Seaflower (32 page)

'No
- they stay with their ship. They go together.'

'Tom,
mate!' whispered the carpenter's mate, plucking Kydd's sleeve. 'Come an' 'ave a
squiz 'tween-decks.' Wondering at Snead's peculiar air of anxiety, Kydd
followed him down the fore-hatch below.

Chasing
aside seamen at the galley, Snead lifted the access grating to the forward hold
and dropped inside, listening intently in the musty gloom. Satisfied, he hauled
himself out. 'Tell me what y' hears,' he said, his lined grey eyes serious.

Kydd
let himself down. As quartermaster he had the stowage of the hold, but that was
in port or calm waters. Now, in this increasingly boisterous sea, wasn't the
time to be rummaging among the big water barrels or tightly tommed-down stores.
He hunkered down in the cramped space and listened carefully, bracing himself
against the cutter's roll. Nothing at first, but then he heard over the swish
of sea on the outside of the hull an intermittent sibilance as quiet and deadly
as a snake. In time with the roll came a sudden rushing hiss which for a seaman
had only one meaning: 'We've sprung a plank somewhere on th' waterline — takin'
in water fast!'

Snead
looked at him peculiarly. 'Yair, but when I sounds the bilges, ain't any
water!'

'What?
None?' Kydd asked. It was peculiar to a degree — the rushing hiss returned with
every roll, and at this rate the water should be at least a foot deep in the
lower hold.

'Don't
like it, cully,' Snead grumbled. 'What say you 'n' I 'as a word wi' the Cap'n?'

'Heard
o' this happenin' to a cargo o' rice - swells when it's wet, it does,' Merrick
said.

Jarman
stroked his jaw. 'Nothin' stowed below that I knows of like that,' he said
slowly. 'But there's some kind o' - something — that's soaking it up fast
...'

'No
chances. We heave down and get at it from the outside,' Farrell said with
finality. 'I believe Islas Engano will answer.'

Kydd
was relieved. A small cutter like
Seaflower
could easily find an island to beach between tides
and get at the hull planking from the outside, and in this case the sooner the
better. They raised the island late in the afternoon. Because the leak was
getting no worse — in fact, the vessel was still mysteriously dry — they
anchored in its lee to wait out the night. A passing rain-squall spattered and
then deluged the decks. Only the disconsolate lookouts fore and aft remained,
the rest were snug below.

In
the free discipline of a cutter, there would be no 'pipe down hammocks' or
other big-ship ways. And now at anchor was a time when a sailor could relax, no
fear of an 'All the
haaands!’
to send him on deck, no sudden course-change requiring the vessel to tack about
— instead the sewing 'housewife', the gleefulness of dice play, the scrimshaw,
the endless letter ...

Lanthorns
spread a warm golden glow in the crew spaces and the hum of his shipmates'
conversation was a reassuring backdrop to Kydd's thoughts. Renzi's musings
about his future had awakened possibilities that were unsettling. It seemed
that Renzi believed he was destined for something beyond quartermaster
- that could only be master's mate, which required
an Admiralty warrant . ..

He
watched Stirk throw a double trey at the dice with a roar of satisfaction - did
he concern himself with times
unknown? Unforeseeable circumstances? Himself in twenty years? Of course not!
Kydd setded back in his hammock and listened to the drumming of rain on the
deck above, grateful to be dry and warm. The rain eased, then stopped. Kydd
slipped into drowsiness, unperturbed by the noises of his shipmates' pastimes
and merriment, sure of himself and the world he had made his own.

A
soft dawn revealed their island to have a long sandy beach, suitable to heave
down
Seaflower
and get at the leak. Kydd had tried to localise the
sound of inrushing water but, bafflingly, it had died away as they anchored.

The
cutter gently grounded on the sand of the beach and was brought broadside to in
the gentle waves. Snead waited in the longboat while lines were secured to her
mast, taken to a tackle on a sizeable palm ashore and back to the windlass.
Snead only needed to see the waterline region and it took little effort to
achieve the required cant to one side. "Tain't this side,' he called from
the boat, after going the length of the cutter.
Seaflower
was
laboriously refloated and rotated for a survey of the other side — with the
same result. A perfectly sound hull.

'Only
one thing left t' do,' Kydd muttered. They would have to rouse out the entire
contents of the hold to put paid to the mystery, a long and tedious process.
Starting from forward the first of the stores were brought out and laid against
the after end of the crew space. Kydd saw that the men were well positioned in
chain to pass up the provisions, and turned to go.

He
was stopped by an incredulous shout. 'God rot me! Come 'ere, Mr Kydd!' Hurrying
over to the fore hold, Kydd looked down. A seaman was standing and pointing to what
he had found in the close stowage of the hold. It was a substantial-sized cask
with its head knocked in, and in it was the remains of what it had contained —
peas, dried for stowing, a sea of seven hundredweight of hard peas. And as the
ship rolled, the peas had swished from side to side in the smooth barrel,
sounding exactly like the hiss of inrushing water.

They
made good sailing in clear conditions and secured a morning landfall on the
odd-looking island of Alto Velo, off the southernmost point of Hispaniola. 'We
will take the inside passage, I believe, Mr Jarman,' said Farrell, inspecting
the stretches of low, flat land to the north and the peaked dome of Alto Velo
to the south.

