Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

'I do. L'tenant Swaine, Admiral's staff - comes aboard at three bells.'

Kydd was puzzled by his laconic reticence, but put it down to disappointment at the departure of the patrician Farrell. 'Are we ready f'r sea?' he enquired. As quartermaster he was responsible for stowage of stores. Jarman told him in full detail: in essence, within a day they could be ready for whatever task Seaflower was called upon to perform.

Renzi seemed a little preoccupied when Kydd passed on the news of the name of their new captain. All Kydd could learn for him was that Renzi had seen Lieutenant Swaine, on the Admiral's staff in Spanish Town.

At three bells, Seaflower was ready for her new captain, with her boatswain's mate, Stiles, in his hat with the ship's name picked out in gold on a red background, and Luke, the sideboy, complete with white gloves, standing at the ship's side. Jarman, as senior, stood waiting on the tiny quarterdeck in his best uniform, with Merrick close at hand.

They waited. It was a grey day, the rain catching them unawares at one point, and the muggy heat afterwards was a trial — and still they waited. At five bells Merrick went below and Luke sat on the deck. Kydd was not required but he joined others standing about, curious to see their new commander.

At seven bells, as the late-afternoon sun put in an appearance, there was a stir on the shore. A dockyard wherry put off, a single occupant in the sternsheets. Jarman growled a warning and the side party reassembled. The boat bumped alongside, and an officer in cocked hat and sword stepped aboard. A piercing single blast from Stiles greeted him. Until he read his commission, this officer was not entitled to be piped aboard. Jarman removed his hat and stood attentively.

'Lieutenant Swaine, to be captain of this vessel,' said the officer formally.

'Aye, sir,' said Jarman. 'William Jarman, master, and might I present Mr Merrick, bo'sun.' Swaine lifted his hat briefly to each, then stepped quickly to the centre of the deck, pulling out a parchment. In a monotone he 'read himself in', the sonorous phrases rendered flat and uninspiring by the lack of inflection and speed of their delivery - but it was sufficient; Lieutenant Swaine was now indisputably captain of HMS Seaflower.

Carefully folding the parchment, he placed it back inside his coat. For a moment his eyes passed over the neat decks of the cutter, then he turned to Jarman. 'Carry on, please.' But he made no move to go to his cabin: instead, he stepped over to the side of the deck. The wherry had not shoved off, but lay alongside, and Swaine stood at the deck edge, with a frown deepening on his face. Merrick hastened over to the side with a mumbled apology - it was the last thing to be expected, that the Captain would be off ashore just as soon as he had come aboard.

'I desire that the longboat call for me at the careening wharves at nine — no, make that ten. Have you trusties enough to man?'

Merrick flicked a glance at Jarman before responding stolidly, 'We're all volunteers in Seaflower, sir.'

'Very well,' said Swaine, after a moment's pause.

Merrick's piercing call of piping the side sounded as Seaflower's new lieutenant-in-command, now entitled to special attention, went ashore.

'Means nothin', mate,' said Stirk. 'He must 'ave engagements ashore, like.'

Stiles was unconvinced. 'An' did yer see 'is coat? Lace was tatty as a whore's petticoat, 'n' brass buckles - must 'ave a light purse .. .'

Kydd bridled. 'Not everyone's flush in the fob as we,' he said. 'Three prizes wi' our name on 'em, more t' come - what we want is a good square hand who c'n show us the way to a few more.'

Stirk lifted his drink and sank it with a grimace. 'Somethin' about the cut o' his jib sets me teeth on edge — I just dunno . ..'

'Yair, somethin' slivey about 'im,' Stiles agreed. 'Wouldn't like ter trust he's on yer side, kinda thing.'

'You would grant, however, that the man should have a chance to show something of himself before judgement is passed?' Renzi's words only produced a restless grumbling.

The two double strikes of ten o'clock sounded from on deck. 'Not yet back aboard,' Stiles said. 'Not allowed ter sleep out of 'is ship, is he?' he added needlessly.

Kydd disliked the way the talk was headed and made his excuses. Jarman had the deck, but responded to Kydd's cordial conversation with monosyllables, staring at the pinpricks of light ashore where Port Royal's taverns continued their raucous trade.

Kydd made to leave, but Jarman said softly, 'Do you kindly remain with me, I'd be obliged.'

'Is there anythin' amiss, Mr Jarman?'

'Nothing you can't help b' being here.'

Uneasy, Kydd kept the deck with Jarman, seeing the lights douse on other ships, and the shore lights wink out one by one. It was after midnight when the longboat returned. And in it were two passengers.

Jarman lifted his hat to the Captain, who was followed by a figure that tripped as it came over the bulwark and sprawled headlong. 'Shit!' came a voice, as the figure picked itself up.

'Midshipman Parkin,' Swaine said, in a surly tone.

Rounding on the lad he snaded, 'Damn your eyes, an' you're a useless lubber!' before making his unsteady way to the after hatchway. A muffled roar for a steward had Jarman exchanging looks with Kydd.

Seaflower proceeded to sea the next day after completing stores. Kydd took the helm himself, keeping a wary eye on Swaine. To his relief, Swaine seemed content in the main to leave the direction of the vessel to Jarman, indicating his desires in grunts. The new midshipman was useless. Large and raw-boned, he seemed disinclined to join in with the seamen in their hard work at the running rigging of the huge sails, but on the other hand threw anxious, beseeching looks at the boatswain or others when called upon to take charge.

'Seen it all before, mates,' murmured Doggo, at the shroud batten lashings. 'Tradesman's son. Reefer's been wished on 'im b' some tailor 'e's got debts with.' He yanked at the cordage viciously. It could go either way, depending on how far the Captain shielded the lad.

They tacked about when clear of the cays to the south, and shaped course to round the east of Jamaica for the small naval base of Port Antonio on the north coast. They made the customary stop off Morant Bay to pick up packets and bags; this was easier than carrying them by mule over the almost impassable Blue Mountains inland. Shaking out their sails they rounded the turbulent Morant Point before sunset, and headed north-westward past the red cliffs of Sail Rock.

'This will do, Mr Jarman,' growled Swaine.

'Sir?' said Jarman, puzzled.

'Manchioneal Bay. Good enough holding, I'd have thought'

'We anchor?'

'For the night — no sense in risking a night passage inshore, when we can arrive early tomorrow.' Swaine looked narrowly at Jarman.

'Aye-aye, sir,' Jarman said, his face blank. The anchor went down off the muddy river between the reefs, the stream flowing fast from the recent rains. Seaflower swung to her anchor, facing into this, and the cutter stood down sea watches.

Kydd dropped down the fore hatchway to the hubbub of the mess-deck. On one side Patch was holding court, men clustered around his table. As Kydd approached he looked up, resentment and anger in his face. He spoke to Alvarez but his eyes were on Kydd. 'So where's our piggin' prizes comin' from, we lie with our hook down all th' time? This ain't work worth a spit, all hard-lyin' an' no purse at th' end of it - we're nothin' but a parcel o' scranny-pickers.'

Farthing muttered, 'Some says as how we's a Judas boat now - sittin' like this, we ain't a chance.' Others joined in.