Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

'He is at St John's at the same court-martial.'

"Then who is in command?'

'Patelle is under the temporary command of one of her lieutenants.'

Farrell, followed by the clerk, entered an anteroom on the ground floor, and glanced about. 'I shall set up headquarters here. Desire the Shirley Heights garrison to send an officer to attend me here for an immediate council-of-war.'

The clerk looked affronted but, at Stirk's grim look, quickly left. A sergeant of marines shortly appeared and gave a crashing salute. 'Sah!' With his local knowledge, Kydd helped to pull things together, and within the hour a captain of the Royal Scots Fusiliers was in respectful attendance.

Meanwhile, Farrell had the marine messenger busy with orders: 'To the officer commanding, Shirley Heights: "It would be of some service to me should you see fit to begin heating shot as of this moment."' Guns mounted on the commanding heights above the harbour could send red-hot shot among invading ships.

'My compliments to the commander of Patelle and he is to send her longboat, mounted with a swivel, to lie at grapnel in the entrance to the harbour.'

There was a small number of marines, less the usual number of sick, but the army was in some strength in forts at Shirley Heights and Blockhouse Hill. Barracks at Monks Hill and The Ridge held an unknown number of soldiers, depending on how many had fallen victims to the yellow fever. Would it be enough?

'Sah!'

'Yes, Sergeant?' Farrell looked up from his desk.

The man looked ill at ease. Farrell frowned. 'What is it, man?' 'Sah!'

'Yes,' said Farrell impatiently. 'Get on with it.'

'Sah, Lieutenant Powell o' the Patelle says — er, L'tenant Powell tol’ me that 'e's unable ter comply with y'r orders, sah!'

Farrell rocked back in his chair. 'Do I understand you to say that Lieutenant Powell is unable to send his ship's boat out?'

The sergeant hesitated. ‘Er, it's like this, sah. L'tenant Powell says as 'ow he, er, don't recognise yer orders, like.'

Everyone in the room froze. The dockyard clock ticked heavily.

'Where is the officer now?' Farrell asked finally.

The sergeant, still rigidly at attention, said tightly, 'Don't rightly know, sah.'

Farrell opened his mouth, but Kydd broke in, 'You mean t' say he's in the capstan house, do ye not?'

The sergeant's eyes swivelled to Kydd. 'Could be.'

Kydd went on carefully, 'Sir, seems th' l'tenant is enjoyin' an evenin' jug, didn't quite understan' y'r orders.'

Farrell gave a wintry smile. 'As it happens, I know Mr Powell.' The smile vanished. 'Send word to the master of Patelle that Lieutenant Powell is to be confined to his cabin immediately.' The sergeant saluted and left hastily.

Stirk looked meaningfully at Kydd but said nothing. Another languid sunset was on its way, but there was tension in the air. 'Have my orders been carried out?' Farrell demanded. The unknown four sail at last sighting were lying becalmed fifteen miles away; the focus of attention was now narrowing to this vexing insubordination.

'Oil' Outside, the sergeant of marines beckoned furiously to Kydd. 'Yer L'tenant Powell - y' knows about 'im an' Farrell?'

'No?' said Kydd guardedly.

The sergeant pursed his lips. 'Well, see, they was both lootenants in Patelle t'gether, but hated each other's guts somethin' wicked. Now, I got a bad feelin' about this, I has, goin' to end in no good a-tall fer anyone.'

Kydd looked at the sergeant intently. 'Is Powell confin'd?'

'No. See — it's the sailin' master he's bin drinkin' with,' he added, 'an' now, well, yer Jack Tars are gettin' upset at their cap'n being taken in charge like, an—'

One of the dockyard men approached with a strange expression. 'Ye'd better give this t' yer officer, lads,' he said, holding out a document.

Kydd took it. It was written orders for the disposition of soldiers to the dockyard, and it was signed, 'Powell, Lieutenant, Royal Navy, Senior Officer of ships in English Harbour for the time being'.

'Sergeant!' shouted Farrell, from inside. 'Has Lieutenant Powell been confined in accordance with my orders?'

Kydd entered, and touched his hat to Farrell. 'No, sir, an' I think you should see this.'

Farrell read it, and stood, his face white. 'Sir,' he said to the army captain, 'you will oblige me by taking a file of six soldiers and placing Lieutenant Powell under arrest.' The captain, barely managing a salute, collected his shako and made to leave. 'And, Kydd,' added Farrell, 'please to accompany him, in the event he goes aboard a ship.'

Outside in the gathering dusk, Kydd watched while the army officer formed the men into line, then had them crashing to an 'order arms', then 'shoulder arms'. The word was getting out, and figures were beginning to emerge from buildings to line the roadway.

'Into file — right tuuurrn’ By the right — quick maaarrrch?

Kydd fell in behind the officer, but felt a fool, tagging along behind the quick-stepping soldiers. The little party wound along the roadway, Kydd feeling every eye on him. Chattering died away as they approached. They turned the final corner to the flat coral-stone area between the capstan house and the ship alongside. Spectators crowded around the capstan house, but the space was left clear as though it were an arena for some future duel. Along the deckline of Patelle her ship's company crowded and there was an ugly buzz of talk shot through with angry shouts.

'Partyyyy — halt!' The redcoats clashed to a standstill.

There were two gangways from Patelle to the stone landing, one forward for the men, one aft for the officers. Kydd indicated the after brow to the army captain. But before he could proceed, a man who looked very like a boatswain stormed down in hot confrontation. 'Damn y'r blood, but I know why ye're here,' he said, 'and ye can't have him!' Behind him hostile eyes glared in the sombre gloom. Lanthorns were brought and hooked into the rigging, their light casting a theatrical glow over events.

'In the name of His Majesty, I order you to yield the person—'

Furious, but indistinct shouting sounded from inboard. It brought an immediate answering roar from the seamen on deck, and a sudden burst of activity.

'Fall back on the redcoats,' the army officer said breathlessly to Kydd, and hurried to stand next to the stolid file of soldiers. From the forward brow the ship's company of Patelle poured forth armed with boarding weapons — naked cutlasses, boarding pikes and tomahawks.

Kydd stood firm, but a feral terror of the pack dug into his mind as the angry seamen surged about them. Bystanders scattered, then formed a cautious semicircle around the fray. By a trick of the light, Kydd caught sight of Juba in the crowd of onlookers, motionless, arms folded. He wondered for a moment if he should appeal for help — then thought of what it might mean if he were denied.

The seamen surrounded the party, and began jostling, thumping with the heel of their cutlasses, hoarse cries urging the soldiers to run away. One toppled forward under a blow. The army officer swung round and ordered shrilly, 'Load with ball!' At the cry, the crowd began to scatter in disorder. The sailors spread out and hefted their weapons. If the soldiers opened fire they would be instantly set upon. But Kydd knew that the soldiers would do their duty without question. The end was therefore inevitable, and the shouts and cries died away into a breathless silence as all waited for the final spark.

Distantly, the sound of the measured tramp of men-at-arms sounded. It swelled, and a column of marines appeared. At its head was Farrell, in full uniform. The men came to a halt and Farrell strode purposefully to the centre. 'Where is Lieutenant Powell?' he demanded.