Artemis - Kydd 02 (36 page)

It was Kydd's instinctive early action that saved
Artemis.
It was sufficient to tip the balance of forces in favour of sails and helm, the greater angle of rudder working with the remaining thrust from rags of sails to give sufficient way through the water to counter the broadside slewing. Agonising minutes later the ship slowly came back erect and before the wind again.

Trembling with fatigue and emotion Kydd was finally relieved, going below to a desolation of broken gear all adrift, the surge of water swilling over the deck, and men stumbling about, utterly exhausted after their
battle
for the life of their ship.

A day later, a little after mid-morning, the weather moderated to racing low cloud against clearing curtains of heavy rain, but the ship had been heavily battered by squalls of extreme intensity. Powlett and the Master had never left the deck, for as Prewse
quietly
pointed out, these squalls were born high up on the ice-clad slopes of a mountain range somewhere close by, air super-
cooled and made so heavy it hurtl
ed down the valleys and to the sea. This was proof positive that the bleak dread of Cape Horn was close at hand.

At a brief clearing of the atrocious conditions, there it was, a bare five miles away. The very tip of the continent. A low, black, straggling coast, streaked with snow, barren to the prevailing winds but darkly wooded elsewhere - a picture of desolation.

'Two points to larboard,' snapped Powlett, hardly recognisable in his thick grego and woollen head covering. 'We keep in with the land while we can. How far to the Horn itself, Mr Prewse?'

'At a whisker less sixty-seven degrees west at last reckoning, we'll see it today, sir, no doubt about it — s'long as the weather lets us.' With their sighting of the distant icy mountains Prewse had been able to adjust his course so that they approached by running down the line of latitude of his objective. Now they would keep with the land until they had won through to the other side.

'Coast is bold hereabouts, I believe,' Powlett added, shielding his eyes from flurries of spray.

Prewse nodded. 'Aye, sir, very steep to, I'll agree. A good thing, o' course, and if there
are
hazards, y' can be sure that the rock'll be covered in kelp, easy t' see ahead f'r a warning - if y'r lookout is awake.'

At the mizzen cleats Crow heard the comment and muttered to Kydd, 'Yair, but does 'e think that 'cos every bit o' kelp means a rock, that no kelp means no rock?' He cracked a grim smile before cinching the rope and going below.

To Kydd it was awesome and fascinating, bucketing along before the moderating swell and seeing the stark black coast slip past, the first land for so long at sea, yet knowing that if they went ashore they would find it the most bleak and windswept corner on earth.

More rain. It came in dark-grey curtains of misery, washing over the battered frigate and sending Kydd into paroxysms of shuddering at the cruel wind that always followed. It cleared - and there was Cape Horn. Kydd stared across the grey rollers at the dark mass. One by one sailors came on deck to look, expressions ranging from loathing to fascination. Here was the reality of why they had suffered.

From the low, nondescript coastline it swept towards them from the north into a magnificent bluff well over a thousand feet high, then plunged vertically into the sea as the breathtaking final point of a great continent. Kydd watched until the grand sight disappeared into the rain squalls and sea fret, and without further ado they passed from the Pacific into the Adantic, homeward bound.

The bows of
Artemis
were now irrevocably directed towards England - that wondrous place whose name could send sea-hardened men into misty-eyed reverie. Kydd surveyed the
little
gathering at the mess table. Sunken dark eyes and bowed backs, introspective silences — none of them was unaffected by the experience. They had passed into the company of those few who could say they had doubled Cape Horn.

But there was a renewal of spirit: nothing but a couple of months of steadily improving weather stood between them and England. The few days they had spent in the tiny anchorage in the lee of Tierra del Fuego had broken the spell and given them back their strength. The kelp-strewn rocks, playground of seals, echoing to the cries of wheeling terns and gulls, this was a blessed haven while they readied their vessel for her final leg.

