Artemis - Kydd 02

by Julian Stockwin

  'Er, yer pardon, Mr Renzi.' It was the petty officer's mess-boy, Will, caught off-guard in his scrubbing of the mess table by Renzi's early return.

  'No matter,' said Renzi, rummaging in his sea-chest for the Rousseau. He would spark an interest in his friend for the radical precepts of the philosopher, the supremacy of Nature as the measure of all things, which would lead him to an acceptance of the Noble Savage as the superior form of man. He brightened at the thought of how he would present these jewels of intellect to Kydd one night watch in the comfort of the lee of the weather bulwark. He found the Discours surles sciences et les arts and stuffed it into his ready-use ditty bag for later.

  'Get yer arse outa here, skinker.' Haynes's grating voice preceded his wiry figure as he flung aside the canvas screen. Before the noon grog issue was not a good time to be about where Haynes was concerned.

  Mullion arrived and sat opposite. His blue-black hair was compressed by the red bandanna he still wore after the hour's gun practice the larbowlines had just finished. He sat sullenly but quiet.

  Crow entered and immediately undid the catches of their neat side locker, and passed down glasses. No one spoke until Kydd arrived with the pannikin of rum, which he gave to Crow. The copper measure filled and filled again as the tots were prepared under the gaze of the whole mess — half a pint of best West Indian rum to each petty officer, dark and rich.

  The last of the rum did not fill the measure. Crow paused, and looked up. In the silence Haynes's voice held whispered menace. 'Kydd - he's bin bleedin' the monkey!'

  It was nonsense, of course. But Kydd knew he would have to confront the challenge, face Haynes or back down. He didn't hesitate. His open face broke into a broad smile.

  Almost immediately Mullion took it up and snorted in mock derision. 'Kydd? He's green enough, he'd let 'em gull 'im on the measures. I'll 'ave that.'

  Crow's eyes flicked over to Haynes, but he passed the glasses round.

  The rum was grateful to the stomach, even if it was suffused by the taste of half an ounce per man of lemon juice, insisted upon by Powlett as the most reliable method of forcing the consumption of the anti-scorbutic. The mood lightened.

  'Fair makes me qualmish, seein' that devil-fish trailin' in our wake all day,' Mullion rumbled. The shark had been following them for days, seldom more than thirty yards astern, its great pale bulk shimmering a few feet below the waves.

  Renzi spoke for the first time. 'It's interested in our gash only,' he said, referring to the mush of bones and organic refuse that was pitched overside after every meal.

  'No, it ain't,' Haynes spat. 'It's waitin' - there's some soul aboard it's waitin' for, it knows who that is, an' it's a-waitin' fer the time that's written fer 'im.'

  'So what d'ye want to do about it? Shark's not easy ter kill,' Crow responded mildly.

  'We rigs a tackle aft, streams a line an' hook with a lump o' pork, and when it strikes, all the watch on deck tails on an' heaves it aboard, holus bolus.' His eyes gleamed. 'An then we kills it.'

  Mullion grunted. 'Seen one caught that way - in Amphion frigate in Antigua. We was at anchor, an' had one o' them big white monsters fair 'n' square b' the throat. Couldn't land it on deck till we had a purchase around its tail, an' a full luff tackle on that — what a mauler!

  'Near an hour it took, mates, afore we had it on the fore-deck, an' that's but half the story. Threshin' around right mad it was, near a ton o' weight smashin' an' snappin' with its great mouth open — yer could see right inside, teeth an' all.' He paused in open admiration. 'Then we has ter settle it. At it like demons we was, a-hittin' and a-slicin' -blood and gizzards all over the decks, twenty on us, an' still it weren't finished. OF Davey, he slips in the blood 'n' in a flash them teeth has a slice outa his hide.'

  Mullion swayed back in his seat as if backing away from the sight. Taking another pull of his rum he grimaced. 'So help me, Joe, when we cut 'im open, 'is heart still beats right there in me hand - an' his tail still twistin' even tho' it's cut right orf his body!'

  'What did yer find in the stomach, Jeb?' Crow wanted to know.

  The table perked up in interest. Human skulls and gold watches impervious to stomach acids were not unknown. 'Last night's supper,' was the prompt reply, bringing reluctant grins all round.

