Seaflower (27 page)

The
enemy broadside came. But in ones and twos. Paltry puffs of powder smoke, the
thin crack of four-pounders. And a whole gundeck of cannon staring silently at
them. 'Caught 'em on the hop goin' about!' growled Stirk in disgust.

'They
got the yeller fever an' can't man the guns!' someone shouted. Kydd's mind
raced; this was no explanation for small-calibre guns.

Jarman
smiled. 'She's a Mongseer merchant jack, puttin' on a show,' he said, with
satisfaction. It was a pretence: the open gunports sported only quakers, wooden
imitation guns that could not fire. Her bluff was called. The tiny
Seaflower
had
not run for her life as intended, and had dared to attack. Incredulous shouts
and cheers broke out while the trim cutter closed in exultantly on her prey.

*     
*      *

'Damme
f'r a chuckle-headed ninny, but that was rare done!' Patch said, lowering his cutlass
to finger the quality of the cordage on the deck of their prize. 'Knoo the
exac' time she'd weather th' point, and was there a-waitin',' he continued
admiringly. 'Keeps it to 'imself, he does, an' four hours out we has a fat
prize.' The French sailors sat morosely on the main-hatch while Farrell and the
sailing master inspected below decks.

It
was a matter of small hours to escort the prize back to Port Morant; the talk
was all on the astonishing intelligence their sagacious captain must have had,
and happy anticipation of prize money to claim later.

Farrell
did not appear affected by his fortune. He appeared punctiliously on deck at
appropriate times in the ship's routine, courteous but firm in his dealings
with his ship's company, and considerate and businesslike with Jarman and
Merrick, who stood watches opposite each other.
Seaflower
seemed
to respond with spirit. Square sails set abroad and her prodigious fore-and-aft
canvas bowsed well taut, she slashed purposefully through the royal-blue seas at
a gallop, her deck alive with eager movement.

By
the last dog-watch, deep into the Caribbean, Kydd joined Renzi at his customary
pipe of tobacco on the foredeck, ignoring the occasional spatter of spray. They
sat against the weather cathead, the better to see the gathering sunset astern.
Renzi drew an appreciative puff at his clay pipe and sighed. 'This prime
Virginia is as pleasing to the senses as any I have yet tried.'

Kydd
was knotting a hammock clew. His nimble fingers plied the ivory fid he used for
close work, the intricate net of radiating knittles woven into a pattern that
ostensibly gave a more comfortable spread of tensions, but in reality were a
fine display of sea skills. He had never caught the habit of tobacco, but knew
that it gave Renzi satisfaction, and murmured something appropriate. 'We're
right lucky t' take the barque,' he said. Patch had been considerably mollified
and was now warily respectful of Kydd.

'Just
so,' said Renzi, gazing at the spreading red display astern, 'yet I believe our
captain must be much relieved.'

'Aye,
we could not have taken a real pepperin' from such a one.' Kydd raised his
voice against a sudden burst of laughter from the others enjoying the evening
on deck.

Renzi
smiled. 'A captain of a vessel charged with despatches endangers his vessel at
his peril — but his bold actions may be accounted necessary with shoals under
his lee and the enemy to weather.'

'Doud
says as he's a hellfire jack, an' sent into
Seaflower
for the gettin'
of prizes f'r the Admiral,' Kydd said.

'Possibly
- but a humble cutter? Maid-of-all-work? But did not David prevail over the
disdainful Goliath?'

Kydd
grinned.

'You've
done well for yourself, my friend. Who would have thought it? A quartermaster —
and so quick!'

'Only
a cutter, is all,' Kydd said, but his voice was warm. To direct the conn of a
ship of war was a real achievement for any seaman.

Letting
the fragrance of his tobacco wreathe about him, Renzi mused, 'Tom, have you
given thought to your future?'

Kydd
looked up, surprised. 'Future? Why, it's here in
Seaflower,
o'
course.' He stopped work and stared at the horizon, then turned to Renzi. 'If
you mean, t' better myself, then y' understand, I'm now a quartermaster an' as
high as I c'n go. Any higher needs an Admiralty warrant, an' I don't have the
interest t' get me one.' He had spoken without bitterness. 'Next ship'll be
bigger, an' after that, who knows? Quartermaster o' some ship-o'-the-line will
do me right well.' His broad smile lit up his face as he added, 'Y’ can't work
to wind'ard o' fate, so my feelin' is, be happy with what I have.'

Renzi
persisted, 'Captain Cook was an able seaman to begin with, my friend — and
Admiral Benbow.'

Kydd's
voice softened in respect. 'Aye, but they're great men, an' I
...'

'You
sees, Mr Cole, the boatswain is a mason,' Doggo whispered, looking around
fearfully.

The
midshipman opened his eyes wide and leaned forward the better to hear. It was
hard on young Cole, the only midshipman aboard and no high-spirited friends to
share his lot, but he was a serious-minded lad who wanted to excel in the
King's Service. 'I have a great-uncle a freemason, too,' he said, in a slightly
awed voice.

'Do
yez good ter get the bo'sun an' you like this,' Doggo held two fingers
together, 'an' he'll put in a powerful good word fer you t' the Captain.'

Cole
nodded gravely. 'I see that, but how
...'

'Well,
the masons have this secret sign, wot they use to signal ter each other.' Doggo
looked furtively around the sunlit deck. ‘Like this,' he said, and held up his
open hand to his face, thumb to nose, and the fingers all spread out.

Awkwardly,
Cole imitated him. Doggo pulled his hand down roughly. 'Not now! Someone'll
see. Now, mark what I say, it's terrible important yez do it the right way, or
'e'll think yer mockin' the masons.'

Blinking
in concentration, Cole listened.

