Seaflower

Chapter 16

In stupefied immobility, Kydd waited the long night not daring to slacken his life-line or loosen his grip on Cecilia. The winds howled unceasing, the fabric of the vessel trembled and shuddered, but Seaflower was immovably high and dry among the palm trees, which whipped furiously in the outer darkness.

A wild dawn crept in. With it came a true appreciation of what had happened. The improving visibility showed them a good two or three hundred yards inland, quite upright, held there by the densely growing palms of some unknown island. Their small size had enabled them to surf over the offshore reefs and be carried safely ashore: a deeper hulled vessel would have grounded and been smashed to flinders. Seaflower had brought them through safe and sound. Tears pricked at Kydd.

Cecilia stirred. Her eyes opened and he saw to his astonishment that she had been sleeping. He didn't trust himself to speak, but Cecilia said something - he bent to hear against the dismal moan of the wind. "Thomas, please don't think to speak of this to Mama, she does worry so.'

They laughed and cried together in the emotion of the moment, and Kydd loosened the cruel bite of the life-line. The fore hatchway opened, a head popped out to look around, and untidy bundles around the deck began to stir. Kydd moved his limbs and stared out at the ruinous scene. Where was Renzi? A wild fluctuation of feeling was replaced by overwhelming relief when his friend's features came into frame at the after hatchway.

'"And doomed to death - though fated not to die!” Renzi said, with great feeling.

Cecilia got to her feet, futilely trying to smooth her torn dress in the still blustery winds. 'Pray excuse me, gentlemen, I fear I'm not fit to be seen in polite company.' She smiled at Renzi and lowered herself awkwardly down the hatch.

Movement was now general about the stranded cutter. Kernon appeared, and Jarman. There was an attempt to reach the sodden ground beneath by rope, and after an exchange of shouts, Kernon was lowered by a tackle, followed by Snead and his bag of tools.

Renzi stretched and groaned. 'Immured in those infernal regions, waiting for - anything. This I will not relive ever again — I would rather it were ended by my jumping overboard than endure that once more.'

While the gale moderated to strong winds Seaflower came to life. An absurd and out-of-kilter existence, but life. Her company assembled on the ground, among the ragged, tossing palms. They looked up to the naked bulk of their ship and gave heartfelt thanksgiving for their deliverance. Then blessed naval discipline enfolded them. The first act was a muster of all hands - remarkably few souls lost, but a number had tried to drink themselves into oblivion. Then the vessel was stabilised with shores: there was no shortage of palm trunks lying flattened and splintered, ideal for the task.

Lord Stanhope had suffered a fall in the storm and now lay injured, tended by Lady Stanhope. Other unfortunates had broken bones, cracked ribs, but they were young: the noble lord, in his seventies, was facing an uncertain future.

Initial scouting had established that the island was an undistinguished, lumpy specimen of some indeterminate miles around and, as far as it was possible to tell, uninhabited. Springs of water had been found, and goat droppings promised fresh meat.

Immediate dangers over, it was time to take stock. 'Your best estimate of where we are, Mr Jarman?' Kernon asked.

'Sir, both chronometers did not survive th' storm.' This was bad news: latitude was easy enough to determine, given a sighting of the sun, but longitude was another matter. 'And I do not carry tables o' the kind that I c'n work a lunar.'

'I see,' said Kernon. It was fundamental to the strategics of their plight that they knew their position, and his frown deepened.

Jarman took a deep breath. 'As far as I c'n judge, an' this is before a good observation o' the sun, we are t' the south 'n' west o' Jamaica, distance I cannot know.' He paused, then continued, 'There are no islands in th' central Caribbean, but many in the west. The path o' the hurricanoe was from th' nor' east, but you will know their path often curves north - or not. Sir, this is my best estimate, south an' west o' Jamaica.'

Kernon contemplated it for a moment, then turned to Snead. 'The ship?'

'Nothin' that can't let 'er swim, but we ain't a-goin' to see that wi'out help.' He pointed at the two hundred yards of dry land down to the sea. 'Anythin' the size of a frigate c'n tow us off, but fer now . ..'

In the rude shelter where he lay, Stanhope stifled a cry of pain. 'Desire Renzi to attend me, if you would, my dear,' he whispered. His wife knew better than to object. When they returned he said firmly, 'Charlotte, I wish to speak to Mr Renzi alone.'

Stanhope looked up at Renzi with the ghost of a smile. 'We have met, I believe,' he said, in stronger tones, 'in — different circumstances, as I recall.'

Renzi did not recall, but there was no point in denying it. It was the merest chance that brought together a foremast hand and a peer of the realm, but it had happened.

'Your father is no friend to the government, as you must agree, but I have always believed his son to be made of straighter grain.' His smile faded and he winced at the pain. 'You will have your reasons for decamping from your situation, I have no doubt—'

'They seem sufficiently persuasive to me, my lord.'

'It would be my honour to be privy to them.'

