In the free discipline of a cutter, there would be no 'pipe down hammocks' or other big-ship ways. And now at anchor was a time when a sailor could relax, no fear of an 'All the haaands!’ to send him on deck, no sudden course-change requiring the vessel to tack about — instead the sewing 'housewife', the gleefulness of dice play, the scrimshaw, the endless letter ...
Lanthorns spread a warm golden glow in the crew spaces and the hum of his shipmates' conversation was a reassuring backdrop to Kydd's thoughts. Renzi's musings about his future had awakened possibilities that were unsettling. It seemed that Renzi believed he was destined for something beyond quartermaster - that could only be master's mate, which required an Admiralty warrant . ..
He watched Stirk throw a double trey at the dice with a roar of satisfaction - did he concern himself with times unknown? Unforeseeable circumstances? Himself in twenty years? Of course not! Kydd setded back in his hammock and listened to the drumming of rain on the deck above, grateful to be dry and warm. The rain eased, then stopped. Kydd slipped into drowsiness, unperturbed by the noises of his shipmates' pastimes and merriment, sure of himself and the world he had made his own.
A soft dawn revealed their island to have a long sandy beach, suitable to heave down Seaflower and get at the leak. Kydd had tried to localise the sound of inrushing water but, bafflingly, it had died away as they anchored.
The cutter gently grounded on the sand of the beach and was brought broadside to in the gentle waves. Snead waited in the longboat while lines were secured to her mast, taken to a tackle on a sizeable palm ashore and back to the windlass. Snead only needed to see the waterline region and it took little effort to achieve the required cant to one side. "Tain't this side,' he called from the boat, after going the length of the cutter. Seaflower was laboriously refloated and rotated for a survey of the other side — with the same result. A perfectly sound hull.
'Only one thing left t' do,' Kydd muttered. They would have to rouse out the entire contents of the hold to put paid to the mystery, a long and tedious process. Starting from forward the first of the stores were brought out and laid against the after end of the crew space. Kydd saw that the men were well positioned in chain to pass up the provisions, and turned to go.
He was stopped by an incredulous shout. 'God rot me! Come 'ere, Mr Kydd!' Hurrying over to the fore hold, Kydd looked down. A seaman was standing and pointing to what he had found in the close stowage of the hold. It was a substantial-sized cask with its head knocked in, and in it was the remains of what it had contained — peas, dried for stowing, a sea of seven hundredweight of hard peas. And as the ship rolled, the peas had swished from side to side in the smooth barrel, sounding exactly like the hiss of inrushing water.
They made good sailing in clear conditions and secured a morning landfall on the odd-looking island of Alto Velo, off the southernmost point of Hispaniola. 'We will take the inside passage, I believe, Mr Jarman,' said Farrell, inspecting the stretches of low, flat land to the north and the peaked dome of Alto Velo to the south.
The swell increased as they approached, a peculiar, angled swell that felt uneasy. Over to the north-west a serried rank of sharp-peaked mountains appeared out of the bright haze, white-topped and distant. Kydd growled at the helmsman when the Seaflower's topsail fluttered, his eyes flicking astern to check her wake. It was straight — the ever-reliable trade winds were slowly but surely backing; it was not the fault of the helmsman. 'Wind's backing,' he called to Jarman.
'Just so,' said the sailing master. 'Those mountains, t' weather.' His mouth clamped tight and he glared generally to windward.
'We have the current in our favour, Mr Jarman,' Farrell said mildly. 'Sir.'
The swell angled more and met a south-going counterpart that had Seaflower wallowing in confused jerking in the cross seas. Unfriendly green waves slopped and bullied on to her decks, sluicing aft to wet Farrell's shoes. They passed through the passage, the wind backing so far that Seaflower had to strike her square sails entirely. Once through, the predominant westerly current and north-easterly winds reasserted themselves and the way was clear for the final run to Jamaica. But for one thing. A brig-of-war. Five miles ahead across their path, her two masts foreshortening as she altered course purposefully towards them.
Chapter 12
'Be damned,' said Merrick, as he came up from below and saw the vessel. The meeting was most unfortunate: having emerged from the island passage Seaflower was prevented from going to windward by the lie of the land, and to bear away to leeward would favour the bigger canvas a brig-sloop could show.
'We put about an' return, sir?' Jarman asked immediately. There was no dishonour to fly before a vessel probably carrying half as many guns again as they.
Farrell turned on him angrily. 'What do you conceive is our duty, sir? To run at the sight of every strange sail?'
Jarman grunted. 'Well, we—'
'Clear for action, Mr Merrick,' Farrell ordered. Seaflower kept on her course westward towards the brig and girded for war. All eyes were on their opponent. The brig seemed nonplussed at Seaflower's aggression and fell off the wind somewhat.
Kydd took the tiller, feeling the willing restlessness of the craft, and even through his own anxieties he felt for the lovely cutter and what she must suffer soon. The enemy brig was longer than they and therefore could array a greater broadside; being square-rigged with the ability to back sails she was more manoeuvrable in a clinch. Seaflower's chance lay in her speed and nimble handling — much would depend on Kydd's steadiness at the helm.
A gun thudded on the brig and a large battle flag unfurled at her mizzen peak. There would be no preliminaries, they would grapple and fight and the contest could well be over within the hour. The brig yawed to starboard. This brought her broadside to bear. It thundered out, but at more than a mile it was a ragged display, balls skipping wide on each side.
Merrick grinned. 'Too eager b' half - a green-hide cap'n, I shouldn't wonder.'
'They's sixes and fours, 'n' we has all sixes!' Stirk said, with satisfaction. Kydd did not share his confidence: they had six-pounders, but only eight to a side. The brig resumed an easy close haul, knowing that Seaflowr must close and endure their wrath before she could swing about and bring her. guns on target.
'Stirk, be so good as to set your pretty ones to work,' Farrell said, with a grim smile.
Clambering over gear to the eyes of the ship, Stirk hunkered down and sighted along the black iron of his four-pounder chase guns. They were an older pattern and were not fitted with gunlocks; over the priming he held clear a glowing piece of match and, when satisfied with his quoin and at the right point in the pitching motion, his hand went down and they spoke with a ringing crack.
Kydd stared intently at the brig, but Stirk scrambled over the heel of the bowsprit to the other chase gun to repeat the exercise while the first was reloaded. Again the sharp report: gunsmoke temporarily obscured her, but when it cleared the brig showed in some confusion.