SeaToast

Chapter I

Thelow thud of a court-martial gun echoed over Portsmouth in the calm early-summermorning, the grim sound telling the world of the naval drama about to takeplace. Its ominous portent also stilled the conversation on the fore lower-deckof the old receiving ship lying further into the harbour. There, Thomas Kydd'spigtail was being reclubbed by his closest friend and shipmate, Nicholas Renzi.

'Iwish in m' bowels it were you,' Kydd said, in a low voice. He was dressed inodd-fitting but clean seaman's gear. Like Renzi, he was a shipwrecked marinerand his clothes were borrowed. A court-martial would try the sole survivingofficer, and Kydd, who had been on watch at the helm at the time, was aprincipal witness.

Therewas a muffled hail at the fore hatchway. Kydd made a hasty farewell, andclattered up the broad ladder to muster at the ship's side. The larboard cutterbobbed alongside to embark the apprehensive witnesses. In the curious way ofthe Navy, Kydd joined diffidently with the petty officers, even though with thedeath of his ship his acting rate had been removed and therefore he was borneon the books of the receiving ship as an able seaman. His testimony, however,would be given as a petty officer, his rate at the time.

Thepleasant boat trip to the dockyard was not appreciated by Kydd, who gulped atthe thought of crusty, gold-laced admirals and captains glaring at him as he gavehis evidence, which might well be challenged by other hostile officers.

Infact recently it had not in any way been a pleasant time for Kydd and Renzi.Their return as shipwrecked sailors to the land of their birth had been metwith virtual imprisonment in a receiving ship; at a time of increasingly solemnnews from the war it was a grave problem for the authorities how to announce