Seaflower (31 page)

Longitude
...
The deep respect Jarman accorded
the two chronometers gave Kydd a feeling for what a fearsome thing sea life
must once have been. No sure knowledge of their place in the trackless wastes
of ocean, a starless night, a rocky coast - and it might be sudden death in the
darkness. The gleaming brass and enamel devices were a true miracle of man's
achieving. Now when it became local noon and the sun's altitude was taken, he
knew for a certainty that in Guildford, if he could transport there instantly,
the big old clock overhanging the high street would be solemnly showing four
o'clock in the afternoon.

They
raised the island of St Croix late in the afternoon, a low grassy seaside so
much like parts of Cornwall as to be astonishing. This transformed into the
usual lush rainforests further along, but the helm was put up, and they came to
anchor to seaward of an island to the north-east. 'We approach Christiansted in
the full light o' day,' Farrell said. It was prudent: the Danes were a proud
nation and touchy of their honour. They were neutral, but could throw in their
lot with the Jacobins at any time.

They
lay offshore to seaward, out of sight of the main island and snugged down for
the night. The sunset's golden tendrils faded to a deep blue and then soft
darkness, and without a moon the stars glittered fat and tremulous. After
supper, Kydd and his shipmates repaired to the upper deck with their grog,
making the most of their unaccustomed inactivity. Kydd settled next to Renzi,
who was enjoying a pipe of tobacco, and Stirk sat on the main-hatch.

'Amazin'
that,' Stirk mused. The black, calm sea stretched into impenetrable darkness on
each side, but the slap and chuckle of water around
Seaflower's
cable
was soothing to a sailor. 'Puts me in mind o' Mount's Bay,' Stirk went on. 'Not
as I'd want ter be reminded.'

'Why
so?' someone asked.

Stirk
sat back against the mainmast and ruminated. "Cos o' what happened while I
wuz there,' he said finally.

'What
was that, cuffin?' the voice persisted.

'Well,
mates, if yer wants to know the full story, I warns yer, it's a tough yarn, but
I tell yer, it's as true as y'r mainstay is moused!' Stirk teased.

'Cast
loose yer tongue, matey,' an invisible voice urged.

'Spread
more sail!' another said. Luke scuttled up and squatted under Stirk's feet, agog
to hear the yarn.

‘Right,
I'll fill and stand on,' Stirk agreed. 'When I was a younker, I was in another
trade,' he began.

Kydd
hid a smile.

'Reg'lar
run fr'm
St
Marlow ter Penzance in
brandy.

Had
a shipmate aboard name o' Cornish Jack, liv'd nearby. Now, he was a right
frolicsome cove, always in wi' the ladies. An' he snares a real spruce filly —
Kitty Tresnack she wuz called. Trouble is, she's married, see, to old man
Tresnack 'oo owns a sizeable tin mine. Didn't stop 'em - he'd step off soon as
he knew 'ow, back aboard last minute, 'n' all the time off in the hills wi'
this Kitty.'

Stirk
gave a snort that some might have interpreted as disapproval.

'He
comes back aboard jus' as we're about t' sail, but there's noos. Seems old man
Tresnack goes down wi' a fever 'n' dies real quick. So Cornish Jack can't wait
t' get back 'n' marry Kitty — but when we does make port agen, he finds 'is
intended in clink, arrested fer murder of 'er 'usband!

'They
'as the trial, an' she's found guilty, sentenced ter 'ang. Cornish Jack can't
believe it — 'e sleeps outside the prison walls till the day she's due ter be
choked off. He asks permission to go with 'er to the scaffold. They agrees, an'
on th' day he goes up ter the gallows 'oldin' 'er 'and and when it's time 'e clutches
'er tight. The rope goes around 'er neck, an' she asks 'im, solemn-like,
"You will?" Jack gets uneasy, but says, "I will." She then
goes calm and it's all over fer 'er.'