It was an impertinence, but Stanhope's penetrating eyes held his unblinkingly — this was no idle enquiry. Renzi felt that deeper matters hung on his reply. Concisely, and with the least possible detail, he spoke of the moral decision leading to his period of exile.

Stanhope heard him out in respectful silence. 'Thank you, Renzi. My supposition was not in error.' He paused, clearly recruiting his strength for a higher purpose. 'I shall respect your position completely, and with all discretion — and may I express my deepest sense of your action.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

'It serves to reassure me of what I am about to do.' He bit his lip, levered himself up to his elbows and looked directly at Renzi. 'It is of the first importance -the very first, I say, for me to reach England. The reason is that I have intelligence of certain actions planned by the Spaniards to do us a great mischief immediately war is declared.'

'War!'

'Of course. It is planned to move against us once certain matters are in hand, but you can be assured that war is imminent.' Renzi's mind raced — Spanish possessions ringed the Caribbean and a whole continent to the south, and he could think of a hundred mischiefs possible against unsuspecting islands.

'I have no despatches, it is too dangerous.' He looked soberly at Renzi. 'I am not sanguine as to my personal survival, and it is a heavy concern to me that my intelligence die with me.'

Renzi said nothing, but feared what would come.

'I must now make all particulars known to you — under the strictest confidence that you can conceive, Renzi.'

'Yes, my lord.' A loathing of dissimulation made him unfit for the role of intelligence, Renzi knew, but there was little he could do to avoid this duty.

'It may happen that I am able to reach England - Deo volente - but if not, then I do require that you make known your intelligence to Mr Congalton at the Foreign Office by any means you can contrive.'

'I will.'

He coughed once and lay back. 'Every day lost racks at my soul. What are our chances of an early return to civilisation, do you think?'

'Sir, this is something for Captain Kernon to disclose, but I should not be hopeful of a speedy resolution.'

Stanhope groaned, whether in frustration or pain it was difficult to know. 'Nevertheless, do you please attend. Now, the essence of this Spanish plot is .. .'

Satisfied with his immediate steps in the situation, Kernon strode across the clearing to Lord Stanhope's shelter, to see Renzi emerging. 'Is Lord Stanhope at liberty to see me?' he asked.

'I do believe he will be more than happy to do so, sir,' said Renzi, 'but you will be aware that he is considerably out of countenance owing to his indisposition.'

Kernon entered, removing his hat. 'Sir, do you wish a report on our situation?'

'Thank you.'

'I have good news,' Kernon began. 'We have found two springs of water and there are goats on the island. We shall neither starve nor suffer want of water. In large, this amounts to an inconvenience only, my lord.'

'But our chances of rescue, Captain?'

'Equally good, I'm happy to say. The master believes us to be somewhere in the south-western Caribbean. This means that we are on the sailing route taken by the logwood traders of Campeche and also the hide droghers of Honduras. It is only a matter of time before we are sighted and Port Royal alerted of our plight. In any event at this moment I have no doubt they are combing the seas for you. Our vessel is unharmed and we have only to wait'

Tor how long, sir?'

Kernon considered. 'I am confident that within a very few weeks we shall be found — a month or two at the most.'

'Damnation!' The vigour of his response brought a flinch at the pain. 'Captain, I have every reason to desire an early return, you must believe. Can we not use the boat?'

Kernon looked shocked. 'I do not recommend such a course of action at all, my lord. The hazards are many, and here we may comfortably await our rescue without risk.'

'What hazards?'

'Why, sir, where would we go without we know where we are? If we sail north in the expectation that Jamaica is there and miss it, we face a hard trip to Cuba. If to the north-east we may fetch up against San Domingo and a French prison—'

'Yes, yes, but it is possible?'

'But most inadvisable.'

'Captain Kernon, I want you to understand that I must make the attempt.' 'My lord—'

'Prepare the boat, sir, I will not be denied.' 'If you insist.' 'I do.'

'You will need seamen to navigate. I shall myself command—'

'You must remain with your ship. And so must your only other officer. Is there no other who can figure a course?' The effort was draining his strength, he grew pale.

'There may be,' Kernon said reluctantly, and passed the word for Seaflower’s quartermaster. When Kydd appeared, he said, 'I cannot order you to do this, Kydd, but are you able to undertake to navigate in a boat voyage to the nearest inhabited place, as determined by Mr Jarman?'

'I am, sir,' Kydd replied seriously.

The decision taken, it was short work to manhandle the longboat to the sandy foreshore. The seas were still up, but would almost certainly be navigable in the morning. The longboat was eighteen feet in length and could carry fourteen men with its eight oars. On the sand it seemed large and commodious enough, but Kydd knew that launched into the vastness of the sea it would magically shrink.

It would be rigged for sailing, a common practice for wide harbours and brisk winds, sloop-rigged with a single mast and runner backstays, but with an extensible bowsprit that would allow it to hoist the two headsails of a cutter.

