Author's note: An updated edition of this book has been republished in three books UNDERCOVER - DARK FIRE DATA, CURIOUSERS and STEAM POWER.
It's Christmas and the school's time machine malfunctions, sending us to 1778 CE where we are press-gan...
Too soon, I was jerked awake by a piercing whistle and shouts of, 'ALL HANDS. LARBOARD WATCH ON DECK. ROUSE OUT YOU SLEEPERS. OUT OR DOWN.'
It was very early in the morning and still dark as we fell out of our hammocks. The bosun's mate was kicking the drunks, who had passed out on the deck, and he yelled and pushed until all the pressed men had rolled up and stowed their hammocks and were shivering in a line along the main deck. There were still a few unconscious men who were dragged up the steps to the main deck and half drowned with buckets of water until they staggered to their feet.
I looked around in the early morning light and shivered despite my parka. The ship seemed to be motionless not far from the shoreline in a grey overcast world. The sea was almost flat calm and there was only the faintest breeze from the land. We were standing on a deck between a web of rope and a row boat. It was so long it occupied most of the space between the main mast and the foremast and sitting inside it was a smaller boat.
Further aft, on a raised deck in front of the mizzen mast, two men stood by a large double steering wheel. Above our heads, dozens of sails hung limply from the yards of the three masts. I tried to count the number of ropes supporting the masts and connected to the sails but gave up after a few minutes. How could anyone make sense of that incredible cobweb of lines?
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In the dim pre-dawn light, I could see a fat little man standing in front of a tall desk writing with a quill pen in a large ledger. Standing beside him was a tired looking man wearing a cocked hat and a blue, knee-length coat cut away in the front to reveal patched, dirty white breeches. The hat was a wide brimmed felt hat with the front and the back of the brim folded up to the crown making him look like Napoleon. The patched and faded coat had two vertical rows of dull brass buttons and around his neck was a thin black scarf. Below his knees his legs were covered with white stockings and he wore black shoes with large metal buckles.
'Good morning gentlemen,' he said. 'I hope you all slept well. My name is Lieutenant Shovelle and you are going to join the Royal Navy. Any man who volunteers within the next fortnight will receive the king's shilling but you will all serve King George, volunteer or not. First man. You there. State your name.'
There was a bit of nudging before the man on the end of the line said, 'John Chandler, Zurr.'
The fat man dipped the quill into a bottle of ink, set in a hole in the desk, and scribbled something in his ledger. John Chandler wrote something in the ledger and stepped back into line.
'Next. Your name . . . Stand up man!'
A big youth with a dull vacant stare clambered to his feet, looked around blankly and stared up at the sails billowing limply over our heads.
