Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

They passed back along the other side of the spit, seeing its inner prospect of the fleet at anchor in all its puissant presence, the Admiral's pennant floating proudly atop the 74-gun flagship. Renzi saw Kydd's forlorn attention on the ships as they paced along.

Kydd stopped. He lifted an arm and pointed to a small vessel anchored much closer, in Chocolate Hole. 'There!' he said. 'Like a yacht, 'n' with saucy lines. If ever I get th' chance t' ship out again, she'd be m' choice.'

'Is she not overmuch small?' Renzi teased.

'Be damn'd t' that! She'd be everywhere, all over th' Caribbee, never rottin' at anchor 'n' seein' parts o' the Main where y'r ship-of-the-line would never touch in a hunnerd years!' Kydd went on. 'An' th' best chance o' prize money ye'll ever get.'

Shielding his eyes, Renzi tried to make out the vessel.

'She's Seaflower cutter,' Kydd said, in a low voice. 'With a commander new promoted, an' he can't fin' a crew,' he said, finally tearing away his eyes.

An idea came to Renzi in the wagon to Spanish Town. A stupendous, fantastic idea. He elaborated and tested it on the rest of the way and, during the night, planned his move.

Requesting the muster lists of all the ships in the Fleet was easy — they were filed together and no one questioned his sudden use of them for undisclosed purposes. He sat down and started work, scanning the names and making the occasional note.

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.