As seamen padded down with the equipment and began erecting masts, tightening shrouds and shipping rudders, Kydd looked thoughtfully at his first 'command'. At the very least he would heed navigating gear. Jarman and he had held conclave for a long time, reasoning finally that the safest assurance of a civilised landfall was to the south-east, the coast of the continent of South America, a guaranteed unbroken land-mass across their path that had a scattering of Spanish settlements continuously along it. Renzi had been unusually positive that in his opinion the Spaniards had not opened hostilities, and that the high status of their passenger would compel immediate assistance.

A boat-compass would suffice to keep a straight track, but Jarman pressed his cherished octant on Kydd. 'Ye could be grateful t' run a latitude down,' he said. 'You'll be able t' return it when y'r done.'

Stores for a voyage of up to a week were found. Renzi came down the beach with a small package. 'We need food for the spirit as well,' he said, packing it up under a convenient thwart.

'You're coming?' Kydd said, with pleasure.

'And why not? To leave you to enjoy the wonders of the new continent while I remain idle? This is asking too much.'

Kydd grinned, suspecting that Renzi's motives came at least in part from the knowledge that Kydd would need a watch-keeping relief at the tiller. Doud had volunteered to work the sails, and could always sleep between activity, but there would be no rest for the man at the helm. More than that, he knew he would be thankful for real intelligence and cool thought to assist him if it came to decisions that might mean life or death.

'Could we perhaps contrive an awning for Lord Stanhope? We can take our rest sitting athwart,' Renzi suggested. The beam of the longboat was nearly six feet, and with sails as padding they could lie quite comfortably braced around the sides of the boat.

At first light Kydd was down at the longboat, checking every line and fitting. The awning sewn during the night was tried and declared a success, as was the sliding stretcher hanging below the thwarts.

It was time. Kernon and Lady Stanhope accompanied Lord Stanhope down to the boat, their faces set and grave. Cecilia followed with last-minute comforts for the men, while Stirk carried the heavy water barricoes himself.

'My darling .. .' Charlotte bent to her husband and whispered to him while others averted their eyes.

Stanhope's reply was sad but resolute. 'No, my dearest, grant me this only, that of all things I will have the confidence that you are safe from harm. I must go alone and, with God's grace, we shall prevail.'

Her hands squeezed his — then let go.

'We must put you aboard now, my lord,' said Kernon, sounding choked.

The boat was drawn up at the water's edge. The tumbling seas looked colder and more inimical, and glances seaward showed that Kydd was not alone in his feelings. Stirk came up, shuffling his feet in uncharacteristic awkwardness. 'Y'ere a chuckle-headed sawney as ever I saw, Tom, but I honours yez for it,' he said, in a low voice. 'Keep lucky, cock, an' we'll step off on a spree some time ...'

It seemed that the whole ship's company of Seaflower was gathered as Lord Stanhope was placed tenderly in his stretcher. His wife stood motionless, her stricken eyes fixed on her husband.

Cecilia pushed forward. 'I shall go with him,' she declared firmly. 'He needs care. Kindly wait while I fetch a few necessaries.'

'It's - that's impossible, Miss Cecilia,' said Kernon, scandalised.

'Nonsense! I will accompany his lordship — you know that I must, if he is to be of use to any on whatever mission this is that requires so much urgency.'

Lady Charlotte clasped Cecilia and began softly, 'My dear ...'

Impatient, Cecilia told her quietly, 'I know we are in the very best hands, Lady Stanhope, do not concern yourself any further on our behalf. We will be quite safe.' She hesitated a moment, then said gently, 'You see, Kydd is my brother Thomas, Lady Stanhope ...'

Arrangements concluded, stout hands were applied to the gunwales and the boat entered the still white-dashed waters, rearing and bobbing. Cecilia was handed aboard, Doud heaved himself into the bows and Kydd and Renzi took their places aft.

A signal to Doud had the foresail soaring up the stay and while Kydd setded in the sternsheets with the tiller, Renzi cautiously showed main canvas to the brisk wind. A lurch to leeward and the boat started seaward, a bumpy, swooping scurry until they crossed the outer breakers, then the sea winds took hold and they lay to the blow, heading for the open sea.

Kydd thought only then to look astern, to see the dots of people lining the diminishing shore, the scattered waving, the forlorn bulk of Seaflower in the midst of the battered palms. He held up his hand in farewell and saw a flutter of kerchiefs in return, then turned forward, his face hardening in resolution.

Cecilia was doing something for Lord Stanhope, and Renzi was busy tying off on the lines. Doud stepped carefully around them. At his approach Kydd steeled himself for bad news, but Doud grinned down at him from a midship thwart, hanging on to one of the shrouds. He gave an exulting whoop, and began singing,

'Farewell and adieu, to you, Spanish ladies!

Farewell and adieu, you ladies of Spain;

For we've orders for England, you bold-eyed and lovely

But we know in a short time we'll see you again!'

To Cecilia's evident delight all the sailors took up the refrain:

'We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors;

We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt seas;

Until we strike soundings in the Channel of England,

From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues.'

