Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

It was still mid-morning when the column came to a halt at the sullen rumble of heavy guns ahead. A flurry of trumpet calls echoing up and down the line; bellowed orders and earnest subalterns hurrying on important missions had the column quickly deployed in line.

The seamen mustered together in the centre of the line: they would have the road. With a clinking of equipment, a squadron of cavalry mounted on indifferent horses clattered off towards the battery, which dominated the skyline.

'Poor beggars,' muttered a sailor.

'How so?' said Kydd.

'O' course, they's bein' sacrificed to see 'ow far the guns c'n reach.' A single gout of smoke appeared at the embrasures of the battery and seconds later a thud came, but there was no apparent harm to the widely separated horses. They cantered further along the road, now even at the suburbs of Pointe a Pitre.

'Stand to!' Lieutenant Calley ordered. 'We march.'

The re-formed column, having tested their advance, resumed the march. Eyes nervously on the battery above the town, they tramped along the road unopposed. Kydd looked at the deserted houses and neat gardens. No sign of war, just a sullen silence. The squadron cantered back. It seemed the battery had been deserted by the French, and their other forces were in full retreat. The empty town echoed to their progress, only the odd dog or fowl left to dispute possession. By midday, the seamen were slaking their thirst in the fountain of the town square, and the regimental fifes and drums were bringing in the soldiers.

It was an anti-climax — but welcome for all that. Parties of soldiers were sent out to secure strongpoints. The seamen were marched down to the neat harbour, its white stone walls and red-tiled buildings baking in the heat.

Chapter 4

The rain hammered down in a tropical burst of furious intensity. Kydd opened an eye lazily. It was relatively dry aft under the awning of the trading schooner and he saw no reason to disturb his repose. There was little that he and his two men could do until someone had found enough sea-stores to complete the refit, not just of this little craft on the slipway but the larger brig alongside the quay further up. The French had not dared to sail these merchant vessels out against the waiting English, or had time to destroy them.

A steamy earthiness arose as the rain eased, then stopped. Kydd took in the landlocked harbour, the vividness of the colours after the rain holding him rapt.

The ladder at the side of the craft rattled and the beaming face of Luke appeared. He and Renzi, Kydd's 'men', had volunteered for this task rather than return to Trajan, other seamen were working on the brig. 'Mr Kydd!' Luke called, and clambered over the gunwale. He had sheltered under the schooner on the slipway with Renzi.

Kydd grunted and sat up.

'Chucks'll be down on us like thunder,' Luke said cheerfully, "less we show we done somethin'.'

'What?' said Kydd grumpily. Admittedly, they could find small things to do — the departing French had slashed at the rigging, but the reason why the craft had been slipped, a strake or two stove in forward, would have to await the shipwright's attention before the schooner took to the water again.

Renzi appeared from under the round of the bilges and paced along the length of the craft on the hard-standing. God only knew what he was thinking about, mused Kydd. The smell of the schooner's hull close to was pleasant, the essence of the tar and preservatives heightened by the sun; the underwater weed and barnacles produced an intense sea aroma.

' Younker, get y'rself down t' Toby 'n' see if he needs ye,' Kydd told Luke. He waited until Luke was on his way to the brig, then dropped overside. 'Nicholas,' he said, 'might we talk?'

Renzi stopped, and struck a dramatic pose:

'Slow glides the sail along the illumined shore,

And steals into shade the lazy oar,

Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,

And amorous music on the water dies!'

Then, gazing at the broad harbour vista, he said, 'Do you not find that—'

'You think I am a weak looby, that I did not — settle th' sentry,' Kydd said bluntly.

Renzi paused only for a moment, before he replied,

'No, dear fellow, I do not.' Kydd opened his mouth to speak, but Renzi continued, 'I observe that you are driven by the highest considerations of humanity, most laudable, but these are not, entre nous, always the ones to bear foremost in such a pass. Your humanity bears you on up false paths while the essential principle remains neglected.'

'In this instance,' Kydd said stubbornly, lifting his chin, Sve could—'

'In this instance, the entire assault is put to the hazard,' Renzi replied firmly. 'There is no other course. Your duty is as clear as at the helm in a storm. The moral courage lies in attending to the matter and without repine.'

They paced together to the end of the fine-run bow. Kydd stopped. 'Why did ye come ashore with me? Was it t' play the nursemaid? Do I need a keeper?'

Renzi smiled. 'Do you believe that I would not be interested in the fate of my particular friend?'

A stab of pleasure shot through Kydd. 'Y' must be green at m' rate of petty officer,' he said gruffly.

'On the contrary, dear fellow, I give you joy of it.' His smile was genuine. 'My purpose in a ship of war is in the serving of exile, not to top it the tyrant over my shipmates.'

At that moment the boatswain and his two mates came round from the other side of the boat. 'Sticks in m' craw,' he rumbled, *but yez are stood down f'r the day.' He took off his hat and mopped his brow. 'An' I have a berth for yez - yer'll be livin' wi' a Johnny Crapaud 'n' his family. 'E'll tell y' where,' he added, thumbing at one of his boatswain's mates.

'Poxy Frogs!' sneered Luke scornfully. 'Not you, skinker,' said the boatswain, 'you comes along wi' me.'

It wasn't far from the dusty waterfront; in fact, it was a shop in a street leading off the quay. In its neat, small windows Kydd saw tobacco pipes, bone snuffboxes and rows of caddies disappearing into the gloom. Outside stood a small moustachioed Frenchman, his desiccated wife behind clutching spasmodically at him.

'Nah, then, Fronswah, these 'ere are yer guests fer now,' the tall boatswain's mate said kindly. 'Kydd 'ere, an' Renzi that one. Compree?'

'Ah, oui, y the man said doubtfully.

The boatswain's mate looked at Kydd. 'So I c'n leave yer with 'em, then?'

Kydd lifted his sea-bag. 'Aye. We've nothing t' fear fr'm these folks.'

The sailor grinned and left. The Frenchman looked up and down the street nervously and made shooing gestures to the two sailors. ‘A//ez — allez he said.

'Mais, mon brave, nous sommes . ..' began Renzi, in mellifluous French, sparking a visible leap in the man's spirits.

'J'ai l'honneur d'etre Henri Vernou, et voici ma femme? Careful nods were exchanged after Renzi had translated. His wife began guarded rapid jabber at him, but Renzi turned to her, bowed elegantly and murmured polite words. Her expression relaxed a little.

They threaded through the shop and arrived at the back in a large kitchen-cum-sitting-room. A rotund black woman froze in astonishment at the intruders, but was sharply set about her business. An external flight of steps took them to the upper storey; the wife fiddled with a key and stood back to let them enter, her eyes following them unblinking as a crow's.

'Merci, Madame? Renzi said. The room was small, but snug — a woman's room. It smelt of fragrances that made Kydd feel his rough-hewn maleness.

‘Le diner est servi a sept heures precises. Vois voire cle. Ne la perdez pas.' She closed the door on them.

'Supper will be at seven, you will be gratified to know,' Renzi said.