Seaflower

‘Publick? We's yer backbone o' the ship, has t' be in on th' noos so we c'n plan things out, like. C'mon, tell us what yer knows!' Doggo's hoarse wheedling brought a grin to Kydd's face.

Renzi leaned forward and said earnesdy, 'This must not get out - it's of the first importance to the future of this ship.'

'We understands, mate,' said Doggo eagerly.

'Ship is under sailing orders!'

'Yeah, we knows that'

'And tonight...' Renzi halted, looking dubious. 'Yeah?'

'Well ... it involves your own good self, you understand.'

'Strike me dead — clap on more sail 'n' get on wi' it!'

'Tonight — but we're so short-handed ...'

Doggo drew a deep breath, but before he could erupt, Renzi ended, '... that you're to lead a press-gang!'

'Press-gang?' Doggo spluttered.

Kydd grinned broadly.

'And Thomas Kydd is to assist him ...'

The grin vanished. It was now years since Kydd had been a victim of the Press; in the frigate Artemis there had been no pressed men in her famous voyage around the world. And since his lucky rescue from the dockyards to Seaflower he had had no contact with pressed men. Now Seaflower had to fall back on impressing hands from wherever she could.

'Where 're we raidin', do y' think?' Doud asked. It was well-nigh impossible to attract good seamen to a King's ship in the Caribbean — there were too many better-paid berths competing; merchant ships commanded good rates to man ships for the Atlantic run, and privateers could rely on the lure of fat prizes.

'Kingston town, I'd wager,' said Doggo, his face alive at the prospect of the entertainment. 'Port Royal’ll be awake up ter the press-gang.'

'I can't do it, Nicholas,' Kydd muttered into his grog, at the noon meal. 'I knows about it, is all,' he finished lamely.

Regarding him steadily Renzi appreciated that Kydd was exploring his feelings and needed to talk. 'So pressing men is an unmitigated evil?' he said coolly.

'I didn't say that,' Kydd retorted.

'Some would say it's nought but slavery.'

'So what's t' do if there's not enough t' man th' Fleet?' Kydd said heatedly. Then he subsided. 'You're turnin' it all around as usual, Nicholas. But you can't argue with me that tearin' a man fr'm his family an' all is a fine thing, dammit!'

Renzi lifted his pot and said, before taking a pull at his grog, 'Then may I hear what it is you propose in its place?'

Kydd's slow smile was his answer, and Renzi grinned back. 'So, we are overborne by logic. It is a disagreeable necessity while we cannot find any other means. Therefore you shall do your duty tonight, as is your bounden obligation.'

At an hour before midnight, Sea/lower's press-gang formed up on the waterfront of Kingston town. 'Do ye mark what I say,' Merrick said. 'Ye knows the rules — no violence. If they tries ter run, tip 'em a settler on th' calabash.' He seemed unperturbed by the contradiction, but nodded at the nervous civilian next to him. 'This 'ere is a sheriff's man come t' see fair play.'

Plans were laid. The Sign of the Mermaid would be their victim, away from the centre of the waterfront, and it was hoped to take hands from a merchant ship carousing after a long, hard voyage across the Atlantic. The boatswain would stand back and allow Doggo, experienced at the press-gang, to lead in when all exits had been covered.

Kydd eased his broad belt with its cutlass. This would only be drawn if things grew ugly, and then there would be an accounting to the shore authorities. The main persuaders the party carried were stretchers from the longboat, the narrow lengths of wood against which the rowers braced their feet.

A brief memory of the Horse and Groom three years ago in Guildford flashed by, when sailors of a press-gang had burst in to change his life for ever. But he had secretly to acknowledge that there was no question as to which life he now wanted.

'So let's get under weigh,' grunted the boatswain, and they padded off at the trot. A few late-night citizens out on the street stared at the sailors, and there were scurries in the shadows.

Without speaking, Merrick indicated their positions outside the well-lit seamen's tavern. From within a riot of noise surged and fell, cackles of laughter and rumbles of conversation showing they were not expected, but the operation would not be easy: this was no gathering of unsuspecting rural lads.

The boatswain winked at Doggo who threw open the door and thrust inside. 'So who's fer a life on the rollin' sea? An' we c'n even save yez the trouble o' payin' yer reckoning!' he grated, into the falling silence. His stretcher tapped slowly in his palm.

A female screech pierced the blue haze: 'The fuckin' press!' There was instant pandemonium. Tables and chairs scattered as men leaped to their feet in their race for freedom. Into the chaos poured the Seaflowers. Kydd, right behind Doggo, sprang after one likely fellow and seized his collar, managing to avoid a wildly swinging fist. The man faced him, glaring and panting.

'Now, cully, y'r taken fair 'n' square—' At this, the man charged, head down. None too gently Kydd tapped him on the head with his stretcher and he fell to all fours. Around them the scrimmage died away: there was no contest between a sober, determined press-gang and their fuddled victims.

