Kydd

by Julian Stockwin

  “No,” Caldwell said flatly. “We drift at different rates, there is danger we would fall foul of each other. I cannot risk this valuable ship in such a venture. We’ll stand by them until nightfall but then we must resume our station. That is our duty.”

  To that there could be no reply.

  It was clear that the small ship’s end would not be long delayed. She did not rise readily with the waves, which swept her decks like a half-tide rock, each one adding to the deadweight of water in her. Crippled as she was, there was no way she could achieve any kind of steerage way and she rolled and wallowed at the mercy of the sea, surging and snubbing at some sort of sea-anchor out over her plain stern.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” said Bowyer, knuckling his forehead awkwardly.

  Caldwell looked around in surprise. “Yes, er, Bowyer, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, sir. Well, when I was foretopman in Diana frigate we had to lie off a sloop in this sorta blow, ’n’ we had to get men aboard. An’ what we did, sir, was t’ stream off a raft to loo’ard, with the men lashed on it.” He shuffled his feet. “What I’m a-sayin’, sir, is that if you sees your way clear to sendin’ a raft, why, I’ll be on it, sir.”

  Caldwell looked at him doubtfully. “That vessel will surely founder soon,” he said.

  “If we can fish a spar to the stump o’ the foremast, we show some steadyin’ canvas, fresh men at the pumps, she has a chance, sir.”

  “It will need more than one man.”

  Warren stepped forward. “I’ll go, sir — give me another three men, and we’ll do the job,” he said.

  Caldwell paused. “You do understand that, if you go, I must leave you to your own resources and return to station. You will have to make rendezvous with me when the weather moderates.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Then I must ask you now to consider carefully the risks. This is a very dangerous enterprise and may result in the loss of you and your party. You will do well to reconsider.”

  Warren looked at Bowyer and then at the doomed brig. “We’ll go, sir.”

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  The raft was complete: two spare stuns’l booms connected a pair of main hatch gratings, supported by an empty cask at each end. Each man lashed himself on twice, once under the arms and again around the waist. Bowyer himself checked Kydd’s lashings, with Doud and Wong attending to themselves.

  The boatswain looked dubious as he personally secured the streaming line and attended to the hoisting out of raft and men. It was a vertiginous experience, buffeted by the wind blast while suspended from the main yard tackle, then swaying perilously above the violent seas before dropping toward the maelstrom. Kydd wondered wildly why he had volunteered, but he knew that he would always stand by Bowyer.

  They neared the hissing seas and suddenly a large wave shot upward toward them and they were sent spluttering and choking into the sea. Bowyer threw the hooked block clear and they spun crazily until the line paid out by the team on the fo’c’sle took up.

  There was little difference at the sea surface between solid water and flying spume, and Kydd choked and swallowed seawater helplessly until he thought to hold his head downwind. The sea felt almost warm in contrast to the wind-chilled air, but it was impossible to see anything of the larger picture. Spreadeagled on the grating, he felt the raft following the shape of the waves exactly; angling steeply up the fore side of the wave coming from behind, becoming briefly buried in its foaming crest before sliding at less of an angle down the other side. It went on insanely, riding the seas like a piece of debris, hurtling up and down on the waves but always on top like a cork and never overcome.

  With a jerk the line tautened and Kydd rubbed his eyes to see the bulking mass of the merchant vessel very close. A rope slapped across his back. He grabbed it and found a bowline-on-a-bight already formed at the end, through which he put his head and arms before fumbling at his lashings.

  He was pulled up, bumping on the weatherworn old sides as he reached the top, before being hauled in bodily, falling on Doud, who was crawling out of the way.

  There were only two men on deck, both in old oilskins. They had gray, exhausted faces and moved slowly. “Lieutenant James Warren, His Majesty’s Ship Duke William.” Warren’s words were carried away by the wind.

  One of the men gestured to the single companionway in the center of the flush deck, and they descended to a tiny cabin flat. “In here,” he said, in a hoarse croak.

  They entered the small stern cabin, which was in disorder. “Lost our foremast a day ago, takin’ in water fast, and —”

  “Yes. Then you are?” Warren broke in.

