'We got a chance now, me ol’ griff,' said Stirk, his eyes dark-shadowed, his face hollow.
'Show some canvas, why, we'll claw off in a brace o' shakes,' agreed Kydd. During the night the wind had backed. Now no longer a dead muzzier, there was a fighting chance that they could use the shift in wind to sail themselves out close-hauled. And in this way, they would no longer be reliant on the single anchor - they would be once more in the open sea.
The light of day spread. It was now possible to see a jagged horizon, which had been invisible the previous day, and Kydd knew that the weather was moderating.
'All haaands . . .' The rest was impossible to make out. But it was clear what was required. Hands to stations to set sail; Kydd went aft to the helm to await his orders.
Bomford spoke briefly to his first lieutenant. From all parts-of-ship came the officers and petty officers in charge of their stations, from the fighting tops, the fo'c'sle, the mainmast. They were the ones who would hear what must be done — and make it so.
The Captain stood in the centre of the deck, his officers straining to hear, the petty officers about them. 'You will know of the peril in which we stand — I will not refer to it again,' Bomford said. His voice had a hard, resolute edge that cut through the buffeting roar of the wind.
'We will cast to larb'd and proceed under close-reefed main, double-reefed storm jib and driver.' He looked keenly at the group. 'You will see that this is very like a club-haul, the latter part - and by this you will know that there is no going back, there is but one chance . . .'
Kydd had never seen a club-haul, a manoeuvre reserved for the most desperate situations, but he had heard of it. A vessel caught on a lee coast would let go her anchor, then continue to be blown ashore only to pivot around her anchor to face out to sea again. It was a brutal manoeuvre but the sting was in what Bomford was saying: there was only one chance, because when the vessel found herself headed back out to sea, she had no choice — the anchor cable had to be cut to enable the escape.
'I will crowd on her all sail she will take,' Bomford said, ‘by my sign to each in turn ...' he specified which signal would apply to which sail for shouted orders were useless '. .. and I apprehend the chief peril to be if the main course is .taken aback.'
The Captain finished, and looked gravely at each man. He then spoke gently but firmly: 'I do believe before we go to put our lives at hazard, it will not go amiss if we put our hopes and trust before He who disposes of all things.' A scatter of shapeless tarpaulin head coverings disappeared and, bare-headed, the men of HMS Trajan came together in prayer. For a long moment, there was silence as every man's thoughts soared to his loved ones, and the chance of ever seeing them again.
Kydd's eyes lifted from the deck. 'To your stations, if you please,' said Bomford quietly. The light had strengthened: it was possible to see well ahead to the open sea, the yearned-for goal, but the line of coast was growing in clarity.
Capple stood at the wheel, his arms folded, ready. His was without doubt the single most vital task. Kydd snatched a glance. If Capple felt the pressure on him he gave no sign of it, his eyes slitted against the wind, watching the sails bent on, gaskets loosened, men gathering to hoist — or dowse.
It was time. One by one the stations waved an acknowledgement, the men standing by in fearful anticipation. Out of sight on the deck below the boatswain would be standing with his foot on the cable as it left the hawse — he would feel its live thrumming, the tension in a direct line to the sea-bed. When the ship had sail on, had speed sufficient not only to meet the seas and beat them but to make real way, then the boatswain would feel the vibration die away, the cable deaden, relaxed at last as the ship came up on the anchor. Then would be the time for the carpenter to step forward with his razor-sharp mast axe and cut the cable.
'Helm!' the Captain warned. Capple gripped the wheel. Kydd would follow every movement at the lee side, his eyes fixed on the quartermaster. The Captain moved to the forward end of the quarterdeck and gave one last glance aloft. Then he acted: the signal went out. It was the storm jib to hoist, and forward a tiny triangle of sail inched up hesitantly, the white faces of the fo'c'sle party clearly visible as they looked back at the Captain, ready for an immediate countermand. The wheel spun as the helm was put hard over. They would use the effect of the seas seething past to help achieve a cast to larb'd.
Higher it rose, flapping and beating with the wind dead ahead. Suddenly it took the wind, board taut: the strong sail in an instant had the bows dipping and the ship shying like a nervous horse. This was the time of greatest danger, before any speed through the water was achieved, sheering across the wind and putting intolerable strain on their anchor.