Merrick strode into the taproom, looking pleased at the sight of the eight they had secured. 'Well, boys, it's a life in the navy fer youse now. But I'm remindin' yer, y' c'n still enter as a volunteer .. .' One of the eight saw the inevitability of the situation and accepted the offer, but the others threw bitter looks at the Seaflowers and stayed mute.

Kydd's man got to his feet slowly, murder in his eyes. Two Seaflowers began to hand him outside, but at that moment there was a scuffle at the entrance and a dishevelled woman appeared, heavily pregnant, looking around wildly. Two ragamuffin children clutched her skirts, wide-eyed with fear. 'No!' she shrieked, when she saw the man. 'Not m' Billy! You can't — God save us, leave 'im!' She threw herself at the feet of the boatswain, her sobs harsh and piteous.

'Now, then, m'dear, y'r husband's off t' join Seaflower y as fine a man-o'-war as ever swam!' Merrick stuttered, clearly put out by the woman's emotion.

One of the captives pushed forward. 'God rot it, leave jus' Billy Cundy, yer brute, yer has enough.' The two children rushed to Cundy's side and clung to him, crying brokenly.

'Leave us m' Billy — an' look on these innocents! Oh, God, what shall I do?' The woman sobbed into her pinafore and patted her belly meaningfully.

Merrick shifted uncomfortably. 'This is all very distressin', I c'n see that. Perhaps we'll stretch a point in th' case of y'r Billy boy . ..'

'Oh, sir, if yer c'n see yer way clear, the bantlings'll pray fer y'r soul every night .. .'

She tailed off when Doggo and two others descended the stairs with two more prospectives, still in their night attire. 'What cheer, Sally?' Doggo said, with a grin, taking in the scene. He crossed over to her and the woman's eyes widened fearfully. With one hand he seized her wrists, the other he forced up her skirt.

She screamed in outrage — but Doggo withdrew a large cushion, which he flourished aloft. 'Still up ter yer tricks, then, y' saucy tomrig.' Her hands turned to claws as she flew at him, but Doggo held her at arm's length until her struggles subsided.

'Take 'im out,' said Merrick, annoyed at being caught out.

But the mood in the taproom had changed rapidly, from laughter at the deception to a very real anger. Billy Cundy whipped round to the others: "They ain't about t' take Billy Boy wi'out they has a fight — an' if we get took one b' one, it's all over wi' us. Our only chance is a fair fight all together!'

He threw himself at Kydd, and they went down together. The tavern exploded into riot. Lanterns were caught and doused, screams and hoarse curses mixing with the splintering of furniture in the gloom. Kydd landed a punch on the side of Cundy's head, but was enveloped in a beery bear-hug. This allowed his 'wife' to sit astride Kydd's back while she seized his hair and yanked it back agonisingly.

A barrelling body abruptly relieved Kydd of her weight The tears in his eyes clearing, Kydd set about subduing Cundy, but the riotous diversion had attracted others from outside and the press-gang found itself outnumbered. The boatswain's piercing call of 'belay' sounded, urging them to retreat while they could.

Cundy, nose bloody but still full of fight, laughed coarsely in Kydd's face. Kydd saw red. He pulled the man to his feet and hooked him by his torn shirt 'Aye, but ye're with us, cully!' Fending off flying bodies he propelled the man to the door, where two Seaflowers secured his thumbs behind his back with spun-yarn.

The boatswain brought a charging man to a sudden stop with an efficient straight-arm blow and, giving one last look around, left, Kydd and his prize following. Outside, a crowd was gathering, menacing the sailors who looked anxiously at the boatswain. 'Move,' he said harshly. The sheriff's man was nowhere to be seen. Surrounding their victims the Seaflowers bullied them off down the street, screaming women throwing dirt after them while gleeful children ran alongside.

The tumult settled only when they boarded their boat and shoved off. 'Small pickin's fer our troubles,' grumbled one sailor. For all the sore heads and bloody noses there were only three men to show: Cundy, the volunteer and one other, the remainder of their catch lost in the rough-and-tumble. This would hardly count in the need to replace the deserters who had taken the first opportunity to run after the cutter had made port.

'Mates, it ain't over yet, an' I has me spies out,' Doggo said hopefully, but it was a long pull back to Seaflower. In anticipation of a haul of pressed men she had anchored with the Fleet and its regular pinnace rowguard.

'So, you has information,' the boatswain said doubtfully.

'An' reliable,' answered Doggo. 'You'll unnerstan' I has t' sweeten m' man after, like.'

'We will,' said the boatswain shortly. 'Th' Press musters at three bells this forenoon.'