  “Charles Kelsey, master o’ the Lady of Penarth, five days out o’ Barry bound for Lisbon with jute,” he said.

  “What can we do for you, Captain?” Warren asked.

  Exhausted, Kelsey gestured to the other man to speak. “Took your damn time coming, didn’t you?” the man said bitterly.

  “Sir?” Warren’s jaw took a hard line.

  “All the same, you King’s men, always —”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Scully!” the older man said sharply. He turned to Warren. “We’ve had a hard time of it since we lost the foremast. Please forgive the mate his manners.” He glared at Scully and resumed, his voice strengthening. “We’re shorthanded, you understand. Main need right now is help at the pumps.”

  Warren nodded at Bowyer, who touched his forehead. Scully grudgingly led the way. The pump was abaft the main hatch on the upper deck, slightly protected from the storm blast by a weather cloth spread in the shrouds, but open to the green seas, which regularly poured over the bow. Scully stumped off.

  A single seaman was at the pump, which was much like a village pump with a handle to work up and down. The man swung listlessly at his task. No water emerged from the standpipe.

  Bowyer took it in with a glance. “Rose box in the bilges is choked,” he said. “Show me, would you, mate?” he said to the man.

  There was no answer. The man went on pumping mechanically, up and down.

  “Chum, we need to find the pump well,” Bowyer said more loudly. He pulled the man clear, but the sailor stared about him in bewilderment. His hands remained extended, claw-like.

  “The pump box, mate!”

  They reeled off forward into the sleeting spray and down a companionway.

  When Bowyer returned his face was grim. “Cleared it usin’ the limber chain, so you can get started. Tom goes first, Ned spells ’im in an hour.”

  He glanced aft. “No use expectin’ help — they’re all below, betwaddled to the gills an’ right out’ve it. They left their mate to do all the pumpin’.”

  Doud shrugged. “If you have ter go, not a bad way, is it? Yer wouldn’t know anythin’ about it.”

  Bowyer’s look was scathing. “That’s as may be. Better ter go down fightin’ is my way.” He looked at the tangle of splintered wreckage forward and flexed his arms. “Let’s be started — we gotta get sail on ’er afore dark.”

  Kydd saw Duke William sail off into the smoking seas, disappearing into the white murk and leaving them on their own.

  It was not until after night had closed in on the struggling vessel that the fore topsail yard had been seized upright to the stump of the foremast, and stayed to the empty fore-chains. By the wildly jerking light of three lanthorns the storm jib was hoisted as a trysail. It held, and with the mainsail a goosewing there was balance at last. Not only that, but a semblance of control was possible, for with the course braced up sharp and the jury trysail taut and drawing, it was possible for the ship to lie to, taking the seas regularly on the shoulder of her bow. The waves ceased to flood the decks and there was a noticeable increase of liveliness in response, helped by the steady pumping that was clearing the deadweight of water from within her.

  In a huddle under the bulwarks, Warren gave his orders. They would be divided into larboard and starboard deck watches in the usual way, Bowyer and
Kydd in the larbowlines and on for the first watch. Warren himself would stand both watches while the master and mate recovered from their exhaustion. “And listen to what I say now,” Warren said, looking at them grimly. “The hold is not to be entered. I will take it as a serious breach of discipline if it is.” They stared at him. “I have given my word to the master that this will be so, and any man that makes me break my word will rue it. No doubt you’ll discover in any event, this vessel carries a cargo of bonded whisky under the jute.”

  Doud caught Kydd’s eye. Warren noticed and continued, “Therefore any man who is found in the hold will instantly earn himself at the least a striped back. Do I make myself clear?”

  Bowyer nodded, and the others conformed.

  He broke into a smile. “Well done, men, I’ll see that your efforts are properly brought to attention when we rejoin Duke William. Larb’d watch, turn to, the rest, try to get your head down in the forrard cuddy.”

  “Aye, sir. Any chance of some clacker?” Bowyer asked.

  During the night the gale was fading and the Lady of Penarth was swooping energetically, glad to be spared. Even before the weak sun tentatively appeared above the horizon the master emerged from the companionway. He shuffled forward to check the jury rig, then went below without a word.

