Caribbee (18 page)

He waved away the inevitable flies, reflecting sourly that making even a single mile out to the open sea they would all vanish, defeated by the cleanliness of a ship.

But he was here because of Tysoe. It was not only the recollection of years of faithful service, but also the intolerable thought of his noble self spending the rest of his days as a plantation slave.

Beside him, Renzi said nothing, calmly observing the scrubby landscape. Kydd was darkly amused to see Searle sitting bolt upright, keeping ‘eyes in the boat’, as if with the captain in his gig.

The cart ground on until at last there was a hedge of sorts each side of the road, leading to the plantation Great House, a sprawling white edifice with a dark-varnished veranda and set about with blossoms.

They descended at the entrance and a white-clad houseboy appeared. ‘Captain Kydd to see Mr Thistlewood,’ Kydd told him, but a figure emerged from the house and pushed him aside.

‘I’m Thistlewood,’ snapped the thick-set man in leather boots and wide hat, his face hard and deeply tanned. ‘What’s your business?’

Kydd removed his hat politely. ‘I’m here to set right a little matter, if I may. I gave leave for my manservant to visit his parents and he’s failed to return. I wonder if you could—’

‘That’s this Tysoe, then. Surprises me it needs a Navy captain to come looking.’

‘Yes, that’s the fellow. Do tell him that we’re about to sail and—’

‘He’s not going back.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘He’s not about to leave here, cully. He’s my property and he stays.’ The man’s eyes narrowed and he folded his arms.

‘I think you may have mistaken his identity. He is—’

‘I know who he is – there’s no confusion. He found his parents. Then they all fell about weeping and the like. He’s their son, without any kind o’ doubt.’

Kydd shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Then if you know who he is, why can’t he return with us?’

Thistlewood gave a hard smile. ‘Seems to me you have a strange notion of slave law, Mr Sailor. That there is known as Quamino, a piccaninny born of slaves, right here in my father’s pen. The law says therefore he’s a slave himself, property of his master. There’s no going up against the law now, is there?’

Renzi spoke: ‘We happen to know they were manumitted years ago.’

‘You’re right.’

‘So he’s a free man.’

‘We’re talking his folks, not him. They’re free right enough.’

‘If—’

‘The deed of manumission. You want to see it? There’s Phibbah and Cuffee, no mention of Quamino. He were illegally borne off to be a page-boy well before they were freed, so by any law o’ the land he’s still a bound slave.’

It was all too clear. The casual handing over of one of the many plantation children those years ago had come back full circle to trap Tysoe. Thistlewood had seen his chance to acquire an accomplished house-boy to flaunt in planter society, and the law was on his side.

Frustration boiled up in Kydd. ‘I’ve a King’s ship wants to sail. You’re delaying me by this tomfoolery! I demand that—’

‘Nothing stopping you. Sail away.’

‘I won’t let it rest, sir! This is nonsense and you know it!’

‘I think not! Why, I see I’ve a case for damages. Yes – loss of earnings in a slave unlawfully detained for … let me see … thirty years? Your admiral is going to be pleased with you, he gets a lawsuit against the Navy that carried him off …’

It was getting nowhere. Despairing, Kydd said, ‘Well, er, I’ll buy him back.’

‘He’s not for sale. Now, I’m sure you’re busy chasing pirates or such, so I won’t detain you any longer.’

Kydd threw a beseeching look at Renzi.

‘Ah, then we’ll make our farewells,’ Renzi said smoothly, ‘with our earnest apologies for taking up your time. Come, gentlemen.’

Aghast, Kydd hesitated but Renzi was walking to the cart. Then he stopped and turned, with a disarming smile. ‘Oh, I’d forgotten. Just one small detail we’ll have to trouble you with. It shouldn’t take long.’

‘What detail? I haven’t got all day.’

‘Why, as secretary to the ship, I can’t have loose ends to disturb my captain later, can I?’

‘Get on with it.’

‘It’s the little matter of Tysoe’s oath.’

‘Oath?’

‘Yes,’ Renzi said, brow creased in a clerkly furrow. ‘You see, on enlisting in any ship of the Royal Navy a man has to swear to serve the King. Now, all I need is an affidavit signed by Tysoe that he no longer wishes to bear allegiance to His Majesty, this being countersigned in a release by his captain, and he will be free to take up duties with you immediately.’

