Seaflower (5 page)

Kydd
on one side and Carby on the other clapped on the bunt jigger, and brought the
clews over each side of the mast in a neat 'pig's-ear'. Then they passed plaited
bunt gaskets to finish the beautifully even stow. The captain of the maintop
let them work on without orders — Kydd's fine seamanship was now instinctive.

Finally
at rest, Trajan slowly turned to her anchor to face the warm, gentle breeze,
which was all that remained of the ceaseless trade-winds of the open sea they
had enjoyed over nearly the whole breadth of the Atlantic. Here, the waves were
tiny, only enough to sparkle the sea, but a swell drove in to the beach in
huge, indolent waves, a potent memento of a faraway storm.

A
lazy heat descended on the motionless vessel. The boats were swayed out from
their sea-stowed position on the skid-beams in the waist, and one by one they
were placed in the water. An indefinable warm fragrance came on the winds from
the shore — dusty earth, unfamiliar vegetation and a tropical sweetness.

The
first away was the Captain's barge with Captain Bomford and the first
lieutenant looking uncomfortable in their dress uniforms. The next was the
longboat, its sturdy bluff bow pushing the water aside as it made its way
shoreward. It would be returning with naval stores too valuable to be left to
the local lighters even now putting off from the inner harbour.

Moodily,
Kydd watched the boats lose themselves among the throng of other watercraft
beetling among the many anchored vessels and the shore. He could see enough of
the land's details to feel frustrated: he wanted to know what a Caribbean
island looked like.

Trajan
creaked in sequence as a swell
passed down her length, accompanied by a lethargic rhythm of clacks and
slatting from aloft as blocks and ropes ratded against the masts with the
movement.

'Haaands
to store ship!' Kydd's duty as
quartermaster's mate required his presence. He took one last reluctant look at
the shore. Already lighters were putting off from the distant quay with water,
big leaguer casks in rows. He watched, astonished, as just two men fended off,
then began manipulating mighty pole-like oars — all of fifty feet long - to
bring out one of the heavy lighters.

To
get at the hold, it was necessary to open the main-hatch on each deck, one
under the other. At the orlop the decking was taken up, revealing the noisome
darkness of the hold, now made light by the strengthening sun coming down
through the hatches. Kydd dropped down to the top of the stores. The empty
casks had to be cleared away to allow the full ones to lower down into the
ground tier, safely nesded *bung-up and bilge free' in shingle ballast. The
stench was thick and potent — the shingle had absorbed bilge water and the
stink roiled up as it was disturbed. In the heat it was hard to take, and Kydd
felt a guilty pang as he scrambled above. Clear of the hold, he wrote his
reckoning on his slate.

'All
the haaaands! Clear lower deck ahooy’ Hands lay aft!' The boatswain's mates
sounded distantly above.

Kydd
cursed — this was not the time to be stopping work. 'Secure!' he growled, at
the questioning faces of his work party below.

The
Captain had returned unexpectedly and now waited patiently at the break of the
poop, flanked by his officers.

'Still!'
roared the master-at-arms. Conversations faded and the sound of shuffling feet
quickly died away.

Captain
Bomford stepped forward to the rail. 'Trajans, I have asked you here to tell
you the news.' There was silence at his words. 'Our duty to the convoy is
done.' This was met with stony looks — the slow progress of the convoy across
the Atlantic had been tedious.

'Now
we are released for our true work.' He let the words sink into the silence. 'We
shall now sail for the French island of Guadeloupe. You will be happy to hear
that His Majesty's arms have met with great success in the West Indies. We are
taking the French islands from them, one by one, Martinique, St Lucia, and now
Guadeloupe. We sail immediately. On arrival, all hands should be prepared for
shore service. However, I do not anticipate much opposition.'

Trajan
and the 3 2-gun frigate Wessex sailed
unopposed into the sheltered arms of Grande Baie, Guadeloupe. The sleepy island
was oddly shaped: to larboard a bulking, rounded beast of land, to starboard a
low, rumpled coastline stretching away, the two forming an inward curve. Where
they met, the land dipped to a flat joining place.

Sun-splashed
and deeply green, the land seemed all that Kydd expected of an isle in the
Caribbean. There were no wharves and shanty towns that he could see, just
verdancy and, here and there, the golden lines of beaches. The heady scent of
land on the brisk wind entered his nostrils, immediate and exciting.

The
anchor dropped and cable rumbled out. Motion ceased on the Trajan, but Wessex continued
on. Inshore, from a small, squat coral-stone fort, Kydd saw white puffs appear
close to the water's edge. The puny guns seemed to have no effect on the ship,
which glided on. Kydd wondered how he would feel if positions were reversed.
Here was the equivalent of an entire artillery battery of the heaviest guns of
the army coming to punish the little fort.

There
was no more gunsmoke from the fort. Kydd guessed that the gunners were fleeing
the menace closing in. But there was no time to watch. He was in charge of one
party of fifteen seamen under Lieutenant Calley and a master's mate he didn't
know, and they would shortly board one of the boats for the shore.

The
sudden crash of a broadside echoed around the bay -
Wessex
had opened fire. The smoke blew down on them quickly
in the lively breeze, hiding the frigate, but the effects of the tempest of
shot on the silent fort were clear. Heavy balls had torn up the ground, sending
huge clods of earth and rock fragments skyward. Tropical trees had fallen as if
slapped down, and a haze of dust had materialised.

A
storm of cheering went up, and the men tumbled willingly into the boats. Kydd
and his party were assigned the forward part of the longboat, and he pushed
between the rowers to the bow, his cutlass scabbard catching awkwardly. He saw
Renzi board at the last minute; he could not catch his eye at this distance,
and wondered what he was doing - he was not a member of Kydd's party.

