Storm Tide Read online

  ‘Mansur settled in Madras, did he not?’ Cornish asked Jim.

  The light in Jim’s eyes dulled. ‘He did, after he and my father quarrelled. Some years ago, I heard that he had died when the French attacked the city. I sent letters to Madras to find out what had happened to his children, Constance and Theo, but all I heard was that they were living with a relative in Calcutta. I never learned what became of them afterwards.’

  ‘It broke our hearts,’ said Louisa softly. ‘Mansur and Jim were like brothers.’

  ‘And what of the rest of the world?’ said Rob. As exciting as his family history had been, he had heard the stories so often they could not help but become dulled. He did not want to live in the past. ‘What wars and battles and great contests now do they talk about in the coffee houses of London?’

  Cornish puffed on his pipe. ‘You forget it is almost two years since I left England. So far as I know, the country is at peace. But I cannot think it will last long. The colonists in America are making an almighty fuss about their liberty. I guess they mean to fight for it.’

  ‘What is wrong with that?’ Rob asked. ‘All men deserve their liberty.’

  ‘If you saw the blacks toiling in their fields,’ said Cornish, ‘you would wonder how deep their love of liberty runs.’

  Rob didn’t understand. ‘We have blacks working in our fields.’

  ‘And you pay them for it, and at the end of the day they go back to their homes and families, and if they do not like the work they go elsewhere.’

  ‘It is different in America,’ Louisa explained. ‘They work as slaves.’

  ‘I was moored in Cape Town harbour next to a Yankee slaver once,’ Cornish said. ‘All I heard was chains and wailing. And as for the stench – Hell itself could not smell so terrible. In the mornings, we used to watch the crew dump the bodies of those who had died in the night. Many were children no older than your Susan. They tossed them overboard and left them for the sharks.’

  A distant look had come into Louisa’s eyes; she was haunted by pain and sorrow.

  ‘I came to Africa on a ship like that. We were convicts, not slaves, but they treated us the same.’ She shivered. ‘No human being should ever have to suffer that.’

  Cornish nodded. ‘The Yankees complain that King George treats them as slaves because he asks them to pay their taxes, but they’ll beat a man to death for not working hard enough. That is how much they love liberty for any but themselves.’

  ‘It will come to nothing,’ said George confidently.

  He hated talk of conflict, of anything that might intrude on the peace of Nativity Bay. In that, as in so much else, he was the mirror opposite of his son. Rob loved tales of war, battle and adventure. Many times, George had found Rob sitting at his grandfather’s knee, listening to stories of the great exploits of the Courtneys of old. ‘Why aren’t you brave and strong like the other Courtneys?’ Rob had asked once, speaking plainly as only a child could. He had grown up since then and learned tact, but the question always lingered unanswered, an unbridgeable chasm between father and son.

  ‘Britain has the mightiest army and navy in the world,’ George said. ‘A few thousand colonists will not dare to defy them.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Cornish allowed. ‘But France has not forgotten how Britain bloodied her nose a few years back. France lost an empire in North America, and she would dearly love to get it back. If the colonists fight, the French may join them. And then King George will have a fantastic war on his hands.’

  George shrugged. ‘We are well out of it here.’

  Rob was unable to check his emotions. He had glimpsed another world, and he was hungry for more of it.

  ‘How can you say that, Pa? If there is to be a war, I would want to fight in it.’

  George was about to make a sharp retort, but Jim spoke first.

  ‘I remember how it was when I was your age. To fight for a cause, for a family or your honour, is a noble purpose. But perhaps when you have seen something of war, you will understand why your elders are less eager to embrace it.’

  ‘It is a waste of time,’ said George harshly.

  Rob knew his father had been adventurous in his youth. He had heard the stories from his grandparents. He had dim memories of being a small boy, sitting on the tip of the cape searching the ocean for the first sight of his father’s sail returning. He remembered the sand between his toes as he ran down the beach to meet the jollyboat rowing his father ashore. He was so excited he could not wait on the shore but waded out, until his father reached over the side of the boat and scooped him out of the water. They would go up to the big house, and Rob would sit on his father’s knee while the family gathered around to hear the stories of his latest voyage.