  “Haven’t seen Hellfire Jack on deck this morning a-tall,” Doud said.

  “As long as he sends up breakfast I’m sharp set!” said Kydd, patting his stomach. He was sitting on deck next to Bowyer.

  Wong didn’t say anything, but continued to whittle at a piece of white bone with a small but sharp blade.

  “Often wonder what goes through that heathen’s headpiece a-times, I really do,” Doud said. “Never a sound — you’d think ’e pays for talkin’ by the word! That right, Wong?”

  The dark eyes lifted; the careful knifework suspended momentarily. “What to say?” Wong said, in his curious voice, then resumed carving.

  “Where do yer come from?” Doud asked.

  Wong laid down his work with a sigh. “China, Kwangchow south part,” he said.

  “What’s yer dad do?”

  “Dead.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Wongy, didn’t know.”

  “Not sorry — he no good.” He picked up his scrimshaw and carried on with it.

  The freshness of the dawn seemed unwelcome to the men below, who stumbled bleary-eyed on deck, scruffy and seedy. The Navy men stared. They were a sorry-looking crew — dirty, scrofulous and scrawny. They resembled wharf rats more than sailors.

  “If they’re seamen then I’m a Dutchman,” said Doud.

  “’Oo in ’ell are you?” one said, looking a-squint at Doud.

  “They got strange rats aboard this hooker,” said Doud to Kydd. “They’re speakin’.”

  “Yes — t’ look at ’em they must’ve just come topsides for a breather straight fr’m the bilges,” Kydd replied.

  Doud regarded them dispassionately. “Strange, that. Always thought rats left a sinkin’ ship. This lot seems to have left it a bit late fer that.”

  The first man advanced, ingratiating, shifting his battered tricorne hat from hand to hand. “Now look’ee here, me name’s Yates — deck ’ands, we is. Where d’ye come from, I asks yer?”

  Kydd replied, “We’re from Duke William — King’s ship. Saw y’ distress guns and —”

  “And we saved yer skins, is what ’e’s a-sayin’ of,” Doud continued, his contempt plain.

  The contrast could hardly be more obvious: Doud, a prime man-o’-war’s man, strong and confident in his blue shirt and white trousers, and these three, in ragged shore clothes and repulsively unclean.

  “We’re thankful, t’be sure,” Yates said, wheedling, looking from one to the other and furtively licking his lips.

  “No bloody wonder the barky clewed up in trouble if they only ’ad these fer crew,” Doud said contemptuously. He remembered Warren’s threat. “Hey, you, what’s this that yer carries a fat cargo o’ whisky?” he said.

  There was a defensive hesitation. “Ah — that’s right, we ’as a load.”

  Doud winked at Kydd. “That’s all I want ter know,” he said.

  The deckhands were as useless in practice as their appearance suggested when a yard was crossed on the jury mast.

  “Prime!” said Bowyer, easing his back gratefully. “Now we’ll stretch a bit o’ square canvas an’ we’ll be able to set a course.” It was a great satisfaction to ease carefully around and start riding the rollers eastward, heading for the noon rendezvous position that Duke William’s master had written out for Warren.

  A change was evident also in Kelsey, who now paced the deck with a confidence that put a spring in his step. He stopped at where the Navy men were working at the foremast. “You men, I have to thank you for your work,” he told them. “But for that we surely would not have survived.” Nothing was said, but each found some task needing extra concentration. “I’d just have to say . . .” he went on, but hesitated. “God bless you.”

  “Well, Ned mate, should be back aboard soon,” Kydd said to Doud that afternoon.

  Doud was trying to put a whipping on a ragged brace end. “An’ none too soon, mate. Never seen such a rat’s nest — all twice-laid stuff, canvas yer can see through. This hooker’s fer the knacker’s yard it seems to me.” He pursed his lips in disgust. “Missin’ me tot, and that’s the truth. You’d think that with a clinking great cargo o’ liquor they’d could stove one in b’ accident, after what we done fer them.”

  He glanced about, then leaned forward. “So, Tom, me old mate, when you has the watch tonight, you may see a little rabbit pop down the fore hatch, which in course yer won’t notice.” He allowed Kydd to glimpse a sizable gimlet in his pocket.

