Artemis(92)
Before the end of the afternoon watch the ship was rigged and the stores were returning aboard in a stream. In the setting sun the job was complete. Artemis was a man-o'-war once more, riding to two anchors and ready for sea.
'Mr Rowley!' Powlett rasped, his relief only partly concealed. 'You will take the first part of the larb'd watch and mount guard ashore over the observatory. You will be relieved in twenty-four hours.' Looking upward at the new-clothed masts he added strongly, 'The remainder will turn to, part-of-ship, and set this vessel to rights.' For the first time in days, there was a thin smile on Powlett's face.
There was no real need, but Kydd took another rope-yarn and added it to the three he was rubbing to and fro on an old piece of canvas on his knee. His work would eventually turn out to be a dolphin for the cro'jack, a simple stout rope with two eyes to prevent nip in the massive yard. There was scope for fine seamanship in the careful pointing to finish over the plain worming and parcelling underneath, and Kydd relished its exercise. 'Do ye not want t' step ashore, Nicholas?' he said to Renzi, similarly engaged next to him. Renzi raised his eyebrows, a sign Kydd knew to be the polite harbouring of a contrary view.
Kydd saw this and grinned. He had paid attention to Renzi's earnest exposition of Rousseau's theories, but his heart had prevailed over his intellect when he had heard of the philosopher's orphaning of his own children in the interests of science, and he had lost sympathy. 'Black Jack is down on us seein' the natives — do ye think he admires y'r Rousseau?' Kydd asked.
Renzi stared back frostily. 'As well you can conceive, he selfishly consults the interests of his own ship, that its warlike powers are not imperilled.' He laid down his yarns. 'Yet I must own to a powerful longing to see, just for a morsel of time, the outworking of pure Nature on humankind. Only that,' he finished lamely. Kydd suspected he was shying from the difficulty of justifying his desire to visit the shore in the face of baser motives.
They both glanced shoreward. 'We're to be guard tomorrow,' Kydd said neutrally. It had been hard seeing the first part of the larboard watch pile into the boats, laughing and boisterous, and shove off for the sweets of the land. But Rowley had called on the Master-at-Arms and three boatswain's mates to land with them — there would be no chance of tomfoolery.
Night drew in again. Most men chose to remain on deck in the warm tropic evening, smelling the cooking fires ashore but having to eat their own victuals, boiled to a mush by a sea-cook who had stood wondering as the unknown foods piled aboard for stowing.
As the shore became an anonymous dark mass and lanthorns were hung in the rigging, Powlett came on deck. He didn't waste time. 'Cutter's crew to muster - awaaaay larb'd cutter!' This meant Kydd, who was bowman of the duty cutter. It was already at the lower boom, and Kydd ran out along the spar in the darkness, and swung down the Jacob's ladder into the boat. He singled up on the painter, then hooked on alongside Artemis to allow Powlett to descend the steps and into the boat.
There was no talking as they pulled strongly ashore. Powlett's expression deterred even the effervescent Midshipman Titmuss. They passed through the dark, phosphorescence-streaked sea in a rush, and near to the ragged line of blue-white that marked the tide-line Kydd leapt into the shallows to guide the cutter in.
Powlett stepped rapidly along the thwarts, and splashed down into the shallow water. 'With me,' he said briefly to the midshipman and Kydd, and plunged forward, heading rapidly for the path.
They paused, just for a moment, where the grassy plateau began. Powlett glared at the men clustered around the fire, laughing and singing. Too late, the marine sentry stumbled up and made his challenge, his hat askew and musket without its bayonet. Without comment Powlett thrust past and towards the firelight. The singing died away as he was recognised.
'Mr Rowley?' he snapped. The men looked sheepishly at each other, cowed by the naked fury on Powlett's face.
One man, whom Kydd recognised as Hallison, detached himself and touched his forehead. 'I'll find him f'r you, sir,' he said, looking around before moving off into the darkness.
An ominous quiet descended, the crackling of the fire sounding loud, the men's eyes flicking about nervously. Titmuss seemed uneasy at the charged atmosphere and edged closer to the Captain. With a sudden flurry of movement Rowley arrived with Hallison, breathless and in lace shirt and breeches only, his cocked hat the wrong way around. 'Sir?' he said, in guarded tones.
Powlett drew a sharp breath, then said, with icy control, 'Be so good as to report your dispositions for the night, Mr Rowley.' There was a brief pause before Rowley began his report. 'Damn your blood, sir!' Powlett roared, interrupting the hesitant words. 'You treat your duty as a vile visit to a bagnio. Where are your sentinels? Why are these men in liquor?'