Seaflower - Kydd 03 Read online

  Kydd felt a pressing need to be out of Seaflower, ashore and somewhere different, and when it was learned that the new captain would not be appointed for some time, he lost no time in suggesting that he and Renzi call on Cecilia.

  The housekeeper's disapproving look was just the same, but when Cecilia hurried to the door Kydd was amazed. 'Thomas, my dear!' she cried gaily. 'How sweet of you to call!' She kissed him soundly, then noticed Renzi with a bob and dropped eyes.

  'Cec, you look so, er, in rousin' trim!' Kydd said awkwardly. And, indeed, there was colour in her cheeks, her eyes held their usual sparkle and the warm vivacity of her nature shone through.

  'Yes, dear, life must go on, must it not?' she said quickly. 'And you, Thomas, are you not the picture of good health?'

  It was established that the men would stay for an evening meal. Cecilia quickly took charge. 'I shall invite Jane, of course, and I want you to meet her betrothed — it's so exciting!' Dinner would be in the front parlour due to the unexpected number of guests, and Kydd helped the frosty housekeeper with the table.

  As Cecilia laid places and bustled about, she told Kydd and Renzi her news. 'Lady Charlotte — that's the wife of Lord Frederick Stanhope - met me at Mrs Burchell's rout!' The idea of a Kydd meeting a noble lady socially was astonishing. 'It's the very place to meet people, here in the colonies, you know, Thomas. It would never do in Guildford, would it?' Her infectious laugh made Renzi smile.

  Then she went on, her manner a fetching mix of youth and sophistication, 'And you'd never guess, she wants me to be her companion when they go travelling.' Kydd said the expected, and Renzi murmured encouragement, and she concluded, with what looked suspiciously like a pout, 'Who knows who I may meet on our travels? Why, there are gentlemen in this part of the world worth millions.'

  They sat down to table with only the barest discussion as to seating; Jane's intended was a young ensign of Foot in regimentals and quite at a loss when confronted, with a requirement to sup with a brace of thoroughbred sailors. 'Wine, er, gentlemen?' he said stiffly.

  'Thank you,' Renzi said. He twirled the glass elegantly before a candle. 'I do find the Margaux a martyr to travel - this colour has a pallid quality, perhaps not your foremost era.'

  Kydd dabbed his lips with his napkin: those weeks up-country had not been wasted. He raised his eyes and said unctuously, ‘Y'r claret is a sensitive flower, o' course. F'r m'self a hardy Burgundy would be more t' my taste,' he added easily. 'I'd recommend a Chablis were we t' be granted a breeze-mill in the cooling. But y'r very good health, sir.'

  It was worth the pain of all Renzi's patient efforts just to see the expressions around the table.

  Chapter i5

  ' Name's Kernon,' said Doud, 'an' I don't think we're goin' ter have the same kind o' grief fr'm him.' He finished his seaming of the jib and bit the thread. "Sides, he sets me up as yeoman of the store-room,' he added, with satisfaction. This made him a man of influence, of some moment in the small ship, for he was in charge of the boatswain's sea-stores.

  'Give y' joy, Ned,' said Kydd. He'd only been back on board an hour or two, and there were definite signs of improvement about Seaflower.

  Doggo smiled grudgingly. 'O' course, we lost s' many men b' deserting, Cap'n just has to fin' senior 'ands fr'm somewhere.'

  Renzi came up on deck. 'What cheer, mate,' said Doggo, 'an' what's the griff?' Renzi, acting as clerk to the Captain, would know ship's secrets.

  'I'm not so certain that I should allow Captain Kernon's confidences to become public property,' he said, frowning. Kydd caught his quick wink.

  ‘Publick? We's yer backbone o' the ship, has t' be in on th' noos so we c'n plan things out, like. C'mon, tell us what yer knows!' Doggo's hoarse wheedling brought a grin to Kydd's face.

  Renzi leaned forward and said earnesdy, 'This must not get out - it's of the first importance to the future of this ship.'

  'We understands, mate,' said Doggo eagerly.