‘He’s a slave, damn it. Has no right to go swearing oaths! He’s still my property and—’

‘Unfortunately, the oath was sworn, whether in error or no. And the one to King George may not be put aside. It has prior standing over any other in the kingdom. Why do you think deserters are hanged at the yardarm? It is because they have violated their oath to the sovereign. We don’t want that happening to your slave now, do we?’

‘God rot me! If every slave was allowed to enlist we’d be—’

‘They are not, Mr Thistlewood,’ said Renzi, clearly pained by his language. ‘This is why the law does disallow it.’

‘So—’

‘It is clearly stated that should a slave or apprentice, or any bound by law to a master, attempt to decamp by enlisting, then the master may on representing the case claim him back, with costs against the captain.’

‘Then—’

‘Providing he does so within the span of thirty days. Our muster-roll has no evidence that any such claim was made against the person of Tysoe. Therefore he was entered in full as a bona-fide member of the ship’s company.’

‘So you’re saying—’

‘Do present this man that we may hear the revoking of his oath. Then I’m sure Captain Kydd will be happy to initial his release – won’t you, sir?’

Thistlewood saw his answer on Kydd’s face. ‘I’m not letting him go – get off my property now or I’ll set the dogs loose,’ he snarled.

‘Oh dear.’ Kydd grinned. ‘It seems we have here an attempt to conceal a deserter. I do believe I’m quite within my rights to use lawful force to recover same. Mr Searle, go to the first lieutenant and ask him to land five hundred men – armed. I mean to arrest this villain.’

‘Aye aye, sir!’

‘Wait! I’ll get him – but I’m after compensation.’

‘For a piccaninny?’ Renzi said disapprovingly. ‘A child under the age of ten is considered a liability, not an asset, Mr Thistlewood. Rather, the Crown should be seeking recompense from you in the article of his bringing up. Now, does this mean we have to …?’

As
L’Aurore
heeled to a fine sea breeze Tysoe brought in their wine, as if nothing whatsoever had happened that day.

‘Thank you, Tysoe,’ Kydd said courteously, as he always did, but he didn’t fail to catch the glimmer of feeling that passed unacknowledged between them.

In fine good humour, he chuckled, and said to Renzi, ‘Topping it the lawyer, Nicholas. I didn’t know you had it in you.’

‘Ah, well, it was all I could think of at the time.’

‘Does it mean anything?’

‘Not as far as I know. I made it up as I went along – it seemed to fadge.’

It was raining. Not in the sense that an Englishman would recognise but a white mist drifting across the surface of the sea. It could be seen from the comfort of his cabin prettily stippling the water outside the sweep of his stern windows, while on the upper deck it would bring a pleasant cooling to the men on watch; the sun-warmed planking would be gently steaming and the lower edges of each water-darkened sail busily dripping along its length.

They were in no hurry. As visibility was obscured they had shortened to topsails while, in this north-easter, they made an offing away from the reef-strewn northern coast of Jamaica.

When the showers lifted to a thinning sprinkle they were quite unprepared for the sight of a ship some distance away in the eye of the wind.

Kydd, called on deck, snatched the telescope from the officer-of-the-watch and trained it carefully. With all friendly merchant shipping at a standstill in port, this could be only one of three: a French frigate, one of their own patrolling frigates or an enemy privateer.

For reasons of size this was not a privateer and for a certainty no other British frigate had reason to trespass on their patrol line. It had to be the enemy.

His heart beat faster. This was how it always began, out of the blue on a quiet day, a sudden sighting, a swift confrontation, then danger and death.

‘We’re to join action shortly, I believe, Mr Gilbey. Men to quarters as soon as you may, if you please.’

The next few minutes would be revealing. Would their opponent fight or fly?
L’Aurore
was as close to the wind as she could lie – being directly upwind the situation depended greatly on whether the other decided to turn and bear down on them, in which case they could look to broadsides within no more than an hour, the enemy being in the position of choosing their course of attack. If that happened, there would be no reason to loose courses, the larger driving sails, for almost always combat took place under topsails. For now, they would keep them set as they were.

