Renzi stared back frostily. 'As well you can conceive, he selfishly consults the interests of his own ship, that its warlike powers are not imperilled.' He laid down his yarns. 'Yet I must own to a powerful longing to see, just for a morsel of time, the outworking of pure Nature on humankind. Only that,' he finished lamely. Kydd suspected he was shying from the difficulty of justifying his desire to visit the shore in the face of baser motives.
They both glanced shoreward. 'We're to be guard tomorrow,' Kydd said neutrally. It had been hard seeing the first part of the larboard watch pile into the boats, laughing and boisterous, and shove off for the sweets of the land. But Rowley had called on the Master-at-Arms and three boatswain's mates to land with them — there would be no chance of tomfoolery.
Night drew in again. Most men chose to remain on deck in the warm tropic evening, smelling the cooking fires ashore but having to eat their own victuals, boiled to a mush by a sea-cook who had stood wondering as the unknown foods piled aboard for stowing.
As the shore became an anonymous dark mass and lanthorns were hung in the rigging, Powlett came on deck. He didn't waste time. 'Cutter's crew to muster - awaaaay larb'd cutter!' This meant Kydd, who was bowman of the duty cutter. It was already at the lower boom, and Kydd ran out along the spar in the darkness, and swung down the Jacob's ladder into the boat. He singled up on the painter, then hooked on alongside Artemis to allow Powlett to descend the steps and into the boat.
There was no talking as they pulled strongly ashore. Powlett's expression deterred even the effervescent Midshipman Titmuss. They passed through the dark, phosphorescence-streaked sea in a rush, and near to the ragged line of blue-white that marked the tide-line Kydd leapt into the shallows to guide the cutter in.
Powlett stepped rapidly along the thwarts, and splashed down into the shallow water. 'With me,' he said briefly to the midshipman and Kydd, and plunged forward, heading rapidly for the path.
They paused, just for a moment, where the grassy plateau began. Powlett glared at the men clustered around the fire, laughing and singing. Too late, the marine sentry stumbled up and made his challenge, his hat askew and musket without its bayonet. Without comment Powlett thrust past and towards the firelight. The singing died away as he was recognised.
'Mr Rowley?' he snapped. The men looked sheepishly at each other, cowed by the naked fury on Powlett's face.
One man, whom Kydd recognised as Hallison, detached himself and touched his forehead. 'I'll find him f'r you, sir,' he said, looking around before moving off into the darkness.
An ominous quiet descended, the crackling of the fire sounding loud, the men's eyes flicking about nervously. Titmuss seemed uneasy at the charged atmosphere and edged closer to the Captain. With a sudden flurry of movement Rowley arrived with Hallison, breathless and in lace shirt and breeches only, his cocked hat the wrong way around. 'Sir?' he said, in guarded tones.
Powlett drew a sharp breath, then said, with icy control, 'Be so good as to report your dispositions for the night, Mr Rowley.' There was a brief pause before Rowley began his report. 'Damn your blood, sir!' Powlett roared, interrupting the hesitant words. 'You treat your duty as a vile visit to a bagnio. Where are your sentinels? Why are these men in liquor?'
'Sir, I - I—' stuttered Rowley. Powlett leant forward, piercing Rowley with his eyes. 'You, sir, are under open arrest. Get back on board this instant.' In the shocked silence, Powlett swung around to the midshipman. 'Pass the word for Mr Parry. He is to assume Mr Rowley's duties ashore.'
Haynes was dismissive of the whole affair. 'Rowley has t' be a right lobcock, thinkin' to bam Black Jack like that.' Dice clattered to the table. Although gambling was a court-martial offence, there was no chance of a petty officer's mess receiving the wrong kind of visitors without warning. Haynes peered at the dice in the light of the guttering rush dip and snorted in disgust.
Picking them up and dropping them noisily into the leather cup, Mullion gave a glimmer of a smile. 'Can't blame a man f'r wantin' a fuckle,' he said, 'an' Rowley is a man fer the ladies, right enough. Lets his prick lead the way, 'n' he follows on behind.'
