Seaflower (40 page)

'And
tonight
...'
Renzi halted, looking
dubious. 'Yeah?'

'Well
...
it involves your own good self,
you understand.'

'Strike
me dead — clap on more sail 'n' get on wi' it!'

'Tonight
— but we're so short-handed
...'

Doggo
drew a deep breath, but before he could erupt, Renzi ended,
'...
that you're to lead a press-gang!'

'Press-gang?'
Doggo spluttered.

Kydd
grinned broadly.

'And
Thomas Kydd is to assist him
...'

The
grin vanished. It was now years since Kydd had been a victim of the Press; in
the frigate
Artemis there had been
no pressed men in her famous voyage around the world. And since his lucky
rescue from the dockyards to Seaflower he had had no contact with pressed men.
Now Seaflower had to fall back on impressing hands from wherever she could.

'Where
're we raidin', do y' think?' Doud asked. It was well-nigh impossible to
attract good seamen to a King's ship in the Caribbean — there were too many
better-paid berths competing; merchant ships commanded good rates to man ships
for the Atlantic run, and privateers could rely on the lure of fat prizes.

'Kingston
town, I'd wager,' said Doggo, his face alive at the prospect of the
entertainment. 'Port Royal’ll
be awake up ter the press-gang.'

'I
can't do it, Nicholas,' Kydd muttered into his grog, at the noon meal. 'I knows
about it, is all,' he finished lamely.

Regarding
him steadily Renzi appreciated that Kydd was exploring his feelings and needed
to talk. 'So pressing men is an unmitigated evil?' he said coolly.

'I
didn't say that,' Kydd retorted.

'Some
would say it's nought but slavery.'

'So
what's t' do if there's not enough t' man th' Fleet?' Kydd said heatedly. Then
he subsided. 'You're turnin' it all around as usual, Nicholas. But you can't
argue with me that tearin' a man fr'm his family an' all is a fine thing,
dammit!'

Renzi
lifted his pot and said, before taking a pull at his grog, 'Then may I hear
what it is you propose in its place?'

Kydd's
slow smile was his answer, and Renzi grinned back. 'So, we are overborne by
logic. It is a disagreeable necessity while we cannot find any other means.
Therefore you shall do your duty tonight, as is your bounden obligation.'

At
an hour before midnight,
Sea/lower's
press-gang formed up on the waterfront of Kingston
town. 'Do ye mark what I say,' Merrick said. 'Ye knows the rules — no violence.
If they tries ter run, tip 'em a settler on th' calabash.' He seemed
unperturbed by the contradiction, but nodded at the nervous civilian next to
him. 'This 'ere is a sheriff's man come t' see fair play.'

Plans
were laid. The Sign of the Mermaid would be their victim, away from the centre
of the waterfront, and it was hoped to take hands from a merchant ship
carousing after a long, hard voyage across the Atlantic. The boatswain would
stand back and allow Doggo, experienced at the press-gang, to lead in when all
exits had been covered.

Kydd
eased his broad belt with its cutlass. This would only be drawn if things grew
ugly, and then there would be an accounting to the shore authorities. The main
persuaders the party carried were stretchers from the longboat, the narrow
lengths of wood against which the rowers braced their feet.

A
brief memory of the Horse and Groom three years ago in Guildford flashed by,
when sailors of a press-gang had burst in to change his life for ever. But he
had secretly to acknowledge that there was no question as to which life he now
wanted.

'So
let's get under weigh,' grunted the boatswain, and they padded off at the trot.
A few late-night citizens out on the street stared at the sailors, and there
were scurries in the shadows.

Without
speaking, Merrick indicated their positions outside the well-lit seamen's
tavern. From within a riot of noise surged and fell, cackles of laughter and
rumbles of conversation showing they were not expected, but the operation would
not be easy: this was no gathering of unsuspecting rural lads.