The
swell increased as they approached, a peculiar, angled swell that felt uneasy.
Over to the north-west a serried rank of sharp-peaked mountains appeared out of
the bright haze, white-topped and distant. Kydd growled at the helmsman when
the
Seaflower's
topsail fluttered, his eyes flicking astern to check
her wake. It was straight — the ever-reliable trade winds were slowly but
surely backing; it was not the fault of the helmsman. 'Wind's backing,' he
called to Jarman.

'Just
so,' said the sailing master. 'Those mountains, t' weather.' His mouth clamped
tight and he glared generally to windward.

'We
have the current in our favour, Mr Jarman,' Farrell said mildly. 'Sir.'

The
swell angled more and met a south-going counterpart that had
Seaflower
wallowing
in confused jerking in the cross seas. Unfriendly green waves slopped and
bullied on to her decks, sluicing aft to wet Farrell's shoes. They passed
through the passage, the wind backing so far that
Seaflower
had
to strike her square sails entirely. Once through, the predominant westerly
current and north-easterly winds reasserted themselves and the way was clear
for the final run to Jamaica. But for one thing. A brig-of-war. Five miles
ahead across their path, her two masts foreshortening as she altered course
purposefully towards them.

Chapter 12

'Be
damned,' said Merrick, as he came up from below and saw the vessel. The meeting
was most unfortunate: having emerged from the island passage Seaflower was
prevented from going to windward by the lie of the land, and to bear away to
leeward would favour the bigger canvas a brig-sloop could show.

'We
put about an' return, sir?' Jarman asked immediately. There was no dishonour
to fly before a vessel probably carrying half as many guns again as they.

Farrell
turned on him angrily. 'What do you conceive is our duty, sir? To run at the
sight of every strange sail?'

Jarman
grunted. 'Well, we—'

'Clear
for action, Mr Merrick,' Farrell ordered.
Seaflower kept on her course westward towards the
brig and girded for war. All eyes were on their opponent. The brig seemed
nonplussed at Seaflower's aggression and fell off the wind somewhat.

Kydd
took the tiller, feeling the willing restlessness of the craft, and even
through his own anxieties he felt for the lovely cutter and what she must
suffer soon. The enemy brig was longer than they and therefore could array a
greater broadside; being square-rigged with the ability to back sails she was
more manoeuvrable in a clinch.
Seaflower's
chance lay in her speed and nimble handling — much would depend on Kydd's
steadiness at the helm.

A
gun thudded on the brig and a large battle flag unfurled at her mizzen peak.
There would be no preliminaries, they would grapple and fight and the contest
could well be over within the hour. The brig yawed to starboard. This brought
her broadside to bear. It thundered out, but at more than a mile it was a
ragged display, balls skipping wide on each side.

Merrick
grinned. 'Too eager b' half - a green-hide cap'n, I shouldn't wonder.'

'They's
sixes and fours, 'n' we has all sixes!' Stirk said, with satisfaction. Kydd did
not share his confidence: they had six-pounders, but only eight to a side. The
brig resumed an easy close haul, knowing that
Seaflowr
must
close and endure their wrath before she could swing about and bring her. guns
on target.

'Stirk,
be so good as to set your pretty ones to work,' Farrell said, with a grim
smile.

Clambering
over gear to the eyes of the ship, Stirk hunkered down and sighted along the
black iron of his four-pounder chase guns. They were an older pattern and were
not fitted with gunlocks; over the priming he held clear a glowing piece of
match and, when satisfied with his quoin and at the right point in the pitching
motion, his hand went down and they spoke with a ringing crack.

Kydd
stared intently at the brig, but Stirk scrambled over the heel of the bowsprit
to the other chase gun to repeat the exercise while the first was reloaded.
Again the sharp report: gunsmoke temporarily obscured her, but when it cleared
the brig showed in some confusion.

'Don'
know what they wants ter do,' Farthing observed. He was behind Kydd standing
ready if Kydd fell in battle. The brig's square yards were at odds with each
other -it looked like someone had shied away from the balls slamming across her
decks, and had tried to bear away, but then a more experienced hand had
intervened to send her back. It was hard for
Seaflower to have to wait to come up before they
could reply with their own guns.

'Told
yer, it's a right green hand there,' Merrick said, and looked at Farrell.

'Ease
sheets, no need to rush at things,' the Captain said smoothly.
Seaflower slowed, and Stirk kept up his gunplay. The
brig yawed and let go another broadside, but the little cutter's head on
profile was much too narrow a target, and all it achieved was to give Stirk a
broader aiming point.

Seaflower
tacked about to open the range once more. Her own broadside crashed out as she
spun about, a French one not eventuating, as they were in the process of
reloading. Stirk resumed his punishment, taking time to lay his weapon. 'If'n
she had chase guns th' same as we ...' Merrick reflected.

Abrupdy,
the brig loosed a broadside, then turned away before the wind and retired.
Derisive yells erupted in
Seaflower
— the brig's plain stern presented itself as she turned in retreat, the shouts
became an urging to close and finish the vessel with close raking fire.

Kydd
glanced at Farrell, who was studying the brig through his Dollond glass. He
seemed not to hear the crew's jubilation, but then spoke to Jarman. 'She wishes
us to close. She is much the bigger — we keep our distance.' As if to add point
to his words, the brig flew up into the wind and her guns fired, some of the
balls coming uncomfortably close.
Seaflower
took immediate opportunity to slew round and return the compliment in kind.

'If
y' please, sir,' Jarman had the chart, 'I believe she means t' round Cabo Falso
an' head f'r French waters.'