Seaflower (24 page)

The
'pack' on Seaflower was not large: a swift riffle through the papers told the
story well enough. A tiny unrated vessel, she was beneath notice and would be
left far behind the sloops and frigates in the competition for skilled men. He
picked up the latest letter from her captain, a young lieutenant in his first
command. A third piteous plea for hands — she had been stripped of men while
her previous commander was dying of fever and was at the moment unable to sail.
The signature was in the same hand as the body of the letter: it seemed her
captain had to write his own correspondence.

Renzi
smiled. He picked up a fresh sheet, checked his quill nib and started.

Captain,
His Majesty's cutter Seaflower. The Secretary of the Cheque views with concern
your letter to this office of the 19th inst. concerning your sea readiness.

It
has long been the practice on this station to render full returns in the form
governed by Commander-in-Chief's Fleet Orders dated 21st Nov 1782 which
provides fully for the correct procedure. Your attention to detail on this
matter in the future is most earnestly requested, touching as it does on the
effectiveness of this department in the carrying out of its duties.

As
a closing paragraph he added, almost as an aside:

Attached
a list of seamen to be sent into Seaflower to answer your deficit of skilled
hands. Your obed’ servant, etc., etc.

That
should suffice. Now the usual to the dockyard commissioner, answering the
availability for employment return and directing the assignment of Thomas Kydd
to Seaflower, quartermaster.

And
the others: they would be all of the same form and it should not take long. He
glanced at his notes and began, his pen flying across the paper.

Captain,
His Majesty's Ship Cumberland

You
are directed to detach Tobias Stirk, gun captain, for
service in
Seaflower,
with immediate effect.

And
the next, concerning Ned Doud, and another for Doggo - or William Shea, as he
would appear on the ship's books. He finished the others, then took the sheets
across and slipped them randomly into the pile awaiting signature. They would
never be noticed by the hard-pressed secretary to the Admiral.

'Nicholas!'
Kydd yelled. 'You'd never believe — I can't credit it — I'm to be made
quartermaster into
Seaflower’ 
He laughed.

'Why,
my felicitations, to be sure,' Renzi said smoothly, joining his friend.

'An'
Toby Stirk is t' be her gunner's mate!' Kydd exclaimed in glee. 'Come an' sup
wi' us at the King's Arms.'

Stirk,
conspicuous in his usual red kerchief and gleaming earrings, was holding
loquacious court at the tavern table, vividly describing the last moments of
Artemis
to
an admiring throng. Kydd's heart swelled at the pleasure in his old shipmates'
faces.

The
riot of noise was broken by a gleeful shout from the door. 'Tom - Tom Kydd!'

Kydd
stood to get a better view over the crowd. To his delight he recognised Doud,
the born seaman and pure-voiced singer from
Artemis.
'Well
met, Ned, m' old shipmate! Warp y'rself alongside, cuffin!' he called.

Doud
pushed his way through, closely followed by Elias Peat's seamed old face. They
nodded in pleased surprise at Stirk and Doggo, then eased themselves on to a
seat.

'What
ship?' Kydd asked.

'We're
Irresistibles mate,' Doud said, referring to the big 74 out in the bay, 'but
the damnedest thing — we've jus' bin turned over inter that squiddy little Seaflower
cutter, an—'

Stirk
stared at Kydd in amazement. Suspicious, Kydd turned to Renzi, who suddenly
found the view from the tavern window over the harbour remarkably absorbing.
'Nicholas, do ye know—'

'The
most amazing coincidence this age,' Renzi replied quickly, 'Especially in view
of my own somewhat precipitate wrenching from the felicity of Spanish Town to
the uncertain delights of this same vessel.'

Kydd
reached out and gripped Renzi's hand. 'M' dear friend . . .' Whatever had
brought about their reunion he would not question it in the slightest particular.

'Could
be a mort interestin', mates,' said Petit seriously.

'How's
that, then?' Doud asked. Petit, the hoary old seaman, could be relied on in the
matter of sea-sense.

'Seaflower
ain't a-goin' ter be swingin' around her anchor fer
long. Ships like 'er are off doin' all th' jobs that's goin' — despatches,
carryin' passengers, escortin' merchant ships, not ter mention takin' a prize
or two.'

Doud
frowned. 'But ye'll have ter say she's small, the smallest, an' if we comes up
agin even a half-awake brig-o'-war, we'll be in fer a hazin'.'

Leaning
forward, Stirk gave a hard smile. 'As a nipper I were in th' trade outa
Folkestone.' Knowing looks appeared around the table - there was only one trade
of significance so close to the remote fastness of Romney Marsh. And the navy
was always keen to press smugglers for their undoubted skills as seamen.

'An'
I learned t' have a care when the Revenooers were out in th' cutters, so much
sail on 'em, like ter hide the ship. Fore 'n' aft rig, sails like a witch snug
up to the wind — you don't 'ave much ter worry of, 'less yer gets under the lee
of some big bastard.' His smile twisted. 'An'
Seaflower
is
right sim'lar t' yer Revenoo cutter.'

Petit
nodded slowly. 'Just so, Toby. But I reckon as we should get aboard, mates,
else we chance t' lose our berths if she sails.'

In
the boat approaching
Seaflower
eager eyes assessed the qualities of the ship that
was their future. She was a cutter, single mast with a dashing rake, but an
enormously lofty one, and with a splendid bowsprit that was two-thirds as long
as the vessel herself. 'Should carry a damn fine press o' sail,' said Kydd,
noting the sweep of deck up to her neat stern, her lines all curves and graces.
Closer to, there were loving touches: her clear varnished sides were topped by
one wale in black; her attractive decorated stern - a whorled frieze of gold on
bluish green — looked stylish and brave; on deck the fittings were smartly
picked out in red.

