Artemis - Kydd 02

by Julian Stockwin

  'The wardroom takes two, 'n' their servants come 'ere,' the voice continued remorselessly. 'What shall I tell 'im?'

  The pair could not have made more of a contrast.

  'Thank ye, gennelmen,' said one brightly, 'Ben Doody, an' I takes care o' Mr Evelyn. Yer won't need ter see me offen,' he added, his large three-cornered hat awkwardly in his big hands probably more because of the low deck-beams than out of respect. His bucolic figure beamed down on them.

  The other was a pinched, crabbed man, whose drab black resembled that of a down-at-heel clerk. His first comment was a sour 'We expec' to take our vittles in private, y'understands.' Haynes rose slowly and advanced on him. The man backed away, but tripped on a ring-bolt and fell to his knees.

  Kydd helped him up and asked, 'An' who 'r' you?'

  'Rance, Jeremiah Rance.' He looked viciously at Haynes and added, 'Servant o' Mr Hobbes.'

  'Yer've got yer dunnage?' Crow said mildly, looking from one to the other.

  Doody looked perplexed but Rance thumbed towards the deck outside. 'Yeah, we have — outside.' He stood aside to allow someone to move past to carry the baggage inside.

  Nobody moved. Crow looked at Haynes seriously, but Haynes returned the look with cruel glee. 'Gonna be a long v'yage home, they tells me.'

  'Sir, it's quite impossible — our charts are old, of th' last age. It is madness even to consider the matter!' The sailing master was uncharacteristically blunt, and Powlett glowered, but subsided. 'And by this you are saying that we cannot reach their meridian in time? We must take risks, sir.'

  The table was overflowing with charts, and Kydd carried still others under his arm.

  'Risks? The word is too soft, sir! These islands are so numerous no man has counted them! And they are of the coral kind, whose fangs can tear the heart out of the stoutest vessel. Even Cap'n Cook was near to founderin' after takin' the ground on a coral islet!'

  Powlett's baffled fury was barely held in check. The main Philippine islands ran a thousand miles north and south, a barrier to any ship from the China Sea that wanted to enter into the limitless expanses of the Pacific Ocean. 'The Spaniards pass through safely enough — I have heard the name San Bernardino mentioned.'

  'Aye, sir, but they have the charts an' the pilots, both o' which they would rather fry in hell than let us have. Sir, it is my duty t' say, it's mortal danger to our vessel should we flog about in unknown seas looking for a passage, we have no choice but to sail endelong around.'

  'Three, four hundred miles north, same distance back the other side - it sticks in m' craw, Mr Prewse — and we fail the mission!' Powlett tossed down the chart and stared in frustration through the broad stern windows.

  Kydd stirred. 'Sir,' he found himself saying, 'we have Doody, one o' th' gentleman's servants. He—'

  'Hold y'r peace,' Prewse muttered, gathering up the charts. 'This is not business f'r you.'

  But Powlett turned round. 'What is it, Kydd?'

  'Well, sir, he says as how they got a visit fr'm the shore, some Spanish lord mayor or somethin', who was greatly anxious t' get south to the central part. He offered 'em gold dollars if they'd take him there.' Kydd noticed Prewse's tight expression, but continued respectfully, 'O' course, they had t' refuse him but, beggin' y'r pardon, sir, seems t' me that you could offer him a passage an' in return he sees y' safely through to the further side.'

  'Y' can't trust the Dons, sir.'

  Powlett's hand rasped on his chin as he mused. 'It's a long way from Manila to the central parts. I'd wager the details of any arrangement would not necessarily need to be of concern to this mayor's superiors.' He straightened in decision. 'Let's get him aboard, promise of passage for money, and we'll discuss the alternative afterwards.'

  Rowley's minimal Spanish was barely adequate, but the minor grandee affected not to notice. A dark-complexioned man with glittering black eyes, he was extraordinarily controlled in his expression and gestures, each movement considered and graceful, but watchful withal.

  Not knowing the naval salutes due a Spanish corregidor, Powlett had lined the entry point with as many boatswain's mates as he could find. The ceremonial calls sounded strident and clear, clearly gratifying to the proud Spaniard. He bowed and scraped with the utmost courtesy, but was reluctant to go below with the first lieutenant; there had been few first-class fighting frigates seen before in these waters.

  Stirk watched the proceedings with interest from the fo'c'sle. 'Where they gonna get their swedes down? Hobbes 'as the cabins.'

