Seaflower

Renzi stopped, and struck a dramatic pose:

'Slow glides the sail along the illumined shore,

And steals into shade the lazy oar,

Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,

And amorous music on the water dies!'

Then, gazing at the broad harbour vista, he said, 'Do you not find that—'

'You think I am a weak looby, that I did not — settle th' sentry,' Kydd said bluntly.

Renzi paused only for a moment, before he replied,

'No, dear fellow, I do not.' Kydd opened his mouth to speak, but Renzi continued, 'I observe that you are driven by the highest considerations of humanity, most laudable, but these are not, entre nous, always the ones to bear foremost in such a pass. Your humanity bears you on up false paths while the essential principle remains neglected.'

'In this instance,' Kydd said stubbornly, lifting his chin, Sve could—'

'In this instance, the entire assault is put to the hazard,' Renzi replied firmly. 'There is no other course. Your duty is as clear as at the helm in a storm. The moral courage lies in attending to the matter and without repine.'

They paced together to the end of the fine-run bow. Kydd stopped. 'Why did ye come ashore with me? Was it t' play the nursemaid? Do I need a keeper?'

Renzi smiled. 'Do you believe that I would not be interested in the fate of my particular friend?'

A stab of pleasure shot through Kydd. 'Y' must be green at m' rate of petty officer,' he said gruffly.

'On the contrary, dear fellow, I give you joy of it.' His smile was genuine. 'My purpose in a ship of war is in the serving of exile, not to top it the tyrant over my shipmates.'

At that moment the boatswain and his two mates came round from the other side of the boat. 'Sticks in m' craw,' he rumbled, *but yez are stood down f'r the day.' He took off his hat and mopped his brow. 'An' I have a berth for yez - yer'll be livin' wi' a Johnny Crapaud 'n' his family. 'E'll tell y' where,' he added, thumbing at one of his boatswain's mates.

'Poxy Frogs!' sneered Luke scornfully. 'Not you, skinker,' said the boatswain, 'you comes along wi' me.'

It wasn't far from the dusty waterfront; in fact, it was a shop in a street leading off the quay. In its neat, small windows Kydd saw tobacco pipes, bone snuffboxes and rows of caddies disappearing into the gloom. Outside stood a small moustachioed Frenchman, his desiccated wife behind clutching spasmodically at him.

'Nah, then, Fronswah, these 'ere are yer guests fer now,' the tall boatswain's mate said kindly. 'Kydd 'ere, an' Renzi that one. Compree?'

'Ah, oui,^y the man said doubtfully.

The boatswain's mate looked at Kydd. 'So I c'n leave yer with 'em, then?'

Kydd lifted his sea-bag. 'Aye. We've nothing t' fear fr'm these folks.'

The sailor grinned and left. The Frenchman looked up and down the street nervously and made shooing gestures to the two sailors. ‘A//ez — allez he said.

'Mais, mon brave, nous sommes . ..' began Renzi, in mellifluous French, sparking a visible leap in the man's spirits.

'J'ai l'honneur d'etre Henri Vernou, et voici ma femme? Careful nods were exchanged after Renzi had translated. His wife began guarded rapid jabber at him, but Renzi turned to her, bowed elegantly and murmured polite words. Her expression relaxed a little.