Kydd reserved judgement on the wisdom of a raid in full daylight. They headed off not for Kingston but to Port Royal. Scornful jeers met their landing and taunts followed their progress through the shabby streets. 'Here we is,' Doggo said. With a frown he consulted his paper: his tip-off turned out to be a cooper's yard near the dockyard wall, with the usual two-storey living quarters within.

'This yer information?' said Merrick contemptuously. The Seaflowers were in strength, Doud, Stirk and Stiles ready for anything, but looked ill-at-ease at the risk of being made a laughing stock.

Doggo looked confused, but rallied. 'We'll 'ave prime man-huntin' here, Mr Merrick — me man says as how there'll be nine top hands restin' quietly after a long v'y'ge, an' all unsuspectin' - be sure on it!'

Seamen took up positions and the press-gang entered the yard. Some coopers, knocking down barrels into their constituent staves for better portability at sea, looked up. Doggo pushed through them to the two-storey dwelling and thrust inside, Kydd and the others following close behind. Three women in the front parlour paused in their darning of coarse sea stockings, but there were no men anywhere. The sailors swung out to the stairs on the outside of the house and clattered up, bursting into the first bedroom they found.

'Should ye be wantin' a dose of the yellow fever, ye're welcome,' said a doctor, easing a poultice on to the poor wretch writhing in pain. The sailors whitened and left hurriedly. Gingerly they entered another bedroom, but this one held an old woman rocking in her chair and her daughter at a large cradle.

'Stap me, but you've led us a rare dance, mate,' snarled Merrick to Doggo. The women looked on, quite as if they were used to having their privacy invaded by hard seamen with cudgels and cutlasses. The daughter smiled demurely at Kydd, who blushed.

Even Stirk seemed abashed, his big hands shifting awkwardly. 'Aaah? he said, and crossed to the cradle to pay his respects. The daughter's smile disappeared and the old lady stopped rocking. ‘Aah! Dear liddle diddums.' Stirk stretched to tickle the infant under the chin — then straightened abrupdy. 'Be buggered! An' that's th' biggest baby I seen in m' life!' He wrenched away the covers revealing a lithe lad with all the muscular development to be expected of a first-class topman. The youngster leaped up, only to be collared by a laughing Stirk.

The old woman's race to the stairs was astonishing to see, but in vain, and the daughter had no chance with Kydd. 'Take her,' he told a nearby Seaflower. 'Toby, I got a feelin' the yellow jack next door's goin' to recover a mort sharpish!' There would be no danger for Kydd if he were wrong, for he, of course, had lifelong immunity.

The women darning had broken for the street but had easily been rounded up under the dumbfounded gaze of the coopers in the yard. 'Don't ye give no mind t' us,' Kydd called, as they passed, but Merrick stopped. He turned to face the coopers. They went back reluctantly to work under his gaze, but the boatswain did not move on: his unblinking stare seemed to make the workers nervous. They had finished knocking down the barrels to staves and now should take up tools to shape the raw wood of a cask head, but they shamefacedly tailed off..

'Come along wi' me, then, my little lambs,' the boatswain said.

Captain Kernon could not have been more of a contrast to Seaflower's previous commanders. A grey, cautious lieutenant, he smacked of reliability before initiative. His words to the ship's company on reading his commission were careful and considerate, but were notable more for the 'do nots' than the 'do this'.

Seaflower left Port Royal with her pennant streaming, bound for the Spanish Main across the width of the Caribbean. But, to Renzi's disappointment, it seemed they would not be touching on the vast continent to the south, with its lure of amazing wild creatures and history of blood and conquest. Instead, as Kydd explained, having studied their passage plans with Jarman, they were to reconnoitre Aruba, an island off the mouth of the vast Gulf of Venezuela.

'A Dutch island,' Renzi said, with interest.

'Are they not our friends?' Kydd remembered hazily that the United Provinces had been one of the first to declare an alliance with Britain in the feverish times in the days following the guillotining of the French king.

'I believe not,' Renzi said.

'Ah, so chance o' plunder,' Stirk growled,

'Not as who would say,' Renzi continued. 'If you remember, the French invaded last year and we now must call their country the Batavian Republic'

'So it's French.'

'Again, we cannot say. I saw recently that William the Fifth, who is your Stadtholder of Holland, has crossed the Channel seeking refuge at King George's court. He still rules — or so we must accept. I think it an imprudent commander who makes the assumption that his possessions are for their plundering.'

"They are our allies?' asked Kydd, in disbelief.

'It is safe to say that they are neither our friends nor our enemies. I rather fancy that our enterprise is one of prudent enquiry.'

'Spying,' said Kydd.

'Judicious reconnaissance.'

The ship sailed on, knifing through the slight swell southward, and Kydd felt contentment build. Seaflower seemed to realise this, and lay more snugly to the quartering wind, the hiss of her passage always at the same eager pitch but rising and falling in volume. Kydd sent the helmsman below for an early supper and took the helm himself, letting the recurved tiller press against his hip with the slight weather helm.

