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 peacefuclass="underline" 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.
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.