  'Ship is under sailing orders!'

  'Yeah, we knows that'

  'And tonight...' Renzi halted, looking dubious. 'Yeah?'

  'Well ... it involves your own good self, you understand.'

  'Strike me dead — clap on more sail 'n' get on wi' it!'

  'Tonight — but we're so short-handed ...'

  Doggo drew a deep breath, but before he could erupt, Renzi ended, '... that you're to lead a press-gang!'

  'Press-gang?' Doggo spluttered.

  Kydd grinned broadly.

  'And Thomas Kydd is to assist him ...'

  The grin vanished. It was now years since Kydd had been a victim of the Press; in the frigate Artemis there had been no pressed men in her famous voyage around the world. And since his lucky rescue from the dockyards to Seaflower he had had no contact with pressed men. Now Seaflower had to fall back on impressing hands from wherever she could.

  'Where 're we raidin', do y' think?' Doud asked. It was well-nigh impossible to attract good seamen to a King's ship in the Caribbean — there were too many better-paid berths competing; merchant ships commanded good rates to man ships for the Atlantic run, and privateers could rely on the lure of fat prizes.

  'Kingston town, I'd wager,' said Doggo, his face alive at the prospect of the entertainment. 'Port Royal’ll be awake up ter the press-gang.'

  'I can't do it, Nicholas,' Kydd muttered into his grog, at the noon meal. 'I knows about it, is all,' he finished lamely.

  Regarding him steadily Renzi appreciated that Kydd was exploring his feelings and needed to talk. 'So pressing men is an unmitigated evil?' he said coolly.

  'I didn't say that,' Kydd retorted.

  'Some would say it's nought but slavery.'

  'So what's t' do if there's not enough t' man th' Fleet?' Kydd said heatedly. Then he subsided. 'You're turnin' it all around as usual, Nicholas. But you can't argue with me that tearin' a man fr'm his family an' all is a fine thing, dammit!'

  Renzi lifted his pot and said, before taking a pull at his grog, 'Then may I hear what it is you propose in its place?'

  Kydd's slow smile was his answer, and Renzi grinned back. 'So, we are overborne by logic. It is a disagreeable necessity while we cannot find any other means. Therefore you shall do your duty tonight, as is your bounden obligation.'

  At an hour before midnight, Sea/lower's press-gang formed up on the waterfront of Kingston town. 'Do ye mark what I say,' Merrick said. 'Ye knows the rules — no violence. If they tries ter run, tip 'em a settler on th' calabash.' He seemed unperturbed by the contradiction, but nodded at the nervous civilian next to him. 'This 'ere is a sheriff's man come t' see fair play.'

  Plans were laid. The Sign of the Mermaid would be their victim, away from the centre of the waterfront, and it was hoped to take hands from a merchant ship carousing after a long, hard voyage across the Atlantic. The boatswain would stand back and allow Doggo, experienced at the press-gang, to lead in when all exits had been covered.

  Kydd eased his broad belt with its cutlass. This would only be drawn if things grew ugly, and then there would be an accounting to the shore authorities. The main persuaders the party carried were stretchers from the longboat, the narrow lengths of wood against which the rowers braced their feet.

  A brief memory of the Horse and Groom three years ago in Guildford flashed by, when sailors of a press-gang had burst in to change his life for ever. But he had secretly to acknowledge that there was no question as to which life he now wanted.

  'So let's get under weigh,' grunted the boatswain, and they padded off at the trot. A few late-night citizens out on the street stared at the sailors, and there were scurries in the shadows.

  Without speaking, Merrick indicated their positions outside the well-lit seamen's tavern. From within a riot of noise surged and fell, cackles of laughter and rumbles of conversation showing they were not expected, but the operation would not be easy: this was no gathering of unsuspecting rural lads.

  The boatswain winked at Doggo who threw open the door and thrust
inside. 'So who's fer a life on the rollin' sea? An' we c'n even save yez the trouble o' payin' yer reckoning!' he grated, into the falling silence. His stretcher tapped slowly in his palm.

