Kydd: A Novel by Julian Stockwin

Author:Julian Stockwin [Stockwin, Julian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Action & Adventure, Historical Naval Fiction
ISBN: 9780743216678
Google: npHO2svN710C
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2001-08-30T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Three days later, back aboard Duke William, Kydd and Bowyer were with the starboard watch up on the topsail yard, shaking out a reef. In the maintop sailors swore heartily when the inexperienced officer of the watch let the ship come into the wind. Ponderously, the seventy-five-foot yard swung as the wind caught the sail momentarily aback, then more sharply swayed it back — to bring up hard against the braces.

One moment Kydd was standing watching for orders, the next he heard a brief cry and turned to see a gap where Bowyer had been shortly before. He stared down and saw men hurrying over to a still form, face down and at a distorted angle. For a moment he was stunned. Then, in a rising storm of feelings he shouted, shrieked — and flew down the shrouds.

A small crowd had gathered around Bowyer. Kydd thrust past, distraught at the spreading dark wet stain beneath. Gently he pulled Bowyer around to face upward. His eyes were closed and he was very pale, blood issuing from his nose and ears. His breathing was unnatural; harsh and stertorous.

“Where’s the doctor?” Kydd’s hoarse cry rose above the hushed voices. He cradled the barely breathing Bowyer, feeling the warmth seeping from his body.

“Stand clear — what happened?” the surgeon asked breathlessly.

“Fall from the yard,” said an officer, arriving from the quarterdeck.

The surgeon dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse, his eyes passing briefly over the inert body. He rolled back an eyelid. Holding a small silver mirror to Bowyer’s lips, he inspected the result. “He lives yet, but I’ll not be sanguine about the outcome.” He straightened and looked around.

In the shocked silence nobody moved.

“Broken bones bear on his brain — it must be relieved. Tie him to a grating and take him below to the cockpit.”

The main hatch grating, which had so often seen the blood of floggings, was now smeared with the bright red of Bowyer’s lifeblood. There was no lack of men to help Kydd carry it below.

In the center of the noisome gloom of the cockpit Bowyer was placed on a table. Lanthorns could only provide their usual dim light, leaving much of the scene in shadow. The loblolly boys, broken-down men who were fit for no other work, stretched out Bowyer’s limbs, tying them to stanchions. Then they stood back and waited for the surgeon to return with his chest.

Suddenly Bowyer’s back arched and with a loud, tearing groan his body strained in a terrible convulsion. Kydd threw himself at his friend and tried to force him down. “F’r God’s sake, help me!” he screamed at the loblollies, who were standing well back in the shadows.

They remained still, one rhythmically chewing tobacco.

“Help, for Chrissake!” Kydd sobbed. The body was rigid and contorted in a grotesque upward spasm. His efforts to press the spine down were hopelessly ineffective.

There was a movement in the lanthorn glow and the surgeon was at his side.

Kydd gasped with relief. “He — he’s —” he tried to say.

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