  In a reflective quiet the mess finished their rum. Haynes raised his head and looked squarely at Kydd, who gazed back forthrightly. 'So where are we at now, mate?' he asked, as if in atonement for his manner before.

  Kydd noted with satisfaction the assumption that he was in on the officer-like secret of their position, but in truth he had no idea — latitude and longitude were not yet in his experience, which was mainly in the fair copying of Prewse's working notes.

  'We're headed f'r the di'metric meridian,' he said, hoping that he had heard it right, 'an' we're still a few days off.'

  'Di'metick who?' said Haynes, in disgust. 'Never heard any who's bin there.'

  'The exact other side of the world,' broke in Renzi smoothly. 'When we get there and keep going, we're on our way back home.'

  The table stared at him, the implications for their isolation clear. 'Been three thousan' miles on the same course since Christmas,' a shadow passed across every face, 'an' how far before our hook's down again?' Mullion said, in a low voice.

  Renzi looked at the man steadily. 'From the meridian to the nearest point of mainland to the east is about a hundred and ten degrees, say twice as far again — but that's Cape Horn. We won't trouble to linger there, so after that we'll need to cross both the whole width and length of the Atlantic Ocean before our anchor touches ground again.' They looked at each other in silence, the swinging lanthorn in the gloom plucking shadows from their faces. Bearing her crew on into the unknown, Artemis's decks rose and fell, her movements as regular and unthinking as the rise and fall of a woman's breast.

  Crow scratched his ear. 'There is somethin' by way of -compensations, mate.' His companions looked up.

  'We're in Fiddler's Green fer women. These islands, yer c'n buy a woman fer a nail or a bit o' iron, they're hot even fer a pretty bit o' rag. All over yer like a rash, they'll be, have ter beat 'em off with a stick —'

  Kydd saw Renzi's face tighten.

  '- an' they goes at it like good 'uns, no hangin' back!'

  Renzi suddenly stood; his face was pale and set. They stared at him, but he left abruptly.

  'What 'n' hell's bit 'im?' Mullion said.

  Kydd could not believe that Renzi's usual near inhuman control had slipped on a matter of common coarseness. He got to his feet hastily and went after his friend. He found him standing at the ship's side, gripping a shroud and staring intensely out at the infinity of blue sea. 'There are times when it is — save your presence, Tom — an insupportable burden to be closeted with such . . . savages, barbarians.'

  'It was lewd talk, is all.'

  'Not that! Never that! I have heard worse in the best company. No, what freezes my blood is that they believe themselves the civilised, enlightened society, and the savage your unredeemable barbarian. Nothing could be more offensive to me! Tonight we will talk of the Noble Savage of Rousseau, the irreconcilable dichotomy between nature and the artificial, perfectibility and man in a state of nature. My friend, your eyes will be opened. You will understand the sources of unhappiness and discontent in our ways, but as well you will come to know the potential human felicity in natural man.'

  Kydd saw that Renzi had been deeply moved and determined to pursue the reason further.

  'Sir, I give you joy. We are at the furthest extremity of the world. We have intersected the meridian you so desire, and yet within span of your due date.' Powlett's words were dry and sarcastic, but they did not affect the satisfaction in Hobbes's face.

  'My felicitations on your consummate maritime skills, Captain,' Hobbes rejoined, in like tones. 'And now we have but to select a suitable point of land - an island - somewhere along this meridian to erect our observation platforms.'

  P
owlett glanced stonily at Prewse.

  'Sir, the islands are here far separated, days sailing one from the other,' Prewse said doubtfully.

  'The nearest one, then. Do I have to make my meaning plainer?' Hobbes snapped.

  'We may raise Nukumea before evening,' Prewse replied, nettled.

  In deference to her condition, her increasingly sun-bleached sails and stretched rigging, Artemis did not tack about to her new northerly course, but took the longer, safer route of wearing ship. They would track up the meridian until they found a suitable location for the observations. Within hours a tiny dark-green smudge hoisted itself above the horizon. It was an unremarkable-looking island, a little lopsided with a peak to one side and the rest relatively flat. Nearer to, they saw that the flat part was in fact a palm-encircled inner lagoon, and on the flanks of the peak was a plateau of higher ground. Pacific surf beat continuously on the bright sandy beach in a dull roar that sounded above the shipboard noises.