  At that moment Crow arrived. 'Aft on the gundeck — yer've not heard: it's out o' bounds ter us, worried there'll be a frack-arse.' The term was going around the ship fast.

  A hesitant Doody emerged by the after-hatch. Looking around he spotted Kydd and waved. Kydd grinned and beckoned him forward. 'Mr 'Obbes is in a rare oP takin',' Doody chuckled. 'Won't speak ter the Spanish gennelman, says as how we'll never get t' his meridian in time 'cos of his delay.'

  'Why the orlmighty rush?'

  'Somethin' ter do with his instryments - has t' take readin's an' such on the far side o' the world at exactly at the same time as they does in Greenwich, but why

  'Your Evelyn, 'e seems a sharp sorta hand,' Crow said.

  'He is! Lives fer 'is science. Seen him up past midnight, a-readin' his books 'n' papers - but he takes care an' dismisses me fer the night, bless 'is heart.'

  Kydd smiled. 'So this cruise could be t' your liking?'

  'Oh, aye! I engaged ter Mr Evelyn t' see the world, an' I have.' His broad country face beamed. 'I'll have such a grand lot o' tales ter tell 'em back in the village, why, I'll not need t' buy me an ale fer months.'

  The sailors roared with laughter, and Doody looked about him delighted.

  'Here's yer mate,' Crow said, seeing Rance tramp up the fore hatchway.

  Sighting Doody he approached. "Obbes wants 'is stores stowed away,' he ordered, 'an' he's sayin' now.' Doody winked at the seamen and left with Rance.

  Artemis stretched south at speed, the north-west monsoon perfect for the cruise through an inland sea past tropical islands, some hundreds of miles long, like the mountainous Mindoro, some no more than tiny sandy islets a hundred yards long. All were densely verdant, with jungle down to the water's edge and little sign of human presence.

  The corregidor and his small party kept to themselves and were seldom seen. This was an agreeable thing for the seamen, for Hobbes had the habit of striding the decks at dawn, impeding the sailors at their cleaning duties, and he was always followed by a cloud of muttered curses.

  By the following afternoon Artemis was slipping down the coast of Panay, the blue mountains of the interior plain to see. As the first dog-watch was struck on the bell she hauled her wind to shape course to an easterly around the southern tip of the island, and as dusk began to draw in they reached their destination, the small provincial town of Ylo-Ylo.

  In the late-afternoon sun, a cluster of buildings could be seen lying low and level at the water's edge, their whiteness contrasting against the inky blue of the sea, the deep green of the thick tropical vegetation, and a gathering red sunset.

  'Man the side!'

  The corregidor wasted no time in disembarking; Artemis's barge was specially called away for the task. As the boat's crew pulled lustily for the shore, Hobbes watched them go, then turned to Powlett. 'May I know why we are not immediately proceeding on our way? Lose not a moment, sir, we—'

  'Damn and blast! We cannot stir but we have a pilot,' Powlett snarled. 'If the Don keeps his part o' the bargain . . .'

  A tropical dusk fell and lights began to glimmer in the violet gloom ashore, the barge crew long since returned. A long bulking shadow in the sea nearby was the high brown island that sheltered Ylo-Ylo, and the peculiar odours of a foreign shore could be occasionally made out, but for want of a pilot the ship lay unmoving in the night.

  The next day was only an hour old when activity was seen ashore, which resolved into a twin outrigger boat skimming its way
directly towards Artemis. Two men were aboard, a Spaniard and a Filipino. The boat, with its single brightly coloured lateen sail, smartly came about in a rainbow shower of spray and drifted up to the side.

  The boat-boy flung a painter of coarse coir rope aboard the frigate and the Spaniard climbed the side. 'Piloto,' he stated loudly, as though not expecting to be understood by the English officers.

  His eyebrows lifted at Rowley's fractured welcome, to which he replied in loud but simple words.

  'Our pilot, sir,' said Rowley. 'Mr, er, Salcedo. I think he begs that the bangkha be towed astern, as they will use it later in their return.'

  'Very well,' Powlett answered.

  His keen look at the man seemed to discommode him, or it could have been the sheer intimidating size of the frigate, much bigger than the usual trading vessels of the region. Salcedo was short and stumpy with an Iberian intensity, but his attempt at swagger did not convince.

  He went to the side and shouted angrily at the boat-boy, who doused and stowed the sail, paying out more of the painter and doubling it around the mast. He scrambled awkwardly up the side, and as he came over the bulwark stumbled and sprawled headlong.