At noon Cecilia, by unspoken concession, took charge of provisions, and each in the boat received a ship's biscuit surmounted by cold tongue and a pickle. The wine was recorked after a splash of Bordeaux flavoured the water ration agreeably, and a morsel of seed-cake completed their noon meal.

An overcast sky still prevented a noon sighting, but a steady south-easterly course was not hard to sustain, and with the winds coming more abeam they made good speed. Towards evening the sea had moderated, the sun finally emerged and the wearisome jerking motion settled to a regular swelling surge.

Cecilia made Lord Stanhope as comfortable as was possible and the boat sailed on into the night. The seamen aboard, used to regular watches, had no difficulty in falling in with the rhythm, but a pale dawn revealed a hollow-eyed, plank-sore Cecilia.

Without a word, Renzi reached for the awning. He loosened its end, lifted it up and secured each corner to an opposite shroud. 'Milady's toilette,' he murmured, and clambered aft followed by a suddenly understanding Doud.

'Sir, you are too kind,' Cecilia croaked and, without meeting anyone's eye, vanished behind the improvised screen; the plash of water showed that she was making good use of her privacy.

Later in the morning a cultured cough from amidships drew Cecilia to Lord Stanhope. 'Should you be so good as to tighten these bandages? I am certain I may sit, which would give me the greatest satisfaction since it has always been my practice to look the world in the eye.'

At noon, to Kydd's gratification, the sun was bright and beneficent. He took a sighting carefully and, after due consultation with the tables, he turned to the chart with Renzi. 'Here, somewhere along this line o' latitude, that's where we are of a surety, Nicholas.'

Cecilia could not contain her curiosity. She crowded into the sternsheets with them, her eyes searching eagerly for meaning in the chart. 'Pray where are we, Tom? You are so clever, it looks a perfect conundrum to me.'

'Well, sis, we are somewhere here,' he said, with a sweep of his hand across the chart along the known line of latitude.

'Oh,' she said.

Kydd added, 'If only we'd a longitude, we c'd tell exactly where we was.'

'Yes we must not be accounted lost,' added Renzi. 'We have but to extend our south-easterly heading and we shall be quite certain to end our voyage on the coast of South America.'

Cecilia looked at him with round eyes. 'Are the natives fierce there?' she asked fearfully.

'I rather think they have been tamed by the Spaniards by now? dear lady,' Renzi replied.

The low, rambling coastline of the continent emerged out of the haze of noon the next day, sending the seamen feverishly to their chart, but it would be no easy fix, and they closed the coastline with some trepidation.

'My lord, you see that we have made landfall at an unknown point,' Renzi explained, 'and, should we be too far east, we will encounter the Dutch ...'

'Wi'out our longitude, sir, we cannot know,' Kydd added.

Cecilia was in no doubt. 'Yes, you can, and very easily!'

The men looked at her incredulously.

'So simple. You go *and ask where we are — from one of your natives.'

It was simple. The boat kissed the sand of the unknown land on a small rock-strewn beach, raw red cliffs leading up to a profusion of greenery alive with the noise of animals and birds. Cecilia and Lord Stanhope were helped out, staggering around at the change of sensation.

'And where, then, will we find an accommodating native of these parts?'

Renzi's answer came.from further up the beach, in the form of a barking dog belonging to a figure standing watching them.

'I shall speak with him,' said Lord Stanhope.

Kydd waved and hailed with a foretopsail-yard-ahoy bellow. 'Hoay — ahoooy there!' The man approached. As he moved a small boy hiding behind him became apparent, dressed almost as a miniature of himself, with a wide straw hat and a gaily coloured poncho.

Cecilia was entranced. 'I do believe he has never seen the English before.' His dark brown weathered features were a mask of uncertainty. The man's black eyes flicked from the boat to the two well-built seamen and then to Cecilia, the little boy clinging fearfully to his cloak.

'Buenos dias, senor.' The eyes swivelled to Lord Stanhope. 'Por favour puede informarnos donde nos encontramos. ..' The others waited impatiently while the exchange continued, at one point the man pointing along the line of foreshore to the right.

'Ah, that settles it,' said Stanhope. 'We are within Spanish territory, and Cuerda Grande lies just four milliaria beyond . . .'

The two sailors dived for the chart. "There!' exclaimed Kydd, his finger jabbing victoriously at the spot. The others came over, agog to hear the news. 'Hmm, quite a way further east than I thought,' said Kydd. 'See, this is Barranquilla, an' here we have your Hollanders,' he added, indicating islands not so very far away.

'Perhaps this man can say if war is declared,' Cecilia asked.

'He has no knowledge of any war,' Stanhope replied, 'but, then, I doubt he knows of much beyond his village - I cannot take the risk. We must confer, gentlemen.'

The men clustered around the chart; Cecilia sat down on a rock and luxuriously splashed her feet in the clear sea.

'Kindly show me the essentials of our position, if you please.'

