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.