Then another curtain of misty rain spread across, and when it thinned and cleared they had their answer.

And it was a puzzler. The ship was now considerably to the right of where it had been, under full sail, its course directly for the land.

Kydd raised the telescope. Broadside on, every detail of the other became plain – and he had his explanation. This was no warship: it was a merchantman – a large one and making to flee inshore as fast as it could. A Frenchman desperate to break out to the Atlantic with a cargo of colonial sugar, so much needed in the motherland.

He rubbed his hands in glee as he announced the news to cheers from the quarterdeck.

‘You may stand down the hands, Mr Gilbey.’ This was now merely a chase.

It was odd that the vessel had not tried to lose itself in the open expanse of the Cuba Passage but, then, it probably reasoned that it didn’t stand a chance against a predatory frigate and was heading instinctively for the nearest land, hoping to shake them off in the shallows.

This was probably the better decision, for
L’Aurore
at that time was stretching out on the starboard tack. To close with their prey, not only had they to put about on the other tack, but as well set their big courses abroad on all masts first.

The ship made the coast and had just disappeared on the far side of Pedro Point by the time they had started closing with it, some hours behind. Impatiently, Kydd waited for the rocky bluffs to pass, opening up the long north coast of Jamaica – and their quarry. But it was nowhere to be seen.

Frustratingly, the twisting coastline was deeply indented, beaches and coves endlessly stretching into the distance. This was what the wily captain was counting on – with local knowledge, a hideaway in one, such that his pursuer would be delayed, looking into them all.

Then Kydd realised he had a trump card. ‘Mr Buckle!’ he hailed down the deck forward.

The young man hurried back from his station at the fore-mast. ‘Sir?’

‘Should you be fleeing a hunter, where would you head?’

‘A’tween us and Montego Bay, why, there’s only two places will take a full-rigged ship. Tom Piper’s Bay the larger, Mosquito Cove the smaller. And my money’s on the last.’

When the frigate opened up the first bay they saw right into its mile or more depth but with no result. They sailed onwards, on Buckle’s advice ignoring the many smaller ones until they came up with Mosquito Cove. It was narrower but just as deep and they could see into it completely – but when they looked, right to the end, there was nothing.

As they prepared to get under way again there was murmuring about the deck and Buckle looked crestfallen, but then he brightened. ‘I remember there’s a small watering place inside past the narrows on the left. If he’s there and warps close in we won’t be able to see him from seaward. Sir – he’s in there!’

It had to be – to go to ground so promptly when there was nowhere else.

Kydd thought quickly. If it was to be a cutting out it could be tricky in the narrow shallows, and if there was a better way …

‘Launch and cutter in the water, both with carronades. Lively, now!’

While they were being hoisted out he had a quiet word with the boats’ crews, who quickly caught on. When
L’Aurore
shook out sail, the two boats pulled strongly for their positions – out of sight, one either side of the entrance.

Any interested observer would notice that, after a while,
L’Aurore
had tired of the pursuit of her vanished prey and had put about, returning down the coast whence she’d come.

Two hours after the frigate had disappeared there was movement – and through the narrow entrance emerged a wary merchantman under full sail. Like a bolt slamming shut, the two boats tugged hard on their oars, coming to a stop in the middle of the entrance before slewing around – to face out, each with a loaded carronade and effectively barring the way back.

And
L’Aurore
had already wheeled about in anticipation and now came down to claim her prize.

Kydd could not resist the urge to board the vessel himself: he wanted to meet her captain, who had proved both cool and intelligent and, but for Buckle, would have been able to make good his escape.

As they approached the disconsolate vessel, Kydd felt the first stirrings of unease. Even from this distance, the ship didn’t have the feel of a Frenchman or a Spanish. She had an indefinable alien air about her, the cut of the sails, the lead of the working rigging, and when they came alongside he was sure.

It was an English ship.

As he swung over the bulwarks, there was no mistaking the vessel’s master, who was standing by the main-mast with an expression of disbelief.

‘Captain Kydd, Royal Navy,’ he said, with just a trace of irritation. ‘It was a merry dance you led us, sir, my congratulations.’

‘As did you, old chap! ’Pon my word, a King’s ship strange to these waters and with every appearance of a damned Frenchy!’