A warm feeling had come over Kydd unexpectedly when he looked up at
Artemis
from the boat that carried them around her battered hull, seeking out hidden damage. Her colours were dulled, her tar-black timbers streaked and worn, her cordage frayed and white with salt — but this was the ship that had carried him safely within her, across the world, to sights and adventures that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Crow lifted his eyes; they now glimmered with life. 'We get the trades well 'nough, we'll be a-rollickin' ashore in England before th' buds o' May.' His arm was still bound to his body, but at least he was not tied to a cot like Hallison and two others, who had been left helpless with broken bones after their mauling by the giant wave.

The contribution from Haynes was a grunt, but Kydd could see from his unwinking hard eyes that it would not be long before he would return as abrasive as ever.

Mullion
was cast down. He had been greatl
y affected by the loss of his friend overside, his grip on the man's wrist not strong enough to prevent his being carried bodily overboard by the seething torrent. His last sight of his shipmate was of him flailing in the sea close by but being carried inexorably away. Mullion had stood helpless, weeping in agony as the minutes of life left to his friend
had passed away out in the anony
mous blackness.

Kydd caught Renzi's eye. As far as anyone could tell, apart from a deepening of the lines next to his mouth he was untouched by events, cool and considered in his words, as lofty-minded as ever. Kydd smiled. He himself had other concerns. 'Could do with somethin' t' eat other than hard-tack, somethin' that sticks to y' ribs.'

There was a dry chuckle, surprisingly from Haynes. 'Yer'll get yer meat soon enough,' he said.

The others looked up in curiosity. 'How so?' said Crow.

'Why,' said Haynes, 'th' hard-tack will be manned b' bargemen.'

Kydd grinned. 'Let's tell ye how we used to clear the bread o' bargemen in
Royal Billy'

He had their attention. Every sailor was interested in ridding the hard-tack of bargemen, the weevils and other life, particularly the large pale maggots that infested old ship's stores.

'Well, when we starts a bread cask in th' hold, we sets on it a plate - with a ripe fish aboard. Bargemen, they wait till it's quiet, then they swarm out t' get a taste o' the fish. All ye do then, is t' heave the fish over the side 'n' set another in its place until you've cleared the cask o' the vermin.'

The cheery response and the spreading comfort of the rum was gratifying. Kydd's spirits rose.

Artemis
sailed steadily north. The sun's warmth swelled, grey seas became tinged with blue, and as the frigate ranged out into the Adantic rollers it was almost possible to put from mind past dangers and harsh times. But the ship and her company were sadly worn by the long voyage, tired by the interminable movement, jaded and soul-weary.

It was seen in so many ways. Powlett appeared on deck in the morning, but then retired to his cabin soon after, his interchanges curt and monosyllabic. On one night Kydd had gone to Merrydew, the boatswain, in his cabin to ask for some gear and had found him quite incapable with drink. The surgeon, who had no particular friends that anyone could name, was acting oddly, shutting himself away in the noisome gloom of his quarters, his meals sent to him. And the bickering between Parry and Rowley took a bitter edge, a sarcastic and barely concealed animosity.

The pleasant north-east trade winds petered out into fitful flurries all too soon after they reached the tropics; the sun was now hot and aggressive, humidity making movement a trial. Merrydew rarely appeared. He seldom spoke, his red, sweating face suffused with suffering. Kydd remembered the sun-blasted sea from the last time they had passed this way and prayed that their passage would not be protracted.

'Aye, both on 'em!' The
little
purser's steward anxiously awaited Kydd's response. Kydd was quartermaster's mate and was therefore among those responsible for stowage in the hold. It was shattering news: two or three of the remaining ground tier of water casks had run afoul of each other, probably as a result of their upset at the time of the monster wave, and had chosen this time to split a stave each at the point of contact. Precious water had quietly seeped into the bilge and at a stroke
Artemis’s
sea endurance was curtailed. There was no longer any question of her reaching England.

