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we’d been held,’ he told us with mounting anger. ‘Caught by privateers in the Channel, we were, and left to starve in a stinking Froggy jail. Three years . . . then there was one o’ them exchanges of prisoners. They get some of ours, we give back some of theirs. ’Bout bloody time too. But soon as we reached the coast, the bastard Royal Navy plucks us from our ship . . .’ By the time he finished his sorry tale he was so angry he could barely speak.
    We did reach Portsmouth that evening. Slowly, we went from Navy ship to Navy ship, gradually emptying our human cargo. There were ten of us left in the hold when Silas and I were called up along with the last of the men. We assembled on deck, shivering in the sunset, surrounded by around twenty marines all pointing their muskets and bayonets directly at us. The Lieutenant came up to address us.
    â€˜Well, my lucky lads – this will be your new home.’ He turned and gestured expansively towards a sleek-looking man-o’-war, which we were fast approaching. ‘This is the frigate
Miranda
– the bravest, deadliest ship in the Navy.’
    I guessed from his speech that he was a serving officer aboard the
Miranda
. Perhaps us ten men remaining on the tender he had judged to be the best of the crop? Iturned to look at the ship, its three tall masts and rigging stark against the fading sky. In size she was perhaps twice the length of the
Franklyn
, and stood taller in the water.
    She looked both elegant and lethal. From what I had been told, I knew that frigates were lightly armed – there was only one gun deck – but they were fast. ‘The greyhounds of the sea’, the
Franklyn
’s crew had called them. I also knew that of all the Navy ships, frigates were the most likely to be involved in action. At that moment I understood that whatever terrors I had been through the previous day with the
Isabelle
would be nothing compared to what I would have to face on the
Miranda
.

Chapter 3

His Majesty’s Ship
Miranda
    As we grew nearer the
Miranda
I began to see her more clearly, and could now make out the ship’s figurehead – a magnificent, bare-shouldered, buxom woman, with flowing white robes and long golden hair. A few dark shapes scurried around on deck. I felt tense and wary, and a painful knot had lodged in my gut. Silas was standing next to me and he spoke softly.
    â€˜I’ve been on one of these, my lad, and a frigate is a dangerous place to be.’
    One of the marines hissed at him to shut up – and pointed his bayonet close to Silas’s stomach. Shortlyafter, we bumped alongside the
Miranda
’s gangway. It was so small only a child could enter without stooping. We were shoved through and on to the gun deck one by one.
    It was chilly outside, but inside the ship there was a clammy warmth, and a sharp tang of tar and creosote. Mixed with this was a rank, stale dishcloth odour that seemed to rise beneath my feet. I sensed it like an animal senses a beast of prey. It was the sort of smell that drifted from the prison in Norwich.
    It was too dark to see much of the gun deck, other than a long row of guns receding into the gloom at either end of the ship. As we stood there, I heard a lone voice singing to a violin.
    Red and rosy were her cheeks,
And yellow was her hair,
And costly were the robes of gold
My Irish girl did wear
.
    We were taken quickly below to the crowded mess deck, where there was no natural light, just one or two lanterns and a stifling fug. Faces turned round in sudden silence to look at us new arrivals. The dim lights cast murky shadows over their features, giving them something of the look of Hallowe’en ghouls. Then we were hustled even further below, to the hold.Here too only a few lanterns lit the way. We were now below the waterline, in the belly of the ship. All around, piled high, were boxes, ropes and barrels. Rancid bilge-water, tar and hemp mingled to make an