Seaflower (38 page)

'Kissing
...
?'

'His
dear ones — loves 'is bottles so much he's a kissin' of 'em every day,' Stiles
grated.

Stirk
gave a brief smile, then leaned forward. 'Other ways yez c'n get a taste o'
gold, these parts
...'

The
others leaned forward to hear. 'Yair, wasn't it in the Caribbee yer Cap'n Kidd
buried 'is treasure? Nearly a million in gold 'n' jools! An' guarded b' ten
dead men an' never found till this day?'

Eyes
gleamed in the lanthorn light, then he turned to Kydd. 'Now then, cully,' Stirk
said, 'yer must know somethin' about it, 'e bein' kin an' all.'

Kydd
smiled. 'Terrible great pirate, I grant ye, but no kin o' mine — he comes fr'm
Scodand, 'n' the Kydds are fr'm the south. An' he has an I in 'midships where
we have a Y.' Embarrassed, he added, 'An' I'm the only one - the first one,
that is — t' follow th' sea in the Kydd family.'

'An'
a right shellback you is turnin' into, if'n I says so,' Stirk said warmly.

Clearing
his throat, Renzi attracted attention. 'A great pirate - I have to disagree. He
was only a merchant, an investor of Wall Street, which is in New York, no
seaman he. But he married a lively lady, and bethought to go a-roving — one
voyage only, and his crew is so dissatisfied with his conduct they set him
ashore, stranded, in Antigua.'

Renzi
grinned at Kydd. 'But he gets another ship, and continues - and finds an East
Indiaman, which in course he captures with a great treasure. A simple-minded
creature, he sails straight back to New York, but takes the precaution first of
burying the treasure nearby to bargain with in case he meets trouble for his
actions. It didn't work, and he pays with his life at Tyburn tree. The treasure
is still there, my dear friends, but somewhere close by New York, not here in
the Caribbean, I do regret.'

Stirk
growled, 'Aye, but y' had some real pirates hereabouts.'

'Take
Calico Jack, mates,' Stiles began. 'Lures an Irish lass ter leave 'er 'usband
fer a life a-piratin' together. They takes a Scowegian hooker an' in it there's
this other lass. So he has this Anne 'n' Mary too, an' they are the equal ter
any in bein' ready ter board, and the cuttin' of throats.'

Stirk
broke in: 'But in th' end, as ye knows, Calico Jack wuz turned off at Tyburn,
but 'is women, both on 'em, pleads their bellies. And says he weren't no
fighter, lets 'em all be captured.'

The
thoughtful quiet was broken by Renzi. 'Not all came to a bad end,' he said,
'Take Henry Morgan—'

'You
musta 'eard o 'im while you wuz clerkin' in Spanish Town.' Stirk chuckled.

'Indeed,'
said Renzi. 'And you can say in truth that we are here today because he was the
one who secured Jamaica as our Caribbean centre for trade. Top class as a
freebooter, as you know, took Campeche just in order to seize fourteen prizes
in one go, and there was so much plunder after the sack of Panama that Spanish
pieces of eight were legal tender in Jamaica for years afterwards.'

Kydd's
shipmates became preoccupied: it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that
Spain could join in the present war, the old times return.

'Morgan
came back to Jamaica?' prompted Kydd.

'Yes
— when it was peace with Spain, he retired to England, but it was war again,
and the King thought he was best placed of all to know the Caribbean, and
appointed him Governor of Jamaica with an eye to its defence, and a fine fist
he made of it, too. Sad, really, he missed the buccaneering life, and spent
much government time in the Port Royal taverns, lifting a glass with his old
shipmates. That's when Port Royal was at its most lively, a rousing good time
guaranteed for any seaman
...
He
drank himself to death, and within three, four years a mighty earthquake finally
sent most of Port Royal into the sea. Let's raise a pot to Cap'n Henry Morgan!'