His throw was vigorous, and with a grunt of satisfaction Mullion let Haynes see the result before stretching out his hand to help himself to one of Haynes's littie store of worn dried peas. Haynes's own hand flashed out and clamped over Mullion's fist, crashing it to the table. Surprised, Mullion looked into Haynes's eyes. Haynes returned the look with smouldering intensity. With his other hand he deliberately picked a pea from his own store and carefully added it to Mullion's pile, his eyes never leaving Mullion's. 'Allow me,' he grated. Slowly he released Mullion's fist and sat back.
Uneasy, Kydd broke into the savage silence. 'Shipmates,' he said, 'what's this that y' quarrel over a dish of trundlers?' He stood over the motionless pair at the mess-table until Mullion glanced up and allowed a trace of a smile to appear before relaxing back. Haynes mumbled something in his grating voice and subsided.
It worried Kydd. It was rare for shipmates to clash in this way, and now within a short space tempers had flared again.
For want of somewhere to go he went forward to the galley. Renzi was proving a difficult friend while they were at the island, and seemed to want to be alone more often than not. Around the galley were the usual crowd, enjoying a pipe of tobacco and listening to yarns and songs.
Kneeling on the deck, eyes raised to heaven in mock reverence, was a young Irishman. His round face wore a mournful aspect as he chanted an endless ditty:
Bryan O'Lynn and his wife, and wife's mother,
They went in a boat to catch sprats there together,
A butt-end got stove and the water rushed in —
We're drowned, by the holy, says Bryan O'Lynn.
Bryan O'Lynn and his wife, and wife's mother,
They went with the priest to a wake there together,
And there they got drunk and thought it no sin —
It keeps out the cold, says Bryan O'Lynn.
Bryan O'Lynn and his wife, and wife's mother
They went to the grave with the corpse all together,
The earth being loose they all then fell in —
Bear a hand and jump out, says Bryan O'Lynn.
His audience listened in happy attention, the verses following one after the other in a respectful monotone, until a slight change in tone indicated the final stanza, which was finished in a rousing climax:
Bryan O' Lynn and his wife, and wife's mother,
Resolved then to lead a new life together,
And from that day to this have committed no sin —
In the calendar stands now, sir, SAINT BRYAN O'LYNN!
Hearty chuckles met this, and Kydd felt better.
At dawn Powlett went ashore again, grim-faced and irritable. Stomping up the path he nodded curtly at bored sentries and met Parry coming from the living hut. He was drawn and haggard and moved wearily. 'Report!' snapped Powlett.
Parry pulled himself together. 'I am truly sorry to say that some of the men straggled in the night.'
'How many?' demanded Powlett. 'I'll have the skin from their backs, the rogues!'
'Twenty-nine.'
Powlett stopped, aghast. This was over half the watch. His hands twitched convulsively on his sword hilt before he turned abruptly on his heel and trudged down to the boat again. He was still silent as he climbed the side of his ship. Acknowledging the boatswain's calls as they piped the side, he disappeared into his cabin.
Later in the forenoon Lieutenant Rowley was summoned. He was seen to enter Powlett's cabin with a truculent expression. Words were heard from inside, hard and angry words. Rowley left with a set, pale face, stalking down to his cabin. The rest of the forenoon Powlett stayed behind his closed door.
The atmosphere aboard Artemis became strained and moody, radiating out from Powlett's closed door. At noon, the hands were called aft by Parry; the Captain was not present. In an expressionless voice Party told the ship's company they would revert
to three watches for liberty, one of which would be retained for guard duties, the remainder having the freedom of the island. It did not need much reflection to realise that Powlett had capitulated to the situation.
Renzi stepped out up the overgrown path inland towards the naked peak that towered ahead. Kydd followed behind, puffing at the pace Renzi was setting. They reached a broad ledge of bare rock that allowed them to look back on where they had come from. 'Ah, is not that sublime?' Renzi stood on the lava rock as far forward as possible, unconsciously taking the pose of a Romantic hero, one foot braced forward, a noble brow shielded by his palm as he gazed out over the dramatic downward sweep of the foliage.
Kydd was grateful for the breeze. The day was sunny and close in the lee of the peak. Odd odours from the island vegetation and the warm smell of sun on the volcanic soil filled his nostrils. 'What price y'r Diderot now?' Kydd responded happily, only hazily aware of the philosopher's existence, but knowing that it would give Renzi pleasure that he had remembered their conversation. What the man had actually said he couldn't recall.
