Seaflower (25 page)

A
few faces looked their way, then resumed their talk.

'Get
it in yer, cuffin,' Stirk told Doggo loudly. 'We sails afore dusk termorrow,
an' not back fer a while.'

A
big seaman sitting close by in the packed tavern turned and laughed. 'Why, y'
lookin' fer some fat scow t' look after, like? An' then orf ter find someone
wants ter send a letter somewheres?' He convulsed with drunken mirth.

Another
chimed in,
'Seaflower
—
she
lost all 'er hands, an' can't find any t' ship out in her. She ain't a-goin'
anywheres!'

'She
is now, cock!' Stirk said.

'Oh,
yeah, where, then?' said the seaman, intrigued.

'Ah,
can't tell yer that,' Stirk said, leaning back. Other faces turned their way.
'Cos' fer this v'y'ge - only this one - we has a hand-picked crew.' He had
attention now. 'Tom Kydd here, quartermaster o' the flying
Artemis
as
was — Cape Stiff 'n' all, taut hand-o'-the-watch is he! An' Doggo there — best
quarter gunner I seen! An' Ned Doud, cap'n o' the top - we got the best there
is, mate!'

'Yer
didn't say as t' why!'

There
were sailors from all parts watching now, merchant seamen, foreigners and
privateersmen. 'Why, if yer has—'

'Don't
tell 'em, Toby! It's fer us only!' said Doggo.

An
older seaman looked thoughtful, and turned to his friends. 'Yair - come t'
think about it, Elias Petit gets turned out o'
Diadem
an'
he's a knowing old sod. Somethin's in the wind, lads!'

Interest
was now awakened. A sharp-faced man suddenly became animated. "Ere,
Seaflower,
that's
the barky th't the Admiral's clerk got hisself transferred inter, all of a
pelt!'

'Yeah!'
said another. 'So what does 'e know that gets him off his arse in Spanish Town
'n' a berth in a squiddy cutter?'

The
older man gave a grim smile. 'I reckon there's a reason all right — a
thunderin' good one!' He waited until he had all their attention, then said in
hushed tones,

'He's
yer tie-mate, ain't he, Kydd? An' you has a soft berth in th' dockyard, right?
An' both of ye decides to skin out ter sea in a hurry, not fergettin't' tell
all yer mates? C'n only be one meanin' — yer has word there's summat at sea
that's worth the takin', somethin' that yer knows—'

'Yer
too smart fer me b' a long chalk, cully!' Stirk said, in admiration, then grew
anxious. 'Now, I didn't say all that, did I? An' ain't that the truth!'

The
man sat back, satisfied. 'No, mate, yer. didn't — we worked it out b'
ourselves. Now, what we wants t' know is, y' need any hands fer this v'y'ge o'
yours?'

Kydd
looked discouraging. 'No petty officers, just a few idlers — an' some foremast
jacks is all.'

Grins
broke out all around. 'I'll have a piece o' that, then!' the sharp-faced man
said, eyes gleaming. 'How

'I'll
have a word wi' the Cap'n, can't promise ye a berth — but, mark you, not a word
to him that y' knows anything, on y'r life.'

The
riot that followed was only brought under some sort of order by Stirk setting
up in the corner and taking names, for all the world like a farmers' fair.
Merchant seamen in hiding from the Press, even privateersmen crowded in, all
anxious to take their share of the expected bounty. Well within time
Seaflower's
longboat
brought out a full and excited ship's company, and a sorely puzzled young
captain was making plans for sea.

Storing
ship for
Seaflower
was not on the vast scale of a ship-of-the-line with
its tens of thousands of pounds' weight of victuals, water and naval stores to
last for six months or more at sea. A cutter was not expected to be at sea for
more than days at a time.

There
was a matter that Kydd felt would make perfect his change of situation. 'Cap'n,
sir,' he asked of Farrell, at an appropriate time, 'we now has a prime body o'
petty officers, you'll agree?'

Farrell
gave a guarded assent.

'An'
y'r steward has to make shift f'r the warrant officers too?'

'He
does, but what—'

'Then
c'd I suggest, sir, we gets a ship's boy t' bear a hand? I have just such a one
in mind an', besides, he knows well how t' serve a gun
...'

Farrell
considered. 'We sail before dark,' he said.

Kydd
knew that, released from temporary service as his servant, Luke was ashore
glumly awaiting an unknown assignment. 'He'll be aboard, sir,' Kydd said
crisply.

Readied
for sea,
Seaflower
had still one to join her company. When in the late
afternoon the windlass was cast loose and hatches secured Doud made his move.

The
boatswain touched his hat to Farrell and reported, 'Sir, all aboard save that
mumpin' toad of a cook,' he said.

'Still
ashore?' Farrell snapped. The cook had been told to return with last-minute
cabin stores for him.

'If
yer please, sir,' Doud asked humbly, 'I got a mate as is a spankin' good cook,
lookin' f'r a berth . . .'

'Get
him,' Farrell said. Doud's friend had entertained the old cook for hours until
he was dead drunk, and was now waiting with his sea-bag for the signal.

