The noon meal was well under way, rum sweet in the glass. The morning exercise at the after six-pounders had been particularly impressive and the light breeze was sending Seaflower along at a relaxed pace, the seas with barely a swell or more than a stipple of waves. Doggo poked his head inside the canvas screen, which by now had its full quota of mermaids and Davy Jones painted on it, and announced, 'Might like ter come topsides — could be a bit of a to-do brewin'.'
On the horizon to windward a tall pillar of smoke, hazy and pale with distance, rose straight up. 'Ship afire,' said Doggo blundy, then nodded significantly aft at the Captain and Merrick in urgent conversation.
Detaching himself, Farrell called to Kydd, 'Bear up for that fire.'
Kydd ordered the helm over, Seaflower obediently turning towards. It was dead to windward, in the teeth of the light breeze, and even with Seaflower's fore-and-aft rig she could lie no closer than four points off the wind before the luff of her sails began shivering and she lost way. The deck fell quiet. It didn't take much imagination to think of what must be happening in the unknown ship: the visceral terror at the flames rampaging, the bravery of those on board — then mortal despair taking hold.
Jarman reached the deck and quickly took in the scene. Kydd opened his mouth to comment, but Jarman held up his hand, keenly sensing the wind direction. Kydd noticed Farrell watching him closely as well. The vessel would know by now that they had been seen and their hearts would be leaping — but all would depend on how speedily they could reach the scene. 'A bridle for bowlines on the topsails may answer, sir,' Jarman said at last, 'an' Kydd will bring her more by th' head by re-stowing.'
Jarman's order meant sending a line to the forward part of the square sails to haul them even more flat to the wind, and shifting provisions and water barrels towards the bow to deepen the stem to give more bite. Kydd hastened below, grabbing hands for the task, which was soon completed. On deck he was joined by Renzi. 'A nice problem,' Renzi murmured, shielding his eyes to make out the approaching details.
'Aye,' said Kydd. The ship afire was dead into the wind — how to get to her? To tack towards, of course, but the problem lay in whether to do short but direct boards and much tacking about, or long fast boards with few delays in tacking, but considerable distance to each side of the goal.
Given the constant of time necessary to go about, Jarman compromised on seven-minute legs. The breeze was frustratingly light, but even so the disastrous tableau came gradually closer. Every glass available was on the harrowing scene.
'Has a sea anchor over th' stern . ..'
'Yair - keeps 'er poop inter the wind, flames don't reach 'em.'
'See it blaze at th' main-hatch! Give 'er less'n a dog-watch afore she goes up altogether .. .'
Kydd took a telescope and trained it on the smoky ruin. The flame-shot vessel leaped into sharp focus. He could almost hear the devilish roar of the fire, the sharp banging and crackling of timbers in hopeless conflagration. There were dark figures against the flames, jerking and moving, but the main body were massed on the as yet untouched after end of the vessel. Kydd swept the telescope along — it was impossible to say which nationality the ship was, or even what species it was.
'Get th' longboat overside,' urged some. Seaflower was now only a mile off but the wind was so soft and light
that the cutter only made a walking pace through the calm waters.
'Longboat, stand by for launching,' warned Farrell, ‘but avast lowering, we have to be closer.' Seaflower was still just faster than men could row. The towering pillar of smoke darkened the whole area, tongues of flame an angry wild orange against the smoke.
As Kydd stared at the ruin, the stern fell off the wind — the line to the sea-anchor had given way. He whipped up the telescope. In sharp detail he saw the after end of the vessel sag away to leeward and the fire leap up triumphantly. Dark figures fell into the sea as the flames advanced on the poop.
The calm seas around the stern became agitated. Flickers of white in dark flurries puzzled him for a moment until he understood — survivors in the water were being taken by sharks. His hands shook as he held the telescope. With a sick horror he saw the remaining figures on the poop hesitating between being burned to death or eaten alive by sharks. One by one they toppled into the water or danced insanely before crumpling into a briefly seen dark mass in the flames.
Seaflowr curved smoothly into the wind and her longboat splashed into the water. Kydd watched as it pulled towards the hulk, now no more than a blackened wreck, a dying ember. The hideous twitching around the stern was now irregular and the desolate stink of the fire drifted down on them. The boat reached the still smoking hull and circled around. It returned with a pitiably burned corpse. 'Weren't none made it, sir,' the bowman said sofdy. 'We c'n give 'em a Christian burial, like.'
'No - they stay with their ship. They go together.'
'Tom, mate!' whispered the carpenter's mate, plucking Kydd's sleeve. 'Come an' 'ave a squiz 'tween-decks.' Wondering at Snead's peculiar air of anxiety, Kydd followed him down the fore-hatch below.
Chasing aside seamen at the galley, Snead lifted the access grating to the forward hold and dropped inside, listening intently in the musty gloom. Satisfied, he hauled himself out. 'Tell me what y' hears,' he said, his lined grey eyes serious.
Kydd let himself down. As quartermaster he had the stowage of the hold, but that was in port or calm waters. Now, in this increasingly boisterous sea, wasn't the time to be rummaging among the big water barrels or tightly tommed-down stores. He hunkered down in the cramped space and listened carefully, bracing himself against the cutter's roll. Nothing at first, but then he heard over the swish of sea on the outside of the hull an intermittent sibilance as quiet and deadly as a snake. In time with the roll came a sudden rushing hiss which for a seaman had only one meaning: 'We've sprung a plank somewhere on th' waterline — takin' in water fast!'
Snead looked at him peculiarly. 'Yair, but when I sounds the bilges, ain't any water!'
'What? None?' Kydd asked. It was peculiar to a degree — the rushing hiss returned with every roll, and at this rate the water should be at least a foot deep in the lower hold.
'Don't like it, cully,' Snead grumbled. 'What say you 'n' I 'as a word wi' the Cap'n?'
'Heard o' this happenin' to a cargo o' rice - swells when it's wet, it does,' Merrick said.
Jarman stroked his jaw. 'Nothin' stowed below that I knows of like that,' he said slowly. 'But there's some kind o' - something — that's soaking it up fast...'
'No chances. We heave down and get at it from the outside,' Farrell said with finality. 'I believe Islas Engano will answer.'
Kydd was relieved. A small cutter like Seaflower could easily find an island to beach between tides and get at the hull planking from the outside, and in this case the sooner the better. They raised the island late in the afternoon. Because the leak was getting no worse — in fact, the vessel was still mysteriously dry — they anchored in its lee to wait out the night. A passing rain-squall spattered and then deluged the decks. Only the disconsolate lookouts fore and aft remained, the rest were snug below.