Wiping
his mouth, Stirk said loudly, 'If y' wants a reg'lar-built pirate, then m'
grand-daddy can tell ye -he saw Blackbeard 'imself! Back in Queen Anne's day
only, scared th' piss outa him. Comes swarmin' aboard, black beard wi' ribbons,
an' all this slow-match strung through, alight 'n' smokin' away, roarin' and
shouting. Carries four pistols an' a 'eavy cutlass, ain't none can stand
against him.

'Colonies
see their trade go somewhere else, so they puts a King's ship on to his tail,
sloop-o'-war. Lootenant Maynard — that's it. Hides 'is crew below while
Blackbeard boards, then takes 'em! Th' l'tenant meets Blackbeard face on, 'n'
isn't shy. There's this great fight, the two on 'em, but Maynard wins, and
sails back t' port wi' Blackbeard's head a-danglin' from the bowsprit fer all
to see.'

The
anchor was won the next morning in a sullen rain squall, hissing and lashing at
the men on the windlass and sending
Seaflower
in a skittish whirl around her moorings. When the anchor finally tripped, the
cutter was facing inshore, into the swollen river current emerging to carry her
seaward. At the same time the wind strengthened from the sea, prevailing over
the current, and Seaflower duly drifted towards the shore, not three hundred
yards distant.

'Sheet
in the main, y' bastards!' It was the first time Kydd had heard Jarman swear as
he gave orders to carry sail aft with sheets a-fly forward. The cutter would
rotate to face the sea under the leverage of the big after sail.

'What?
Belay that, you dogs!' yelled Swaine. His eyes were red and hair plastered down
his face by the rain. 'What are you about, sir?' he threw at Jarman, before
screaming down the deck, 'Let go anchor!'

The
men forward were making ready to cat and secure the anchor shank painter and
were totally unprepared, the windlass taut and the cable on the pawl. The
gawky Parkin had charge of the operation and floundered.

'God
rot me bones!' spluttered Merrick, and thrust forward hastily, but the
situation was already in hand: Doud's furtive bringing in of the main sheets
had given force enough for the bows to swing. Swaine seemed to ignore his
previous order with the promise in the bow's swing. 'Carry on, then, Mr Jarman,'
he said testily, handing the deck to the master.

'Never
seen such a dog's breakfast,' Doud muttered, under his breath — but not quietly
enough.

'You,
sir!' Swaine rounded on him. 'Damn your sly ways — I heard your vile words. Y'
think to slander your ship, do you? Bo'sun! Do you gag this infernal rogue.'

Kydd
watched with growing anger as Stiles found an iron marline spike, which he
forced between Doud's teeth, securing it in place with spun-yarn. The quarterdeck
fell quiet at the manifest injustice. Doud would wear the 'gag' until given
leave to remove it

Seaflower
made the open sea and shaped course for Port Antonio, some small hours away.
There they landed their packets and bags and took on two slim packages before
resuming their voyage to St Kitts and thence Barbados.

Kydd
thought it an unworthy spite that Swaine did not have the gag removed until
after the noon meal — and the grog issue. In the way of sailors Doud would
later enjoy their sympathy and illegally saved rum, but that was not the point.

A
fine north-easterly had them bowling along the familiar passage south of
Hispaniola and by evening they had the precipitous knife shape of Cape Rojo
abeam. 'Up spirits' was piped, but there was not the usual happy hum on the
berth-deck as the grog was measured out. The popular Doud was well plied with
good cheer, but all the talk was on the Captain's character.

Watch-on-deck
turned to; there was not a lot for them to do in the steady sailing weather,
and they hunkered down in the warm breeze. Doud made himself comfortable on the
main-hatch gratings and, looking soulfully at the stars began singing softly,
his voice coarsened with rum:

"Tis
of a flash frigate, La Pique was her name,

All
in the West Indies she bore a great name;

For
cruelly bad using of every degree,

Like
slaves in the galley we ploughed the salt sea.

So
now, brother shipmates, where'er ye may be

From
all fancy frigates I'd have ye steer free ...'

