Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

'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!'

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