He
looked back along the boat to the rest of his men boarding. His heart raced,
but whether this was at the thought of meeting the enemy or anxiety at having
his powers of leadership tested in such an alien arena he could not be sure.
The men seemed in good heart, joking and relaxed; comforting in their sturdy
sea ways.

The
boat shoved off, Kydd at the tiller. Bows swung obediently shoreward, bringing
the seas smacking solidly on to the bluff bow, soaking him. These seas would
make landing difficult — and if there were enemy waiting for them
...

The
smash of another broadside drew his attention.
Wessex
was concentrating her guns on the coast where the
boats were headed, and it would take a brave man to stand at the focus of such
terrifying, rampaging power.

Kydd
looked back. Other boats were converging together, bobbing and surging in the
boisterous seas. A deep-laden pinnace stopped, and turned head-to-sea. Rainbow
sheets of water flew over the side. He searched the seashore immediately ahead
but could not see any beach, just endless vegetation coming down to the
foreshore and dark reddish-brown coral at the water's edge. The heartening roar
of the frigate's guns ceased, and the ship lay offshore under backed topsails.
There was nothing more she could do for them.

Trajan's
large cutter approached the landing place to lead
the others. It carried marines. Close in now, it did not appear to be under
fire but seemed to hesitate at the last minute. It dipped and rolled in the
energetic seas, then turned to pass along the shoreline to find a better
landing place. In a flash, the boat was seized by the riotous waves and thrown
over in a tangle of oars and red uniforms. Yells of fear and despair carried
across the water.

Other
boats came on. Some followed the example of the lighter pinnace, which
stretched out manfully to ground noisily on the dead coral in a surfing rush.
Its men scrambled out, but before half had made it, the boat slewed broadside
to the waves and also overturned.

The
more sea-wise cast an anchor when still off the landing place, and with bows
firmly held seawards, veered rope until they were in the shallows. The disadvantage
was that men dropped into feet of water and stumbled, soaked and bruised, long
yards to the shore. Kydd had the sense to deploy his men in a chain to the
tide-line, passing over their heads muskets and the small kegs of powder.

There
was still no sign of opposition ashore. Military shouts sounded in the glades
where the sailors were grouping.

'My
crew, t' me!' Kydd called brusquely. He mustered them carefully. Two missing.
Should he tell someone to find them? The man might get lost; best to count on
what he had. Curious glances came from those waiting for him to show indecision
or worse. Responsibility was hard. What was Renzi doing in his party? He
frowned and turned to him. 'Why are you—' he began.

'I
was bored.'

Kydd
took a deep breath. This was no time to be enigmatic. 'Then
...'

'I
am, for the nonce, a bona fide member of your excellent party,' Renzi said.

'An'
ready t' take my orders?' Kydd retorted, then regretted his tone, but
stubbornness kept him glowering.

'But,
of course, my dear fellow.'

One
of the missing men arrived, grinning foolishly and showing obvious signs of the
bottle.

'Tom,
L'tenant Calley wants y'r report,' said Luke, who had managed to get ashore as
messenger. His wide eyes gazed trustfully at Kydd.

'Thanks,
younker' Kydd said, and looked around for Calley.

‘Kydd,
sir, mustered complete,' he reported. If Renzi was so eager to be in his party,
he could make up the numbers.

'Very
good, Kydd. Be ready to advance in one hour — you will take flank.' Calley
looked distracted. Flank was some sort of tent or blanket for the officers,
Kydd assumed. 'We will storm Gozier Fort,' said Calley quickly. "The one
attacked by
Wessex’  
he
added impatiently, seeing Kydd's expression. He turned to an anxious
midshipman, effectively dismissing Kydd.

As
far as Kydd could see, they would be assisting the marines in the assault, a
useful mass of armed men coming in from behind. They would carry the familiar
weapons of the boarding party, pistols and either a cutlass or a tomahawk with
its blade and useful spike. It would be just like carrying an enemy vessel by
boarding, no marching up and down like the army seemed to do. He brightened at
the familiar focus.

Trajans
ahoy!' Calley's voice blared. 'We go to meet the enemy - to the fore, advance!'

Three
distinct lines of men began to move into the light, wooded land, the red coats
of the marines visible ahead. The columns diverged and, wending their way
through the undergrowth, the lead men disappeared from view.

Away
from the sea breeze, the warmth turned to heat, sending up the smell of steamy
vegetation. The path was well beaten now, and they plodded on steadily.

The
man behind Kydd suddenly gave a cry and dropped his musket. It went off with a
muffled report, suffusing the ground with gunsmoke. He danced about, waving his
arms frantically. Kydd stood rooted in astonishment. Then he saw a large hairy
black spider with glittering eyes clinging to the man's lower arm. Suddenly it
scuttled over his body, the man fell to the ground and the spider leaped off
then disappeared. Shame-faced and trembling, the man rose as Calley arrived in
a lather of indignation.

The
first sign of resistance appeared with a tiny white puff arising from the
undergrowth ahead and the tap of a musket sounding faintly. Kydd's mouth dried.
This might be the enemy returning after the sea bombardment, angry and
resentful — in their thousands. He gripped his musket nervously and slogged on,
knowing that the eyes of his party behind - including Renzi  - were on
him.

'First
section will attempt an enfilade.' Kydd had not noticed Calley return. 'That's
you, Kydd,' he snapped, taking off his cocked hat to wipe his streaming
forehead. His cotton stockings were streaked now with soft green and his blue
coat hung loose. 'Sir—' began Kydd.