Seaflower by Julian Stockwin Page B

sentence and torment. Luke lifted his face, bright with tears,
and blurted, 'I don't mean t' be wicked. When Mr Stirk gave me a grog, I didn't
drink it, Mr Kydd, I threw it away — God's honour I did!'
    A
moment's hesitation, and Kydd withdrew his arm. 'You are indeed a wicked dog,
and will probably have t' answer for it,' he said, thumping his fist on the
table. Luke stared piteously at him. 'But not this night.' He paused
dramatically. 'How dare ye have doubts about y'r ship? Is she dismasted? Is the
mainstay in strands? D'ye see the Captain in despair? What sort o' jabberknowl
is it, says we're on our way t' Davy Jones?'
    Luke's
face brightened. 'But we has one anchor out only, an'—'
    Kydd's
voice turned to thunder. 'So now y' questions m' seaman's skills? Y’ say that I can't pass a
keckling without it falls off? I should take a strap to ye, younker!'
    A
hesitant smile appeared and Kydd pressed on: ‘First light an' the wind’ll have
shifted two, three points, an' then we'll up hook 'n' make our offing.' He
fisted Luke lightly on the arm. "Then it'll go hard on any as were seen
afore not havin' trust in their ship.'
    A
sniff, a shamefaced smile, and Luke's cloud passed. 'There ain't much t' eat,
Mr Kydd,' he said, but I'll find y' some - fr'm them shonky lubbers who don't
want any,' he added, waving at the helpless landmen forward.
    Kydd
grinned. 'I thank ye, but I'll take a turn about the uppers first.' He felt a
guilty stab at the hero-worship he saw in Luke's face, stuffed his pockets with
anything he could find, and returned to the upper deck.
    In
the last of the light he saw tossing white breakers, the anonymous grey coast
behind. And then a desolate night clamped in. He hunkered down in the lee of
the bulwarks, his feet braced against the loudly creaking carriage of a gun,
and pulled his jacket around himself. The subliminal jerk of the anchor cable
transmitted itself to him, and he thought of the keckling deep in the sea, his
work the only thing standing between the ship's company and their end in the
loneliness of the night. He worried for a minute whether the canvas parcelling
under the keckling was sufficient, but then decided that nothing was to be
gained by that, and drifted into a fitful doze.
    'On
yer feet, matey.' A boatswain's mate with a dark-lanthorn was shaking him, but
not unkindly. 'Larbowlines t' muster.'
    Aching
in every part of his body, Kydd staggered to his
feet and lurched toward the quarterdeck, almost invisible in the darkness.
There was no diminution in the wind-blast and the fierce motion of the sea was
the same.
    The
officer-of-the-watch had his orders: the hawse rounding would be inspected
hourly, the mate-of-the-watch would make his rounds half-hourly and the
quartermaster-of-the-watch and his mate would check the hold for stores broken
loose. The rest would remain on deck, on immediate call to the pumps.
    As
they opened up the forward hold in the orlop, Kydd noticed by the light of
their lanthorn that Capple's eyes were red, his face lined. He wondered whether
he himself looked as bad as he pulled aside the grating and dropped on to the
casks immediately below. He reached up for the lanthorn and held it while
Capple joined him. The dim gold light reached out into the stinking gloom, the
noise of the hull working in the storm a deafening chorus of shattering cracks
and deep-throated creaking. As far as could be seen, the stowage was unbroken.
Kydd leaned over the side of the mound of casks to the ground tier in their bed
of shingle, and saw the sheen of water in the shadows, then heard the hiss of
water movement, much like a pebble beach.
    'Takin'
in a lot o' water,' Kydd called back. 'Hope Chips's got a weather eye on't.'
The pumps had been at work for an hour every watch, he knew, but that would be
the seawater flooding the decks making its way to the bilges. The red pinprick
flash of eyes caught his attention at the periphery of his vision. *Rats're
gettin' restless,' he muttered.