Another signal, this time aft: the driver, a fore and aft sail on the mizzen, makeshift reefing to show the smallest possible area. Kydd held his breath - the sail flapped and banged, then caught.
Braced right around, the main-yard was slung low in its jeers, but the lee clew of the course appeared. It grew, and the first square sail was set, a tiny corner on one side of the yard, but yet a driving force.
Nervously Kydd snatched a glimpse at the white seas raging past. The ship began to rear: there was an uneasy screwing motion. The Captain was as rigid as a statue, gripping a stay and staring fiercely ahead. Bomford gestured — more sail showed at the main. Kydd could not be sure, but felt that the motion was growing less jerky. Could it be that they were advancing on their anchor?
Raising his arm, Bomford looked all about him. Then, the signal to cut the cable, to launch themselves into eternity — or sweet safety.
Kydd tensed, and in the time it took the carpenter to hack through the great cable Bomford strode quickly back to the helm. Suddenly the ship's bow fell away from the wind. No longer tethered she dropped away to leeward. A massive roll sent men skittering across the deck. A cross sea intervened and the ship lurched sickeningly. Kydd snatched a look astern — they were drifting down on the land. His hands gripped the wheel convulsively. A growl from Capple brought his attention to it. They fought the wheel round together, hard over to try to bring the bows back up to the wind.
The Captain stood unmoving and Kydd felt a pressure on the helm, a strengthening, glorious force that told of power and movement through the water. He determined not to look behind at the land, but couldn't help a prickling in his neck as he remembered the fringing reef, which must be close now.
The bowsprit reared and plunged but it sawed a path in the sky that was unmistakable: Trajan was answering her helm. Kydd dared to hope. A little more of the goosewinged main and the old ship heeled obediently in response, the seas meeting her bow with energy and purpose. Minute by agonising minute, yard by yard, Trajan clawed her way out to sea, until at last there could be no more doubt. They had won through.
All eyes were on the thick-set carpenter as he emerged on deck to report. The pumps had been at work for some time, but it seemed that he had not found any specific leakage.
'Sir, the barky is strained in her foreparts, on account o' the anchorin' pulling and tearin' at the riding bitts and clinches. I can't say as I c'n be sure how long afore she opens up aroun' the cant frames, she bein' so mouldy deep in an' all.'
It would be the cruellest fortune to founder just as they had found life. Kydd felt resentment flare and wondered bitterly what Renzi would make of it, what philosophical edge might make it palatable. There was talk of frapping, putting turns of rope right round the hull and bowsing tight, but this was impossible while the hurricane lasted. The wind had backed further and as the hours wore on there was a discernible lessening of the violence, a descent into merely a fresh gale, but not enough.
Just before Kydd's watch finished, lookouts on the foreyard sighted sail, far off and storm-tossed, but it quickly resolved into a frigate, an English one as far as anyone could tell, scudding before the outer edge of the hurricane.
'Show 'em our colours,' snapped Auberon. In reply a blue ensign jerked up the mast in the frigate, pro
ving her one of Admiral Jervis's Leeward Islands Squadron.
Bomford wasted no time. 'Signal her to lie to, and attend on us when the storm abates,' he ordered, and went below.
'All the haaaands! All haaands on deck — lay aft!'
Shafts of sun glittered on the grey seas, the wind nearly back in the north-east, warmth beginning to spread, the insanity of the past slipping away. The men mustered on the upper deck to hear the Captain again.
'I will be brief,' Bomford began. It was clear he had much on his mind, and he spoke curdy. 'I am proud of this ship - I am proud of you all, that you have done your duty so nobly. If you stand as valiantly against the enemy as you did against the might of the hurricane then we have no fear of any foe.' Bomford seemed to have difficulty in choosing his words. 'Trajan will proceed now to Antigua for survey and repair at the dockyard, a bare day or two's sail away.' He waited for the indistinct murmuring to die away. 'But I have to tell you that we as a ship's company will be transported in the frigate back to Barbados while this is done.' This time there were mutters of appreciation - the small island of Antigua could not bear the effort of keeping hundreds of seamen idle ashore for an extended period, and therefore they would return to the main base with all its lures. 'Yet I would ask for volunteers to form a skeleton crew to sail Trajan to her well-earned rest. May the first lieutenant see the hands of those volunteering?'