The
boatswain winked at Doggo who threw open the door and thrust inside. 'So who's
fer a life on the rollin' sea? An' we c'n even save yez the trouble o' payin'
yer reckoning!' he grated, into the falling silence. His stretcher tapped
slowly in his palm.

A
female screech pierced the blue haze: 'The fuckin' press!' There was instant
pandemonium. Tables and chairs scattered as men leaped to their feet in their
race for freedom. Into the chaos poured the Seaflowers. Kydd, right behind
Doggo, sprang after one likely fellow and seized his collar, managing to avoid
a wildly swinging fist. The man faced him, glaring and panting.

'Now,
cully, y'r taken fair 'n' square—' At this, the man charged, head down. None
too gently Kydd tapped him on the head with his stretcher and he fell to all
fours. Around them the scrimmage died away: there was no contest between a
sober, determined press-gang and their fuddled victims.

Merrick
strode into the taproom, looking pleased at the sight of the eight they had
secured. 'Well, boys, it's a life in the navy fer youse now. But I'm remindin'
yer, y' c'n still enter as a volunteer
..
.' One of the eight saw the inevitability of the situation and accepted the
offer, but the others threw bitter looks at the Seaflowers and stayed mute.

Kydd's
man got to his feet slowly, murder in his eyes. Two Seaflowers began to hand
him outside, but at that moment there was a scuffle at the entrance and a
dishevelled woman appeared, heavily pregnant, looking around wildly. Two
ragamuffin children clutched her skirts, wide-eyed with fear. 'No!' she
shrieked, when she saw the man. 'Not m' Billy! You can't — God save us, leave
'im!' She threw herself at the feet of the boatswain, her sobs harsh and
piteous.

'Now,
then, m'dear, y'r husband's off t' join
Seaflower
y as fine a man-o'-war as ever swam!' Merrick stuttered, clearly put out by the
woman's emotion.

One
of the captives pushed forward. 'God rot it, leave jus' Billy Cundy, yer brute,
yer has enough.' The two children rushed to Cundy's side and clung to him,
crying brokenly.

'Leave
us m' Billy — an' look on these innocents! Oh, God, what shall I do?' The woman
sobbed into her pinafore and patted her belly meaningfully.

Merrick
shifted uncomfortably. 'This is all very distressin', I c'n see that. Perhaps
we'll stretch a point in th' case of y'r Billy boy . ..'

'Oh,
sir, if yer c'n see yer way clear, the bantlings'll pray fer y'r soul every
night .. .'

She
tailed off when Doggo and two others descended the stairs with two more
prospectives, still in their night attire. 'What cheer, Sally?' Doggo said,
with a grin, taking in the scene. He crossed over to her and the woman's eyes
widened fearfully. With one hand he seized her wrists, the other he forced up
her skirt.

She
screamed in outrage — but Doggo withdrew a large cushion, which he flourished
aloft. 'Still up ter yer tricks, then, y' saucy tomrig.' Her hands turned to
claws as she flew at him, but Doggo held her at arm's length until her struggles
subsided.

'Take
'im out,' said Merrick, annoyed at being caught out.

But
the mood in the taproom had changed rapidly, from laughter at the deception to
a very real anger. Billy Cundy whipped round to the others: "They ain't
about t' take Billy Boy wi'out they has a fight — an' if we get took one b'
one, it's all over wi' us. Our only chance is a fair fight all together!'

He
threw himself at Kydd, and they went down together. The tavern exploded into
riot. Lanterns were caught and doused, screams and hoarse curses mixing with
the splintering of furniture in the gloom. Kydd landed a punch on the side of
Cundy's head, but was enveloped in a beery bear-hug. This allowed his 'wife' to
sit astride Kydd's back while she seized his hair and yanked it back agonisingly.

A
barrelling body abruptly relieved Kydd of her weight The tears in his eyes
clearing, Kydd set about subduing Cundy, but the riotous diversion had
attracted others from outside and the press-gang found itself outnumbered. The
boatswain's piercing call of 'belay' sounded, urging them to retreat while they
could.