'Aye, m' lord. Here we are, near half-way along th' Caribbean coast o' South America. Port Royal is here,' he indicated to the north-west of the chart, 'an' Barbados here to the east.'

'And how far to return to Port Royal?'

'In the longboat, m' lord?'

'If necessary.'

'Hmmm, this is not less'n five hundred miles, but with the nor'east trades a-beam . .. about three, four days.'

Stanhope was thoughtful. Renzi looked up with an apologetic smile. 'I will earn Cecilia's eternal loathing, but duty obliges me to point out that we are perhaps six days from Barbados if we continue, but if we return to Port Royal the vessel we take there must necessarily retrace our course, meaning a total time of around twelve days, even a fortnight. This—'

'We press on, I believe.'

'Yes, my lord. Might I suggest her brother be the one to inform Cecilia ... ?'

A jabbering from the little boy to his warily curious father brought attention back to the man. 'If we have coins, perhaps we can persuade him of some fruits,' Renzi suggested.

Cecilia was delighted with what was brought - not only fruits but corn bread, dried strips of meat and four eggs. 'We shall dine right royally before we face that odious sea again,' she vowed, and set Renzi to building a fire, claiming the boat baler as her cooking pot.

Kydd saw braiding in the sand along the beach and knew at that spot there would be water — the two barricoes would be full when they left, more than enough for a six-day voyage. As Cecilia's soup laid its irresistible fragrance on the air, he bent his mind to the job in hand. 'Nicholas, we need t' clear the Dutch islands, an' as well keep away fr'm the coast shipping. Do ye think we should run down the 14-degrees line o' latitude to the Wind'ard Islands?'

'I do, dear fellow, but I worry that we are sadly at risk if we cannot fix our longitude for the Barbadoes after passing through the islands. Should we ignorantly sail past, into the empty Atlantic .. .'

'Aye, you're in the right of it, m' friend, but I have an idea.' Kydd assembled his thoughts carefully. 'Do we not now have, at this moment, complete and certain knowledge of our position — our longitude, in fine?'

'Yes?'

'And when we sail, this is lost. But what if we conjure our own chronometer? Do y’ ask Lord Stanhope if we c'n borrow his fine watch. I take m' noon sighting right here in th' usual way, when the sun tells us it's exactly midday.' Kydd paused significantly. 'This is then our noon at this longitude, which we do know. An' if I am not mistaken in m' reasoning - I pray humbly I am not — then we know fr'm this the exac' time we are here ahead o' Greenwich noon.'

'At the rate of one hour for every fifteen degrees — you are, of course, completely right’

'So we subtract this time an' set th' watch to our Greenwich noon, and by this we have a chronometer — an' fr'm now on, the difference between our local noon and this watch gives out y'r exac' longitude.'

Renzi, who had seen it coming, nevertheless joined in the general applause. 'You are indeed in the character of a magician, right enough.' No matter that the watch was a poor substitute for the precision of a real chronometer, it would nevertheless put them well within sighting distance of their goal — and if it did that, then it was all they could desire.

Apart from some far-distant flecks of white there was no indication that they were crossing a major sea highway. In a world with privateers and pirates no ship would be inclined to indulge their curiosity and they sailed on unmolested into the empty seas of the central Caribbean.

Routine set in — the scrupulously doled-out rations, the morning square-away that Kydd insisted on, Doud's never-failing evening songs. And, most crucial, the noon sight. It seemed a fragile thing indeed to entrust their lives to a ticking watch. A frail artefact of man in the midst of effortless domination by nature, yet in itself a token of the precious intelligence that could make man the master of nature. It was the first thing to be stowed safely beneath the thwarts when the rain came down.

Thick, hammering, tropical rain. Tied to the tiller for hours at a time, unable to go to shelter, Kydd endured. The rain teemed down on his bowed head, his body, his entire being. The incessant heavy drops became a bruising torture after a while, and it took real courage to keep to his post. The others crouched together under the slacked-off awning, just the regular appearance of a hand sending a bright sheet of water from the baler over the side from under the lumpy canvas.

It was trying afterwards as well: from being comprehensively soaked to a brazen sun warming rapidly. The result was a clammy stickiness that had clothing tugging at the skin in a maddening clinging heaviness. Cecilia's appearance from under the old sail showed that she had not escaped. Patches of damp had her distracted, plucking at her sun-faded dress and trying to smooth her draggled hair; she was in no mood for conversation with the men.

Mile succeeded mile in a near-invisible wake that was a perfect straight line astern. The dying swell of the storm petered out into a flat royal-blue immensity of water, prettily textured by myriad dark ripples from the warm and pleasant breeze. Then the sun asserted itself — there was real bite in the endless sunshine now, a heat that was impossible to escape.

But on the fourth day a milestone was reached: the meridian of 65 west. It was time to leave their eternal easterly progression and shape their course to pass through the Windward Islands chain and direct to Barbados. The empty sea looked exactly the same, but the filigreed hands of the watch mysteriously said that not only had they passed the Dutch islands safely astern but that the several island passages that were the entrance to the Caribbean Sea were now only a couple of hundred miles ahead, say no more than a day of sailing.