'Have y' told the mate o' the hold?' Kydd asked, but as he spoke he remembered that the old man was still lying helpless with broken ribs. Leaving the fetor of the hold he hurried up the hatchway — the Master himself would have to be informed.

Mr Prewse was at the lee hances, in troubled conversation with Powlett. Raised voices could be heard, and Powlett's jutting chin and flinty manner augured ill for the news that Kydd was bringing.

'If y' please, Mr Prewse,' he said, holding his hat respectfully in his hands. The Master turned his calm gaze to Kydd. Unsure of whether the Captain should know from him, he paused, but Powlett's clear impatience decided him, and he made his report.

'God blast it! God
damn
it!' Powlett's rage shook Kydd, its intensity out of character. Powlett regained control. 'The nearest watering?' he shot at Prewse, who thought carefully, rubbing his chin.

'Well, I—'

'We cannot go to east'd, the Spanish are probably now at war with us, we can only fall back on Brazil - true?' 'Aye, sir,' said Prewse neutrally.

'Then set our course in accordance,' snapped Powlett. 'Closest point agreeable to the wind's track.'

* * *

The closest point, thanks to the favourable south-easterly, was but two days away. It turned out to be a scrubby plain, sandy and characterless, through which a brown-stained river wound lis
tless
ly. The air was still and enervating, and with a hand-lead swinging in the chains it took hours for the frigate to work in. The watering party pulled ashore and began work; the country was unattractive and had a persistent reek as of a long-dead creature lying heavily on the air. Insects made their way out even as far as the ship, the sudden maddening sting a disagreeable surprise after so long at sea.

As soon as the boat had been hoisted in,
Artemis
shaped course seawards, but within a day there was good news. 'Glory be!' said Crow. 'A sou'-easter!' It was true, they would have the unseasonally early good fortune of a wind in just the right quarter to see them past Cabo de Sao Roque, and on past the doldrums to the northern trade winds. Every weary heart aboard lifted at the news. This would carry them into the north half of the world, and they would then set course dire
ctly
for home.

'Cape Sao Roque,' breathed Kydd. It was the last land they would see before England. An undistinguished blue-grey tongue, far to larboard: their long-awaited farewell to far-off lands and unknown perils. Soon they would be in familiar waters. 'Do y' not feel it in y'r bones we are homeward bound?' he added, looking at Renzi.

Renzi looked thoughtful. 'I am in two minds on the matter,' he said. 'On the one hand we have had the felicity of adding to the breadth of our intellects by our voyaging to the far side of the world — but I have to confess, on the other there is nothing in compass that appeals to my spirit more at this moment than the prospect of surcease, a cessation of striving, the quiet land at last. "In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid.'"

Kydd saw his friend's face take on an enigmatic cast, and suppressed his response. His eye noted the worn ropes and frayed canvas, then wandered over the vista of glittering blue sea ahead. Seven bells sounded distantly from the fo'c'sle, and they swung out on the futtock shrouds and descended to the deck.

'Only a few weeks, then, Isaac,' Kydd offered to the silent table.

'An' not a minute too soon,' Haynes grated. 'I got such a pain in me back 'n' legs after Cape Horn
'11
take months ter shake orf.'

'An' you, Jeb?' Kydd asked Mullion. The loss of his shipmate was taking its toll: Mullion seemed to have lost all appetite. He looked up. His eyes were dull and there was an uncommon lethargy in his movements. 'Ter tell th' truth, I've had this headache comin' on, coupla days now.'

'You should be seein' the doc, get him to bleed ye,' Kydd said.

'What? That useless pinde tagger?' Crow huffed. 'Ain't seen hide nor hair o' the bugger since west o' the Horn.' He glanced at Mullion. 'An' I heard tell it's his loblolly what set them bones,' he added, 'an' him without a surgeon's mate an' all.' The surgeon's mate had missed the ship at Macao, but Kydd remembered the sharp-eyed young lad with the lame leg who had chosen to be a lowly loblolly boy rather than the rate of c
ook's mate to which he was entitl
ed by his injury.