Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

'Why, it's not so perilous, dear fellow/ Renzi said, with great satisfaction: he would now provide a clear and seamanlike course to follow, perfectly suited to a plain-thinking sailor.

* * *

Their ketureen arrived at the Great House, and the two travellers were made cordially welcome.

'A fine surprise, Nicholas!' Laughton declared, his delight obvious. 'And a distinct pleasure to make acquaintance with your friend, back from the dead,' he said, looking at Kydd keenly.

'Would it inconvenience,' Renzi asked, with the utmost politeness, 'were we to beg the loan of attire perhaps more in keeping with the country?'

'But, of course, dear fellow.'

The days that followed were a haze of impressions for Kydd — the vast fields of sugar-cane whose harvest would end at some point as pungent Royal Navy rum; the slow daily round of field work with the lines of slaves moving across the fields, the younger ones bringing up the rear weeding and clearing with their own 'pickney driver'. It was utterly at odds with Kydd's world.

Laughton was a fine host, and at sundown always joined his visitors on the broad veranda for easy conversation. 'Your visit is most welcome, Nicholas, but I fear not at the best of times,' he mentioned one evening. 'We've been sadly inconvenienced in our trade by these devilish predators — you'll find the navy not popular here.'

Renzi hastened to change the subject. 'And of your maroons, are they as cantankerous, unsatisfied as last you spoke?'

'Worse. They're more or less in open revolt now.' He stared out over the fields. 'They want more land for 'emselves - which plantation is going to give it to them? They're rambling about at night, causing general trouble. Had two cows taken and another with its throat slit. It's unsettling my fieldworkers, who know they're only over yonder,' he said, gesturing towards the tumble of hills and mountains to the north-west, just visible in the dusk. "That's what we call "cockpit country", and there the maroon is untouchable. And it's only a short ride away.' He took a long pull at his drink. 'Don't forget, we're only some thousands with an enslaved population of around a quarter-million. Concentrates the mind, don't ye think?'

Fortified by his courteous acceptance by Laughton, Kydd was able to face with equanimity the prospect of a social occasion, an informal dinner of the usual sort. Seated opposite Renzi, he prepared nervously to do his duty.

'Th' currant sauce, if y' please,' was Kydd's first daring foray into polite society. It was passed to him without comment and, reassured, he looked around furtively at the members of the table. The olive-complexioned lawyer further down caught his look and nodded pleasantly. Taken aback, Kydd had the presence of mind to raise his glass in salute. As he placed the glass down again he became aware of the fierce glint of eyes diagonally opposite. 'Marston,' the man growled, and lifted his eyebrows in interrogation.

*Er, Kydd,' he said carefully, not knowing if handshakes were the thing at table, and deciding that it would be safe to do nothing.

'Got th' look o' the sea about ye,' said Marston, when it became obvious Kydd was not going to be more forthcoming.

'Aye, y'r in the right of it, sir.'

Marston smiled. 'Can always tell. Which ship?'

Renzi broke in smoothly, "Thomas is with me, Gilbert, come to see where sugar comes from.'

'Damn fine place to see.' He started, then twisted round in his seat to the lady on his left. 'If you'll pardon th' French, m' dear.' She nodded shyly.

Laughton was at the head of the table, his wife at the opposite end, near Kydd. 'Er, Mr Kydd,' she called decorously, 'do y' not feel a trifle anxious out on the sea, what with all those nasty pirates an' French privateers?' She helped herself to more of the succulent river shrimps in salt and pepper.

Kydd's own mouth was full with the spicy jerk, but he replied manfully, 'Not wi' the navy t' look after—'

'Pah!' Marston's face lowered and his eyes slitted. 'I've lost three ships 'tween here 'n' San Domingo, an' it's disgraceful the navy still ain't come up on 'em! If I was their admiral, I tell you—'

At the other end of the table Laughton frowned. Outside there was some sort of disturbance. The talking died away. High words sounded and a flustered butler entered, bowed to Laughton and whispered urgently. Laughton put down his glass quietly. 'Gentlemen, it seems that the Trelawney maroons are abroad tonight.' His chair scraped as he got to his feet. 'A mill is afire.'

The room broke into a rush of talk.

'Stap me, but they're getting damnation uppity!'

'D'ye think — God preserve us! - it's a general rising?'

'Where's the militia, the blaggards?' Laughton took off his jacket and carefully laid it on the back of his chair. In his evening shirt he accepted his sword and belt from the butler as calmly as he had accepted his dinner clothes earlier. 'I won't be long, gentlemen, but in the meantime pray do not ignore the brandy and cigars.' Kydd sensed the assembling of men in the rising tension outside.

Marston stood up. 'Richard, dammit, you can't go on y'r own, dear fellow!'

Laughton held up his hand firmly. 'No, Gilbert, this is my plantation. I shall deal with it.' He turned and left.

'Don' like it - not one bit of it!' Marston rumbled.

'Nor do I,' said the lawyer. 'You know how they work - set an outbuilding on fire, then when all attention is on that, they fall upon the Great House!'

The ladies stayed close together, chattering nervously, the men pacing around the room puffing cigars. Kydd looked through the open windows into the warm darkness. He glanced at Renzi, who was talking quietly with the butler. Renzi looked across at Kydd and beckoned discreetly. 'I do believe we should stand sentry-go around the house. I have asked for weapons.'

These turned out to be large, ugly blunderbusses, with their flared muzzles a strong deterrent to any kind of unrest. 'I will take the north side, if you would be so good as to patrol the south,' Renzi suggested. The rest of the room watched respectfully, and as they left there were low calls of encouragement from the other men.

Outside, away from the bright glitter of candlelight and silver, it was impenetrably black. The darkness was the more menacing for its total anonymity and Kydd felt hairs prickle on the back of his neck. From the windows of the Great House, houseboys looked out fearfully. There was a movement behind him. Kydd wheeled around: it was Marston.

'Come to keep ye company,' he said, breathing heavily. Kydd muttered thanks, but at the same time he didn't want to worry about having someone about him on whom he could not rely. Marston, however, fell into step next to him. 'Get worked up, they do,' Marston said, his cigar laying a thick fragrance on the night air. 'Have this obeah man - kind o' witchcraft, calls it voodoo. They does what he says under fear o' death.'

'C'n they fight?' asked Kydd. 'I mean, in the reg'lar way, against soldiers.' He continued to pace slowly, looking out into the night.

Marston nodded vigorously. 'Damn right they can, you can depend upon it. But not as you'd say — they disguise 'emselves as trees with leaves an' all, jumps into life in our rear, devil take 'em. Not for nothin' they calls it "Land o' Look Behind".'

Kydd thought of Juba, the driver of the King's Negroes on Antigua - if he and his kind were to set their faces against the forces of the Crown he could not be at all certain of the outcome. He remembered the opaqueness of character, the difference in Juba's expression of humanity - was it so hard to understand a resentment, a striving to be as other men?

From the darkness a group of figures emerged, Laughton easily recognisable at their head. He saw Kydd and waved. 'Thank you, Thomas. There was no need, but I honour you for it. Shall we rejoin the ladies?'