Read Online Betrayal by Julian Stockwin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julian Stockwin
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it’s no good, he’s blind, o’ course. Vitriolic acid eats out his eyes, the plaguey villain.’ He sniffed, dropping the rat into the sack.
Kydd felt duty-bound to stay aboard as the men reluctantly made their way back to their ship, suffering with them until the vessel was habitable again. He had split the ship’s company in two to share the duties, and the first on board were set to sweeten the vessel – from stem to stern a mighty scrubbing with vinegar and lime, the deckhead beams liberally anointed with a powerful concoction of Geen’s own devising. The cable tiers were lime whitewashed, and twice, two feet of seawater was let in to flood the bilges, the reeking water then pumped over the side until it ran clear.
After their heroic efforts this party happily made its way ashore to its favoured waterfront punch-house to wash away the taste with Cape brandy while the other watch came on board for the even more taxing job of painting ship.
Boatswain Oakley, his head bandaged and in pain, took charge. Preparation was thorough: wood painstakingly scraped back before the paint was carefully mixed. The pigment, oil and litharge was poured into an old fish-kettle in proportions to his satisfaction, and on an upper-deck charcoal fire, the mixture was boiled, then strained through a bread-bag to be laid on warm.
Kydd had his firm views on appearance: it was to stay the Nelson chequer, a smart black hull with a warlike band of yellow along the line of guns, the gun-ports menacing regular squares in black. Lower masts below the tops were well varnished; above the tops, they were painted black, as were the yards, with white tips at their extremities to aid in working aloft in the dark.
Then there was the detailing: scarlet inner bulwarks before the guns, a stout mixture of varnish and tar on the binnacle and belfry and here and there a dash of white. The flutings of the headrails and cheeks saw dark blue to set off the carved scroll-work, and their old-fashioned lion and crown figurehead claimed a handsome gilding of gold-leaf. Kydd himself found the necessary wherewithal to ensure the ornamentation shone around the quarter-galleries and stern-lights.
The men set to with a will to brighten their living quarters; it was amazing how much a frigate’s below-the-waterline mess-deck could be lightened by a lime whitewash on the bulkheads and ship’s side. The petty officers prettified their own messes, each separated by canvas screens decorated lavishly with mermaids and sea battles, their crockery mess-traps stowed neatly in vertical side lockers: in a frigate there was no need to clear for action on a deck with no guns.
Kydd found time to relax in his great cabin, the floor-cloth renewed and the furniture sweet-smelling from the lavender-oil-impregnated beeswax that Tysoe, his valet, had applied to overcome the odour of fumigation. The boys had been industrious in their cleaning and priddying and, at Renzi’s suggestion, Kydd’s intricate showcase secretaire had been picked out in gilt around its French polish and green leather.
The gunroom had come together in noble style to enrich their own sea home. In place of the utilitarian service barrel slung from the forward bulkhead, from which commensal wine was drawn, there was now a beautifully polished elliptical cask made for the purpose and bearing a silver plate with ‘The gunroom, HMS
L’Aurore
, Cape Colony 1806’ engraved in bold flourishes.
An elegant locker had been contrived around the rudder trunking, which now served to conceal the gunroom’s stock of dog-eared newspapers and magazines. Gilbey and Curzon’s time ashore had not been wasted: a pair of remarkably animated watercolours of Table Mountain and the Cape of Good Hope now adorned their quarters.
L’Aurore
came alive again. The rhythm of a comfortable harbour routine set in, of hands to turn to, part of ship in the forenoon and liberty ashore in the afternoon. Kydd saw a fierce pride in his ship.
Kydd felt duty-bound to stay aboard as the men reluctantly made their way back to their ship, suffering with them until the vessel was habitable again. He had split the ship’s company in two to share the duties, and the first on board were set to sweeten the vessel – from stem to stern a mighty scrubbing with vinegar and lime, the deckhead beams liberally anointed with a powerful concoction of Geen’s own devising. The cable tiers were lime whitewashed, and twice, two feet of seawater was let in to flood the bilges, the reeking water then pumped over the side until it ran clear.
After their heroic efforts this party happily made its way ashore to its favoured waterfront punch-house to wash away the taste with Cape brandy while the other watch came on board for the even more taxing job of painting ship.
Boatswain Oakley, his head bandaged and in pain, took charge. Preparation was thorough: wood painstakingly scraped back before the paint was carefully mixed. The pigment, oil and litharge was poured into an old fish-kettle in proportions to his satisfaction, and on an upper-deck charcoal fire, the mixture was boiled, then strained through a bread-bag to be laid on warm.
Kydd had his firm views on appearance: it was to stay the Nelson chequer, a smart black hull with a warlike band of yellow along the line of guns, the gun-ports menacing regular squares in black. Lower masts below the tops were well varnished; above the tops, they were painted black, as were the yards, with white tips at their extremities to aid in working aloft in the dark.
Then there was the detailing: scarlet inner bulwarks before the guns, a stout mixture of varnish and tar on the binnacle and belfry and here and there a dash of white. The flutings of the headrails and cheeks saw dark blue to set off the carved scroll-work, and their old-fashioned lion and crown figurehead claimed a handsome gilding of gold-leaf. Kydd himself found the necessary wherewithal to ensure the ornamentation shone around the quarter-galleries and stern-lights.
The men set to with a will to brighten their living quarters; it was amazing how much a frigate’s below-the-waterline mess-deck could be lightened by a lime whitewash on the bulkheads and ship’s side. The petty officers prettified their own messes, each separated by canvas screens decorated lavishly with mermaids and sea battles, their crockery mess-traps stowed neatly in vertical side lockers: in a frigate there was no need to clear for action on a deck with no guns.
Kydd found time to relax in his great cabin, the floor-cloth renewed and the furniture sweet-smelling from the lavender-oil-impregnated beeswax that Tysoe, his valet, had applied to overcome the odour of fumigation. The boys had been industrious in their cleaning and priddying and, at Renzi’s suggestion, Kydd’s intricate showcase secretaire had been picked out in gilt around its French polish and green leather.
The gunroom had come together in noble style to enrich their own sea home. In place of the utilitarian service barrel slung from the forward bulkhead, from which commensal wine was drawn, there was now a beautifully polished elliptical cask made for the purpose and bearing a silver plate with ‘The gunroom, HMS
L’Aurore
, Cape Colony 1806’ engraved in bold flourishes.
An elegant locker had been contrived around the rudder trunking, which now served to conceal the gunroom’s stock of dog-eared newspapers and magazines. Gilbey and Curzon’s time ashore had not been wasted: a pair of remarkably animated watercolours of Table Mountain and the Cape of Good Hope now adorned their quarters.
L’Aurore
came alive again. The rhythm of a comfortable harbour routine set in, of hands to turn to, part of ship in the forenoon and liberty ashore in the afternoon. Kydd saw a fierce pride in his ship.
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