'Huzzah!' cried Cecilia, and Doud stood tall on a thwart and sang of England and sweethearts to the uncaring sea and sky. They had adequate water; the food was now a monotonous hard tack soaked in water tinged with wine, cheese of an heroic hardness and a precious hoard of treats — dried meat strips cut into infinitely small pieces to suck for minutes a time, dainty cubes of seed-cake and, for really special occasions, one preserved fig between two, with a whole one for the helmsman of the watch.

The boat lapsed into a silence; rapt expressions betrayed minds leaping ahead to another, more congenial plane of existence. The clean fragrance of fresh linen in a real bed. Surcease for body and spirit. What would be the first thing to do after stepping ashore?

And then the wind fell. From a breeze to a zephyr, from that to a playful soft wafting around the compass, and then nothing. The longboat ceased any kind of motion. The sails hung lifeless with only an occasional dying twitch, and the heat closed in, blasting up from the limitless watery plain, a hard, blinding force that could be felt behind closed eyes. The awning seemed to trap a suffocating humidity beneath it, but the alternative was to suffer both the unremitting glare reflected from the pond-like sea, and the ferocious heat from a near-vertical sun.

Time slowed to an insupportable tedium. Rooted to their places on hard wood for an infinity of time, the slap and trickle of water the only sound, the choking heat their only reality, it was a trial of sanity. Doud lay in the V of the bow, staring fixedly ahead. Stanhope sat under the awning against the mast, with Renzi opposite. Cecilia lay in the curve of the lower part of the boat, and Kydd still sat at the motionless tiller, his mind replaying a quite different nightmare — the shrieking darkness of Cape Horn.

The baler was passed from hand to hand, a scoop of seawater poured over the head gave momentary relief, but the sticky salt remaining only added to the misery. Water, precious water, it was no longer a given thing. Life — or death - was in the two hot wooden casks in the bottom of the boat, and when they were broached, eyes followed every move of the person drinking their tiny ration of tepid, rank fluid.

'I fear we have a contrary current,' Kydd croaked, after the painful duty of the noon sight. 'Only a half-knot or one, but...' Nobody spoke, the idea of being carried back into the Caribbean a thought too cruel to face.

As the afternoon wore on, water in its every guise crept into the brain, tricked itself into every thought, tantalised and tempted in a way that could only call for wonder at the creativity of a tortured mind. Still the implacable sun glared down on them, sending thoughts fluttering at the prison bars of reality, desperate for any escape from the torment. Time ground on, then astonishingly the sun was on the wane — a languorous sunset began, full of pink-tinted golds and ultramarine sea. And still no wind.

Renzi crawled over to a thwart and drew out of his package a small book. 'My friends,' he began, but his voice was hoarse and unnatural, and he had to clear his throat. 'We are at some hazard, I'll grant, but... these words may put you in mind of another place, another time, what we may yet...

'"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,

And all the air a solemn stillness holds . .."'

'Oh, Nicholas, Nicholas!' Cecilia wept. She moved to Renzi, and hugged his arm while the measured, burnished phrases went on until Renzi could no longer see the text.

Night fell. They lolled back and gazed at the vast starry heavens as they drifted in perfect calm beneath. But bodies were now a mass of suffering from the aches of unyielding hardness everywhere and the sight for them held no beauty.

The night progressed, the moon travelled half the sky and still no wind. Then in the early hours an inconsequential puff from nowhere had the sails slatting busily. Kydd heaved himself up from the bottom of the boat where he had been lying and looked across the ebony black sea, glittering with moonlight. A roughening of texture in the glassy sea away in the distance had his heart hammering. It approached, flaws and ripples in a darting flurry that came nearer and nearer. Kydd held the tiller in a death grip, fearful with anticipation, and suddenly they were enveloped in a brisk breeze that sent the longboat heeling, then in a joyful chuckling of water they were under way again.

Croaking cheers broke out - but the breeze dropped, their speed fell away .. . and then the wind picked up even stronger than before in a glorious thrusting urge. The winds held into the morning; with a steady breeze from the north-east, the heat was under control. Eagerly, the midday ceremony with octant and watch was anticipated with little patience, for Kydd took the utmost pains to ensure his workings were unassailable.

Finally he looked up from the frayed chart. 'I’m grieved t' say it, but I was wrong,' he said, but the staring eyes that looked back at him made him regret his black humour. 'That is, th' current, it wasn't as bad as I thought. In fact...' he paused dramatically and pointed '... there — there you will find St Lucia distant but twenty leagues, and there, that is St Vincent. We pass between them and to Barbados beyond.'

It was incredibly elating to be making plans for landfall within the next day. 'Can we stop at an island for water on the way?' Stanhope said. His voice was croaking with dehydration.

'No,' said Kydd decisively. 'We don't know if the French are still in control — after what we've suffered, I don' want us t' end in a Frog prison.'

