Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

Kydd waited patiently for them to make their feelings known. By long-hallowed custom of the sea, seamen in their mess were free to voice their grumbles to each other, short of mutiny or sedition.

It subsided, as Kydd had known it would, but when he resumed his way forward to the petty officer's mess, the privateersman pushed to his feet, locking his gaze on Kydd's. His hand dropped to his knife. Kydd froze. The knife came out. Then, in a vicious one-handed movement, the blade flickered from his palm and thudded into a deck beam between the astonished men of the opposite mess-table, pinioning a hapless cockroach.

The talking died away in an edgy silence. The reality was that they were only a King's cutter, whose duties were mainly despatches and reconnaissance; their prizes before were a lucky chance and not to be relied upon. Patch was not the only privateersman aboard — Kydd realised it could get ugly if their captain . . . 'If y’ askin' to have y'r blade cropped, I can oblige ye,' Kydd said mildly. His hands dropped loosely to his side but he tensed. Any hasty words from Patch now and he'd see him in irons: there was no other way.

At the sudden quiet, the canvas screen of the petty officer's mess at the end of the mess-deck suddenly pulled back. 'What's th' gripin', mate?' Stirk called.

'Nothin', Toby. Shipmates talkin' cat-blash is all,' Kydd said loudly, but he continued to stand, watching Patch. Slowly, the privateersman unwound and, turning away his gaze, moved to retrieve his knife. Kydd followed him with his eyes, then continued on.

'Gettin' worried they can't see us takin' prizes with this owner,' he said briefly, accepting a pot from Renzi inside their mess.

'An' ain't that the truth!' said Stiles, lifting his tankard in disgust. 'He'll be a-kissin' his dear ones just this minute, if y' believes young Luke.'

'Kissing ... ?'

'His dear ones — loves 'is bottles so much he's a kissin' of 'em every day,' Stiles grated.

Stirk gave a brief smile, then leaned forward. 'Other ways yez c'n get a taste o' gold, these parts ...'

The others leaned forward to hear. 'Yair, wasn't it in the Caribbee yer Cap'n Kidd buried 'is treasure? Nearly a million in gold 'n' jools! An' guarded b' ten dead men an' never found till this day?'

Eyes gleamed in the lanthorn light, then he turned to Kydd. 'Now then, cully,' Stirk said, 'yer must know somethin' about it, 'e bein' kin an' all.'

Kydd smiled. 'Terrible great pirate, I grant ye, but no kin o' mine — he comes fr'm Scodand, 'n' the Kydds are fr'm the south. An' he has an I in 'midships where we have a Y.' Embarrassed, he added, 'An' I'm the only one - the first one, that is — t' follow th' sea in the Kydd family.'

'An' a right shellback you is turnin' into, if'n I says so,' Stirk said warmly.

Clearing his throat, Renzi attracted attention. 'A great pirate - I have to disagree. He was only a merchant, an investor of Wall Street, which is in New York, no seaman he. But he married a lively lady, and bethought to go a-roving — one voyage only, and his crew is so dissatisfied with his conduct they set him ashore, stranded, in Antigua.'

Renzi grinned at Kydd. 'But he gets another ship, and continues - and finds an East Indiaman, which in course he captures with a great treasure. A simple-minded creature, he sails straight back to New York, but takes the precaution first of burying the treasure nearby to bargain with in case he meets trouble for his actions. It didn't work, and he pays with his life at Tyburn tree. The treasure is still there, my dear friends, but somewhere close by New York, not here in the Caribbean, I do regret.'

Stirk growled, 'Aye, but y' had some real pirates hereabouts.'

'Take Calico Jack, mates,' Stiles began. 'Lures an Irish lass ter leave 'er 'usband fer a life a-piratin' together. They takes a Scowegian hooker an' in it there's this other lass. So he has this Anne 'n' Mary too, an' they are the equal ter any in bein' ready ter board, and the cuttin' of throats.'

Stirk broke in: 'But in th' end, as ye knows, Calico Jack wuz turned off at Tyburn, but 'is women, both on 'em, pleads their bellies. And says he weren't no fighter, lets 'em all be captured.'

The thoughtful quiet was broken by Renzi. 'Not all came to a bad end,' he said, 'Take Henry Morgan—'

'You musta 'eard o 'im while you wuz clerkin' in Spanish Town.' Stirk chuckled.

'Indeed,' said Renzi. 'And you can say in truth that we are here today because he was the one who secured Jamaica as our Caribbean centre for trade. Top class as a freebooter, as you know, took Campeche just in order to seize fourteen prizes in one go, and there was so much plunder after the sack of Panama that Spanish pieces of eight were legal tender in Jamaica for years afterwards.'

Kydd's shipmates became preoccupied: it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that Spain could join in the present war, the old times return.

'Morgan came back to Jamaica?' prompted Kydd.

'Yes — when it was peace with Spain, he retired to England, but it was war again, and the King thought he was best placed of all to know the Caribbean, and appointed him Governor of Jamaica with an eye to its defence, and a fine fist he made of it, too. Sad, really, he missed the buccaneering life, and spent much government time in the Port Royal taverns, lifting a glass with his old shipmates. That's when Port Royal was at its most lively, a rousing good time guaranteed for any seaman ... He drank himself to death, and within three, four years a mighty earthquake finally sent most of Port Royal into the sea. Let's raise a pot to Cap'n Henry Morgan!'

Wiping his mouth, Stirk said loudly, 'If y' wants a reg'lar-built pirate, then m' grand-daddy can tell ye -he saw Blackbeard 'imself! Back in Queen Anne's day only, scared th' piss outa him. Comes swarmin' aboard, black beard wi' ribbons, an' all this slow-match strung through, alight 'n' smokin' away, roarin' and shouting. Carries four pistols an' a 'eavy cutlass, ain't none can stand against him.

'Colonies see their trade go somewhere else, so they puts a King's ship on to his tail, sloop-o'-war. Lootenant Maynard — that's it. Hides 'is crew below while Blackbeard boards, then takes 'em! Th' l'tenant meets Blackbeard face on, 'n' isn't shy. There's this great fight, the two on 'em, but Maynard wins, and sails back t' port wi' Blackbeard's head a-danglin' from the bowsprit fer all to see.'

The anchor was won the next morning in a sullen rain squall, hissing and lashing at the men on the windlass and sending Seaflower in a skittish whirl around her moorings. When the anchor finally tripped, the cutter was facing inshore, into the swollen river current emerging to carry her seaward. At the same time the wind strengthened from the sea, prevailing over the current, and Seaflower duly drifted towards the shore, not three hundred yards distant.

'Sheet in the main, y' bastards!' It was the first time Kydd had heard Jarman swear as he gave orders to carry sail aft with sheets a-fly forward. The cutter would rotate to face the sea under the leverage of the big after sail.

'What? Belay that, you dogs!' yelled Swaine. His eyes were red and hair plastered down his face by the rain. 'What are you about, sir?' he threw at Jarman, before screaming down the deck, 'Let go anchor!'

The men forward were making ready to cat and secure the anchor shank painter and were totally unprepared, the windlass taut and the cable on the pawl. The gawky Parkin had charge of the operation and floundered.

'God rot me bones!' spluttered Merrick, and thrust forward hastily, but the situation was already in hand: Doud's furtive bringing in of the main sheets had given force enough for the bows to swing. Swaine seemed to ignore his previous order with the promise in the bow's swing. 'Carry on, then, Mr Jarman,' he said testily, handing the deck to the master.