  'This may be suitable,' mused Hobbes, trying to steady a telescope against the moving deck. 'Yet I will trouble you for a boat to shore. I will work a lunar to satisfy myself of our longitude.'

  'You have doubts of our chronometers?' challenged Prewse.

  'Machines, sir, mere machines,' sniffed Hobbes, 'fit only to ease the life of the indolent - if they should fail, sir, you will be cast away. Trust the heavens, my dear fellow, in which there is the cold truth of the eternal to be won by the diligent.'

  Prewse snorted.

  'Clear away the starb'd cutter, Mr Party,' Powlett growled. 'Be so good as to accompany Mr Hobbes ashore, observe and report to me on return.'

  Even a quarter-mile offshore the lead-line found no sea-bed, so instead of lying to anchor, the frigate heaved to with backed topsails to await the return of the boat. The eyes of the whole vessel followed its progress as it sailed cautiously along the beach. It rounded a point, but its sails still showed above the low grassy spit of land.

  The angle of the sails changed when the boat checked its course and suddenly moved inwards. The sails disappeared behind a thicker clump of lofty palms. Reluctantly, the onlookers left in ones and twos, tiring of attempting to imagine what it was like ashore among the anonymous dark green verdancy.

  It was trying, but there was no alternative but to 'stand off and on' — sail on a course out to sea for a space of time, then reverse course to arrive back in the original position, a feat of navigation in itself.

  At dawn the next morning Artemis met her cutter as it emerged into the open sea. 'This will serve, Captain,' Hobbes said, as soon as he had crossed the bulwark. He hurried below, leaving Powlett glaring at the lieutenant.

  'Mr Parry?' he snapped.

  'Sir, the island would appear suitable for Mr Hobbes's observations. It is precisely on the line of the meridian. The open area you see there has a good prospect for the erection of the platforms, and it has adequate water.' Parry's eyes showed weariness from the night spent under the stars with the acerbic Hobbes.

  'Thank you, Mr Parry,' Powlett conceded.

  'And, sir, if the sea state will allow it, there is a possible careenage to the south.'

  'Ah! Is there, b' God?' said Powlett, with interest. The chance to heave the ship down and get at the tropical sea growth on its bottom was too good to pass up. There was, besides, their previous brush with the coral, which would have damaged the thin copper sheeting and exposed the timbers beneath to attack by the pernicious teredo worm.

  The cutter still bobbed alongside. 'I'll see for myself. We have some weeks here at least. God's bones, but we'll not waste it.'

  Above the crude rafts fringing the new waterline of Artemis, now heaved over in the shallows in the lee of the island, the sight of her smooth, verdigris-green-blotched hull was breathtaking. She lay on her side, hauled down by tackles secured to her masts. They were reinforced by additional purchases and, stripped of all possible weight, the curves of her underwater section were now accessible.

  It had been a backbreaking task, removing all the frigate's stores, equipment and fittings ashore, but the seamen had been diverted by their exotic setting and the feel of dry land underfoot.

  Kydd had been strangely moved by the pristine shore, with its soaring palms whose feathery fronds tossed in the oceanic air. In the thick variegated undergrowth occupying the lower levels the vegetation was wild and profuse with orchids half a foot across. A moody silence inland beckoned mysteriously.

  Powlett had been uncompromising, however: while the ship was being careened it was terribly vulnerable. He fretted, stumping restlessly about, driving the men relentlessly. The work was arduous, harsh scraping and swabbing from the rafts with the sea-growths and detritus raining down on them, the deep salty sea odour of it all contrasting fiercely with the rich, soft land smell.

  Their sleeping place was on the higher open grassy plateau. Simple rectangular huts, made snug from the cooler night breeze with woven palm thatch in the walls, were all that was needed. The sailors slung their hammocks inside to be safe against any unknown ground-dwelling animals.

  The officers had tents, while the scientists insisted on separate accommodation, in a capacious hut. At the highest point of the plateau, nothing more than a slight rise, the observatory took shape. The platform was stoutiy constructed and sheltering side roofs were prepared to keep the instruments safe against rain showers.

