Quarterdeck

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A CLOCK TICKED LOUDLY IN THE SILENCE. The three commissioners, experienced sea captains all, stared implacably at the candidate, waiting for his answer.

Acting Lieutenant Thomas Kydd had every reason to feel the terror that froze his bowels: failure at this examination would see him stripped of his temporary rank and returned ingloriously to his old shipmates.

"Er, well, I would—"

"Come, come, sir! An easy enough question—your certificate of service claims sea-time in Artemis, a crack frigate as ever I've seen. You must have seen a flying moor above a dozen times."

It was unfair: here in this august Navy Office board-room he was being asked to describe one of the most risky manoeuvres, dropping anchor at speed and sailing on to the full scope of the cable, then letting go another before falling back on the two anchors. Black Jack Powlett of the Artemis would never have chanced his vessel so, Kydd thought indignantly, then took a deep breath. "Coming boldly up t' the anchorage, I, er, would range both cables out on the gun-deck—veering parties double-banked, o' course—an' at m' furthest on, let go th' best bower. Then—"

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