Seaflower

fizz, then a sudden gout of choking smoke, and a rocket soared up into the grey evening sky to explode high above. Jowett was trying to get a larger vessel to come to their aid, but it was unlikely that any would risk putting to sea under the threat of a hurricane. It was stalemate: on this point of sailing they could only reach the rocky coast to the south where, without charts or local knowledge, they were sure to be wrecked. Or they could run with the gale, but that was no alternative for the hurricane would grow and overwhelm them. It was only a matter of time.

'Wind's backin'!' screamed a seaman, as the wind shifted into the north - and with it came a chance. It would need acute judgement, but at the right moment it would be possible to go about then beat down to St John's. It was a desperate matter, for they would be close up against the coast on one side and the battering storm on the other.

Renzi watched Jowett: the thirty lives aboard were in his hands. Jowett stood facing directly into the streaming wind, his nose unconsciously lifting in little sniffs as he judged its mood. 'Ready about,' he snapped. The brig seemed to stumble as her bow came up into the wind. Renzi willed the plain little vessel to go through stays without complaint, which she did, and they lay over on the larboard tack, every minute gathering speed in the blasting gale.

Explosions of white heaved skyward from the seas pounding the rocks under their lee. The clouds massing took on an ugly cast, but St John's grew ever nearer. Soon they encountered the breaking seas over the bar at the harbour entrance and, once inside the headland of Hamilton's fort, the waves lost their viciousness.

Weary and weatherbeaten they headed directly for St John's town.

Renzi survived the storm in the company of Louise and the French in a stone warehouse. Worn out and emotionally drained, he snatched what sleep he could with the insane howling of the storm outside. In the morning he looked outside, in the gusting winds and rain of the dying hurricane, and saw their brig miraculously still alongside the wharf, snubbing and rearing like a spirited horse, but safe.

The time of trial had left Renzi strangely depressed: the lunacy of war was au fond the outworking of the crass irrationality that lay in the heart of Unenlightened Man, but he knew that what lay on him was more personal. At least Kydd would not meet the hurricane at sea: he was safe ashore, but in what circumstances? His helplessness in the face of the situation was probably the true reason for his dejection, Renzi realised. Moody and hungry, he awaited events.

Rather later a busy little man arrived from the civil administration to relieve him of his charges. He left Louise with no false hopes for Kydd, and when the goodbyes were said, French fashion, he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

The brig was uncomfortable to work in, her movement brisk and jerky, but it would not need much to make her ready for the short voyage south again to the naval dockyard at English Harbour.

In the afternoon, Renzi begged leave and went into town, seeking a bookshop, the well of contentment that might restore his balance. Three hours later he returned, spirits restored, his bag stuffed with gold — another Goethe, for 'Prometheus' had awakened in him a grudging respect for the man; a second-hand Raynal, the Histoire des deux  Indes, which had probably been the property of a French royalist; and an interesting new work by the Plutarchian Robertson on 'conjectural history'.

And, most important, a glorious find, newspapers from England a bare six weeks old. He exulted as he tramped back to the brig: this was what it was to be alive! At the gangway a cross-looking lieutenant was waiting. Jowett called down from the deck of the brig and the officer rounded on him. 'Are you Renzi?' he huffed.

'I am, sir.'

'Parley-vous le fronsay vraymont? Astonished, Renzi could only stare. 'Answer, then, if indeed you have the French!' 'Mais bien sur - qu'est-ce que ca vous fait?' The lieutenant smiled in satisfaction. 'That will do. Follow me.'

Without thinking, Renzi fell into step beside the man, but was swiftly told, 'Fall in astern, if you please.' The officer's look of disdain caused Renzi nothing but secret amusement. A short walk took them to an imposing stone building: a blue ensign and marine sentry at the door proclaimed it a naval establishment. The marine slapped his musket to the present as the officer entered, then winked at Renzi.

The lieutenant paused. 'Play your cards right, my man, and your days as a foremast hand may well be at an end.' Mystified, Renzi followed him down the passageway.

They stopped at a door; the lieutenant knocked and leaned inside. 'The man Renzi, sir,' he said.