  The few marines Artemis carried were posted at the broad landward edge of the plateau, facing into the unknown jungle. There was not the slightest sign of human occupation and the sailors padded to and fro up the short path from the beach without any fear. And above them all was erected the tallest flagpole they could contrive, and from it, a large ensign streamed out, conspicuous and confident.

  At dusk, work ceased. A large cooking fire blazed up, a welcome beacon in the dark blue night. The bubbling pots wreathed cooking smells about the hungry men. Beyond was the looming black mass of the peak in the darkness.

  'Damn fine vittles!' said Kydd, with satisfaction, as he gnawed at his bone.

  Renzi grinned in the companionable glare of the fire. 'These are not the words you usually choose on board when we dine on this self-same dish.'

  'No, but then I was never so sharp set/ Kydd mumbled back.

  Renzi moved a few yards away from the fire to appreciate the brilliant coruscation of stars in the clear night. Over the peak would soon emerge the most splendid full moon, and Renzi felt a lifting satisfaction at his condition. The young moonlight silvered the trees and huts but, as well, limned a solitary figure standing to one side. Renzi could just make out that it was Evelyn, still as a statue and staring out to sea, his face in shadow.

  He crossed over to him, stumbling in the black and silver tussocks. 'A glorious sight for an astronomer,' he said equably.

  For a moment Evelyn did not reply. When he finally turned, Renzi could see that his face was drawn. 'It is — but you should comprehend that it is not my choice that I should be here.' He looked towards the fire and away again. 'The adventuring life is not to my taste — the privations, the boredom. My science is of a solitary kind, not to be improved by enforced socialising.'

  'I do apologise if I intrude,' Renzi began.

  Evelyn moved to bring Renzi's face into the strengthening moonlight. 'You appear to have a certain . . . sensibility, if I might be so crass as to remark it.'

  'At present, the sea life suits my disposition. I have had my perspectives enhanced, my views of the human condition elaborated, and in fine it has been a salutary experience.'

  'Then I felicitate you on it,' Evelyn said drily. 'The theories propounded by Mr Hobbes are elegant and have deep implications for natural philosophy, and this is why I am here in testing them, not for any love of distant voyaging.'

  Renzi opened his mouth to interject, but Evelyn added swiftly, 'You know that William Gooch was my learned tutor in the astronomical arts. Now I have heard that his bones lie in O-why-ee, last year murdered by savages, as was Cook before
him.' He lifted his chin and gestured to the invisible horizon. 'Have you any idea how inconceivably remote we are?' Renzi kept silent. 'La Perouse and his gallant company in the Astrolabe have been lost these five years. They could be cast away and waiting for rescue on any one of some thousands of islands — or then again their company might be destroyed, every one.'

  'Wilson was cast up on the Pelew Islands some years ago,' Renzi felt impelled to say, 'and the native peoples there most hospitably treated him. I remember, he constructed a small vessel and sailed away and in it he conveyed, at their request, the son of the King of the Pelews. He attended at the court of King George, you will recollect.'

  'And I also recollect that the poor wight breathed his last the next year in Rotherhithe and never did see his island again. No, sir! You, for reasons that must appear sufficiently cogent to you, have adopted this perilous sea life, but it is not congenial to me. Pray leave me to my science.' Evelyn folded his arms and continued to stare seawards.

  Careening continued at first light on the other side of the hull. The carpenter was now able to give his full attention to the ruckled copper plating that marked their encounter with the coral.

  'I shall not sleep peaceably until we are a-swim again, Mr Prewse,' Powlett muttered.

  'I am sanguine that we shall be b' morning.'

  'Then you'll oblige me by—'

  Powlett stopped short at the sudden widening of Prewse's eyes. He swung round, alarmed. Around the point swept a native war-canoe, the savages rigid with surprise at the sight of Artemis.

  Chapter 11

  They'll be no more'n a thousan' of 'em down on us like screamin' banshees in a brace o' shakes,' the boatswain said drily. The canoe had taken in the scene of the helpless ship lying on her side, then made away with impressive speed.

  Fairfax hurried over to Powlett's side. 'Sir, the Feejee is accounted an incorrigible cannibal,' he said, with a worried frown.