Inferno

Chapter 19

Word finally came. Maid, followed by Aileen, slipped to sea and made Tobermory under all sail. They found a discreet mooring and waited for the cloak of night.

Meares was nervous and fidgeted as the boats were brought up to the quay. ‘I’m saying as how this is a load of coffins bound for Iona,’ he confided. The engine was well concealed under a canvas shroud but there was no hiding its great weight as the dockside crane took the strain. ‘That one will need the other boat,’ he muttered, indicating the remaining cargo. It was a small but extraordinarily heavy item, which caused Aileen to sink nearly a foot and McFadden to swear in alarm.

Meares turned to Kydd. ‘I’d be obliged if we could be gone, Mr Paine.’

‘Directly. But you are addressing the wrong man. It’s Mr Stirk who’s in charge of this enterprise.’

In the safety of the open sea the principals of the company crowded into Maid’s little cuddy for a conference. It was brief and led to a unanimous conclusion: there was nothing to be gained by procrastination. The good weather was likely to hold for a day or two more, but in these waters it could easily take a turn for the worse.

Nowhere was free from prying eyes for trials of the equipment that anyone could think of – except the Armada wreck itself.

During the remaining hours of darkness they kept to the open sea to the south, and when dawn finally came they set course for Tiree.

The dark cave and the patch of sea before it had a repellent, cold feel. Kydd wondered if they were being given warning that trespass on the subsea kingdom would not be forgiven.

There were grave expressions and Kydd saw he wasn’t the only one with qualms.

‘Um, sir, how should we …?’ muttered Stirk, drawing him aside.

‘I’m a bystander only, Toby,’ Kydd answered quietly. ‘I can have no part in this.’

‘I – I read th’ writings, but … but what do we first?’

‘I’m sorry, but you’re in charge. You’ll have to-’

‘Bugger it, Tom! Don’t top it the gent wi’ me now – I’m askin’, mate!’

Kydd grimaced. By insisting on keeping his distance he was pushing his old friend into public humiliation or worse. There was no lack of courage in Stirk’s stout-hearted character, but Kydd as an officer was trained in the cool analysis of a situation to its elements and the devising of a course of action to meet it.

He gave a friendly pat on Stirk’s shoulder. ‘You’re in charge, Toby, sure enough – but if I were you, I’d set a kedge and stream killicks out to each side, then rig a stayed traveller and purchase between, so …’

In an hour they were ready. The two boats lay thirty feet apart with shared hoisting gear and were held in place by anchors spread to the four quarters.

The huge bulk of the barrel lay along the deck of Maid ready for swaying out into the cold green depths. Its copper staying bands and glass eyes flashed in the sun and the varnish of the new timbering shone gaily. To its underside was now clamped the massive black-painted long lead weight that had been the other load.

‘We’ll dip th’ beast in, see if it leaks,’ Stirk decided.

All hatches and stopcocks were closed, according to the list. Then, with curt seamanlike orders, he had it suspended at the right angle and began lowering.

‘I make no warranty, Mr Paine. None at all,’ Meares said, his hands wringing. ‘We filled it with water overnight to test it, but in the sea, well, it might be different, is all.’

The barrel touched the sea but as it was lowered deeper it twisted and writhed, refusing to go further, heaving and bobbing half submerged.

In despair Stirk turned to Kydd in appeal. ‘It don’t want to,’ he croaked.

‘And neither should it, Toby. There’s nobody aboard. Should you weigh it down heavier with something?’

A body’s weight of anything that could be found was stuffed inside and it was lowered again – this time to sink obediently below the waves. Every eye followed it until the diminished shape faded from view in the depths with nothing left to tell of its existence but the taut ropes plunging straight down.

In silence it was raised again, the squeal of the block sheaves startling in the quiet, until its glistening bulk broke surface.

Meares pressed forward gingerly and worked the stopcock. A runnel of water dribbled out, then ceased. It had not leaked. Hatches were opened and the barrel was cleared. There was now every reason for the first dive to take place. All turned to Stirk.

He paused, then threw back his shoulders and marched to the main hatch as if to his execution. At the opening he hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder, then to the heaving water. For a long moment he stared out, his face working.

‘Can’t do it!’ he burst out, in a hoarse cry, looking round with a face of blind horror. ‘Not in there, f ’r Chrissakes. I can’t!’

Shocked, the waiting crew drew back, confused.

Kydd felt for the man but tried to encourage him. ‘Toby, you have to. It’s your duty.’

Stirk stared at him wildly.

Kydd realised he must have a horror of confined spaces – and there would be nothing more calculated to bring him to the edge of madness than to be hammered shut into an underwater coffin. ‘Don’t worry, Toby. It’s really your job to be in charge, not go diving. We’ll ask Laddie to go down and get the gold. Right?’

‘S-sorry, Mr Paine. It’s m’ arm, like. Been gripin’ me an’ it wouldn’t be right if ’n I couldn’t haul in the cobbs, leaving ’em all lying there, like.’

‘Jeb?’ The younger man shook his head mutely, his face chalky white.

Kydd turned finally to Meares. ‘So it looks as if-’

‘Not me! On my life, not me!’

‘But if it’s not you, then-’

‘It’s your share.’ He gulped. ‘Supply the boats – and that means crew as well! One o’ you goes down!’