Out to starboard a fine sunset promised: he and Renzi would probably sit on the main-hatch gratings and see out the dog-watches in companionable conversation. Muffled laughter eddied up from below as supper was served at the mess tables. The watch on deck sat forward, little to do but spin yarns and watch the night steal in.

Reluctantly, Kydd gave up the tiller to the relief helmsman and murmured the hand-over mantra to the quartermaster's mate relieving him, together with the slate of course details. Luke arrived with a plate of supper and he joined Renzi forward. The golden sunset spread gradually and silently to a vast scarlet spectacle, an unfolding heavenly splendour perfectly unobstructed to the far bounds of the darkling seas. It was not a time for idle talk and the two friends took their victuals in appreciative silence.

When Luke came with their grog pots, Renzi took out his clay pipe and prepared it, letting the fragrance of the smoke drift away until it was whisked into nothing by the higher stream of air above the bulwarks. 'Little enough chance of a prize,' he said idly.

At first Kydd didn't reply. Then he gave a small smile and, still gazing at the copper ball of the sinking sun, said, 'But ye have other things in y' sea life, Nicholas.'

'A sight better than town or country alike, these troubling times.'

'Aye,' said Kydd, his eyes still on the majesty of the sunset 'Nicholas, I've been thinkin' over what y' said before,' he said slowly, 'about betterin' m'self.' He eased himself to a more comfortable position. 'I own that it would be very agreeable t' see m'self in a gunroom as master's mate, an' in course o' time to take m' ticket with Trinity House as sailin' master — is that idle dreamin', do ye think?'

A master in the Royal Navy was as high as it was professionally possible for a seaman to go: he had his own cabin and advised the Captain himself. Kydd was a natural seaman, having the skills and rare combination of moral courage in a decision with an instinctual understanding of the sea. Yet he was only a few years into the sea-service — but that, by fortunate coincidence, in some of the most testing regions of the globe. It would not be impossible. 'Indeed it is not, given the time and opportunity, dear fellow.' Renzi smiled. 'Who knows? This war is spreading like a canker over Europe and its dominions. Soon England will be wanting every man of skill and enterprise to man its fleets. Your course is set fair for the greatest things.'

Kydd's secret smile did not escape Renzi.

'You may find it happens sooner than you expect,' he added.

Shifting uncomfortably, Kydd hesitated, then said, ‘Rattlin' good news from Cecilia, she meetin' this Lady Stanhope an' being rated companion. D'ye think she'll make a good 'un?'

In turn Renzi paused. 'Inasmuch as she values politeness above all things, a quality her brother is only now achieving, yes, she has the vivacity, or we might say the liveliness of wit,, that the position requires . ..' he said drily.

When the smoky blue of Aruba island rose grand and distant in the shimmering sea the next day, Seaflower shortened sail and altered away to stand off and on until night stole in. 'Mr Jarman, I will not risk the vessel by closing on Oranjested,' Kernon announced.

Jarman looked uncomfortable. This was taking caution to the limit: a cutter like Seaflower had reconnaissance as one of its main purposes, and risks had to be taken. The harbour might well have a larger warship ready to put to sea in chase, but this was an acceptable part of their duty.

'I have it in mind to despatch the longboat to oversee the port,' Kernon continued. This was hard on the boat's crew but would reduce the risk to Seaflower. 'I will need a steady hand to command, one with the sea knowledge and the skill to navigate the boat there, and back to the rendezvous.'

Kydd stepped forward and touched his hat. 'Sir, I have m' figurin' an' can do this.'

Kernon said nothing, ignoring Kydd, and continuing to regard Jarman gravely.

'It'll be me who takes th' boat, o' course, sir,' Jarman said calmly. 'You'll have y'r chance in good time, lad -please be s' good as to assist the Captain. Sir, Kydd is a fine quartermaster and knows his charts. I leave him with ye.'

'Thank you, Mr Jarman, I knew I could rely on you. Kydd, please to wait on me presently with the charts. We approach the island at dusk.'

The reality was more perturbing than Kydd had imagined: the sea details to be won from the austere lines of a chart — the bearings, tide sets, implied wind variants inshore - were exercises in imagination compared to the reality on deck: a moonless night, the longboat bobbing alongside being boarded by Jarman and four men, who must push off into the blackness and trust that Seaflower would be in exactly the same position for their return. The quiet faith of others in his powers — this was the true end of his sea learning.

A barricoe of water was passed down: they would be holed up for a day in the craggy hills overlooking the port and would rendezvous the next night. There was little chatter, and when Jarman was ready, he climbed into the boat, settled his hat and ordered, 'Bear off for'ard — give way together.'

