Caribbee(22)

‘Hands to unmoor ship, if you please,’ Kydd ordered.

The move to Jamaica would be welcomed by the seamen: the rambunctious buccaneering reputation of the last century’s Port Royal had not entirely disappeared, and Kydd brought to mind some famous times in the past had by seamen flush in the fob with prize-money.

‘Fo’c’slemen mustered correct, sir.’ They were last to report – with the capstan manned they were ready to depart.

Kydd looked at his watch. ‘No sense in delaying. Weigh anchor, if you please. Cast to starb’d, Mr Kendall?’

‘Aye, sir.’

Topmen swarmed aloft to stand by to loose sail to take the wind on the starboard side when the anchor had been won, and the age-old quickening of the heart of an outward-bound ship touched them all.

‘Thick an’ dry!’ came the yell from forward. The cable was taut up and down and with the ‘heavy heave’ that broke the anchor’s grip on the seabed they would be free of the land, their voyage begun.

‘Gunfire, sir!’

Kydd had heard it as well, the distinct crack of a small gun. Someone pointed: a low-built cutter of the kind that swarmed by the score in Carlisle Bay was crowding on sail directly towards them, the smoke of the shot dissipating as they watched.

It was inconceivable that they were under attack but unauthorised gunfire in a naval anchorage was forbidden. A civil advice-boat with news or dispatches?

‘Avast at the capstan!’ Kydd snapped, but he was too late: a shout from the fo’c’sle and a simultaneous sliding of the bows downwind showed they were under way.

He thought furiously. ‘Belay the last – get that anchor in!’

It could not have come at a worse moment. With the unusual on-shore south-westerly there was no time to take the turns of cable off the capstan, releasing the anchor to plunge down again, and therefore their only course was to get sufficient way on the ship to claw off.

‘Make sail!’

Canvas dropped and the topmen raced in as the yards were braced around to catch the wind, but instead of an orderly and relaxed departure L’Aurore was sent close-hauled across the busy roadstead to clear anchored ships.

Another shot came from the cutter.

‘See if we can heave to, Mr Kendall,’ Kydd said tightly, eyeing the shore. There was less than a mile of usable water for any kind of manoeuvre – there had better be a very good reason for the boat’s antics.

L’Aurore passed through the cutter’s wind, obliging the little craft to tack about, making a sad showing that left Kydd fuming. He was on the point of ordering the frigate to bear away and make for the open sea when it finally closed with them. A figure in flamboyant dress on its foredeck shouted up indistinctly.

Gilbey made impatient signs to come alongside and hailed irritably: ‘What’s your business?’ With its small local crew and shabby look, it was obviously not a government vessel.

‘L’tenant Buckle, y’r third, come to join.’

Kydd swore. ‘Get him on board,’ he snarled to Gilbey. ‘As quick as you may.’ As he stumped back to the wheel he could hear some sort of altercation concerning baggage and ground his teeth.

They were perilously close to drifting down on a brig-sloop at anchor – he had to take action. But as he was about to give orders to bear away, an inbound merchantman altered course to pass them to seaward, cutting off their track out.

‘Get that looby inboard this instant!’ Kydd bellowed furiously.

It was going to be tricky indeed: how could he—

‘Flat out the headsails, douse the driver!’ he roared. With sternway beginning to make itself felt, they had to move now. He swivelled to glare at the quartermaster. If he forgot to reverse all helm orders—

‘Um, L’tenant Buckle, sir?’

Kydd ignored him. ‘Stand by at the braces!’ he bawled down the deck. It would need faultless timing if they were not to be caught aback.

‘Come aboard t’ join, sir.’ The man seemed to have no idea of the situation and was dressed in a green morning coat and pantaloons tucked into tasselled boots.

Kydd turned to stare at him. ‘Get out of my way, you infernal lubber! Can’t you see—’

Kendall broke in: ‘We has a chance, sir. See the sugar barge, done loading, and she’ll clear the merchant jack in a brace o’ shakes.’

He was right – as long as they had sufficient way on to ensure tight steering. But it would mean committing to the single course of action and if that failed …

‘We’ll do it,’ Kydd responded decisively. Thank the Lord he had a tried and trusty crew. ‘Brace around!’

L’Aurore was no longer clean-bottomed. Her last careening had been in far-away Cape Town, and it showed in her sluggish responses. Her bowsprit nevertheless swung obediently to aim like a rapier at the merchantman.