Seaflower (14 page)

There
was a coming and going of officers and dockyard functionaries up the
side-steps from the quay, but nothing to say what their future would be. The young
lieutenant in temporary command was not going to risk his situation by letting
his men leave the ship. They stayed aboard, moodily watching the shore.

At
four in the afternoon, as the midday heat lessened, a small party approached.
It was led by a man in austere black, and as he stepped down on the upper deck
Kydd was struck by the nobility in his bearing, the calm certainty in his
features. The party disappeared below.

'Who's
that?' Kydd asked.

'Why,
that's Zachary Caird, yer master shipwright come ter survey,' said a local
craftsman. 'Second only ter the commissioner in the dockyard, is 'e.'

One
of the party reappeared on deck, his working clothes marking him as a
shipwright. He brushed aside questions, slipping over the side and into the
dockyard. He returned with a long, cylindrical section auger, and vanished
below.

Darkness
was drawing in by the time the party came on deck again. From their grave
expressions Kydd guessed that the repair would be a lengthy one. 'Any word,
sir?' he asked the young lieutenant, after he had shepherded the survey team
over the bulwarks.

'Yes,'
said the officer offhandedly, 'and we are to be condemned, I believe.'

Kydd
stared. 'We . . .'

'We
are strained and leaking in the hull, and it is outside the powers of this dockyard
to get us seaworthy enough to make passage back to England.' He removed his
cocked hat and wiped his forehead. 'As they have no dry dock here for a great
repair, we are finished. It was being at anchor in a hurricane, the strain and
working at the bow, too much for the ironsick old vessel.' He gazed away.

'But—'

'It's
subject to confirmation by others, but, well, you now know as much as I.'

Stirk
had no doubts about their future. 'The Trajans are no more, cully! We'se goin'
ter be sent quicksmart t' Barbados an' the Loo'ard Island fleet, or it's the
Jamaica Squadron. Either way we gets no say a-tall which barky we're goin' ter
ship out on.'

Kydd's
spirits sank. It was hard to take. Renzi would probably not even know which
ship he had been assigned to, all his friends would be scattered and he would
not see them again. There was one other thing to add to his dejection. He was
now a quartermaster's mate, a petty officer: in a strange ship he would have to
work his way up all over again. Captain Bomford's promise of advancement meant
nothing.

The
next day, Trajan was warped deeper into the harbour, well clear of other
vessels, and prepared for de-storing. After the formality of a second opinion
her guns would be removed and the process of hulking her would begin.

A
large detachment of seamen was soon taken off for immediate passage to
Barbados. A brig-sloop took another six, an armed schooner three. A last-minute
call from a passing 64-gun vessel took the majority of the remainder to
Jamaica, leaving a silent, echoing ship and a handful of men.

'Kydd!'
the lieutenant called. 'Mr Caird has asked if I can spare a good hand to work
with him ashore. I told him we can. Get your gear, the dockyard boat will be
calling for you at six bells.'

The
dockyard? Kydd's thoughts jostled and his first instinct was to object - but,
then, perhaps it would be interesting, learning the internal secrets of so many
different kinds of vessel. He found himself responding positively.

But
there was one left aboard to whom he must say farewell. Luke was stricken at
the news. 'B-but, Mr Kydd — you ...'

Touched
by his grief Kydd fumbled for words, knowing the dockyard boat would be
alongside soon. 'Shall miss ye too, skinker,' he said, ruffling the lad's hair,
'but we does our duty, an' without gripin'.' Luke stared at him but didn't move
as Kydd turned and left.

The
dockyard hoy was taking advantage of the trip by loading mounds of sails,
awnings, cordage and other materials from
Trajan
for return to stores. Kydd found himself wedged in with
these as he settled down for the short trip.

The
boat hoisted sail. As they made their way to the dockyard landing place, Kydd
looked back on
Trajan,
his
ship: her age-darkened sides, the ugly truncation of topmasts, the secrets of
twenty years and the unknown thousands who had sailed in her. He felt a lump
build in his throat as she fell astern. She slowly transfigured into yet
another feature of the harbour, an anonymous vessel in the distance with all
reality of having been his home now faded. He wrenched away his gaze. A
different kind of life was starting for him now.

The
boat nosed in to the coral-rock quay, ending up neatly under a stout wooden
crane where the single sail was dowsed. 'Where's Mr Caird?' Kydd asked the
crew. It seemed that he could be found at the boat-house. Kydd heaved out his
sea-bag and started to head in the direction they had indicated.

Then
incredulous shouts came from the hoy. He looked back and saw Luke clambering
out from under old sails. 'Be damned! You're a wicked rascal, to think on
desertin' y'r ship like this,' Kydd said hotly. 'Y’r goin' straight back
aboard.'

'Not
wi' us, he ain't - we got other work t'do,' came a swift rejoinder from one of
the hoy's crew.

'Well,
how c'n he . . .'

'Not
our problem, mate.'

Kydd
swore, but saw the appeal in Luke's big eyes, his little bundle of belongings
over his shoulder, and knew that, if he insisted, he would be condemning the
lad. He swore again. 'Follow me, y' ill-lookin' swab,' he growled, and set out
for the boat-house. Obediently Luke fell into step behind.

The
boat-house consisted of an extensive loft rested on lines of tall stone
pillars. Below, boats were floated inside, then hoisted to the workshop floor.
The resinous aroma of timber lay strongly on the breeze that played through
the pillars, a clean, welcome scent in the overall reek of a harbour. Mr Caird
stepped out from the store-room at the back. Kydd recognised him at once as the
master shipwright who had surveyed
Trajan.

