There was total quiet.
'Sudden-like, there's a shout. I goes ter the side an', so help me God, I sees there somethin' I don' never want ter see again!'
Kydd held his breath.
'Red eyes 'n' fangs workin' away, there's this great long dark-green serpent. An' I mean long! Me frien' worked it aft by tyin' off on the pins one be one, an' I'm here ter tell yez, mates, it stretched out from abreast the foremast all the way aft ter the quarterdeck. Squirmin' and thrashin', right knaggy it was, thumpin' the side until officer o' the deck told us to cut him loose ter save the ship.'
A younger voice interjected, 'Yer c'n be sure that's nowt but a tiddler, Lofty. Bigger ones down there, yer just don't know.'
'An' they ain't the worst of 'em - it's them what the Norskeys call the Kraken, they're the worst.' 'What Y they?'
'It's yer giant octopus, mate, big as yer like, loomin' up outa the sea at night, eyes as big as a church clock a-starin' up at yer — an' that's when you knows it's all up, 'cos it feeds on sailors what it sweeps up orf of the deck with its slimy great arms forty fathom long, with these 'ere suckers all over 'em.'
Apprehension spread over Kydd. As they spoke there might be one directly in their path, lying in silent anticipation of its meal, just at this moment noiselessly rising up from the depths. He shivered, and hunkered down in the blackness as low as he could. Renzi was out of reach, now at his trick on the wheel, but in the forenoon they would certainly talk together.
The prevailing westerlies died and from the other direction the north-east trade winds began: pleasantly warm, vigorous and exhilarating, the best possible impetus for their southward voyaging. The sea turned ultramarine under the azure sky, and with hurrying white horses below and towering cumulus rising above, their sea world was a contrasting study in blue and white.
On the sun-dappled main deck Petit paused in his seaming. 'Yez knows what this means.'
Kydd looked up and waited.
'These are the trade winds, 'n' that means we now got Africa ter larb'd.'
It was a thought to conjure with. The fabled dark continent, its interior unknown to mankind. Jungle and swamp, the whole mystery lying just over there from where the winds were blowing. Kydd was seized with a yearning to glimpse it, just once.
The weather grew from warm to hot; pitch between the deck planking became sticky to the touch where the sun beat down on it, and Kydd had to cover his torso with an open shirt; his bare feet had long ago become strong and toughened.
Below decks it was too hot to sleep. Kydd and Renzi sat on the fo'c'sle, off watch, Renzi with his clay pipe drawing contentedly and Kydd staring up dreamily. The stars were out, and of such brilliance they appeared low enough to touch. Along the eastern horizon, however, was a dark line. Curious, they watched it take shape. As the hours wore on it extended gradually on both sides and fattened to a bank of darkness. Lightning played within it, a continuous flickering that illuminated tiny details of the cloud mass in tawny gold.
The heat of the day was still with them, the air breathy, heavy. They looked towards the bank idly, fascinated by the primeval sight. It was now moving towards them from the beam. As it drew nearer the distant flashes of lightning became more separated and distinct, and after a long interval an answering sullen rumbling of thunder could be heard floating towards them over the water.
'All the hands! All hands on deck — haaaaands to shorten sail!'
There was no apparent change in the immediate weather; the wind was the same streaming easterly, but for the first time Kydd could detect a scent, a heavy humid rankness of rotten vegetation and stagnant pools — the heady fragrance of Africa.
They took in courses, then topsails. Powlett, it seemed, would not be satisfied until the yards were at the cap and all they showed were staysails fore-and-aft. Their speed fell off, and the roll of the ship changed in character: the Atlantic swell passed them by to leave the ship wallowing in long jerky movements, an unsettling sensation for a fast frigate.
Drawing closer, the dense cloud bank increased in height and width, its dark pall gradually snuffing out the stars until it loomed high over them. Men did not return below, they lined the side and watched. The lightning became more spectacular, the thunder a spiteful crack and pealing roar. Then came a darkness more intense than ever.
Kydd felt something elemental stealing over him; the towers of blackness glowered moody and threatening, fat with menace. The wind died; in the calm the flashing and banging of the lightning filled the senses. There was a breathless pause as the last stars flickered out overhead. In the ominous calm it seemed that the fluky winds were in dispute for the right to turn on their prey.
A gust, then others. The wind picked up in violent, shifting squalls, sending Kydd staggering. The wall of blackness raced across towards them - and they were hit. In an instant it seemed as if the heavens were afire. The lightning coalesced into one blinding, ear-splitting blast of thunder, which ripped the air apart. The squalls tore at Kydd's grip in a nightmare buffeting and all he could do was stand rigid, stupefied. The ship reared and shied like a frightened horse, deafening volleys of thunder entering the fabric of the vessel, transmitting through to his feet. Worse by far than any broadside, the sound smashed at his senses. He fumbled for half-remembered prayers. They josded in his mind but focus was impossible under the assault.