Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

Kydd remembered a true storm being painted by his first sea friend, so long ago: it was seared on his memory. 'Comes a time when yer knows that there's a chance yer might not live — sea jus' tears at the barky like it was an animal, no mercy a-tall.' Bowyer's iron-grey deep-sea mariner's appearance had reassured him then, but now .. .

The moaning wind turned to a banshee ululation, driving spray into Kydd's face with a stinging spite that made it almost impossible to see. Merrick levered himself aft, shouting in the ear of every seaman he could find.

In turn he came to Kydd. It was the closing act. The last remaining scraps of sail would shortly be torn away and with it any control over their fate. Seaflower was going to stream a sea-anchor, this was a drag on a line over the bows that would bring them around, bows to the sheeting chaos, the final move. Kydd's part would be to bring them up into the wind at the right moment, after which his role as quartermaster of Seaflower would no longer have any meaning.

The tiller had relieving tackles seized to its end: Kydd could dimly perceive, crouched on the deck, the hunched bodies of the seamen who must haul on these. Through salt-sore eyes in the screaming wind, he made out the jerking figures of those working in the bows. Seas smashed in, burying them under white torrents.

A hand waved: Kydd sensed the seas then flung his arm at the larboard men. They hauled and fell, staggering and fighting at the tackle, but the bows came round into the blast. The scrap of canvas met the wind end-on and flogged itself to death in an instant, but Seaflower's bow remained headed faithfully into the tempest.

It could not last. At the point when sky and sea were unrecognisable apart, the sea-anchor gave way. Seaflower's bows rose like a frightened horse, then fell away in a sickening wallow, the vessel now free of any constraint.

Kydd was aware that, beside him, Merrick was fumbling: he was casting loose his lashing, his life-line. The boatswain clawed his way forward, a hopeless, heroic thing, for Seaflower, it seemed, was now more under water than above. Nearly to the fo'c'sle he was taken by a wave. Clinging to the side he was mercilessly battered by the waterfall until his grip was broken and he was dragged into the rage of sea. Kydd caught sight of him only once as he sped past, the boatswain's face a frozen rictus of puzzlement as he went to his death.

A numb, unreal feeling crept over Kydd, paradoxically insulating him from the insanity. Intellectually he knew that once the blast caught Seaflower broadside on, she would roll over, perhaps once, twice, then all life in her would be extinguished, all the struggling, all the care, the pity — all would be over. Then a dark lump intruded itself into his vision, clawing across the deck to him. In these last moments left to them he pulled Cecilia to him, her lovely dark hair now plastered across her skull, the dress a torn and useless rag. He felt her trembling violently as he passed his life-line around them both and gulped at the sheer unfairness of it, that such an innocent should suffer a sailor's lonely end.

Seaflower's bow swayed off wind: instantly the blast took her and she staggered, beaten. She began a roll, her high side caught more of the hurricane and the roll increased, faster and faster - Kydd hung from his life-line as the leeward seas rushed to meet them. He turned to Cecilia's upturned face and pantomimed a huge breath. She seemed to understand but then the seas engulfed them both in a roaring, endless finality that was strangely peaceful: they could no longer hear the murderous hurricane.

He felt Cecilia struggle. In the dreamy underwater peace he knew that she was drowning. He bent his head and forced his breath into her mouth, and prepared for his own end — but suddenly he was aware of a whipping, hectoring worry at his skin. They had come upright and the wind was clawing at him once more.

Seaflower now had her stern towards the wind: the roll would return when they passed the midpoint. It was the moment between life and death, a surreal half-way existence that allowed for the sight of the bow surging up at an impossible angle, fleeting dark shapes flicking by, poking above the rushing seas. The tidal surge paused, deposited Seaflower gently among storm-tossed coconut palms, then retreated.

The cutter was held rock solid in the arms of the land.

Chapter 16

In stupefied immobility, Kydd waited the long night not daring to slacken his life-line or loosen his grip on Cecilia. The winds howled unceasing, the fabric of the vessel trembled and shuddered, but Seaflower was immovably high and dry among the palm trees, which whipped furiously in the outer darkness.

A wild dawn crept in. With it came a true appreciation of what had happened. The improving visibility showed them a good two or three hundred yards inland, quite upright, held there by the densely growing palms of some unknown island. Their small size had enabled them to surf over the offshore reefs and be carried safely ashore: a deeper hulled vessel would have grounded and been smashed to flinders. Seaflower had brought them through safe and sound. Tears pricked at Kydd.

Cecilia stirred. Her eyes opened and he saw to his astonishment that she had been sleeping. He didn't trust himself to speak, but Cecilia said something - he bent to hear against the dismal moan of the wind. "Thomas, please don't think to speak of this to Mama, she does worry so.'

They laughed and cried together in the emotion of the moment, and Kydd loosened the cruel bite of the life-line. The fore hatchway opened, a head popped out to look around, and untidy bundles around the deck began to stir. Kydd moved his limbs and stared out at the ruinous scene. Where was Renzi? A wild fluctuation of feeling was replaced by overwhelming relief when his friend's features came into frame at the after hatchway.

'"And doomed to death - though fated not to die!” Renzi said, with great feeling.

Cecilia got to her feet, futilely trying to smooth her torn dress in the still blustery winds. 'Pray excuse me, gentlemen, I fear I'm not fit to be seen in polite company.' She smiled at Renzi and lowered herself awkwardly down the hatch.

Movement was now general about the stranded cutter. Kernon appeared, and Jarman. There was an attempt to reach the sodden ground beneath by rope, and after an exchange of shouts, Kernon was lowered by a tackle, followed by Snead and his bag of tools.

Renzi stretched and groaned. 'Immured in those infernal regions, waiting for - anything. This I will not relive ever again — I would rather it were ended by my jumping overboard than endure that once more.'

While the gale moderated to strong winds Seaflower came to life. An absurd and out-of-kilter existence, but life. Her company assembled on the ground, among the ragged, tossing palms. They looked up to the naked bulk of their ship and gave heartfelt thanksgiving for their deliverance. Then blessed naval discipline enfolded them. The first act was a muster of all hands - remarkably few souls lost, but a number had tried to drink themselves into oblivion. Then the vessel was stabilised with shores: there was no shortage of palm trunks lying flattened and splintered, ideal for the task.

Lord Stanhope had suffered a fall in the storm and now lay injured, tended by Lady Stanhope. Other unfortunates had broken bones, cracked ribs, but they were young: the noble lord, in his seventies, was facing an uncertain future.

Initial scouting had established that the island was an undistinguished, lumpy specimen of some indeterminate miles around and, as far as it was possible to tell, uninhabited. Springs of water had been found, and goat droppings promised fresh meat.

Immediate dangers over, it was time to take stock. 'Your best estimate of where we are, Mr Jarman?' Kernon asked.