  Nothing was the same after George lost his leg. It had been a minor incident, a scuffle with pirates off the coast of Madagascar. The Courtneys had chased them off easily, and the musket ball that had ricocheted into George’s calf barely seemed to have broken the skin. But the wound festered. The rot spread, and soon the only way to save his life was to amputate the limb. Rob would never forget sitting outside the house, listening to the screams as Jim sawed off his own son’s leg. Neither man had recovered fully from the experience. George had never gone to sea again.

  Cornish saw the look on Rob’s face. ‘Your son is grown up,’ he said to George. ‘It is time he made his way in the world.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said George. ‘In a few years, perhaps.’

  Rob could not keep his news to himself any longer.

  ‘Captain Cornish has offered me a berth on his ship,’ he burst out.

  George’s face darkened. ‘Then I am sorry he has misled you. He had no right to make that offer.’

  ‘I want to go,’ said Rob.

  ‘I cannot allow it. I need you here, Rob. There is much work to do on the farm. And if any danger threatened, who would defend your sister and your grandmother?’

  ‘All the local tribes are loyal to us,’ Rob protested. ‘If there were any troubles, they would protect you.’

  ‘If you will not think of me, at least think of your grandfather. Will you break an old man’s heart to go off on some foolish adventure?’

  Jim stirred. In his old age, he fell asleep in his chair so often the others sometimes forgot he was there. But now he rose, gripping his cane with iron determination.

  ‘You know nothing,’ he said to George. ‘The only thing that would break my heart is seeing my grandson kept here against his will. He must go out, explore the world and make his own fortune. As you did, once.’

  George tapped his wooden leg bitterly. ‘Look what it got me. Do you want the same for Robert?’

  ‘I want him to live.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘No! You want him to stay alive – and that is very different.’

  They glared at each other. Rob looked between them, the two men he loved most in the world. His father, and the grandfather who had been almost a second father to him. He hated being the cause of a quarrel between them. But above all – and the feeling was growing stronger – he hated these two old men telling him what to do.

  ‘Did you ever think I should have some say in my own life?’ he shouted.

  Before either man could reply, he stormed out of the house.

  George glowered after him. Jim made to follow, but Louisa put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Let him be,’ she counselled. ‘He needs time to cool down.’

  Tawny Cornish stood awkwardly. ‘I should return to my ship.’

  ‘I will walk you down,’ said George.

  After they had gone, Jim and Louisa sat on the steps outside the house, as they had done so many times, looking at the sky and picking out the constellations. The bright band of the Milky Way lit up the heavens, while around them fireflies glimmered among the bushes.

  ‘If we had not conceived George in a thousand miles of uninhabited wilderness, I would start to worry you had been unfaithful,’ said Jim gruffly. ‘How can he be a son of mine?’

  Louisa put her head on Jim’s shoulder. ‘Do you remember when he was a boy? Always on his feet, always prying into everything. Every stick he picked up was a sword or a gun.’

  ‘When did he become such a coward?’

  Louisa stiffened. ‘Do not say that. You do not have to prove yourself in battle to be brave.’

  ‘I sometimes think when I amputated his leg, I accidentally cut off his balls as well.’

  Louisa had never heard him speak like this. She supposed that as Jim’s strength waned, he felt his own impotence more keenly.

  ‘George was as adventurous as you ever were,’ she said. ‘When he quit the sea, he did it for Rob and Susan. He did not want to risk making them orphans.’

  Jim was silent. He knew she was right, though his pride would not let him admit it. He remembered the screams as he wielded the saw.

  ‘In any event, he should not stand in Rob’s way. It is time the boy took charge of his own destiny.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Louisa. ‘And George will realise that in time. Having you shouting in his face will only make it harder. He is stubborn, like all you Courtneys.’