Cundy,
nose bloody but still full of fight, laughed coarsely in Kydd's face. Kydd saw
red. He pulled the man to his feet and hooked him by his torn shirt 'Aye, but
ye're with us, cully!' Fending off flying bodies he propelled the man to the
door, where two Seaflowers secured his thumbs behind his back with spun-yarn.

The
boatswain brought a charging man to a sudden stop with an efficient straight-arm
blow and, giving one last look around, left, Kydd and his prize following.
Outside, a crowd was gathering, menacing the sailors who looked anxiously at
the boatswain. 'Move,' he said harshly. The sheriff's man was nowhere to be
seen. Surrounding their victims the Seaflowers bullied them off down the
street, screaming women throwing dirt after them while gleeful children ran
alongside.

The
tumult settled only when they boarded their boat and shoved off. 'Small
pickin's fer our troubles,' grumbled one sailor. For all the sore heads and
bloody noses there were only three men to show: Cundy, the volunteer and one
other, the remainder of their catch lost in the rough-and-tumble. This would
hardly count in the need to replace the deserters who had taken the first
opportunity to run after the cutter had made port.

'Mates,
it ain't over yet, an' I has me spies out,' Doggo said hopefully, but it was a
long pull back to
Seaflower. In
anticipation of a haul of pressed men she had anchored with the Fleet and its
regular pinnace rowguard.

'So,
you has information,' the boatswain said doubtfully.

'An'
reliable,' answered Doggo. 'You'll unnerstan' I has t' sweeten m' man after,
like.'

'We
will,' said the boatswain shortly. 'Th' Press musters at three bells this
forenoon.'

Kydd
reserved judgement on the wisdom of a raid in full daylight. They headed off
not for Kingston but to Port Royal. Scornful jeers met their landing and taunts
followed their progress through the shabby streets. 'Here we is,' Doggo said.
With a frown he consulted his paper: his tip-off turned out to be a cooper's
yard near the dockyard wall, with the usual two-storey living quarters within.

'This
yer information?' said Merrick contemptuously. The Seaflowers were in strength,
Doud, Stirk and Stiles ready for anything, but looked ill-at-ease at the risk
of being made a laughing stock.

Doggo
looked confused, but rallied. 'We'll 'ave prime man-huntin' here, Mr Merrick —
me man says as how there'll be nine top hands restin' quietly after a long v'y'ge,
an' all unsuspectin' - be sure on it!'

Seamen
took up positions and the press-gang entered the yard. Some coopers, knocking
down barrels into their constituent staves for better portability at sea,
looked up. Doggo pushed through them to the two-storey dwelling and thrust
inside, Kydd and the others following close behind. Three women in the front
parlour paused in their darning of coarse sea stockings, but there were no men
anywhere. The sailors swung out to the stairs on the outside of the house and clattered
up, bursting into the first bedroom they found.

'Should
ye be wantin' a dose of the yellow fever, ye're welcome,' said a doctor, easing
a poultice on to the poor wretch writhing in pain. The sailors whitened and
left hurriedly. Gingerly they entered another bedroom, but this one held an old
woman rocking in her chair and her daughter at a large cradle.

'Stap
me, but you've led us a rare dance, mate,' snarled Merrick to Doggo. The women
looked on, quite as if they were used to having their privacy invaded by hard
seamen with cudgels and cutlasses. The daughter smiled demurely at Kydd, who
blushed.

Even
Stirk seemed abashed, his big hands shifting awkwardly.
'Aaah? he said, and crossed to the cradle to pay his
respects. The daughter's smile disappeared and the old lady stopped rocking. ‘Aah!
Dear liddle diddums.' Stirk stretched to tickle the infant under the chin —
then straightened abrupdy. 'Be buggered! An' that's th' biggest baby I seen in
m' life!' He wrenched away the covers revealing a lithe lad with all the
muscular development to be expected of a first-class topman. The youngster
leaped up, only to be collared by a laughing Stirk.