  Salcedo's eyes flickered to the quarterdeck gathering and back to the helpless boat-boy. He snorted angrily. From inside his shirt he drew out a peculiar short coil of a black flexible substance, chased in leather at one end, the other terminating in a knobby excrescence. He lashed at the boat-boy who waited motionless on hands and knees, but when the blows ceased he looked up with a deadly hatred.

  Powlett's face hardened. 'Take that man forward, and see he's messed comfortably.'

  Prewse motioned to Kydd, who led away the boat-boy.

  It seemed the logical thing. Pinto was a Portuguese, which was nearly Spain, and in the event grudgingly admitted to the language. Kydd handed the man over, his brown face and black eyes clearing at the rough sympathy his treatment had earned from the sailors.

  Pinto, it became clear, knew more than a little Spanish, for he was able to explain Salcedo's curious instrument. 'He was beat wi' the pizzle o' the horse,' he said blank-faced. 'Ver' painful but hurt th' honour more.'

  'What's his name?'

  'He say his name Goryo — this is the Ylongos name, he come from Guimaras.'

  'Tell 'im we'll see him right, mate,' Petit said.

  By the time Kydd had reached his post at the helm the ship was at stations to unmoor ship. The anchor was broken easily enough from the sandy sea-bed and sail dropped from every yard. With a graceful sway Artemis reached out over the sparkling seas towards the eastern horizon, almost exactly half-way along the barrier of the Philippines.

  The pilot stood impassive next to the wheel, but all the officers of Artemis and the sailing master were on the quarterdeck as well. It was hard to take, trusting the safety of the ship to one man, and there was an aura of apprehension among them.

  Panay was left astern, but other islands large and small were scattered about on all sides. By early afternoon one in particular loomed across their path, and in the background the grey-blue of a continous mountainous coast in the further distance stretched as far as they could see in both directions — a complete block on their further progress.

  Powlett was taking no chances. In the forechains, Kydd was heaving the lead, a skilled and wet job. Held by a canvas belt to the shrouds, he stood alone on the narrow platform at their base, leaning out over the sea hissing past below. He began each cast with a swing, which would get bigger and bigger, until he could whirl the long lead weight in a neat circle over his head before sending it plummeting into the sea well ahead. The line would rush out while the vessel overran the position, and when the line was vertical Kydd interpreted the depth from the nearest mark to the water — red bunting, black leather, a blue serge, or if it lay between marks it would be estimated as a 'deep'. It was not a job for the faint-hearted. A hesitant fist on the line could bring the seven-pound lead down on an unprotected skull.

  'No bottom with this line!' bawled Kydd, as cast after cast brought no sudden slackening of the line. He continued his work steadily, with the same result, the wet line rapidly soaking him.

  Ahead lay the island. The officers' faces tightened as the frigate sailed closer. 'This is the island of Masbate, apparently,' Rowley said, in response to Salcedo's grunting. Artemis kept her course, anxious eyes staring forward all along her deck.

  'Sir, we're standing into danger,' blurted Parry, fixing his eyes balefully on Salcedo, who continued to look ahead sullenly.

  Powlett glanced at Salcedo. 'The passage through will be narrow and difficult, Mr Parry. We will follow this fellow's course.'

  Kydd cast the lead once more. It plunged into the sea, but this time the line slackened. He hauled it taut quickly, and when the ship overtook it his hail changed. 'By the deep twelve!' The deadly coral now lay seventy-odd feet below the sea.

  On the quarterdeck the group of men looked at each other. 'Steady on course!' said Rowley. The tension grew, and on deck seamen off watch looked at each other uneasily.

  'By the mark ten!' Kydd pulled in the line quickly, hand over hand, and as he did so he caught a subliminal flicker of a paler shape passing swiftly below, followed by an indeterminate darker shape, before the sea resumed its usual deep blue-green.

  It was always disturbing for a sailor to sense that things other than an infinite depth lay beneath the keel, and a coral sea-bed was quite outside Kydd's experience. Sixty feet, and Artemis drew about eighteen feet at her deepest, the stern.

  Salcedo seemed edgy. His gaze was clamped as though fixing a mark, although there was nothing that remotely resembled a seamark on the lush slopes of the island ahead.

  Kydd watched carefully. The red bunting hung wetly from the lead-line a few inches above the water. 'By the deep eight!' he bawled. Only thirty feet separated the vulnerable bottom of Artemis from the cruel coral. Now the alternating pale and dark was common. He shivered and brought in the line for another cast.