The boat slipped into the darkness and out of human ken; Kydd's farewell wave faltered when Jarman did not look back. Seaflower's sheets were taken up and she surged ahead, safely out to sea on a fixed course. At a calculated time, she would reverse her heading and run down the line back to this position - in theory. The wind dying or freshening, and her speed over the ground would be different. An unsuspected current in these heated tropical seas, roiling to the surface at right-angles to their course, would displace her bodily from her intended track — even the shape and strength of waves at different aspects of the hull would result in a deflecting.

Kydd watched intently as the watch prepared to launch the logship. This triangular float would be cast astern with a log-line to measure the ship's speed. Kydd himself held the twenty-eight-second sand-glass, and when the logship had exactly reached its mark he instantly inverted it and stared at it by the small light of a dark-lanthorn. The log-line whipped away from the roller held above his head by a seaman until Kydd saw the last sand grains slipping away. 'Stand by!' he growled. The glass emptied. 'Nip!' he bawled, and the point reached by the log-line was noted. The number of knots tied at equal distance that passed out with the line would give the speed directly. While his crew hauled in the wet log-line, Kydd chalked in the speed on the slate, and set about worrying over the wind direction.

Kernon was cautious, but considerate: he treated Kydd like a master, consulting and discussing, allowing Kydd's concerns but meeting them with his greater experience. The next day wore on, and the evening drew in. Now was the testing time, whether the miracle could take place of a conjuncture in the dark out at sea of the two craft.

In the last of the light as they headed in once more, Kydd yet again took bearings of the headland and single islet that he had selected as his seamarks, additionally using Jarman's octant to determine their angle laterally, fixing their position by triangulation. The geometry was not onerous, but still intimidated Kydd, and he was grateful for Renzi's easy way with the formulae. He was only just beginning to see them not as some kind of machine that took in raw ingredients and out the other end came a neat and finished product; now he could, with Renzi's insights, dimly discern the elegance and fine reasoning behind them.

The moonless night was impenetrable, the soughing breeze and shipboard noises reducing awareness to a narrow circle of perceptions. The boat might be either in their path - or passing blindly by. 'Mr Merrick,' said Kernon, consulting his fob watch. There was fumbling in the gloom and sparks flew in the wind. A red glow and fizzing, then a blinding blue light issued from a wooden tube held aloft by a seaman. The acrid smoke caused Kydd to choke, but the ghostly blue radiance shone out into the night in a goblin splendour, and threw the vast mainsail into a stark, pale relief. The tube spluttered busily and hissed, pouring towers of cloud downwind, each man on deck motionless and bathed in the unearthly light.

'Deck hooo!’ The cry from forward was quickly followed by the challenge, 'Booooat ahoy!' and a faint cry from out in the blackness. Seaflower altered course - and her company was made whole once more.

Their welcome at Port Royal was puzzling: a lowly cutter returning from her servile duties, yet before she had taken up her moorings her number was hung out importantly on the flagship summoning her captain, and a pinnace pulled energetically from the shore.

'Barbados - an' not a moment t' be lost!' the dockyard functionary said with relish. 'Lord 'n' Lady Stanhope an' one other.'

Kydd recognised the name with a start, and before Captain Kernon returned from the flagship, Cecilia was aboard, gazing warily about her, something about her manner repelling Kydd's greeting. .

The boatswain called tersely for Kydd as the senior hand responsible for stowage of the hold. 'Do you consult Miss, er, Cecilia, concernin' the passage o' the noble gennelman,' he ordered.

Cecilia's eyes flashed a warning as she drew herself up. 'That is kind in you, Mr, er, Kydd.'

'This way, Miss,' Kydd mumbled, holding his hat awkwardly, and led the way to the broad midships. 'Cecilia—'

'Thomas, please!' Cecilia hissed. 'I cannot acknowledge you as kin, you must understand that. It were best that we stay at a distance, if you please.' She looked around warily. 'It is not often Fortune smiles on such as we, and I will not allow this opportunity to slip through my fingers.' Kydd smiled bleakly, while Cecilia continued, 'And, besides, you've no need for concern on my behalf. I rather like Lady Stanhope, she's kind and good.' She looked at him with a touch of defiance but more a plea for understanding.

Kydd straightened with a grin. 'Then, Miss Cecilia, we'd better be about y'r master's business.'

His sister was gratifyingly practical. It was urgent that Lord Stanhope reach Barbados as soon as possible to take ship for England on a matter of some high diplomacy, the details of which would be disclosed, no doubt, to Captain Kernon on his return. There was no expectation of special treatment — it was known that Seaflower was a small, but fast, vessel, best suited for the purpose, and Cecilia had personally seen that their baggage would not exceed four sea-chests in all. They themselves would board only when Seaflower was ready.