"Thomas
Kydd, who's been sent fr'm
Trajan
for service ashore.'

Caird
looked at him keenly. 'What was your rate aboard?'

Again
Kydd was struck by the calm gaze, the certainty in his manner. 'Quartermaster's
mate, sir.'

Caird
nodded. 'If I may observe, you're young for the rate, are you not?' A series of
flat thumps with a mallet sounded to one side.

Kydd
returned his look defiantly.

'But,
of course, you will have earned it,' Caird added quickly. 'You may need it.
Have you had experience of men of colour?'

Taken
aback by the question Kydd paused. There were no slaves in England, and the
only black men he had seen at sea were all free, as he was. 'Not as y' might
say,' he said cautiously.

'I
have it in mind to employ you as a Master of the King's Negroes - to take my
shipwright's sidesmen in charge.'

'Aye,
sir,' Kydd said carefully.

'To
see they're mustered at work each morning, that they're not in want of what
they need - but ye need to know, I'll not have them abused, sir.'

Thoughts
racing, Kydd murmured assent. This was utterly beyond his expectations. Caird
regarded him thoughtfully, then his gaze slipped to Luke, who smiled up at him
uncertainly.

'And
this is — your servant?' Caird said. 'You are entitled, of course, as a master,
but we have our own, you know.'

Caught
off-balance, Kydd stuttered an acknowledgement.

Caird's
eyebrows rose. 'Well, if you insist — but he will have to share servants'
quarters.'

"Th-thank
you,' Kydd said, not daring to look at Luke.

'Hercules
will show you to your lodgings. I will see you at my office at four o'clock, if
you please.'

Kydd
followed the black man along the road, past workshops and sawpits, Luke walking
silently behind with his bundle. They went through the dockyard gate and
stopped at one of a row of small but neat two-storey houses. 'In dis house —
youse in de top floor, massa.'

Kydd
opened the little wicket gate and stepped inside: there was an external flight
of stairs to the top storey. The man looked once more at him, then touched his
forehead and left.

At
the top of the stairs the door held a key: Kydd turned it and entered. The
small room smelt stuffy and unused. There was a low bed, a side dresser with a
jug, and little else. Kydd crossed the room and opened one of two doors to a
tiny sitting room with armchair and table. The other led to a snug veranda
overlooking the hills beyond. 'Hey, now,' Kydd said, with satisfaction. 'So I'm
t' be a master, an' live in a house.'

By
late afternoon Kydd had the place in order. On the lower floor, it seemed, was
the chief caulker, now absent. He would pay his respects later.

'Where
do I go, Mr Kydd?' said Luke, overawed by events.

'Why,
with th' other servants, o' course.' Kydd chuckled. Luke's face fell. Kydd
couldn't keep it up. 'But then again, I c'd have ye close at hand, see t' my
wants at any time. Oh, yes! So I decides I want you to doss down here, younker,
but mark you, mind has proper respect f'r yer master.'

'Yes,
an' I will, Mr Kydd,' said Luke, seriously.

The
office of the master shipwright was with the master attendant and commissioner,
right at the far end, but the dockyard was compact and well laid out. Kydd was
shown into the airy office. Caird sat at his desk, his quill scratching busily.
He glanced up as Kydd approached. 'A minute, if you please.'

The
room was extremely clean, furniture well polished, and ornamented only with a
series of charts and half-breadth shipyard models. A Christian devotional
etching hung in the centre of one wall.

Caird
swivelled round. 'Please be seated, Mr Kydd,' he said, motioning to a cane
chair on one side. 'I am the master shipwright here, as you know, and my
responsibilities are extensive. It would be gratifying if I could rely on those
the good Lord sees fit to set under me.' He paused, looking intently at Kydd.
'This is not always the case, I am grieved to say.'

The
interview continued with a clear and unequivocal setting-out of Kydd's new
duties, which were also carefully written down for him. It concluded with a
stern warning on conduct. 'Do you mark my words, Mr Kydd, I will suffer no man
in my charge to corrupt himself by yielding up his body to drink and carnality.
Should he so dishonour me, I shall cast him out without mercy.'

Kydd
was by no means a tippler: he disliked the surrender of will involved in
drunkenness, and as to carnality, he had not seen a female of any age anywhere.
'Aye, sir, ye need have no fears of me,' he said positively.

'Ah,
that is good. Your predecessor did grievously disappoint in this. I wish you
well for the future, and we may expect your presence on the morrow at the
boat-house.'

Later,
in the privacy of his room, Kydd studied the paper containing full details of
his duties. The King's Negroes were slaves, but superior slaves, it seemed, for
not only did they have considerable skills but, to Kydd's surprise, some even
had slaves of their own. He would have a driver, a foreman, who would be
responsible to him for the others, and a line of responsibility to the yard
boatswain.

'Y'r
pardon, Mr Kydd,' said Luke anxiously. He stood at the door respectfully. 'I
c'n have yer scran alongside, should yer want it now.'

Kydd
felt abashed: he had not really meant it when he told Luke he was a servant.
Now the lad was taking him at his word. On reflection, however, he realised
that, given the circumstances, it might be the best thing. 'Thank ye, Luke, I
will.'

Kydd
returned to his paper. The King's Negroes' chief employment was as a skilled
crew to assist shipwrights and riggers in major operations, such as in heaving
down ships for underwater repairs or replacing whole masts. His would be the
first party to board men-o'-war entering harbour having been wounded in battle
or savaged by a hurricane.