Seaflower by Julian Stockwin Page A

the flukes of the big anchor, then swung to the channel and shuffled
along. Trajan rolled,
the seas rose and battered and tugged at him. He held the thick shrouds in a
death grip, pressing his face to their rough surfaces, feeling their sturdy
strength.
    The
seas fell away as the ship began a laborious roll upwards. It was time to get
to work. Kydd moved outboard of the anchor to the big ring beyond the stock.
He waited for the surging seas to return and subside, then bent to begin. The
rope had a mind of its own, snarling and writhing, but Kydd forced it round.
More seas, but his work held, and when the dripping cable appeared, his
keckling was still there. He worked feverishly, his arm hooked about the cable,
but such was his concentration that when the next sea came it took him unawares
-a momentary vision of the water within inches, then he was submerged, buffeted
by giant forces while he hugged the cable, a maelstrom of roaring in his ears.
    He
emerged, bruised and gasping, his eyes stinging, a salty burning in his throat,
but he went on grimly. His first sea friend, Bowyer, a deep-sea mariner of the
very best kind, came to mind, and memories of lessons in the sea crafts, and he
responded. Every working of cordage and cable would be the best he could
manage.
    Unexpectedly
he felt a tug on his shoulder from above. Stirk's hand came out, and Kydd was
hoisted bodily over the bulwarks. He sank to all fours with exhaustion, hearing
Stirk's murmured words of encouragement — then noticed buckled shoes and silk
stockings. He looked up to see- the Captain gazing down at him, then his slow
nod of approval.
    *     
*      *
    The
second bower anchor gave way within the watch. It was terrifying to see the
speed with which they were carried downwind towards the hard line of the shore.
The sheet anchor, however, was ready and plunged into the sea almost immediately.
    Now
down to her last big anchor, Trajan's company were left with the bleak knowledge that if
it parted then the ship would drive ashore — not on a sandy beach, but on the
fringing reef a quarter of a mile offshore, its presence betrayed by wild
breakers slamming high into the air. The vessel would break up fast on the
massive coral heads, and when men struck out for their lives they would be
slashed to ribbons in the breakers.
    The
daylight ebbed and the deck filled with silent men staring across the seas to
their last sight of the land. Kydd went below to find something to eat, to
bring strength to his weary body. It was sheltered below, the manic howl of the
wind muted, its wearisome plucking and battering no longer worrying at his
body.
    The
mess was deserted again, except for a small figure, head bowed, sitting alone
at their mess-table. Puzzled, Kydd approached. It was Luke, a picture of
misery. He did not look up as Kydd drew near.
    'Hey
now, skinker — light along some clacker f'r a starvin' mariner,' Kydd said
breezily. Luke didn't respond.
    'How's
this? Messman f'r the petty officers, an' can't find 'em some vittles?' Kydd
came to sit next to him. The bass rumble of some loose gear slamming against
the hull forward sounded ominous and loud.
    Luke
said something in a low voice that Kydd was unable to catch. He leaned closer
and saw that the boy had been crying. He hesitated, then put his arm round the
lad's shoulders. Luke tensed then swayed and rested his head against Kydd.
    'How's
this? Pipin' the eye?' Kydd said kindly. 'Not as would be fittin' f'r a sailor,
you'll agree, cuffin.'
    Luke's
muffled voice was certain. 'Mr Kydd, t'night I will be in hell.'
    At
a loss for words, Kydd could only squeeze his shoulders.
    'I
ain't been t' church much - an' that was only 'cos m' mother made me,' he
continued, in stricken tones. 'An' - an' I lied t' her! See, I said as I'd go
off t' work fer Uncle Jonathan away in Hounslow, an' I didn't. I ran off t'
sea.'
    Kydd
saw with guilty clarity an image of a dusty church, a droning sermon and fiery
words of sin,