Renzi turned on him, his face ablaze. Kydd recoiled in dismay. 'Yes, you're right! That is the essence of it! We stand morally condemned - "Man is not content with defeating Nature, he must triumph over it!'"
'Why, yes, o' course, this is very right,' Kydd agreed, and scratched his leg where some unknown insect had made itself known. Renzi had his oddities, but his emotional tone of late was not in character and Kydd felt some disquiet.
They resumed their upward climb and the bare grey rock of the peak presented close before them as a steep escarpment. They cast about, looking for a passage, but for some time there had been no discernible track through the scrubby vegetation. Then Kydd spied a break in the rock-face, and when they achieved this, they found that they could now see both sides of the island.
The far side was much steeper, and being to the weather side of the island the ocean surged in, smashing down on the foreshortened beach in a ceaseless assault, a constant mist of spume in a haze above the surf. Kydd could not make out anything of interest. The anonymous riot of greenery stretched away unbroken in both directions. A small bluff projected into the sea at one point, its red soil distinctive, and a small beach lay within its hook — but that was all.
Back to leeward the vista was more satisfying, the shallows where they had careened were easily visible, and towards the other end of the island, they saw the crescent of a wide lagoon. Over a dozen canoes were drawn up on its inner beach, and one or two smaller ones lay unmoving in the lagoon itself. The occupants were fishing. Close inshore was Artemis, her trim lines sleek and satisfying; she lay to both anchors and appeared rock-like still, although Kydd knew her to be lively and responsive to the modest swell. The plateau was in plain sight below them, much closer to the beach than Kydd remembered, and on it within the stockade were tiny figures working on the huts and the observatory.
His eyes strayed to the beach between the lagoon and the plateau path. There were women down there, with their wares laid out, and he could see the unmistakable forms of sailors mingling among them.
A splendid situation for our repast!' Renzi said, hardly able to take his eyes from the abundance of nature. Kydd's cloth bundle was added to the common pool, and soon they were feasting on succulent fish cooked in plantain leaves, ship's biscuit and nameless hunks of a grey, starchy substance. They gorged on fruit to conclude, and Renzi apologetically poured rum and water for their wine.
They lay back, eyes closed, letting the airy warmth and perfect stillness work on their spirits. 'So, we are now at the far side o' the world,' Kydd said lazily. Just bringing out the words, however, brought a flash of memory. Here was Guildford high street, the old family shop now a stationer's, the crabby windows filled with patriotic and satirical mezzotints. Gentlemen with ladies on their arm were passing by. He mentally corrected the image; the idyllic weather here had induced a summer scene in England, but of course right now it was winter, and it would be a different prospect. His mind drifted. Winter in Macao had been cold, but quite bearable. In fact, he and Sarah — he caught himself at the cold wash of remembrance, her face returned to the centre of his vision, tear-streaked and pale.
He jerked awake and sat up. 'Shall we return to the ship, d'ye think?' he said, scrambling to his feet. He yearned for the simplicity of the human company to be found in Artemis.
'No,' said Renzi, decisively. His eyes remained closed.
Kydd hesitated. 'The afternoon is passing . . .'
'I have no intention of returning,' Renzi said. His eyes flicked open and he looked up at Kydd. 'I cannot easily bring to recollection a greater peace and exaltation of mind than this prospect brings — I shall remain here until driven back by nightfall.' He looked steadily at Kydd, the lines each side of his mouth lengthening.
'Then I have t' return without company,' Kydd said.
'Do so, my friend,' Renzi responded, without a pause.
Kydd waited, then smiled reluctantly. 'Wish y' joy of y'r Nature,' he said, and turned down the path.
Reaching sea-level he moved towards the figures on the beach. He waved to Doud, who had a basket that he was carrying towards the informal market. Doud waved back cheerily. Kydd pressed on and saw his first native at close quarters — a man standing expressionless under a palm gazing at the chattering groups. His brown, oiled body was tall and confident and he wore a fine-patterned bark-cloth skirt, which extended from a broad woven girdle nearly to his ankles. Kydd offered an uncertain smile, which brought no response.