The wherry with the chests arrived at that instant, and Kydd tasked off three seamen to rig a tackle and sway them aboard. Kernon returned in some degree of distraction, giving immediate orders that his day cabin and bedplace be turned over to his noble passengers, arrangements for others to be put in train in due course.

Seaflower had to be stored for the passage and her extra passengers, and Kydd was hard put to plan the stowage and as well take in private stores required en voyage. A polite message came off from the shore enquiring whether four p.m. would be a convenient time to board. Cecilia's approval of the cabins and Kydd's report on stowage allowed Kernon to send a civil reply.

'A great honour, my lord,' Kernon said, very politely. Lord Frederick Stanhope was a thin man with oddly black eyebrows against his snow-white hair,*and a slight stoop. His eyes were penetrating.

'Thank you, Captain, for accommodating us at such a notice,' Stanhope replied. His voice was soft but clear. His wife looked every inch the grand lady, and Kernon visibly shrank at the duty of greeting her.

'Sir, I will show you to your cabins,' he said, with a bow, but Lady Stanhope cut him off with a flourish of her gloved hand.

'Nonsense. I'm sure Cecilia knows the boat by now, you have much more important work to do. Tempus fugit, Captain?'

Cecilia moved up silently on cue. Kernon took the hint, and without delay the boatswain's mate was pealing his call, 'Haaands to unmoor ship!' Seaflower readied herself for sea. Kydd took position at the conn and heard a last interchange as Cecilia helped Lady Charlotte down the near-vertical ladder below. 'Young lady, I was travelling in boats before you were born — do not fret so!'

Seaflower weighed in late afternoon and, breasting the tide, slipped along the colourful Palisades to the untidy clutter of buildings at the tip, Port Royal and Fort Charles, then gybed for the passage south.

'If'n ye pleases,' the boatswain rumbled, indicating to the interested party emerging on deck that they were to occupy the more spacious midships area. Kydd had used some forethought: a grinning Doud stood by to warn the noble group should the mainsail boom decide to traverse the deck in an untimely fashion.

They emerged into the open sea past reefs and islets, which Jarman took delight in pointing out — Gun Cay, Salt Pond Reef, Drunken Man's Cay, Turtle Heads; all well known hazards to Kydd, who remained alongside the helmsman with a sharp eye. His gaze strayed occasionally to Cecilia, who stood at ease with Lady Stanhope clearly enjoying the experience. Seaflower lifted gently to the broader swells of the Caribbean when Kydd was free to hand over the conn, but it was passing strange to see his sister in such a context.

Jamaica became an anonymous patchwork of green and brown, and Kernon approached Stanhope. 'We strike south first, m' lord. In the central Caribbean we shall not be annoyed by corsairs or privateers. We then alter to th' east, and should make landfall in Barbados in no more than three or four days, for agreeable to your request I shall bend on all sail for a fast passage.'

"Thank you, Captain,' Stanhope answered courteously. 'Now, my wife is wondering would it be convenient if perhaps we supped on deck rather than in the cabin—not that our accommodation is in the least objectionable,' he added hastily.

'Of course, sir,' said Kernon, with a wrinkled forehead. This was not an easy thing to achieve in a lively cutter. 'However, might I take this opportunity to present Petty Officer Renzi, whom I have detailed as your personal aide, and Master Luke who will be your servant'

Renzi stepped forward; the elegance of his small bow incongruous in his plain sea-faded seaman's gear. He did not look at Cecilia. 'My lord,' he said quietly.

Lady Stanhope smiled, then glanced at her husband, who had a preoccupied expression. 'What is it, Frederick?' she asked curiously.

Stanhope's face cleared. 'Nothing, m' dear,' he said lightly.

Under the interested gaze of the watch on deck a table was brought up from the master's cabin to be lashed into place next to the main gratings and both cabins were deprived of chairs so supper could then be spread.

'Could I suggest the veal and ham pie and cold tongue, m' lady?' Cecilia said, standing by, eyeing Luke's efforts with the cloth and cudery doubtfully. 'And the orange custard will not keep, of course.'

'Charlotte?' Lord Stanhope extended an arm to his wife, and politely helped her to her place, which in keeping with other sea-service furniture was compact and neat.

'Oh, Mr Renzi, would you be so good as to open a hock for Lord Stanhope?' said Cecilia, looking at him through her eyelashes.

Lady Charlotte watched the evening sea hiss past from her chair and sighed. 'How wonderful, Frederick, just we two again.' She turned to Cecilia and smiled sweetly. 'My dear Cecilia, on this small boat we simply cannot stand on ceremony - be so good as to join us at supper.'

Blushing, Cecilia took her seat to the side and glared secretly at the grinning Luke.

'A glass with you, my dear,' said Stanhope. She accepted graciously, careful not to look at the waiting Renzi, standing silently in the shadows abreast the fore windlass.