  This time it was the Master who spoke. 'Sir, I should bring it to y'r attention - unless we bear away soon we will not weather the point.' He hesitated then continued, 'This is hard, sir, to stay quiet while we enter into hazard at the word of a Spaniard.'

  Powlett snapped back, 'This will be a channel we are following — it makes no sense for the fellow to wreck us ashore.'

  'By the mark five!' Kydd's hail carried clear to the quarterdeck. Ten feet below the keel! An instant stirring among the officers, but Salcedo continued to gaze doggedly ahead.

  'This is too much, sir, we will be cast ashore!'

  The Master confronted Powlett, who thrust him aside. 'Stand fast!' he roared.

  At that moment there was a scuffle on the foredeck, and Pinto raced aft, followed by a shambling Goryo, clearly enjoying the effects of generous offerings of grog. 'Sir!' panted Pinto to the Captain, knuckling his forehead. 'This Ylongos, he tell me, we are condemn!' In his urgency the English wilted. Salcedo looked sharply at him and then at the Filipino.

  'What?' Powlett bellowed.

  Salcedo jabbered tensely at the Filipino, who shouted back.

  Pinto's eyes stared wildly. 'Sir, they mean to run us on the reef, and leave us as plunder fer the natives!'

  Chapter 10

  For a split second there was a shocked silence, broken only by Kydd's anxious yell, 'By the deep four!' Then came a burst of simultaneous action. Salcedo dived for the bulwarks and was brought to the deck with a crash by Hallison; Powlett bellowed orders that had the frigate sheering into the wind to check her ongoing surge; and all hands rushed to the side to look down into the gin-clear waters.

  The coral bottom was clearly visible twenty-five feet below, a riot of colourful rocks interspersed with bright patches of sandy bottom, with just enough depth to shade all with an ominous hue. The frigate drifted forward slowly despite her backed sails. The trap had been well sprung; heading for the sloping reef with the wind constant from astern, there was no way the square-rigge
d vessel could simply turn into the wind and claw off.

  There was little time. As Artemis lay hove to, Powlett turned to Parry. 'Into the boat. Find a passage ahead out.' He wheeled on Salcedo. 'And get this villainous dog out of my sight — in irons!'

  Parry lost no time in shedding his cocked hat and other encumbrances. He signalled to Doud, who went over the bulwarks and into the mizzen-chains pulling the bangkha up to allow Parry to board it, before following himself. The boat-boy headed over the side and emerged spluttering. He heaved himself up into the narrow craft and Doud surrendered the little steering oar to him.

  Stopping only to claim Kydd's hand lead, the bangkha skimmed off at an angle.

  Kydd took another lead-line and resumed his duty, watching the reef garden pass beneath them at a slow walking pace as the frigate drifted. He saw occasional heads of coral rising above the exotic undersea plain, their details horrifyingly clear.

  Twenty feet.

  All eyes were on the bangkha, which was half a mile off and seemed preoccupied with a particular area.

  It was a fearful thing, to face the impending destruction of their magnificent fighting machine - but when it was also their home, their refuge, their everything . . . Kydd felt a cold uncertainty creeping into him. He gathered the line for another cast, but before he could begin the swing he felt the frigate tremble through his feet. Almost immediately another subliminal rumble came and then the ship's drifting was checked and the vessel seemed to pivot around slightly.

  He heard a grumbling scrape at the hull. Aft, the sea grew rapidly cloudy with pale particles. Sudden fear showed in every face. Then the ship swung free and continued its slow drift.

  Kydd looked around for the bangkha. It was a mile away, at the point off the end of the large island, but it was returning with Parry standing erect at peril of being taken by the long boom. The bangkha whirled to a stop a few hundred yards off the bow. Parry ducked the sail and stood. At his signal the vessel's fore topsail loosed and, with steerage way on, Artemis altered towards her. The bangkha waited, then skimmed ahead to another point.

  They were still heading towards the island, but angling towards its tip, and Kydd felt instinctively that they were following a slightly deeper channel implied by a tide-scour around the point. Certainly the soundings had steadied. They passed close to the island, almost within earshot of the small group of villagers gathering on the sea-shore who watched in awe as the big ship passed so near. A few waved shyly, but the ship's rate of progress was so quick that they were the other side of the island and stretching away beyond in minutes.