In the light airs, Seaflower rippled ahead towards an offshore island and then the open sea. Kydd watched the course carefully: the tiny breeze was dropping and their progress slowed. The big foresail shivered and flapped, and the bow began to fall away. 'Watch y' head!' he growled to the man at the tiller.
'Can't 'old 'er,' the pigtailed seaman grunted, his thigh stolidly pressuring the tiller hard over.
'We lost steerage way, sir,' Kydd told Farrell. With the wind so light the heat clamped in, a clammy, all-pervasive breathlessness. Seaflower's sails hung lifeless, idle movements in the odd cat's-paw of breeze. Blocks clacked against the mast aimlessly and running rigging sagged. Kydd looked over the side. Without a wake the sea was glassy clear, and he could see deep down into the blue-green immensity, sunlight shafting down in cathedral-like coruscations.
Jarman broke the dull silence. 'We have a contrary current hereabouts, sir,' he said heavily. Seaflower lay motionless in the calm — but the whole body of water was pressing inexorably into the Caribbean, carrying the vessel slowly but surely back whence she came. 'T would be one 'n' a half, two knots.' That was the speed of a man walking, and even within the short time they had lain becalmed they had slid back significantly against the land. A bare hour later they were back at the point where they had begun their passage.
A few welcome puffs shook out the sails, died, then picked up again. A tiny chuckle of water at her forefoot and Seaflower resumed her course, heading once more for the offshore islet. Once more the fluky wind betrayed them, and they were carried back again. 'T' the south?' asked the boatswain.
'No,' said Jarman, moodily watching the coast slip back. 'Can't beat to weather in this, an' if we goes south we have t' claw back t' Barbados after.' Unspoken was the knowledge that a French lookout post might be telegraphing their presence even now to Port Castries and any man-o'-war that lay there; any improvement in the wind later could bring a voracious enemy with it.
A darkling shadow moving on the sea's surface reached Seaflower, and the welcome coolness of a breeze touched Kydd's face - and stayed constant. Again, the cutter moved into the passage but this time the land slipped by until they had made the open ocean and were set to pass the little islet. 'I believe we may now bear away for Barbados,' Farrell said, with satisfaction, but his words were overlaid by an urgent shout from the crosstrees.
'Saaail hoooo!; There was no need for a bearing. By chance occluded by the islet at the same rate as their advance, the sails of a square-rigger slid into view, heading to cross their path.
'Brig-o'-war!' snarled Merrick. There would be little chance against such a vessel and, with the wind gathering, the further they made the open sea, it favoured the larger craft.
Farrell's telescope went up and steadied. 'I think not, Mr Merrick — to quarters this minute.'
But the merchant brig was not ready for a fight and struck immediately — to the savage delight of Seaflower's company. They entered Bridgetown with a prize in tow, sweet medicine indeed.
To muted grumbles Seaflower was ordered to sea immediately: the niceties of adjudicating shares in prize money between the Admiral whose flag Seaflower wore and the Admiral in whose waters the capture took place would have to be resolved before the sailors saw any, and in any case the Vice Admiralty Court would have to sit first.
As they put to sea again after storing, busy calculations were taking place in a hypothetical but blissful review of personal wealth. 'Merchantmen — so we don' see head money,' Petit grumbled.
Farthing pulled up a cask to sit on. 'An' gun money neither.'
Kydd arrived down the hatchway and joined in. 'Ye're forgettin' that a merchant packet has cargo - that's t' be included, y' loobies.' Gun money and head money