Cecilia lifted a barricoe and shook it. 'We don't have much left,' she said. Her voice was husky and low, her skin dry and cracked.

'We don't stop,' Kydd said, concentrating ahead. His own voice had a harsh cast.

For a long time there was nothing said, then Lord Stanhope murmured, 'I could insist . . .'

Kydd gripped the tiller. 'No. Y'r not th' Captain. If y’ needs water then you c'n have my share.'

"That won't be necessary,' Lord Stanhope croaked, 'but thank you, Mr Kydd, that was nobly said.'

'We don't stop.'

'No.'

The passage between the two islands was more than twenty-five miles; at their height-of-eye they would probably not even see them. Kydd concentrated on the boat compass, the card swimming lazily under the lubber's line. He had to be certain of his course for if he steered true Barbados lay just eighty-odd miles beyond in the Atlantic, less than a day away.

'When we gets t' Barbados, th' thing I'd like best—'

Before Doud's thought could be finished there was a sickening crunch and a crazy rearing. The longboat came to a sudden halt, sending all hands sprawling and the mast splintering in two. Then the boat slid backwards crazily and into deep water again. The sea was as innocent as it was possible to be, but inches under water, and therefore invisible, a projection of reef not on the chart had been lying in wait. The boat lay in disorder, and Kydd saw clear water in the bottom. 'Clear away th' raffle, Nicholas - we're takin' in water,' he said thickly.

Without being told Cecilia added her weight to the heaving and bundling, her face set and worried, her dress riding up unnoticed. Doud was in the foresheets, bending over again and again and, in silent agony, nursing an injured arm.

It was as bad as Kydd had feared. The very bottom of the boat had taken the full force of the impact and was stove in. By a miracle the worst affected plank was still hanging by a thread, but the crystal clear water of the Caribbean was gouting in. Their survival would now be measured in minutes unless something could be done. Kydd's mind raced. If they stuffed the holes with clothing it would reduce the flow — but at the almost certain risk of the plank giving way and bringing on a final unstoppable rush of water.

'Nicholas, unbend the mains'l, we have t' fother.' They would try to check the inrush by passing the sail around the outside of the boat 'Rest o' ye, bale f'r your lives!'

His fingers scrabbling at the ropes and flaccid canvas Kydd tried to think. Judging by the merest suggestion of misty grey to the north-west they were no closer than a dozen miles from St Lucia. The wreckage of the boat might sink under the weight of its fittings or remain a waterlogged hulk; either way there was no salvation for them.

The mainsail was won from its rigging by sheer brute insistence and sailors' knives, and Kydd staggered with it to the bow. Somehow the unwieldy mass had to be passed under with a rope each side — that required two men - but as well it had to be hauled away aft.

'Which rope?' Lord Stanhope said tersely, stumbling towards them.

'M' lord — if Y’ please,' Kydd said, and handed him one. Cecilia insisted on the opposite one, freeing Kydd and Renzi to ease the sail foot by foot down the outside length of the boat The water was half-way to the knees, unnerving and making the boat wallow frighteningly.

'Bale!' bawled Kydd, and with anything they could find they furiously threw the water overside. There was no telling whether they had a chance and Kydd fell to his work in a frenzy of desperation.

He was unprepared for the inhuman screech that pierced the air. It was Cecilia. She stood in the centre of the boat and pointed shakily - to a hulking white shape below the water that glided past lazily, a lethal flash of cruel eyes and a semicircle of teeth around a gaping maw. Kydd went icy. He remembered the frenzy of killing around the burning ship, the living flesh ripped and devoured before their horror-struck gaze. 'Bale!' he howled.

Cecilia remained frozen near the stump of the mast, her face sagging with fear, staring at the shark. 'I — I hate them — I h-a-a-a-te them!' she said, in rising hysteria. Kydd had never seen his sister like this before and saw that her terror was unhinging her.

His voice caught in a sob, for he knew there was nothing he could do for her. It was probable that before evening every one of them would have been eaten alive - there were now four of the terrible creatures circling the boat. An impossibly huge shark came close, closer. There was a sudden bump and dismaying displacement. Something of its evil ferocity was transmitted in the shock of the blow, a personal message of hatred that was the more terrifying for being felt rather than seen.

Cecilia sat suddenly, her face contorted with terror. Renzi put down his baler and, with an expression of supreme compassion, held her rigid body close, stroking, soothing.

'Nicholas!' Kydd choked. His duty was baling; they must fight - they would play it to the last.

Renzi went back to his work, his eyes on Cecilia. She gulped crazily and scrabbled over the thwarts towards Kydd, looking to him with eyes at the very edge of madness. "Thomas! Thomas! Ple-e-a-se!’ Kydd could not look at her. 'P-p-promise me, p-please promise me — before it h-happens — you'll k-kill me, with y-your knife, ple-e-a-se ...' Kydd's hand strayed to the seaman's knife at his belt and felt his mind unravel.