Just
as the topmen laid out on the yard to loose sail, the windlass taking up the
slack of the cable and Kydd was standing at the tiller, a black face wearing an
infectious smile climbed over the bulwarks and the familiar figure of Quashee
stepped aboard. He of the
Artemis,
the legendary star-gazy pie and his 'conweniences' —
herbs and spices. With him aboard they would not starve.

With
a fine Caribbean day promising, a fair wind for the south and as happy a ship's
company as any,
Seaflower
made for the open sea.

They
sailed south, threading through the islets and shoals lying off the harbour,
through unruly seas kicked up by a forceful land breeze, and into the wider
Caribbean. It was there that they spread full sail, letting the craft show her true
breeding. Farrell had made it clear that he would not be reporting
Seaflower
ready
for sea until they had shaken down into an effective company, worthy of trust
in any mission.

At
the helm Kydd found himself working hard. A tiller had the advantage over a
wheel in that it was in direct contact with the sea with all that this meant in
instant response, but was without the damping and mechanical advantage of a
wheel and tackle.
Seaflower,
under her big driving mainsail and eager foresail
and jib, swooping and foaming at speed, was as skittish as a thoroughbred
horse. Kydd felt the hammering rush of the sea in the tiller and leaned against
the pressure of the marked weather helm - the trim of the cutter might need
looking to. Going about was a dream. Unlike the minutes that even a frigate
took,
Seaflower
shot around in a moment, sheaves squealing, seamen
bringing in tacks and sheets hand over hand as if their lives depended on it —
an exhilarating ballet of sea skills.

The
square sails were then set; by this a topsail cutter had sailing options not
open to her bigger brethren, and Kydd felt a stirring of excitement.
Seaflower
leaned
happily to her topsail and topgallant, hissing along at a speed that sent a
wake streaming like a mill-race past the low deck edge.

Right
forward Renzi was having a busy time taking charge of the headsails, the
distinctive huge sails spearing out ahead of the vessel. It was a very
different situation from the stately pyramids of canvas of a square-rigger, and
his cheerful wave.to Kydd was just a little harassed.

Farrell
stood just forward of Kydd on the weather side of the deck, his hands clasped
behind his back, feet braced against the lively movement. His voice as he set
the craft about her paces was crisp and authoritative. Jarman stood to leeward;
Kydd sensed some reserve between the two men. Farrell gave his orders directly.
This left the master with nothing to do but observe, but perhaps this was the
Captain trying the mettle of his company.

Merrick,
the burly boatswain, stomped.about
Sea/lower,
his eyes flicking aggressively this way and that.
His style was hard and uncompromising. Kydd had been lucky in his previous
ships, he knew; no boatswain had really used his position to the sadistic
limits possible that he had heard of in other ships.

'Stand
down, if you please,' said Farrell, formally, to Merrick.

'Aye-aye,
sir,' said Merrick, turned to Stiles, his mate,
who
was fingering his silver call in anticipation, and snapped, 'Hands turn to,
part-o'-ship f'r cleaning—'

'Belay
that,' Farrell interrupted. 'Secure the watch below and set a sea watch, was my
meaning.' Significant looks went about: Farrell was going to stand by his men
before the boatswain.

The
last vestiges of sunset were fading over the Hellshire hills as they picked
their way back to Port Royal, weary but satisfied. This time they anchored
close by the Fleet — Farrell was clearly going to report his ship ready for
sea.

'An'
take a turn 'n' clinch at that,' Kydd ordered Farthing. He and Stirk were going
to make themselves as comfortable as possible below; the senior petty officers
berthed right aft within the large space below decks. Farthing finished the
knittle line with a seizing, and there they had a taut canvas 'wall' screening
off their space. In leisure time they would paint the partition with some
suitable scene - mermaids, perhaps, or a lurid battle. Kydd surveyed the little
space. 'Not as who would say over-sized,' he murmured, head bent under the low
deckhead.

Stirk
grinned at him.
'Seaflower,
she's two hunnerd tons, makes 'er a big 'un up agin
them Revenooers — near three times their size,' he said appreciatively. 'I say
she's snug, is all.' At sea a full half of her company would be watch on deck,
and at anchor in the balmy weather of the Caribbean many would probably sleep
there.

Kydd
swarmed up the narrow ladderway to the upper deck, where a sizeable gathering
was celebrating
Seaflower's
prospects. Doggo was leaning on a swivel gun
forward of the mast, waving his tankard, with an
audience and in full flow. A slightly built man with a leathery face and bright
eyes listened. Kydd guessed that this would be Snead, the carpenter's mate, and
on the other side was the lean figure of Stiles without his silver call badge
of office.

A
friendly hail, and Renzi stepped on deck. 'Tip us some words, mate,' Petit
called. Surprised muttering met this suggestion: few present knew Renzi and his
odd predilections.

Renzi
stood still and thoughtful, then declaimed into the velvet night:

'Majestically
slow
before
the
breeze

The
tall
ship
marches
on
the
a^ure
seas;

In
silent
pomp
she
cleaves
the
watery
plain

The
pride
and
wonder
of
the
billowy
main.'

A
respectful silence and scattering of polite appreciation followed, at which
Renzi coughed apologetically. 'If it were in me to sing a hearty chorus, I
would rather - but we have the prince of ballads himself aboard. Ned, dear
fellow, entertain us!'