pleasure t’ have a doctor wishing me good health.’

  The wardroom was abuzz with chatter. Besides the charge of anticipation that a new voyage always brought, there was the tension of getting the convoy to sea – and their first brush with the enemy.

  ‘Sharp of His Nibs to spot the wolf among the sheep,’ said Pringle, helping himself to another cutlet.

  Adams leaned across for the asparagus. ‘Did hear that you helped him to a conclusion, Kydd?’ he said, and when his eyes flicked towards the head of the table, Kydd guessed that the story of his contretemps with Bampton was now common knowledge.

  ‘Always like t’ help when I can,’ he said cautiously. Bampton was talking with the purser, but Kydd occasionally caught his eyes straying to himself.

  Louder, Adams went on, ‘To the devil with modesty, old fellow, tell us, what put you on to him?’

  ‘Er, his lee clew t’ the course was—’

  ‘Speak up, dear chap, we’re working to wind’d!’ To make her offing of Wolf’s Rock in the night, the ship’s taut rigging was causing the length of her hull to creak in noisy protest.

  ‘I said, with only one clew to the yard an’ the chance her guns were yet not primed, she’d be tryin’ t’ let us know she was in trouble and could not. If she had her vanes an’ colours correct, seems to me she was surprised, and then th’ boarders let all stand to make us think she was a vessel retirin’ back to Falmouth.’

  He grinned. ‘But then I thought t’ take a look at her draught – a brig, outward bound, an’ sittin’ high in th’ water! Stands to reason—’

  ‘You didn’t tell me that!’ Bampton’s voice cut through the talk, which quickly died away. ‘If I’d known what you saw!’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to remark that with his bigger telescope Bampton was better placed to see the same thing, but Kydd remained guarded. ‘Ah, in fact, there was not really time enough t’ tell it.’

  Bampton held rigid.

  The next morning the land was gone. There was just empty sea and the convoy. In loose columns, they bucketed through the long heaving swells from the west, substantial Hudson Bay traders with fine passenger cabins, hardy vessels headed for the Newfoundland cod fishery, slab-sided timber ships that would return with precious masts for the dockyards of the kingdom. And impoverished immigrants crammed among supplies for the settlements.

  The night-time shortening of sail now became a resetting of plain sail to reach maximum speed of the slowest. A tedious schedule of hauling and loosing was necessary to adjust speeds; the leading-edge ships had to be reined in while slower ones, which had slipped to the back during the night, were bullied into lengthening their stride.

  Routine was only re-established mid-morning when Tenacious was free to go to quarters for exercise of the great guns. After an hour or more of hard work the welcome sound of the tune ‘Nancy Dawson’ drifted up from the main-deck, announcing grog and dinner for the hands.

  But first, on an open deck nearly deserted of seamen, the officers gathered on the quarterdeck for the noon-day sight. Every officer performed the duty, including the midshipmen, but only the ‘workings’ of the lieutenants were pooled for reliability.

  This would be Kydd’s first occasion as an officer, for although since those years in the Caribbean he had known how, it was now that his contribution would be a valid element in the navigation of a King’s ship.

  He readied his octant, an old but fine brass and ebony instrument, by setting the expected latitude down to the tangent screw. This would shorten the time needed to do a fine adjustment in the precious seconds of a meridian altitude. Next, he took the precaution of finding his ‘height-of-eye’ on the quarterdeck. There was an appreciable correction to be made – from there the distance to the
horizon of a ship-of-the-line was a full seven miles.

  Cradling his instrument Kydd took his place, feeling the long swell come in fine on the bow in a heave down the length of the ship. He estimated it at no more than twelve feet, which meant another correction to height-of-eye. Then, like the others, he trialled the sun – close, but some minutes to go.

  He was aware of the helmsman behind him, silently flicking the wheel to catch a wave, glancing up at the weather leech of a sail, then resuming his blank stare ahead. Kydd knew what he was thinking – the wielding of sextants, the consulting of mysterious figures in the almanac marked out an officer from a common seaman.

  He lifted the octant again: the reflected lower edge of the sun was getting near the horizon. Kydd waited patiently, shifting the vernier with delicate twists of the tangent screw. Then it was time, the sun was at its highest altitude: reflected by the octant, its image kissed the line of the horizon.

  ‘Stop,’ he called, his voice mingling with the others. The time to a second was recorded by a master’s mate: this was the exact instant of local noon along this line of longitude, the meridian. By the elevation of the sun above the earth, the distance along that line from the equator, the latitude, could be found, and where the two intersected would be the ship’s position.

  He lowered his instrument and, through habit, glanced into the binnacle: at noon on the meridian the sun was exactly due south so this was a good time to check the compass.

  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.