The past had returned. Smith felt the blisters forming on his hands as he hauled on the rope, dragging the mainsail up to catch the offshore breeze. London lay astern, with its smoke and bustle, hope and despair. The marshes of Essex lay to larboard and the coast of Kent to starboard, with Hazard already lifting her bows to the first of the North Sea rollers.
HazardSmith had nearly forgotten how life at sea would make his soft shore-side muscles ache and how bells, whistles and blows from the bosun’s mates regulated a seaman’s life.
“Move, you lubber!”
“Handsomely, you dirty buggers!”
“You’re moving so slowly I can see the dead lice falling off you! By the living Christ, I’ll make seamen out of you even if I kill you in the attempt!”
Life was one long torment, made harder by the knowl