A tiny scatter of hands rose. It was no contest: Antigua had nothing to offer that compared with the punch shops and entertainments of Bridgetown. Anger rose in Kydd: Trajan was now to be deserted by those she had borne so uncomplainingly through her time of trial. He glanced about. Stony faces met his: they were not going to give up their chance of a frolic. Kydd threw up his hand — he at least would remember the old lady.
The. volunteers were mustered on the quarterdeck. His eyes resentfully on the deserting seamen, Kydd didn't notice Bomford approach.
'Kydd, it did not escape me, the contribution you made to this ship and her preservation.' Bomford had piercing eyes and Kydd stiffened. 'This was in the very best traditions of the Service, and show you to be an exceptional seaman. I look forward to when we renew our acquaintance as a ship's company — and while I cannot promise in the particulars, I have it in mind to recognise your worth with an advancement. Good luck, and thank you.'
Chapter 6
Trajan ghosted over a shimmering sea, her sail reduced so that without an anchor she could back topsails and heave to in plenty of time. The low, pretty island of Antigua lay ahead, basking in tropical sunshine, a long sandy beach visible between two rocky points. The dark stone of a fort stood at a height to the right, and another one extended low down along a point to the left, dashes of red along a crenellated wall obviously soldiers. The sea was a deep royal blue, so calm that only a slight swell marred its flat, glittering expanse.
A boat under sail emerged round the point and turned towards them, her bow-wave white and sparkling. On taking in the last of her sails, Trajan ceased her live motion and drifted. The boat arrived and a deeply sun-tanned officer clambered up the side. It took little time for the essence of the matter to be conveyed: the ship would be prepared to enter English Harbour.
It was out of the question to sail into the confines of the harbour: the compact space that made it a first-class hurricane haven made it impossible for a large ship to manoeuvre. Trajan would be warped in. Ropes were taken ashore by boat and secured to strong moorings embedded at strategic points, and all hands of the skeleton crew manned the capstan.
The land came in on both sides, but around the point it opened up. At a prominence further down in the long harbour a cluster of buildings announced the location of a naval dockyard. Trajan was not alone. The bulbous hull of a vessel careening dominated the other side, and everywhere there were brigs, schooners, packets and a swarm of small fry. But the 74-gun Trajan was easily the biggest vessel, her grim sides towering above them all.
They hauled themselves further into the harbour. The dockyard was to larboard, and on a flat area to the fore a lofty mast bore a Union Flag that streamed gaily to the breeze. As her commissioning pennant was not in evidence, there were no naval ceremonies and within the hour Trajan was alongside a dusky brown coral-stone wharf.
Kydd looked ashore. The little dockyard town boasted imposing, veranda-clad two-storey edifices along well-made roads. At the root of the tiny peninsula was a long pillared structure with open sides topped with a wide roof — a boat being floated inside revealed it as a shipwright's boat-house.
Springs and breast-ropes applied, Trajan had officially arrived. It was hot and dusty, but the north-east trade winds resumed their cool streaming from over the surrounding hills. All the same, Kydd felt grateful to be wearing a thin working shirt rather than the soldiers' heavy clothing. From Trajan's upper deck, he could see into the busy dockyard. Black men considerably outnumbered others, plodding along economically with their burdens. A number of ducks and geese were fluttering and strutting about.
'Ain't much,' Stirk said, mopping his brow with his red kerchief. 'We goin' rollickin' ashore, 'n' not a sight of a regular-goin' pothouse anywheres.' The close-packed dockyard buildings quickly fell away along what could be seen of the road meandering into the interior. The cane-fields over the surrounding hills, apart from the occasional windmill, were innocent of anything man-made.
'Heard tell th't what y* sees is all there is,' Kydd said, remembering the derisive talk in Trajan when he had volunteered. 'Seems the Navy is all in th' north o' the island, an' here just y'r dockyard an' the redcoats.' Stirk gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, and Kydd hoped that they would not be long delayed. A week or two to refit, enough to cross the Atlantic for a full docking in England — then, at last, he would be able to go home.