  “I got a thirst on’ll stun an ox — but I’ll not ferget me friends.” He grinned and continued at his work.

  At dusk, Bowyer was at the wheel and Kydd on deck with him. Warren had gone below for supper with Kelsey, those off watch were in the cuddy for their supper and all was peaceful.

  A figure appeared at the break of the fo’c’sle. Bowyer grunted, but Kydd smiled and whispered, “Ned going after a wet.”

  “Yer mean —”

  “He’s goin’ to tap off some whisky,” Kydd said.

  “That’s broachin’ cargo — a hangin’ matter,” Bowyer growled.

  Kydd’s smile faded. “Says they’re an ungrateful crew, not seein’ us right after riskin’ our lives, and so he’s goin’ t’ even things up!”

  “Still no reason ter break into cargo — Warren finds out, ’e’s a gone goose. An’ we’re ’avin’ no part of it — are we?” He looked straight at Kydd.

  “You’re in the right of it, Joe,” Kydd admitted. “Ned’s a bit too forward for his own good a-times.”

  Doud silently dropped out of sight down the hooded companionway to the hold.

  Darkness clamped in, but an unexpected moon broke through the scurrying clouds for the first time, accentuating the whiteness of the foam crests and glittering in the inky troughs. It was strange to have the seas so close, a few feet away after Duke William’s thirty or more.

  Doud cautiously emerged on deck, but instead of returning to the cuddy he hurried aft toward them.

  “Ned?”

  “Yes, mate.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, I stand well flammed. In truth, I didn’t catch so much as a whiff o’ whisky, so help me.”

  Lieutenant Warren’s appearance on deck put an end to the conversation. He peered at the binnacle and up at the vigorously drawing single sail, then concluded with a cautious pace around the decks. “Quiet watch?” he asked.

  “Aye, sir,” Bowyer answered stolidly.

  “Should be up with Duke William at noon tomorrow,” Warren said.

  “Sir.” Bowyer was not given to idle chat with officers.

  “Notice anything unusual, Bowyer? Master seems uneasy about something.”

  “No, sir.”

&nbs
p; “Very well. You’ll be relieved at midnight. Any worries, I’ll be below. Goodnight.”

  With a last sniff at the weather he left.

  “Good hand, is he,” Doud said. “Others would have us squarin’ off all the time, ’n’ on our knees on deck and such. Hope he gets his step — deserves better’n the Royal Billy.”

  “Why didn’t you get y’r taste o’ whisky?” Kydd asked.

  “Well, that’s the damnedest thing. I tapped three kegs, ’n’ they were all full right enough — wi’ sand!”

  “You went to the right ones?”

  “O’ course! If I can’t tell a cask o’ spirits by the feel, I been wastin’ me time ashore.”

  “Maybe some was carried as a ballast?”

  “Nah — I was careful to choose three separate ones. The whole lot’ll have to be the same.”

  They lapsed into silence. Forward the jury rig creaked constantly as it worked with the ship’s roll.

  “Makes no sense. If the Cap’n wanted ter bam the merchant by landin’ the spirits fer his own ’n’ switchin’ sand in place of it, you’d think that ’e’d be smoked at t’other end.”

  Bowyer frowned as he braced at the wheel. Kydd perceived his disquiet at the way things were developing.

  “Whoever does get his ’ands on two ’undred barrels o’ whisky is goin’ to end up with a pile o’ guineas yer couldn’t jump over.” Doud unconsciously licked his lips.

  “Doesn’t explain th’ sand,” Kydd said.

  There was a murmur from Bowyer.

  “What was that, Joe?”

  “Well, mean ter say —”

  “Come on, spit it out, mate!” Doud urged.

  “Er, don’t like ter say it, but there is one reason I c’n think of.”

  “Yeah?”

  Bowyer looked intently at the weather leech of the mainsail. “Could be this is a coffin ship, mates.”

  “It — what?” Kydd said.

  “Not sayin’ as it is, but there’s them a’longshore who would send sailors to sea in a barky that ain’t meant to make port. Then they collects on the ing-surance when she don’t arrive.”