The shark came in again, its bulk under the bright sunlit water sinister and purposeful. Kydd knew that the shark was closing in for a kill. He took an oar and, like a harpoon, rammed it into its loathsome mouth as hard as he was able. The shark twisted in agony, and thrashed away in a fury of spray — but the others took it to be a crippling injury. They fell on the creature and it disappeared in a snapping frenzy of red mist.

'Bale!' Kydd croaked.

But something had changed — the far horizon ahead was no longer a clean line of sea and sky: it was populated with pyramids of sails, and not one but nearly a dozen. Unseen by them in their peril they had stolen up over the horizon.

'Th' Loo'ard Islands squadron!' Kydd gasped. The stately line of men-o'-war stretched several miles over the sea, clearly on its lawful occasions, possibly exercising on the passage to Barbados: an incredibly moving and beautiful sight — but they were many miles distant.

'Ned!' screamed Kydd. Doud leaped to his feet, tore off his shirt and, with his good arm, waved it furiously, for their lives depended on it.

The grand procession sailed on.

'Holy Christ, see us, see us, why don' ye?'

'Bale!' Kydd shrieked.

Cecilia sat with her head at a strange angle, a haunted smile playing on her lips.

The ships, Vice Admiral of the Blue, Sir Benjamin Caldwell's Leeward Islands squadron of the Royal Navy, proceeded ahead in line — sailing inexorably past.

'Y' bastards, y' fuckin' scrovy . ..' Doud raved. But Kydd knew that past the closest point of approach they had little chance. The lookouts were primed to expect things ahead, and with their mast a mere stump their visibility to the Fleet would be nothing. A lump came to his throat, emotion flooded him, overwhelmed him.

Then, one after another the great ships-of-the-line majestically put down their helm, the heavy spars braced around, the sails backed then drawing at exactly the right moment to have the Fleet pivoting about the one point in succession - and in a faultless exercise, the ships of the Fleet tacked and headed directly towards them.

There was weeping, racking, joyous, heartfelt — and this time Kydd let Renzi go to Cecilia.

In a haze of unreality, they saw the leading ship fall out of line, lowering a boat that sped across to them. The sight of the strong, open faces of the seamen misted Kydd's eyes. They heaved the feeble, sun-ravaged humanity into their boat, and left the wreck to settle forlornly. Their pitiful collection of possessions was tenderly removed and the lieutenant in charge spoke kind words. And discovered whom he had delivered. Sailors tugging strongly at the oars, they went back down the line, passing ship after ship in a delirious progression, to the flagship in the centre.

For Kydd there followed only disconnected images: the vast bulk of the flagship alongside, figures looking curiously from the deck-line high above. A chair swaying down from a yard-arm whip, Cecilia first, the others and finally Kydd. The blessed tar-smelling clean decks, the crisp banging of backed sails above, himself crumpling helpless, concerned seamen crowding around, a vision of Cecilia staring at him, the gold and blue of high officers gathering around Lord Stanhope — and then his body sought peace in insensibility.

'Good God!' exclaimed the Admiral, visibly shocked. 'Frederick, to see you like this. Great heavens, you must be—'

'That is not of consequence. May we talk — in private?' His voice was weak but resolute.

The Admiral's Great Cabin, with its dark panelling, ornate silver and polished furniture, did not deter Lord Stanhope from speaking directly. 'I have a matter of compelling urgency that requires my attendance at the Foreign Office.'

Strategic naval dispositions were straightforward enough; Ceres frigate would be sailing for England in any event, she would simply leave immediately. Of course it would be in order for the young lady to be accommodated until Lady Charlotte arrived to join her.

But in other naval matters it was necessary for Lord Stanhope to step carefully, for the customs of the Service could not be ordered from above in quite the same way. 'It is my most firm resolve, Benjamin, to recognise the quite extraordinary deeds of these men who carried me through so valiantly.'

The Admiral stroked his jaw. 'A purse of guineas from you is the usual thing, and possibly an address by myself before the ship's company ...'

'I rather feel that, in this case, something more in the way of a professional distinction perhaps, a form of honour ...'

'I understand, Frederick. You will tell me more of them and I will make a suggestion.'

'The one is the quartermaster of Seaflower y a perfectly noble specimen of the sea race and in my untutored eyes destined for some eminence in the sea profession. And we have another who is of a most interesting character and who is the most nearly learned of any I have had the fortune to meet The last is a bold seaman of courage and humour who would be an ornament to any vessel that has the honour to bear him.'

'Quite so. Hmmm, it is within my gift to raise them to the felicity of warrant officer, but I rather fancy the last named may prefer more to carry my personal recommendation to his next captain for a fitting advancement to petty officer.'

The Commander-in-Chief of the Leeward Islands Squadron looked directly at Stanhope: 'Very well. These two are master's mates from this hour, but the warrant will require that the Admiralty do confirm my motions.'

'My dear Benjamin, I think that is a matter that can safely be left to me . . .'