Stirk
paused for effect, and continued. 'After that, Kitty's ghost wuz seen twice,
three times or more on the road b'tween Penzance an' Hayle, an' Cornish Jack's
a changed man. Goes pale 'n' thin, never laughs — terrible change if y' knew
'im.
At
th' tavern 'e was 'eard ter
say, "She gives me no peace, follers me everywhere." We all knows 'oo
"she" is.

'Just
a year after this, Cornish Jack was back at sea wi' us, an' in the fo'c'sle. He
then finally tells what it was they said on th' gallows. "She made me
swear that on this day, one year more at midnight, I'd marry 'er." See,
not bein' able to get wed in th' flesh, she would in th' spirit.

'An'
that's where it gets right scareful, we bein' in our 'ammocks 'n' jawin'
together, it all goes quiet, like. That's when we 'ear these sharp small steps
on the deckhead, comin' fr'm forrard. He goes white as chalk an' gets th'
trembles. They stops right above where Jack 'as his 'ammock. His face goes mad
wi' terror, but he drops ter th' deck and makes 'is way topsides. We rushes t'
follow - but jus' in time ter see 'im leg it over th' bulwark ter throw 'imself
in th' sea.'

Stirk
took a deep breath and said, in a low voice, 'We catches only a couple o' white
faces in them black waves, so 'elp me, an' then 'e's gone!'

The
long silence following was Stirk's satisfying reward.

From
seaward, Christiansted turned out to be a cosy, settled piece of Denmark in the
Caribbean, all cream-coloured buildings with red roofs, before lofty hills
inland. At the sight of
Seaflower's
ensign a warning gun thumped from Fort Christiansvaern, marked on the chart as
'in want of repair'. Obediently, Seaflower rounded to, let go her anchor
outside the reef and awaited the boat putting off from the town.

The
Danish officer boarded quickly, his glance taking in the clean lines, neatness
and loving detail that only a sailor's pride in his ship could evoke. 'Lojtnant
Holbaek,'
the man said, in crisp
military tones. His-red tasselled blue uniform looked odd on the deck of a
Royal Navy cutter.

Farrell
advanced with outstretched hand. 'Welcome aboard His Majesty's Cutter
Seaflower, er, Loytnant,' he said. Holbaek shook
hands. Turning meaningfully to Jarman, Farrell said loudly, 'Loytnant Holbaek
takes back to Christiansted the best wishes of His Britannic Majesty for
prosperity and peace, and our hopes that the Jacobin upstarts will soon be
swept from the seas.'

'Mange
tak, Kommandor— thenk yo,' Holbaek said, with a clicking of heels. He seemed to
brisde a little under the curious stares of Sea/lower's sailors. 'An' my
packet?'

'Of
course.' Farrell handed over the sealed package, which Holbaek quickly slipped
inside his uniform. The dour officer did not seem inclined to linger, so
Farrell handed him over the side with profuse expressions of regard, and the
boat pushed off. 'Now we shall proceed. Course for Port Royal, Mr Jarman.'

'Crusty
bugger,' was Stiles' judgement. He had been invited in with the petty officers,
notwithstanding that as boatswain's mate his was probably the least popular job
aboard. So far there had been no call on his services with the
cat-o'-nine-tails, a tribute to the sense of harmony that Farrell was
achieving.

The
noon meal was well under way, rum sweet in the glass. The morning exercise at
the after six-pounders had been particularly impressive and the light breeze was
sending
Seaflower
along at a relaxed pace, the seas with barely a
swell or more than a stipple of waves. Doggo poked his head inside the canvas
screen, which by now
had
its full quota of mermaids and Davy Jones painted on it, and announced, 'Might
like ter come topsides — could be a bit of a to-do brewin'.'

On
the horizon to windward a tall pillar of smoke, hazy and pale with distance,
rose straight up. 'Ship afire,' said Doggo blundy, then nodded significantly
aft at the Captain and Merrick in urgent conversation.

Detaching
himself, Farrell called to Kydd, 'Bear up for that fire.'