Too
late Doud recognised the dark figure of Swaine looming and scrambled to his feet.
'Do y' wan' the second verse?' he said truculently, to his captain.

Swaine
didn't answer at first. Then he bawled, 'Mr Merrick!' down the deck to the
helm.

'Aye,
sir?' said the boatswain, hurrying to the scene.

'What's
this, that you have a man on watch beastly drunk?' A thick edge to the words
betrayed the Captain's own recent acquaintance with a bottle, but there could
be no answer to his question: there was a fine line to be drawn between the
effect of the usual quarter-pint of spirits and that of more. Swaine turned
back to Doud. 'I came to tell this rascal to hold his noise but I see this -
seize him in irons, and I shall have him before me tomorrow.'

'We
have no irons in
Seaflower? said
Merrick, expressionless.

'Then
shackle him to the gratings right here, you fool,' Swaine hissed.

At
seven bells of the forenoon the following day, the ship's company of
Seaflower mustered on the upper deck. Kydd saw the
sanctimonious expression on Swaine's face as he gave a biting condemnation on
drinking. The inevitable sentence came. 'Twelve lashes - and be very sure I
shall visit the same on any blackguard who seeks to shame his ship in this
way!' Kydd felt a cold fury building at the man's hypocrisy.

Doud
was stripped and tied to the main shrouds facing outboard. Stiles came forward,
slipping the ugly length of the cat out of its bag. He took position amidships
and experimentally swung the lash, then looked at Swaine.

'Bo'sun's
mate — do your duty.' There was none of the panoply of drumbeat and marines,
just the sickening lash at regular intervals and the grunts and gasps of the
prisoner.
Seaflower's company
stood and watched the torment, but Kydd knew that a defining moment had been
reached. The fine spirit that had been Seaflower's soul was in the process of
departing. His messmates cut Doud down, and helped him below. On deck Swaine
glanced about once, to meet sullen silence and stony gazes.

The
cutter sped on over the sparkling seas, but the magic was ebbing. Kydd felt her
imperfections slowly surfacing, much as a falling out of love: the suddenly
noticed inability to stand up below, the continual canting of the decks with
her fore-and-aft rig, the discomfort of her small size. He pushed these
thoughts to the back of his mind.

Parkin
was mastheaded at three bells for 'rank bone-headedness' but at the beginning
of the first dog-watch it was Stirk who ran afoul of the increasingly
ill-tempered Swaine; told to flat in the soaring jib he turned and ambled
forward, his scorn for the uselessness of the order only too plain. 'You bloody
dog!' raved Swaine. 'Contemptuous swine! But I'll see your backbone at the main
shrouds tomorrow — silent contempt — depend upon it. Mr Merrick!'

Shackled
on deck Stirk was a pitiful sight, not so much in degradation but in the sight
of a fine seaman brought to such a pass. Merrick carefully avoided the side of
the deck where Stirk lay, but Stiles merely stepped around him — in the morning
he would be the one to swing the cat on Stirk's back and there was no room for
sentiment in a boatswain's mate.

The
evening arrived, and with it a convenient anchorage off an island south of
Hispaniola.
Seaflower
immediately
swung on her anchor to face into an offshore current of quite some strength,
and as soon as the longboat was placed in the water it streamed astern to the
full length of its painter, ready with its oars aboard for any lifesaving duty.

'Holding
should be good even so,' Jarman told Kydd. 'Sand an' mud because o' the river yonder.'
Swaine disappeared and, after securing the vessel at her moorings, supper was
piped.

It
would be a dispiriting meal. Thinking of Stirk, Kydd winced as he heard rain
roaring on the deck overhead. The berth-deck filled as men chose its heat and
fug over the deluge above, leaving the luckless lookouts and Stirk the only
ones topside.

'What
cheer, Luke?' Kydd said, when the lad brought the mess kid of supper. Luke
didn't look up, his bowed head sparking concern in Kydd. 'How's this?' he tried
again, but the boy didn't respond. 'Luke, ol' cuffin, are you—'