  A female screech pierced the blue haze: 'The fuckin' press!' There was instant pandemonium. Tables and chairs scattered as men leaped to their feet in their race for freedom. Into the chaos poured the Seaflowers. Kydd, right behind Doggo, sprang after one likely fellow and seized his collar, managing to avoid a wildly swinging fist. The man faced him, glaring and panting.

  'Now, cully, y'r taken fair 'n' square—' At this, the man charged, head down. None too gently Kydd tapped him on the head with his stretcher and he fell to all fours. Around them the scrimmage died away: there was no contest between a sober, determined press-gang and their fuddled victims.

  Merrick strode into the taproom, looking pleased at the sight of the eight they had secured. 'Well, boys, it's a life in the navy fer youse now. But I'm remindin' yer, y' c'n still enter as a volunteer .. .' One of the eight saw the inevitability of the situation and accepted the offer, but the others threw bitter looks at the Seaflowers and stayed mute.

  Kydd's man got to his feet slowly, murder in his eyes. Two Seaflowers began to hand him outside, but at that moment there was a scuffle at the entrance and a dishevelled woman appeared, heavily pregnant, looking around wildly. Two ragamuffin children clutched her skirts, wide-eyed with fear. 'No!' she shrieked, when she saw the man. 'Not m' Billy! You can't — God save us, leave 'im!' She threw herself at the feet of the boatswain, her sobs harsh and piteous.

  'Now, then, m'dear, y'r husband's off t' join Seaflower y as fine a man-o'-war as ever swam!' Merrick stuttered, clearly put out by the woman's emotion.

  One of the captives pushed forward. 'God rot it, leave jus' Billy Cundy, yer brute, yer has enough.' The two children rushed to Cundy's side and clung to him, crying brokenly.

  'Leave us m' Billy — an' look on these innocents! Oh, God, what shall I do?' The woman sobbed into her pinafore and patted her belly meaningfully.

  Merrick shifted uncomfortably. 'This is all very distressin', I c'n see that. Perhaps we'll stretch a point in th' case of y'r Billy boy . ..'

  'Oh, sir, if yer c'n see yer way clear, the bantlings'll pray fer y'r soul every night .. .'

  She tailed off when Doggo and two others descended the stairs with two more prospectives, still in their night attire. 'What cheer, Sally?' Doggo said, with a grin, taking in the scene. He crossed over to her and the woman's eyes widened fearfully. With one hand he seized her wrists, the other he forced up her skirt.

  She screamed in outrage — but Doggo withdrew a large cushion, which he flourished aloft. 'Still up ter yer tricks, then, y' saucy tomrig.' Her hands turned to claws as she flew at him, but Doggo held her at arm's length until her struggles subsided.

  'Take 'im out,' said Merrick, annoyed at being caught out.

  But the mood in the taproom had changed rapidly, from laughter at the deception to a very real anger. Billy Cundy whipped round to the others: "They ain't about t' take Billy Boy wi'out they has a fight — an' if we get took one b' one, it's all over wi' us. Our only chance is a fair fight all together!'

  He threw himself at Kydd, and they went down together. The tavern exploded into riot. Lanterns were caught and doused, screams and hoarse curses mixing with the splintering of furniture in the gloom. Kydd landed a punch on the side of Cundy's head, but was enveloped in a beery bear-hug. This allowed his 'wife' to sit astride Kydd's back while she seized his hair and yanked it back agonisingly.

  A barrelling body abruptly relieved Kydd of her weight The tears in his eyes clearing, Kydd set about subduing Cundy, but the riotous diversion had attracted others from outside and the press-gang found itself outnumbered. The boatswain's piercing call of 'belay' sounded, urging them to retreat while they could.

  Cundy, nose bloody but still full of fight, laughed coarsely in Kydd's face. Kydd saw red. He pulled the man to his feet and hooked him by his torn shirt 'Aye, but ye're with us, cully!' Fending off flying bodies he propelled the man to the door, where two Seaflowers secured his thumbs behind his back with spun-yarn.

  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 fo
r 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'