Kydd
ordered the helm over,
Seaflower
obediently turning towards. It was dead to
windward, in the teeth of the light breeze, and even with
Seaflower's
fore-and-aft
rig she could lie no closer than four points off the wind before the luff of
her sails began shivering and she lost way. The deck fell quiet. It didn't take
much imagination to think of what must be happening in the unknown ship: the
visceral terror at the flames rampaging, the bravery of those on board — then
mortal despair taking hold.

Jarman
reached the deck and quickly took in the scene. Kydd opened his mouth to
comment, but Jarman held up his hand, keenly sensing the wind direction. Kydd
noticed Farrell watching him closely as well. The vessel would know by now that
they had been seen and their hearts would be leaping — but all would depend on
how speedily they could reach the scene. 'A bridle for bowlines on the topsails
may answer, sir,' Jarman said at last, 'an' Kydd will bring her more by th'
head by re-stowing.'

Jarman's
order meant sending a line to the forward part of the square sails to haul them
even more flat to the wind, and shifting provisions and water barrels towards
the bow to deepen the stem to give more bite. Kydd
hastened below, grabbing hands for the task, which
was soon completed. On deck he was joined by Renzi. 'A nice problem,' Renzi
murmured, shielding his eyes to make out the approaching details.

'Aye,'
said Kydd. The ship afire was dead into the wind — how to get to her? To tack
towards, of course, but the problem lay in whether to do short but direct
boards and much tacking about, or long fast boards with few delays in tacking,
but considerable distance to each side of the goal.

Given
the constant of time necessary to go about, Jarman compromised on seven-minute
legs. The breeze was frustratingly light, but even so the disastrous tableau
came gradually closer. Every glass available was on the harrowing scene.

'Has
a sea anchor over th' stern .
..'

'Yair
- keeps 'er poop inter the wind, flames don't reach 'em.'

'See
it blaze at th' main-hatch! Give 'er less'n a dog-watch afore she goes up
altogether
..
.'

Kydd
took a telescope and trained it on the smoky ruin. The flame-shot vessel leaped
into sharp focus. He could almost hear the devilish roar of the fire, the sharp
banging and crackling of timbers in hopeless conflagration. There were dark
figures against the flames, jerking and moving, but the main body were massed
on the as yet untouched after end of the vessel. Kydd swept the telescope along
— it was impossible to say which nationality the ship was, or even what species
it was.

'Get
th' longboat overside,' urged some.
Seaflower
was now only a mile off but the wind was so soft and
light

that
the cutter only made a walking pace through the calm waters.

'Longboat,
stand by for launching,' warned Farrell, ‘but avast lowering, we have to be
closer.'
Seaflower
was still just faster than men could row. The
towering pillar of smoke darkened the whole area, tongues of flame an angry
wild orange against the smoke.

As
Kydd stared at the ruin, the stern fell off the wind — the line to the
sea-anchor had given way. He whipped up the telescope. In sharp detail he saw
the after end of the vessel sag away to leeward and the fire leap up
triumphantly. Dark figures fell into the sea as the flames advanced on the
poop.

The
calm seas around the stern became agitated. Flickers of white in dark flurries
puzzled him for a moment until he understood — survivors in the water were
being taken by sharks. His hands shook as he held the telescope. With a sick
horror he saw the remaining figures on the poop hesitating between being burned
to death or eaten alive by sharks. One by one they toppled into the water or
danced insanely before crumpling into a briefly seen dark mass in the flames.

Seaflowr
curved smoothly into the wind and her longboat
splashed into the water. Kydd watched as it pulled towards the hulk, now no
more than a blackened wreck, a dying ember. The hideous twitching around the
stern was now irregular and the desolate stink of the fire drifted down on
them. The boat reached the still smoking hull and circled around. It returned
with a pitiably burned corpse. 'Weren't none made it, sir,' the bowman said
sofdy. 'We c'n give 'em a Christian burial, like.'