Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

'Show 'em our colours,' snapped Auberon. In reply a blue ensign jerked up the mast in the frigate, proving her one of Admiral Jervis's Leeward Islands Squadron.

Bomford wasted no time. 'Signal her to lie to, and attend on us when the storm abates,' he ordered, and went below.

'All the haaaands! All haaands on deck — lay aft!'

Shafts of sun glittered on the grey seas, the wind nearly back in the north-east, warmth beginning to spread, the insanity of the past slipping away. The men mustered on the upper deck to hear the Captain again.

'I will be brief,' Bomford began. It was clear he had much on his mind, and he spoke curdy. 'I am proud of this ship - I am proud of you all, that you have done your duty so nobly. If you stand as valiantly against the enemy as you did against the might of the hurricane then we have no fear of any foe.' Bomford seemed to have difficulty in choosing his words. 'Trajan will proceed now to Antigua for survey and repair at the dockyard, a bare day or two's sail away.' He waited for the indistinct murmuring to die away. 'But I have to tell you that we as a ship's company will be transported in the frigate back to Barbados while this is done.' This time there were mutters of appreciation - the small island of Antigua could not bear the effort of keeping hundreds of seamen idle ashore for an extended period, and therefore they would return to the main base with all its lures. 'Yet I would ask for volunteers to form a skeleton crew to sail Trajan to her well-earned rest. May the first lieutenant see the hands of those volunteering?'

A tiny scatter of hands rose. It was no contest: Antigua had nothing to offer that compared with the punch shops and entertainments of Bridgetown. Anger rose in Kydd: Trajan was now to be deserted by those she had borne so uncomplainingly through her time of trial. He glanced about. Stony faces met his: they were not going to give up their chance of a frolic. Kydd threw up his hand — he at least would remember the old lady.

The. volunteers were mustered on the quarterdeck. His eyes resentfully on the deserting seamen, Kydd didn't notice Bomford approach.

'Kydd, it did not escape me, the contribution you made to this ship and her preservation.' Bomford had piercing eyes and Kydd stiffened. 'This was in the very best traditions of the Service, and show you to be an exceptional seaman. I look forward to when we renew our acquaintance as a ship's company — and while I cannot promise in the particulars, I have it in mind to recognise your worth with an advancement. Good luck, and thank you.'

Chapter 6

Trajan ghosted over a shimmering sea, her sail reduced so that without an anchor she could back topsails and heave to in plenty of time. The low, pretty island of Antigua lay ahead, basking in tropical sunshine, a long sandy beach visible between two rocky points. The dark stone of a fort stood at a height to the right, and another one extended low down along a point to the left, dashes of red along a crenellated wall obviously soldiers. The sea was a deep royal blue, so calm that only a slight swell marred its flat, glittering expanse.

A boat under sail emerged round the point and turned towards them, her bow-wave white and sparkling. On taking in the last of her sails, Trajan ceased her live motion and drifted. The boat arrived and a deeply sun-tanned officer clambered up the side. It took little time for the essence of the matter to be conveyed: the ship would be prepared to enter English Harbour.

It was out of the question to sail into the confines of the harbour: the compact space that made it a first-class hurricane haven made it impossible for a large ship to manoeuvre. Trajan would be warped in. Ropes were taken ashore by boat and secured to strong moorings embedded at strategic points, and all hands of the skeleton crew manned the capstan.

The land came in on both sides, but around the point it opened up. At a prominence further down in the long harbour a cluster of buildings announced the location of a naval dockyard. Trajan was not alone. The bulbous hull of a vessel careening dominated the other side, and everywhere there were brigs, schooners, packets and a swarm of small fry. But the 74-gun Trajan was easily the biggest vessel, her grim sides towering above them all.

They hauled themselves further into the harbour. The dockyard was to larboard, and on a flat area to the fore a lofty mast bore a Union Flag that streamed gaily to the breeze. As her commissioning pennant was not in evidence, there were no naval ceremonies and within the hour Trajan was alongside a dusky brown coral-stone wharf.

Kydd looked ashore. The little dockyard town boasted imposing, veranda-clad two-storey edifices along well-made roads. At the root of the tiny peninsula was a long pillared structure with open sides topped with a wide roof — a boat being floated inside revealed it as a shipwright's boat-house.

Springs and breast-ropes applied, Trajan had officially arrived. It was hot and dusty, but the north-east trade winds resumed their cool streaming from over the surrounding hills. All the same, Kydd felt grateful to be wearing a thin working shirt rather than the soldiers' heavy clothing. From Trajan's upper deck, he could see into the busy dockyard. Black men considerably outnumbered others, plodding along economically with their burdens. A number of ducks and geese were fluttering and strutting about.

'Ain't much,' Stirk said, mopping his brow with his red kerchief. 'We goin' rollickin' ashore, 'n' not a sight of a regular-goin' pothouse anywheres.' The close-packed dockyard buildings quickly fell away along what could be seen of the road meandering into the interior. The cane-fields over the surrounding hills, apart from the occasional windmill, were innocent of anything man-made.

'Heard tell th't what y* sees is all there is,' Kydd said, remembering the derisive talk in Trajan when he had volunteered. 'Seems the Navy is all in th' north o' the island, an' here just y'r dockyard an' the redcoats.' Stirk gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, and Kydd hoped that they would not be long delayed. A week or two to refit, enough to cross the Atlantic for a full docking in England — then, at last, he would be able to go home.

There was a coming and going of officers and dockyard functionaries up the side-steps from the quay, but nothing to say what their future would be. The young lieutenant in temporary command was not going to risk his situation by letting his men leave the ship. They stayed aboard, moodily watching the shore.

At four in the afternoon, as the midday heat lessened, a small party approached. It was led by a man in austere black, and as he stepped down on the upper deck Kydd was struck by the nobility in his bearing, the calm certainty in his features. The party disappeared below.

'Who's that?' Kydd asked.

'Why, that's Zachary Caird, yer master shipwright come ter survey,' said a local craftsman. 'Second only ter the commissioner in the dockyard, is 'e.'

One of the party reappeared on deck, his working clothes marking him as a shipwright. He brushed aside questions, slipping over the side and into the dockyard. He returned with a long, cylindrical section auger, and vanished below.

Darkness was drawing in by the time the party came on deck again. From their grave expressions Kydd guessed that the repair would be a lengthy one. 'Any word, sir?' he asked the young lieutenant, after he had shepherded the survey team over the bulwarks.

'Yes,' said the officer offhandedly, 'and we are to be condemned, I believe.'

Kydd stared. 'We . . .'

'We are strained and leaking in the hull, and it is outside the powers of this dockyard to get us seaworthy enough to make passage back to England.' He removed his cocked hat and wiped his forehead. 'As they have no dry dock here for a great repair, we are finished. It was being at anchor in a hurricane, the strain and working at the bow, too much for the ironsick old vessel.' He gazed away.