Lady Stanhope leaned forward, her face alive. 'Don't look now, dear girl, but I do believe that you've made a conquest of that handsome sailor at the back of the boat.' Unable to resist, Cecilia snatched a glance — and saw Kydd looking at her along the length of the deck from the helm.

'I - I shall beware, milady,' she stammered.

They made good time, and before noon the next day had shaped course eastwards to Barbados, the trade winds coming comfortably from the beam.

Jarman came on deck with a serious expression. 'Sir, th' glass is dropping - one-eighth inch since Port Royal, an' still going.'

Kernon considered, his brow furrowing. 'The reading now?'

'Twenty-nine an' three-fourths. I'm not happy, sir.'

'But is this not your usual for these waters?' Kernon seemed unwilling to face the implication. 'Lord Stanhope will not look kindly on any delay, Mr Jarman.'

'Sir.'

But Kernon's face was troubled as he returned to his guests. Lady Charlotte and Cecilia thrilled at their leaping passage. They were standing right in the bows gripping a stay, mesmerised by the rush of glittering sea. Lord Stanhope, near the helm, remained preoccupied.

'Should the weather turn out for the worse, we may have to delay, m' lord,' Kernon said, hesitating.

Stanhope turned, but did not speak.

'That is, we face a blow of sorts across our path, which could be .. .'

'You will make the right decision, of course, Captain — bearing in mind the urgency of my mission, which I now feel obliged to point out is of the utmost moment for the safety of England.' As if to underline the point, he drew out his fine watch and consulted it.

'I understand, my lord.' Kernon's grey features set in worry, and he trudged off along the deck.

Within the hour the horizon across their path subtly changed in character. To the low band of silver and dark grey of the familiar rain curtains there was now added a trace of menace - a tingeing of the clouds with tiny, subliminal amounts of copper verdigris. Kydd had seen this before, and reacted at a primal level.

'Sir! We must return t' Port Royal!' Jarman's forceful plea beat at Kernon's resolve while Seaflower plunged on gaily with her sails flat, the taut rigging harping musically. 'We must put about now, sir!'

Anxious looks were now being directed aft by seamen who knew of the animal savagery of sea scourged by giant winds. Kydd stole a look at the helmsman, and was comforted by his stolid performing of duty.

'We put back to Port Royal,' Kemon announced. It was a measure of his worry that he omitted first to consult Stanhope. 'Ease sheets, and we take in the topsail — bear off t' leeward and set course, um, nor' nor' west.' He seemed easier, having made a decision.

Seaflower's speed fell off and the ladies looked aft curiously. 'If you please, ladies,' Kernon called. He explained to the group what had to be done. Lord Stanhope frowned but said nothing, and Cecilia darted a quick look at her brother.

Kydd spoke quietly to Jarman: 'In Trajan we could never outrun a revolvin' storm. We worked out its position, an' then it was tear away in the safest direction f'r us.'

Jarman nodded. 'Aye, but in such a cockleshell we needs to go further. These tropic storms are monsters an' go at such a gallopin' pace — it's not only th' centre we needs to worry about, it's where they're headed. We plots the centre every hour, an' works out a path where it's going, an' hope t' God to outwit the infernal beast.'

The ugly skies loomed frighteningly quickly. The ladies stopped their marvelling and stared soberly at the massing hideousness astern. Fear struck at the sight of what nature was bringing out from its sack of terrors.

On deck seamen secured as best they could. The cutter was dead before the wind and slashed ahead at an insane rate, like a hunted animal trying to flee a carnivore. But the bearing shifted, slowly but surely, about the starboard quarter. A rain-spot spattered the folded chart that Jarman had brought from below. The tiny dots inside circles were their plot of the path of the storm marching across from the east - and curving north. "This is th' worst f'r us,' Jarman murmured. His face had a strange, detached calm that struck a shaft of icy fear through Kydd. "That devil will go between us an' Port Royal. There's no returning there now.'

They struck south, every sail drawing, then south-west into the vague direction of the reef-strewn interior of the western Caribbean, anything to keep from the path of the rampaging monster. By the dog-watches the vast dark roiling masses of cloud had reached overhead and the wind had turned edgy and fitful.

A presentiment forced itself on Kydd's mind, born of his sea knowledge, his increasing empathy with the deep. This was going to be the time when it would claim its price for that understanding, a hard price that he knew might be his life — and then he thought of Cecilia, and felt a hot misery.

'Sir, if you could go below it would ease our worries at this time,' Kernon said, distracted. Lord Stanhope looked about to demur, but Lady Stanhope took him by the arm. 'We are together, Frederick, never forget that. We will see this through with each other, my love.' She kissed him. 'Come! You shall read to me. Captain, any news . . .'

'Of course, my lady.'