  Jim’s expression softened. ‘You are a Courtney, too, my love. You became one the day you married me.’

  ‘And did you wait for your father’s say-so before you whisked me away from Cape Town?’

  ‘As I recall, we were too busy galloping away from the whole Dutch garrison to ask his approval.’ Jim’s voice was hoarse, but his eyes were bright with the memory. ‘You did not complain at the time.’

  ‘And I have never regretted it.’ Louisa stood and helped Jim to his feet. ‘But we cannot control what our children do, still less our grandchildren. We must trust to God.’

  ‘I wo
uld rather trust to a good horse and a gun in my hand.’

  Louisa kissed him. ‘Jim Courtney,’ she murmured, ‘you will never change.’

  C

  ornish stayed a week. In happier times he would have remained longer, but he could see that his presence only deepened the rift between Rob and George. Father and son barely spoke to each other, and if they did it always ended in shouts and slammed doors. When Cornish announced he would leave, he could almost feel his hosts’ relief.

  The Courtneys walked down to the beach with Cornish – all except Jim, who complained of a headache. Rob felt as if he was following his own funeral. At the shore, Cornish clasped Rob’s hand, and looked at him with pity in his eyes.

  ‘Perhaps next time I call, lad,’ he said gruffly. ‘It is a hard life on this continent. You must not grudge your father for wanting you by his side.’

  There was nothing Rob could say. He watched the pinnace row out to the Dunstanburgh Castle, the topmen running along the yards to loosen the sails. He imagined how the world would look from that height, balanced on a thin spar with nothing except a hundred feet of air between him and the ocean. The crew fitted the spokes to the capstan and began hauling up the anchor. As the ship prepared for departure, it seemed as if his whole future was about to sail away.

  Rob refused to look at his father.

  A howling rose from the compound behind them. For a moment, Rob thought it was the dogs. Then he realised it was their African servants, wailing in melancholy. It must be a song of farewell for Cornish and his crew, yet it sounded so heart-rending it made Rob’s pain seem small by comparison.

  One of the servants came running down the track from the house. He came to a halt and dropped to his knees on the sand. The look on his face told Rob it was something much worse than Cornish’s departure.

  ‘Massa Jim is dead.’

  W

  ithout a doctor present, no one knew what had caused Jim’s death. Perhaps it was a sudden heart attack, an instant extinguishing of life. Rob hoped he hadn’t suffered, that death came quickly, like a candle being snuffed. It was all so mysterious and troubling. They buried him on the headland, in a simple grave beside his mother and father. Cornish, who had returned from his ship, said the funeral service; George delivered a short eulogy. Rob did not know what to say. He had been almost too young to remember his mother’s death. Since then, he had lived a blessed life. The only loss he had known was when his dog, Samson, had been killed by a snake bite. Now, grief was a new and terrible experience for him. He did not know why he felt such despair. He had to fight back the tears that threatened to flood his cheeks, for he knew his father would not approve.

  The day after the funeral, Rob visited the grave. Freshly turned soil rimmed the stone slab they had placed over the coffin, the inscription still dusty white from the marks of the chisel.

  James Courtney

  1711 – 1774

  Rob’s father stood at the grave, his head bowed. He looked different: shrunken somehow, as if the loss of his father had removed an essential part of his soul. He was diminishing; first there was his physical injury, and now his spirit was eroding. Rob sensed the changes, as if day was turning to night. He saw him not as an omnipotent authority figure but as a lonely, frail, greying man.

  Rob moved to his father’s side in silence. He could not think of anything to say. He wanted to throw his arms around him, to bear some of the burden of his sorrow. But he could feel the pride and solitude radiating from George like the heat of a fire, and he did not dare move.

  At last he could not stand the silence any longer.

  ‘I will never forget the story of how he rescued Grandmother Louisa from a convict ship as it was dashed to pieces on the shore.’ He had heard the tale a thousand times, and it still sounded incredible.

