After his experience with the Highlanders at Blaauwberg nothing less would serve.
Cradling the drink he found himself further reflecting on his conversation with Popham.
‘Ahem!’
‘Ah, yes,
Marie Galante
.’ Kydd was not a born story-teller and in his own ears the account sounded matter-of-fact and predestined. He’d omitted his doubts and worries as they’d gone into action, the need to rise above his own fears and terror of the unknown to order men into those same hazards, yet the simple telling was received with something like reverence, and he ended the tale pink-faced.
‘Good God, man! Y’ sit there so cool an’ tell us you spent your night on the riverbank? Never heard o’ such blazin’ courage!’ Ditler’s admiration was clear.
‘Er, what—’
‘Well, the crocs f’r one!’
‘Oh?’
‘Surely y’ know they stalk abroad at night, wanting t’ devour sleeping prey. They snap their jaws shut on ye, there’s no hope for it – all over!’ He threw up his arms in an expressive gesture.
‘And y’r hippos too, Kydd,’ came the gravelly tones of the white-haired, sun-touched Baker. ‘They’s on land an’, it being their river, should y’ get a-tween them an’ it, why, at four ton coming at ye faster than y’ can run . . .’ He shook his head, speechless.
‘Not forgetting it’s lion country,’ Richardson brought in, with relish, raising his glass to Kydd. ‘Go around in hunting bands at night, they do. Take a terrible lot o’ kaffirs, poor devils.’ Kydd remembered the massive presence they’d sensed passing by in the inky darkness and shivered.
Ditler put in strongly, ‘And y’ talked on sailing a floatin’ island downriver? B’ glory, and ye’re a mile an’ a half braver than I,’ he said, in awestruck tones.
‘The water-snakes?’ Baker wondered.
‘Not merely,’ was the reply. ‘I was thinking more o’ your frightsome bull shark o’ the Zambezi, as is not content wi’ what’s in the sea but must range miles up into the river.’
‘Even into freshwater?’ Kydd swallowed.
‘Right up t’ the shallows o’ the headwaters. Nasty, vicious brutes, c’n take a man out of a canoe, even,’ he declared. ‘Not t’ be beat in the article of killing. Even the crocs do step lightly around ’em, and—’
Kydd decided to change the subject. ‘Thank you, Mr Ditler, and I’ll bear ’em in mind the next time we move on the enemy. You gentlemen have ventured up the coast? I’d welcome a steer on what’s to be found in those parts after what I saw there.’
The talk brightened into trade prospects at the fringe of the Arab world, barely touched by events outside. Then came well-polished stories of the white man in Africa, as warm and entertaining as the yarns to be heard over any wardroom dinner at sea.
Content, Kydd winked at Renzi, then settled back and let the talk wash over him.
‘It’s done, Cap’n,’ Geens said importantly, holding out the requisite papers to sign.
‘I’ll see below first, if I may,’ Kydd replied, and set off purposefully. The gun-ports and gratings had been open all morning but there was still a sour, biting odour about the ship.
They went down to the main-deck where the pungency caught him at the back of the throat, making him gag. There, a half a dozen men with sacks were scooping up a carpet of vermin, some of which still writhed and contorted: dead cockroaches, grubs and other insects, all driven by the fumes from their hiding places to expire in the open.
On the mess-deck, around the dark cavity of the hold, rat carcasses lay in horrifying abundance. While
L’Aurore
had seen first Trafalgar and then Blaauwberg, these were the hidden passengers who had been lurking in the nether regions, oblivious to events and with only the ship’s precious sea provisions in mind. Geens used wooden tongs to lift up a still feebly moving rat for Kydd’s inspection. ‘See? Does for ’em all in the end. Gaspin’ for air, comes out but
Cradling the drink he found himself further reflecting on his conversation with Popham.
‘Ahem!’
‘Ah, yes,
Marie Galante
.’ Kydd was not a born story-teller and in his own ears the account sounded matter-of-fact and predestined. He’d omitted his doubts and worries as they’d gone into action, the need to rise above his own fears and terror of the unknown to order men into those same hazards, yet the simple telling was received with something like reverence, and he ended the tale pink-faced.
‘Good God, man! Y’ sit there so cool an’ tell us you spent your night on the riverbank? Never heard o’ such blazin’ courage!’ Ditler’s admiration was clear.
‘Er, what—’
‘Well, the crocs f’r one!’
‘Oh?’
‘Surely y’ know they stalk abroad at night, wanting t’ devour sleeping prey. They snap their jaws shut on ye, there’s no hope for it – all over!’ He threw up his arms in an expressive gesture.
‘And y’r hippos too, Kydd,’ came the gravelly tones of the white-haired, sun-touched Baker. ‘They’s on land an’, it being their river, should y’ get a-tween them an’ it, why, at four ton coming at ye faster than y’ can run . . .’ He shook his head, speechless.
‘Not forgetting it’s lion country,’ Richardson brought in, with relish, raising his glass to Kydd. ‘Go around in hunting bands at night, they do. Take a terrible lot o’ kaffirs, poor devils.’ Kydd remembered the massive presence they’d sensed passing by in the inky darkness and shivered.
Ditler put in strongly, ‘And y’ talked on sailing a floatin’ island downriver? B’ glory, and ye’re a mile an’ a half braver than I,’ he said, in awestruck tones.
‘The water-snakes?’ Baker wondered.
‘Not merely,’ was the reply. ‘I was thinking more o’ your frightsome bull shark o’ the Zambezi, as is not content wi’ what’s in the sea but must range miles up into the river.’
‘Even into freshwater?’ Kydd swallowed.
‘Right up t’ the shallows o’ the headwaters. Nasty, vicious brutes, c’n take a man out of a canoe, even,’ he declared. ‘Not t’ be beat in the article of killing. Even the crocs do step lightly around ’em, and—’
Kydd decided to change the subject. ‘Thank you, Mr Ditler, and I’ll bear ’em in mind the next time we move on the enemy. You gentlemen have ventured up the coast? I’d welcome a steer on what’s to be found in those parts after what I saw there.’
The talk brightened into trade prospects at the fringe of the Arab world, barely touched by events outside. Then came well-polished stories of the white man in Africa, as warm and entertaining as the yarns to be heard over any wardroom dinner at sea.
Content, Kydd winked at Renzi, then settled back and let the talk wash over him.
‘It’s done, Cap’n,’ Geens said importantly, holding out the requisite papers to sign.
‘I’ll see below first, if I may,’ Kydd replied, and set off purposefully. The gun-ports and gratings had been open all morning but there was still a sour, biting odour about the ship.
They went down to the main-deck where the pungency caught him at the back of the throat, making him gag. There, a half a dozen men with sacks were scooping up a carpet of vermin, some of which still writhed and contorted: dead cockroaches, grubs and other insects, all driven by the fumes from their hiding places to expire in the open.
On the mess-deck, around the dark cavity of the hold, rat carcasses lay in horrifying abundance. While
L’Aurore
had seen first Trafalgar and then Blaauwberg, these were the hidden passengers who had been lurking in the nether regions, oblivious to events and with only the ship’s precious sea provisions in mind. Geens used wooden tongs to lift up a still feebly moving rat for Kydd’s inspection. ‘See? Does for ’em all in the end. Gaspin’ for air, comes out but
Similar Books
