Free Caribbee by Julian Stockwin Page A

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.
    ‘Er, what d’you want me to do, sir?’ Buckle said eagerly. A generous-sized portmanteau lay at his feet.
    They picked up speed, the coral bottom flicking past in the crystal-clear waters. ‘Mr Oakley, double up the fo’c’sle hands. I want ’em to sweat when the time comes,’ Kydd threw at the boatswain.
    ‘Can I help at all?’ Buckle persisted.
    Kydd saw red. ‘Get off the deck, blast y’r eyes. I’ll wait on your explanation later!’ he ground out, trying to see past him to the rapidly growing bulk of the merchant ship. Buckle stood irresolute and Kydd thrust him aside savagely.
    ‘Stand by, for’ard!’ he roared. But, as he had fervently hoped, close to the merchant ship the wind veered and eased.
    ‘Helm up!’
    As they rounded the ship’s stern there were frightened faces at the rail on one side, and on the other the men at the sweeps in the barge simply gazed up in shock as the frigate swashed heavily past.
    ‘Wh-where shall I put my baggage, then, sir?’
    Not trusting himself to speak, Kydd waited until
L’Aurore
emerged on the seaward side to take the breeze happily, leaning into it with a will as they made for the blessed expanse of the open sea.
    ‘Get below to the gunroom and wait until I send for you. Give him a hand, Mr Searle.’
    They had done it, but the situation should not have arisen in the first place.
    Course set westward and order restored, Kydd went to his cabin and summoned Buckle.
    Leaning back at his desk he took in his new