  George said nothing.

  ‘He was a true hero,’ Rob continued.

  It was hard to imagine the twinkle-eyed old man he had known as the amazing adventurer he had heard about.

  George shot him a sideways glance. Suspicion twisted his face.

  ‘And I am not, I suppose?’

  Rob started. ‘I did not mean that.’

  ‘I have seen how you look at me.’ George tapped his wooden leg. ‘Your father the cripple, the stay-at-home. Could not hold a candle to the great Jim Courtney.’

  George had always possessed an acerbic streak. But Rob had never seen him as bitter as this.

  ‘How can you stand at his grave, with him not one day buried, and say that?’ Rob said. ‘Your own father.’

  George stared at his son. ‘When you are older you will understand.’

  ‘I am going to leave home,’ said Rob suddenly. He did not know where the words came from. He had not meant to broach the subject so soon after Jim’s death, but as soon as he said it, he felt a great burden had been lifted.

  ‘We discussed this before,’ said George. ‘You cannot leave. I forbid it.’

  ‘No,’ said Rob. ‘If any good can come from Grandfather’s death, it has given me a second chance to leave with Captain Cornish. You said you needed me to look after your father. Now that burden is lifted.’

  ‘And now I say I need you to work the land.’

  ‘And I say that even if every field was harvested, and all our cattle fat, you would still find an excuse to make me stay.’ Rob turned away. ‘I am going, Father, whether you say aye or no.’

  ‘You will do as you’re damn well told.’

  George’s hand landed heavily on Rob’s shoulder. He spun his son around. Before Rob could react, George hit him hard across his cheek.

  Tears pricked Rob’s eyes, though not from the pain. As a boy, George had beaten him just like any father – but not for many years. Beyond the anger of the moment and the bruise rising on his cheek, what hurt most of all was the underlying message of the blow: You are no more than a child.

  Rob hit back.

  He was not a child. He had grown to manhood, his body lean and prime. The punch he threw had a power behind it, charged with youth and fury. His fist struck his father’s chin so hard it lifted him off the ground and deposited him on his backside three feet away. The wooden leg caught awkwardly in a crack. Bent backwards, it snapped in two.

  Rob stood over his father. George lay on his back like an overturned beetle, the stump of his wooden leg sticking in the air. His lip was bleeding, his face was white with astonishment.

  ‘You will pay for that,’ he gasped.

  ‘No.’ Rob looked down at his father. He felt sick, though he couldn’t tell if it was guilt or contempt. ‘You are not my master. You are nothing but an old man.’

  A tear escaped his eye. Rob wiped it away. Blood pumped in his ears, making a sound like the most violent ocean storm. Before his father could see him cry, he turned and ran down the path.

  R

  ob did not go to dinner that evening. He stayed in his room.

  At nine o’clock, he heard Louisa’s soft knock on his door. He didn’t answer, although when he opened the door some time later he found she’d left him a tray of food. He devoured it hungrily.

  At ten o’clock, he heard the familiar rhythm of his father’s wooden leg tapping down the hall as he went to bed, tentative and unsure. He’d had to splint the leg together to repair it, and he did not know if he could trust his weight to it. Rob waited for George to pass by.

  The tapping stopped outside Rob’s room.

  Rob could see his father’s shadow through the crack below the door. He waited for it to open, holding his breath. He saw the handle turn. He wondered what he would say to his father. Had he come to apologise, or to shout at Rob again?

  He would never know. The handle was released, the shadow moved on. George walked away up the corridor. Tap. Tap. Tap. Rob heard the creak of his father’s bedroom door, then silence.

  Rob breathed again. There was an ache in his chest, though he couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment.

  At eleven o’clock, the light under the door went out as the servants extinguished the lamps and retired to their quarters. The only sound was the insects chirping outside, and the call of an eagle owl in a tree nearby. Rob lay on his bed, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling and fighting his last-minute doubts. Could he do this?