'Yez
waggles yer fingers, like so. An' then yer waits, f'r it's the proper thing fer
masons to then pr'tend ter be in a rage — just so's nobody c'n accuse 'em of
being partial to their own kind.' Doggo paused to allow it to be digested. 'An'
then — mark me well, if y' please — yer waits fer the show ter blow over, an'
that's when y' makes yer salute, both hands, all yer fingers at once.'

Later
in the watch, Cole had his chance.

'Where's
that idle jackanapes?' roared the boatswain, from the group of men aft
preparing to send up a fair-weather topgallant sail. ‘Lay aft this instant, y'
lubberly sod.'

Cole
sauntered aft with a confident smile. Merrick drew breath for a terrible blast —
but Cole boldly looked him in the eye and made the first sign.

The
boatswain staggered as if struck. 'God rot m' bones — you bloody dog! Damn your
impertinence! So help me, I
..
.'
Merrick paused for control, the enormity of it all robbing him of breath.

In
the appalled silence the seamen looked at each other with horror and mirth in
equal proportion. Cole saw that this was time for the salute, and bravely
brought up both hands and waggled smartly. The boatswain's eyes bulged and his
hands clawed the empty air. When the explosion came it was very terrible.

Jarman
looked at Kydd speculatively. His cabin was tiny,
there was not really room for two people, but there
was nowhere else to speak in private.

'Kydd,'
he said, and paused, as if reluctant to go on. Kydd waited patiently. 'Kydd,
I'm the sailing master 'n' you're m' quartermaster.' This did not need an
answer. Jarman levelled his gaze. 'What I'm a-sayin' is not f'r other ears.
D'ye know what I mean?'

Kydd
shifted uncomfortably. If Jarman was sounding him out over some spat with
another, he wanted no part of it.

Seeming
to sense his unease Jarman hastened to explain: 'Jus' a precaution, y'
understands, nothin' t' worry of,' he said. 'No harm keepin' an eye t' weather,
like.' Kydd maintained a wary silence.

The
master picked up a book of navigation tables. 'I been to sea since I was a
kitling, an' ended up mate in an Indiaman. I know the sea, ye unnerstands — t'
get to be master o'
Seaflower
I has to be examined by th' Brothers of Trinity
House f'r this rate o' vessel, a tough haul.'

Kydd
wondered where it was all leading. He had no problem with the master's
competence, but then remembered the reserve between him and the Captain. Was
he feeling insecure, needing Kydd's approval? Surely not.

Jarman's
voice dropped. Kydd strained to hear against the hiss of sea against the
outside of the hull. 'It's like this — an' please hear me out. Th' Cap'n — an'
please t' know I mean no disrespect - is a young man, an' did all his time in a
vessel o' size, never in a small 'un. Y' knows that in a big ship ye can make
all the blunders y' like an' there's always someone to bring y' up with a round
turn, but a small hooker . . .'

Kydd
kept his face blank. This might be the first step on the way to a court-martial
for mutiny.

'As
I said, you're my quartermaster, an' directly responsible t' me.'

This
looked grave: was Jarman trying to secure loyalty to himself?

'Consider,
if y’ please. The Cap'n an' me are the only ones aboard that c'n figure our
position, th' bo'sun never learned. Now, I could say as how I'm a mort
disturbed about we bein' carried off b' the fever, but I'd be lying. See, this
is m' first ship as master, an' anything goes awry, then it'll be me t' blame —
I don't see as how I should give best if it comes t' an argyment over the
workings.'

Farrell,
as captain, had a duty to seek the sailing master's advice only, and could
entirely overrule him. Jarman wanted a witness — but what possible use was
Kydd?

'So,
I'd take it kindly if ye could jus' think about if you'd like to learn how to
do the figurin' y'rself.'

Kydd
sat back in disbelief. But he quickly responded: it was a great opportunity,
not the slightest use in his position, but
...
'I'd like it main well, Mr Jarman,' he said, 'but how will I learn?'

Jarman
eased into a smile. 'Don't ye worry — in the merchant service we has no truck
wi' pie-arse-squared an' all that, no time!' He tapped the book of tables.
'It's all there — ye just takes y'r sights an' looks it up. I learned it all in
a short whiles only.'

Farrell
nodded approval when Jarman brought it up at seven bells. 'If you think it
proper, Mr Jarman.' Therefore at noon, on the quarterdeck of
Seaflower
could
be seen the amazing sight of the Captain, the
master, the midshipman and Kydd preparing to take the noon altitude. Midshipman
Cole as usual borrowed Farrell’s gleaming black and brass sextant, while Kydd
gingerly took the worn octant wielded respectfully by Jarman.

Afterwards,
the master, as was his duty, took Cole aside to examine his reckoning and drill
him in the essentials. Kydd hovered to listen. 'Now, every point of half th'
surface of the earth is projected fr'm the centre on to a tangent plane at some
point, call'd its point o' contact — but th' plane o' the equator when projected
fr'm the centre on to a tangent plane itself becomes a straight line .
..'

While
the worried Cole tried to commit the words, Jarman turned to Kydd. 'Now, what
we have there is a great circle. Nobody sails a great circle - we only steer
straight or th' quartermaster-o'-the-watch would be vexed. What we really does
is alter course a mort the same way once in a watch or so, an' that way we c'n
approximate y'r circle.'

There
was more, and unavoidably it needed books: Renzi took an immediate interest.
'To snatch meaning from the celestial orb — to gather intelligence of our
mortal striving from heavenly bodies of unimaginable distance and splendour.
Now that is in pursuit of a philosophy so sublime . . .'

With
Hispaniola to larboard, they took a south-easterly slant across the width of
the Caribbean, the trade winds comfortably abeam and, in accordance with Kydd's
shaky workings shadowing the real ones, raised the island of St Lucia and its
passage through to the open