Read Online Quarterdeck by Julian Stockwin - Free Book Online
Authors: Julian Stockwin
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Action & Adventure, Sea stories, War & Military, Great Britain, Sailors, Seafaring life, Kydd; Thomas (Fictitious character)
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working of the ship—starboard and larboard watches.
These would in turn be divided into parts-of-ship—the fo’c’sle, 58
Julian Stockwin
maintop, afterguard on the quarterdeck and so on. As offi cer-of-the-watch, Kydd would therefore be certain to meet his men in another guise.
If there was a break in routine, as when a ship came to her anchor or took in sail for a storm, each man had his own particular post of duty, his station. Whether this was up at the main yard fi sting canvas, or veering anchor cable when “hands for mooring ship” was piped, he had to close up at his station or risk the dir-est punishment.
Now, before Tenacious faced the open sea, was the time to establish that the ship’s company was primed and ready for their duty.
“Sir, division ready f’r your inspection,” said Lawes cautiously.
He was an older master’s mate and Kydd suspected that his origins were also from before the mast.
They stepped forward together to the front row. The sailors looked ahead vaguely, but Kydd knew he was under close scrutiny. In the future he could be leading them into the hell of a boarding, the deadly tensions of a night attack in boats—or seeing them spreadeagled on a grating under the lash.
“You, sir, what’s your name?” The grog-blotched skin, rheumy eyes and fl accid ditty bag were a giveaway.
“Isaac Hannaford, s’ please yer, sir.”
“And?”
The man’s eyes shifted uneasily. “Can’t rightly recolleck,” he fi nally answered.
“First o’ starb’d, sir, afterguard,” Lawes said heavily.
“Let’s see y’r clothing, then, Hannaford,” Kydd said. The ditty bag was upended to reveal a forlorn, unclean assortment. “Mr Lawes, what’s in this man’s list?”
“Sir, shirts, two, stockings, four.” Hannaford was an old hand and knew the ropes—but he had sold his clothing for illicit grog.
“Come, now, Hannaford, you’re an old haulbowlings. Can’t
Quarterdeck
59
you see, without kit, you’re not going t’ be much use to the barky?” There was no use waiting for an answer, and he rounded on Lawes. “To see th’ purser for slops, t’ make up his list.” It would be stopped out of his pay; whether that would have any effect was doubtful. “And each Sunday t’ prove his kit to the petty offi cer of his watch.”
As Lawes scrawled in his notebook Kydd passed to the next man. “Thorn, sir.” Kydd nodded and moved on.
He stopped at a fi ne-looking seaman, so tall that he stood stooped under the deckhead. “Haven’t I seen you afore now?
Was it . . . Bacchante, the Med?”
“’Twas, right enough, sir,” the man said, with a surprised smile. “But you was master’s mate then—no, I tell a lie, quartermaster as was. Saw yez step ashore in Venice, I remembers.” At Kydd’s expression he hurried to add, “An’ it’s William Poulden, waist, sir, second o’ larb’d.”
Kydd decided he would see if he could get this good hand changed from the drudgery of being in the waist with the landmen to something more rewarding.
He stopped at a shy-looking youngster with a stye on one eye.
“What’s y’r station for reefi ng at th’ fore?”
“Ah—fore t’ gallant sheets ’n’ clewlines, sir,” the boy said, after some thinking.
“Hmmm.” This was a topman—he should have been quicker to respond. “And mooring ship?”
“T’ attend buoy an’ fi sh tackle,” he said instantly. Kydd knew that the quick reply was a guess. No topman would be left on the fo’c’sle while taking in sail. “Mr Lawes, this man c’n claim his tot only when he knows his stations. And he sees the doctor about his eye.”
The rest of his division seemed capable. He noted the odd character eyeing him warily—but he would see their quality soon enough when he stood his fi rst watch.
60
Julian Stockwin
A distant call sounded from forward, a single long note, the
“still.” The captain was beginning his rounds.
“Straighten up, then! Mr Lawes, see they
These would in turn be divided into parts-of-ship—the fo’c’sle, 58
Julian Stockwin
maintop, afterguard on the quarterdeck and so on. As offi cer-of-the-watch, Kydd would therefore be certain to meet his men in another guise.
If there was a break in routine, as when a ship came to her anchor or took in sail for a storm, each man had his own particular post of duty, his station. Whether this was up at the main yard fi sting canvas, or veering anchor cable when “hands for mooring ship” was piped, he had to close up at his station or risk the dir-est punishment.
Now, before Tenacious faced the open sea, was the time to establish that the ship’s company was primed and ready for their duty.
“Sir, division ready f’r your inspection,” said Lawes cautiously.
He was an older master’s mate and Kydd suspected that his origins were also from before the mast.
They stepped forward together to the front row. The sailors looked ahead vaguely, but Kydd knew he was under close scrutiny. In the future he could be leading them into the hell of a boarding, the deadly tensions of a night attack in boats—or seeing them spreadeagled on a grating under the lash.
“You, sir, what’s your name?” The grog-blotched skin, rheumy eyes and fl accid ditty bag were a giveaway.
“Isaac Hannaford, s’ please yer, sir.”
“And?”
The man’s eyes shifted uneasily. “Can’t rightly recolleck,” he fi nally answered.
“First o’ starb’d, sir, afterguard,” Lawes said heavily.
“Let’s see y’r clothing, then, Hannaford,” Kydd said. The ditty bag was upended to reveal a forlorn, unclean assortment. “Mr Lawes, what’s in this man’s list?”
“Sir, shirts, two, stockings, four.” Hannaford was an old hand and knew the ropes—but he had sold his clothing for illicit grog.
“Come, now, Hannaford, you’re an old haulbowlings. Can’t
Quarterdeck
59
you see, without kit, you’re not going t’ be much use to the barky?” There was no use waiting for an answer, and he rounded on Lawes. “To see th’ purser for slops, t’ make up his list.” It would be stopped out of his pay; whether that would have any effect was doubtful. “And each Sunday t’ prove his kit to the petty offi cer of his watch.”
As Lawes scrawled in his notebook Kydd passed to the next man. “Thorn, sir.” Kydd nodded and moved on.
He stopped at a fi ne-looking seaman, so tall that he stood stooped under the deckhead. “Haven’t I seen you afore now?
Was it . . . Bacchante, the Med?”
“’Twas, right enough, sir,” the man said, with a surprised smile. “But you was master’s mate then—no, I tell a lie, quartermaster as was. Saw yez step ashore in Venice, I remembers.” At Kydd’s expression he hurried to add, “An’ it’s William Poulden, waist, sir, second o’ larb’d.”
Kydd decided he would see if he could get this good hand changed from the drudgery of being in the waist with the landmen to something more rewarding.
He stopped at a shy-looking youngster with a stye on one eye.
“What’s y’r station for reefi ng at th’ fore?”
“Ah—fore t’ gallant sheets ’n’ clewlines, sir,” the boy said, after some thinking.
“Hmmm.” This was a topman—he should have been quicker to respond. “And mooring ship?”
“T’ attend buoy an’ fi sh tackle,” he said instantly. Kydd knew that the quick reply was a guess. No topman would be left on the fo’c’sle while taking in sail. “Mr Lawes, this man c’n claim his tot only when he knows his stations. And he sees the doctor about his eye.”
The rest of his division seemed capable. He noted the odd character eyeing him warily—but he would see their quality soon enough when he stood his fi rst watch.
60
Julian Stockwin
A distant call sounded from forward, a single long note, the
“still.” The captain was beginning his rounds.
“Straighten up, then! Mr Lawes, see they
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