He walked past, approaching the women of the market who sat on palm leaves laid in a criss-cross. Nut-brown and strong-limbed, their noses broad and flat, they had a vitality and animal suppleness. They laughed and chattered and threw looks his way that were unmistakable. ‘Ohe, papalangi’ they teased, and Kydd grinned.
He passed by, heading for the lagoon. It was an idyllic prospect, utterly peaceful and lazy under the tall palms. He was drawn to the canoes pulled up on the sand. They were fine-lined and beautifully finished. He fingered a furled sail, made of a woven matting; it would not stand a gale at sea, but he guessed that the canoe would head for the nearest island if it came on to blow. They would probably be wet and waterlogged in the short seas of the English Channel, but here in the broad Pacific they would respond to the spacious swells by riding up one side and down the other, fast and dry.
His attention was on the canoe and he wasn't aware of the presence of another until he felt a gende touch on his arm. Straightening, he turned to see a native girl hesitandy offering him half a coconut filled with water-juice. Her face was open, and her quick smile widened readily at Kydd's shy response. 'Why, thank 'ee,' he said, uncomfortably aware that her hand still lay on his arm. 'Er - is this y'r boat?' He accepted the shell and tasted. The cool young juice was nectar, and he drank again.
‘Tamaha? she replied happily. She wore an ankle-length coloured skirt similar to those of the men but her upper body was modesdy concealed by a string of pretty dried leaves and rushes hanging down from around her neck.
'Sorry, I don't understand,' Kydd said, and smiled back.
She giggled, then laid her hand on her breast. 'Tamaha? she repeated, then touched Kydd's breast.
'Oh, well, it's Tom, Tom Kydd,' he said, conscious that she did not withdraw her hand.
‘Ah— Tonki? she whispered, and stroked his shirt curiously. He looked down on her black hair and caught the scent of her, a head-swimming blend of coconut oil and sandalwood. Kydd cleared his throat and looked around. The man under the palm was gone, and their conversation had attracted not the slightest bit of attention from the few still on the beach.
'Urn, Tamaha,' he began, and fell back on his previous piece of small-talk. 'This is your canoe?' he asked. She seemed puzzled, so he gestured meaningfully at the craft. Her face cleared, and she slid the canoe easily into the still water of the lagoon.
He stood in confusion. 'Ohe, Tonki!' she called, holding the canoe st
ill and beckoning. Kydd found himself moving forward to her. Splashing in the bath-warm water, he climbed in and settled in the after part, laughing in embarrassment.
Tamaha joined in the laughter, and pushing off the outrigger, climbed lithely aboard. She plied her paddles easily and the canoe skimmed out over the water.
It glided to a lazy stop in the middle of the lagoon and Kydd looked down through the crystal water to a riot of colour not thirty feet down, a profusion of tumbling growths in an undulating underwater plain, the most beautiful landscape he had ever seen. He looked up to see Tamaha regarding him seriously over her shoulder. He grinned back, his reserve melting.
She lowered her head, then fumbled in the forward recesses of the canoe and came out with a palm-leaf bundle. Eyes mischievous, she lay back slowly until her head lay cradled between Kydd's thighs, and her bare arm arched over to offer him a dark-coloured piece of fruit. He accepted slowly and bit into it. Her eyes sparkled up at him and he felt desire mount in a betraying dull flush. He looked over the side again while he collected his thoughts, and she jerked upright again in mock exasperation.
Thoroughly discommoded, he studied the coral more closely, at which she stood up in the canoe. She looked at him once, then in a single breathtaking movement she dived into the lagoon. Amazed, Kydd gazed deep down into the water, seeing her brown body picking its way through the coral garden, her garments floating erotically free.
She found what she wanted and surfaced, water sparkling on her skin, her black hair clinging. It was a beautiful small white shell, empty and delicate, and as it took the air it became more and more intensely white. She stared at him anxiously; he accepted the gift reverently and without thinking held it first to his bosom and then kissed it before looking back into her eyes.
She retrieved her paddles and the outrigger moved purposefully through the crystal water, past the lush coastline towards the end of the crescent. It performed a neat curve and crunched up on the beach. Kydd got out and helped pull the craft clear of the water.
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