Kydd stayed on the quarterdeck, looking forward and seeing occasional bursts of spray from the bow shoot up from beneath, soaking men and canvas. He felt for them.

At last the jib was bent on and began jerking up, flapping and banging, and the men made their way back inboard. Sheets were tended and the action was complete.

"Mr Kydd, what was your purpose in setting the large jib?" Houghton called.

Kydd crossed the deck and touched his hat. "The ship gripes, sir. I—"

"Surely you would therefore attend to the trim?"

"Sir, we're fully stored, difficult t' work below," he began, recalling his experiences as a quartermaster's mate and the dangers lurking in a dark hold when the ship was working in a seaway. "This way we c'n cure the griping an' get an edge of speed."

Houghton frowned and looked at the master, who nodded. "Ah, I believe Mr Kydd means t' lift the bows—you'll know the heads'ls are lifting sails, an' at this point o' sailing the large jib will do more of a job in this than our stays'l."

"And the speed?" Houghton wanted to know.

But Kydd could already sense the effects: the hesitation was gone and it felt much like a subtle lengthening of stride. He turned to the mate-of-the-watch. "A cast o' the log, if y' please."

It was only half a knot more, but this was the same as subtracting from their voyage the best part of a hundred miles for every week at sea.

Kydd held back a grin. "And if it comes on t' blow, we let fly, sir."

Houghton gave a curt acknowledgement.

"Does seem t' me she's a sea-kindly ship, if y' know what I mean, sir," Kydd dared.

The wardroom was a quite different place from what it had been a day or so before: officers sat at table for dinner together in the usual way, but now they were in sea-faded, comfortable uniform and there was always one absent on watch. And instead of the stillness of harbour repose, there was the soaring, swooping movement of deep ocean that had everyone finding their sea-legs once more.