They turned away, arm in arm. Cecilia paused for a moment, looking into Kydd's eyes. He felt helpless in the face of emotions that women seemed to meet with such nobility. Her eyes dropped and she went to him, clinging soundlessly for a long time. 'Tell me ... when ...' she said, in a muffled voice. The lump in his throat prevented Kydd answering, but he squeezed her hard. The cutter lurched under a spiteful gust.

'Haaands to shorten sail!' They could not run any more.

'Cec—' He could think of nothing to say, and she pulled herself away and staggered over the deck to the after hatchway; one last long look, and she disappeared below to face whatever unseen madness was in store.

Lifelines rigged fore and aft, square sails struck, lines prepared for trapping, pumps checked — there was not much they could achieve in their little ship. Kydd remembered the violence of a hurricane from the decks of a ship ten times the size. In this they would not survive, but they could meet their fate with courage and dignity.

They lost dead reckoning when the horizon closed about them in a welter of white: from now on they might be anywhere, flying endlessly from nowhere into nothing in the cruel and uncaring storm.

Kydd remembered a true storm being painted by his first sea friend, so long ago: it was seared on his memory. 'Comes a time when yer knows that there's a chance yer might not live — sea jus' tears at the barky like it was an animal, no mercy a-tall.' Bowyer's iron-grey deep-sea mariner's appearance had reassured him then, but now .. .

The moaning wind turned to a banshee ululation, driving spray into Kydd's face with a stinging spite that made it almost impossible to see. Merrick levered himself aft, shouting in the ear of every seaman he could find.

In turn he came to Kydd. It was the closing act. The last remaining scraps of sail would shortly be torn away and with it any control over their fate. Seaflower was going to stream a sea-anchor, this was a drag on a line over the bows that would bring them around, bows to the sheeting chaos, the final move. Kydd's part would be to bring them up into the wind at the right moment, after which his role as quartermaster of Seaflower would no longer have any meaning.

The tiller had relieving tackles seized to its end: Kydd could dimly perceive, crouched on the deck, the hunched bodies of the seamen who must haul on these. Through salt-sore eyes in the screaming wind, he made out the jerking figures of those working in the bows. Seas smashed in, burying them under white torrents.

A hand waved: Kydd sensed the seas then flung his arm at the larboard men. They hauled and fell, staggering and fighting at the tackle, but the bows came round into the blast. The scrap of canvas met the wind end-on and flogged itself to death in an instant, but Seaflower's bow remained headed faithfully into the tempest.

It could not last. At the point when sky and sea were unrecognisable apart, the sea-anchor gave way. Seaflower's bows rose like a frightened horse, then fell away in a sickening wallow, the vessel now free of any constraint.

Kydd was aware that, beside him, Merrick was fumbling: he was casting loose his lashing, his life-line. The boatswain clawed his way forward, a hopeless, heroic thing, for Seaflower, it seemed, was now more under water than above. Nearly to the fo'c'sle he was taken by a wave. Clinging to the side he was mercilessly battered by the waterfall until his grip was broken and he was dragged into the rage of sea. Kydd caught sight of him only once as he sped past, the boatswain's face a frozen rictus of puzzlement as he went to his death.

A numb, unreal feeling crept over Kydd, paradoxically insulating him from the insanity. Intellectually he knew that once the blast caught Seaflower broadside on, she would roll over, perhaps once, twice, then all life in her would be extinguished, all the struggling, all the care, the pity — all would be over. Then a dark lump intruded itself into his vision, clawing across the deck to him. In these last moments left to them he pulled Cecilia to him, her lovely dark hair now plastered across her skull, the dress a torn and useless rag. He felt her trembling violently as he passed his life-line around them both and gulped at the sheer unfairness of it, that such an innocent should suffer a sailor's lonely end.

Seaflower's bow swayed off wind: instantly the blast took her and she staggered, beaten. She began a roll, her high side caught more of the hurricane and the roll increased, faster and faster - Kydd hung from his life-line as the leeward seas rushed to meet them. He turned to Cecilia's upturned face and pantomimed a huge breath. She seemed to understand but then the seas engulfed them both in a roaring, endless finality that was strangely peaceful: they could no longer hear the murderous hurricane.

He felt Cecilia struggle. In the dreamy underwater peace he knew that she was drowning. He bent his head and forced his breath into her mouth, and prepared for his own end — but suddenly he was aware of a whipping, hectoring worry at his skin. They had come upright and the wind was clawing at him once more.

Seaflower now had her stern towards the wind: the roll would return when they passed the midpoint. It was the moment between life and death, a surreal half-way existence that allowed for the sight of the bow surging up at an impossible angle, fleeting dark shapes flicking by, poking above the rushing seas. The tidal surge paused, deposited Seaflower gently among storm-tossed coconut palms, then retreated.

The cutter was held rock solid in the arms of the land.