'Not
s' many aboard,' Doud murmured. Under the awning aft there was a man in
shirt-sleeves watching them suspiciously with folded arms. Another was fishing
over the side forward of the mast

'Boat
ahoy!' hailed the man under the awning. It was obvious they carried no officers
to pipe aboard, but naval ritual demanded the hail.

'No,
no,' Kydd yelled back, the correct response. They swung alongside, and Kydd
pulled himself up to the little quarterdeck and an impression of yacht-like
neatness. There was nothing to indicate the rank of the man awaiting them, so
Kydd played safe. Touching his hat he reported, 'Come t' join ship, sir.'

After
a disbelieving pause, the man turned to the young officer emerging from the
companionway on deck. 'New men, sir.'

The
officer returned his salute punctiliously and looked eagerly at the men piling
up the side. He withdrew a paper from inside his light cotton coat. 'Are you
the men sent by the Admiral's Office?'

'Sir.'
The deck of
Seaflower
was an entirely new experience for Kydd. Only about
seventy feet long she was galley-built and a comfortable twenty-five feet
broad.

There
were eight guns a side, but these seemed miniature to Kydd after a
ship-of-the-line.

'I'm
Lieutenant Farrell, captain of
Seaflower'
said the officer, his voice crisp, pleasant. He
surveyed the group, and consulted his paper. 'Do we have Stirk?' Stirk stepped
forward and touched his forehead. 'This advice is to rate you gunner's mate,
Stirk,' Farrell said. 'What is your experience?'

Kydd
glanced at Stirk and suppressed a grin.

When
Farrell came to Kydd he paused doubtfully. 'Ah — quartermaster? Your experience
is
...
?'

'Acting
quartermaster,
Artemis
frigate,' Kydd told him firmly. 'An' that around
Cape Horn,' he added, in case Farrell had not heard of the crack frigate and her
fate.

Farrell's
eyes widened. Kydd caught a look of incredulity on his face:
Seaflower
now
had a core of prime hands that would not be out of place in a top fighting
warship, let alone a humble cutter. Farrell turned to go, a fleeting grin
acknowledging his incredible good fortune. 'Carry on, please. Mr Jarman will
assign your watch and stations.'

The
other man straightened. 'Jarman, an' I'm the master.' He looked guardedly at
Kydd: the quartermaster was directly answerable to the sailing master in a man-o'-war.

'We
now gets ter see what kinda swabs the Seaflowers are,' Doud said, as they
reached the forward companion-way, and went below into a large space extending
well over half the length of the vessel. 'Well, I stan' flummoxed!'

With
the exception of a pair of seamen at a hinged table, the space was deserted.
They looked up at the newcomers. "Oo are you, then?' one asked, starting
in surprise at Doggo's ugliness.

Stirk
pushed forward. 'Where's yer mates?' His iron voice braced them and they rose
warily to their feet.

'We
ain't got none — we'se are all there is,' the man replied carefully. 'Farthing,
able seaman . . .'

'Stirk,
yer noo gunner's mate. Well, who 'ave we got aboard, then?'

'Ah,
we has Merrick, th' boatswain, an' a hard man is he — ashore now. Jarman, the
master, a merchant jack, an' - 'oo else, Ralf?' Farthing said, turning to the
other man.

'Cole,
reefer, first trip an' all—'

'Only
one midshipman?' Kydd asked. Equating to a petty officer in authority, a raw midshipman
could be a tiresome trial up in the tops in a blow.

'Aye.
Oh, yeah, Cuddy Snead as carpenter's mate, 'n' that's it.'

'Yer
fergettin' that scowbunkin' cook. Nothin' but a waste o' space, him — couldn't
bring a salt horse alongside wi'out it climbs in the pot itself.'

'I
see,' growled Stirk. All the men left aboard
Seaflower
were her standing
officers and these two. They were not likely to get to sea very soon.

"E's
goin' ter have t' press men,' said Doud gloomily. The press-gang could find
men, but they would be resentful, unwilling and poor shipmates.

Doggo
shifted his feet restlessly. 'Doesn't 'ave ter be,' he snapped, his
grog-roughened voice an impatient rasp.

'How
so, mate?' asked Stirk. It was not often that Doggo put in his oar.

'Yer
recollects where we are
...'
he said
mysteriously, tapping the side of his nose.

It
was well known that, if anything, it was harder to press men in the Caribbean
than it was in England - alert to the wiles of the Press they would be sure to
find bolt-holes at the briefest hint of a press-gang ashore. They all stared at
Doggo.

'Toby,
I needs you 'n' Kydd ter step ashore wi' me.'

'Er
- o' course, mate.'

'Then,
we sees th' Cap'n an' find out if b' chance he needs a crew o' prime hands.'

Farrell,
bewildered by an offer coming from the wicked-looking Doggo to have a full
ship's company by midnight, nevertheless agreed, and
Seaflower's
longboat
headed for shore.

'Where
we off to, cully?' Stirk asked.

'King's
Arms, o' course,' said Doggo, cracking a grin. In just a few salty sentences he
told of his plan. Kydd laughed in appreciation.

They
entered the warm din of the tavern with a swagger. Stirk's bull roar cut
effortlessly above the tumult, 'A gage o' bowse fer the Seaflowers as needs it,
y' scrubs!'