Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

'But—'

'It's subject to confirmation by others, but, well, you now know as much as I.'

Stirk had no doubts about their future. 'The Trajans are no more, cully! We'se goin' ter be sent quicksmart t' Barbados an' the Loo'ard Island fleet, or it's the Jamaica Squadron. Either way we gets no say a-tall which barky we're goin' ter ship out on.'

Kydd's spirits sank. It was hard to take. Renzi would probably not even know which ship he had been assigned to, all his friends would be scattered and he would not see them again. There was one other thing to add to his dejection. He was now a quartermaster's mate, a petty officer: in a strange ship he would have to work his way up all over again. Captain Bomford's promise of advancement meant nothing.

The next day, Trajan was warped deeper into the harbour, well clear of other vessels, and prepared for de-storing. After the formality of a second opinion her guns would be removed and the process of hulking her would begin.

A large detachment of seamen was soon taken off for immediate passage to Barbados. A brig-sloop took another six, an armed schooner three. A last-minute call from a passing 64-gun vessel took the majority of the remainder to Jamaica, leaving a silent, echoing ship and a handful of men.

'Kydd!' the lieutenant called. 'Mr Caird has asked if I can spare a good hand to work with him ashore. I told him we can. Get your gear, the dockyard boat will be calling for you at six bells.'

The dockyard? Kydd's thoughts jostled and his first instinct was to object - but, then, perhaps it would be interesting, learning the internal secrets of so many different kinds of vessel. He found himself responding positively.

But there was one left aboard to whom he must say farewell. Luke was stricken at the news. 'B-but, Mr Kydd — you ...'

Touched by his grief Kydd fumbled for words, knowing the dockyard boat would be alongside soon. 'Shall miss ye too, skinker,' he said, ruffling the lad's hair, 'but we does our duty, an' without gripin'.' Luke stared at him but didn't move as Kydd turned and left.

The dockyard hoy was taking advantage of the trip by loading mounds of sails, awnings, cordage and other materials from Trajan for return to stores. Kydd found himself wedged in with these as he settled down for the short trip.

The boat hoisted sail. As they made their way to the dockyard landing place, Kydd looked back on Trajan, his ship: her age-darkened sides, the ugly truncation of topmasts, the secrets of twenty years and the unknown thousands who had sailed in her. He felt a lump build in his throat as she fell astern. She slowly transfigured into yet another feature of the harbour, an anonymous vessel in the distance with all reality of having been his home now faded. He wrenched away his gaze. A different kind of life was starting for him now.

The boat nosed in to the coral-rock quay, ending up neatly under a stout wooden crane where the single sail was dowsed. 'Where's Mr Caird?' Kydd asked the crew. It seemed that he could be found at the boat-house. Kydd heaved out his sea-bag and started to head in the direction they had indicated.

Then incredulous shouts came from the hoy. He looked back and saw Luke clambering out from under old sails. 'Be damned! You're a wicked rascal, to think on desertin' y'r ship like this,' Kydd said hotly. 'Y’r goin' straight back aboard.'

'Not wi' us, he ain't - we got other work t'do,' came a swift rejoinder from one of the hoy's crew.

'Well, how c'n he . . .'

'Not our problem, mate.'

Kydd swore, but saw the appeal in Luke's big eyes, his little bundle of belongings over his shoulder, and knew that, if he insisted, he would be condemning the lad. He swore again. 'Follow me, y' ill-lookin' swab,' he growled, and set out for the boat-house. Obediently Luke fell into step behind.

The boat-house consisted of an extensive loft rested on lines of tall stone pillars. Below, boats were floated inside, then hoisted to the workshop floor. The resinous aroma of timber lay strongly on the breeze that played through the pillars, a clean, welcome scent in the overall reek of a harbour. Mr Caird stepped out from the store-room at the back. Kydd recognised him at once as the master shipwright who had surveyed Trajan.

"Thomas Kydd, who's been sent fr'm Trajan for service ashore.'

Caird looked at him keenly. 'What was your rate aboard?'

Again Kydd was struck by the calm gaze, the certainty in his manner. 'Quartermaster's mate, sir.'

Caird nodded. 'If I may observe, you're young for the rate, are you not?' A series of flat thumps with a mallet sounded to one side.

Kydd returned his look defiantly.

'But, of course, you will have earned it,' Caird added quickly. 'You may need it. Have you had experience of men of colour?'

Taken aback by the question Kydd paused. There were no slaves in England, and the only black men he had seen at sea were all free, as he was. 'Not as y' might say,' he said cautiously.

'I have it in mind to employ you as a Master of the King's Negroes - to take my shipwright's sidesmen in charge.'

'Aye, sir,' Kydd said carefully.

'To see they're mustered at work each morning, that they're not in want of what they need - but ye need to know, I'll not have them abused, sir.'

Thoughts racing, Kydd murmured assent. This was utterly beyond his expectations. Caird regarded him thoughtfully, then his gaze slipped to Luke, who smiled up at him uncertainly.

'And this is — your servant?' Caird said. 'You are entitled, of course, as a master, but we have our own, you know.'

Caught off-balance, Kydd stuttered an acknowledgement.

Caird's eyebrows rose. 'Well, if you insist — but he will have to share servants' quarters.'

"Th-thank you,' Kydd said, not daring to look at Luke.

'Hercules will show you to your lodgings. I will see you at my office at four o'clock, if you please.'

Kydd followed the black man along the road, past workshops and sawpits, Luke walking silently behind with his bundle. They went through the dockyard gate and stopped at one of a row of small but neat two-storey houses. 'In dis house — youse in de top floor, massa.'

Kydd opened the little wicket gate and stepped inside: there was an external flight of stairs to the top storey. The man looked once more at him, then touched his forehead and left.

At the top of the stairs the door held a key: Kydd turned it and entered. The small room smelt stuffy and unused. There was a low bed, a side dresser with a jug, and little else. Kydd crossed the room and opened one of two doors to a tiny sitting room with armchair and table. The other led to a snug veranda overlooking the hills beyond. 'Hey, now,' Kydd said, with satisfaction. 'So I'm t' be a master, an' live in a house.'

By late afternoon Kydd had the place in order. On the lower floor, it seemed, was the chief caulker, now absent. He would pay his respects later.

'Where do I go, Mr Kydd?' said Luke, overawed by events.

'Why, with th' other servants, o' course.' Kydd chuckled. Luke's face fell. Kydd couldn't keep it up. 'But then again, I c'd have ye close at hand, see t' my wants at any time. Oh, yes! So I decides I want you to doss down here, younker, but mark you, mind has proper respect f'r yer master.'

'Yes, an' I will, Mr Kydd,' said Luke, seriously.

The office of the master shipwright was with the master attendant and commissioner, right at the far end, but the dockyard was compact and well laid out. Kydd was shown into the airy office. Caird sat at his desk, his quill scratching busily. He glanced up as Kydd approached. 'A minute, if you please.'

The room was extremely clean, furniture well polished, and ornamented only with a series of charts and half-breadth shipyard models. A Christian devotional etching hung in the centre of one wall.