There was a coming and going of officers and dockyard functionaries up the side-steps from the quay, but nothing to say what their future would be. The young lieutenant in temporary command was not going to risk his situation by letting his men leave the ship. They stayed aboard, moodily watching the shore.
At four in the afternoon, as the midday heat lessened, a small party approached. It was led by a man in austere black, and as he stepped down on the upper deck Kydd was struck by the nobility in his bearing, the calm certainty in his features. The party disappeared below.
'Who's that?' Kydd asked.
'Why, that's Zachary Caird, yer master shipwright come ter survey,' said a local craftsman. 'Second only ter the commissioner in the dockyard, is 'e.'
One of the party reappeared on deck, his working clothes marking him as a shipwright. He brushed aside questions, slipping over the side and into the dockyard. He returned with a long, cylindrical section auger, and vanished below.
Darkness was drawing in by the time the party came on deck again. From their grave expressions Kydd guessed that the repair would be a lengthy one. 'Any word, sir?' he asked the young lieutenant, after he had shepherded the survey team over the bulwarks.
'Yes,' said the officer offhandedly, 'and we are to be condemned, I believe.'
Kydd stared. 'We . . .'
'We are strained and leaking in the hull, and it is outside the powers of this dockyard to get us seaworthy enough to make passage back to England.' He removed his cocked hat and wiped his forehead. 'As they have no dry dock here for a great repair, we are finished. It was being at anchor in a hurricane, the strain and working at the bow, too much for the ironsick old vessel.' He gazed away.
'But—'
'It's subject to confirmation by others, but, well, you now know as much as I.'
Stirk had no doubts about their future. 'The Trajans are no more, cully! We'se goin' ter be sent quicksmart t' Barbados an' the Loo'ard Island fleet, or it's the Jamaica Squadron. Either way we gets no say a-tall which barky we're goin' ter ship out on.'
Kydd's spirits sank. It was hard to take. Renzi would probably not even know which ship he had been assigned to, all his friends would be scattered and he would not see
them again. There was one other thing to add to his dejection. He was now a quartermaster's mate, a petty officer: in a strange ship he would have to work his way up all over again. Captain Bomford's promise of advancement meant nothing.
The next day, Trajan was warped deeper into the harbour, well clear of other vessels, and prepared for de-storing. After the formality of a second opinion her guns would be removed and the process of hulking her would begin.
A large detachment of seamen was soon taken off for immediate passage to Barbados. A brig-sloop took another six, an armed schooner three. A last-minute call from a passing 64-gun vessel took the majority of the remainder to Jamaica, leaving a silent, echoing ship and a handful of men.
'Kydd!' the lieutenant called. 'Mr Caird has asked if I can spare a good hand to work with him ashore. I told him we can. Get your gear, the dockyard boat will be calling for you at six bells.'
The dockyard? Kydd's thoughts jostled and his first instinct was to object - but, then, perhaps it would be interesting, learning the internal secrets of so many different kinds of vessel. He found himself responding positively.
But there was one left aboard to whom he must say farewell. Luke was stricken at the news. 'B-but, Mr Kydd — you ...'
Touched by his grief Kydd fumbled for words, knowing the dockyard boat would be alongside soon. 'Shall miss ye too, skinker,' he said, ruffling the lad's hair, 'but we does our duty, an' without gripin'.' Luke stared at him but didn't move as Kydd turned and left.
The dockyard hoy was taking advantage of the trip by loading mounds of sails, awnings, cordage and other materials from Trajan for return to stores. Kydd found himself wedged in with these as he settled down for the short trip.
The boat hoisted sail. As they made their way to the dockyard landing place, Kydd looked back on Trajan, his ship: her age-darkened sides, the ugly truncation of topmasts, the secrets of twenty years and the unknown thousands who had sailed in her. He felt a lump build in his throat as she fell astern. She slowly transfigured into yet another feature of the harbour, an anonymous vessel in the distance with all reality of having been his home now faded. He wrenched away his gaze. A different kind of life was starting for him now.
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