Seaflower (37 page)

Chapter 14

It
was good to see
Seaflower
at her moorings across the harbour at the Palisades,
looking yacht-like at that distance. Kydd and Renzi gave a cheerful wave. Soon they
would be aboard in their familiar berths and life would carry on as before.

Kydd
caught the strong, clean whiff of linseed oil and freshly tarred rigging as he
swung over the side to the deck, the most obvious sign of the work the dockyard
had done on his ship. He moved over to the tiller: its arm had been replaced,
and in good English ash, he noted with satisfaction. It had a flexibility that
absorbed the direct shock of seas coming in on the quarter, which could be a
tiring thing for a helmsman.

'Hey-ho,
the travellers!' Doud's cry came from forward where he was leading the fore
preventer stay to bring its upper wooden heart to the lower, right in the bows.

Kydd
wandered up, keen to hear the gossip. 'What cheer, cuffin? An' have ye any
news, b' chance?'

Doud
gave a knowing smile, passed the lanniard loosely through the two hearts and
tied off before straightening. 'We has a new owner,' he announced importantly.

'Does
we indeed?' Kydd said, with interest, looking around for Renzi, but he had gone
below. 'An' what happened t' Cap'n Farrell, may I ask?'

'Been
an' got his step. You calls him "Commander" now, cock.' He stepped
aside to let his two men finish bowsing in on the lanniard and added, 'In course
he's too grand fer this little barky, gets a sloop-o'-war or some such, I
wouldn't wonder.' In the matter of prize money alone,
Seaflower
had
become a valuable unit for the Admiral, and her captain had proved he was lucky
in this regard. With a larger ship he could do even better.

'Do
we know then who's to have
Seaflower?

'We
don't, but we're gonna find out this afternoon,' Doud said. 'Due aboard three
bells, I heard. We'se t' priddy the decks an' set all a-taunto.'

Kydd
slapped Doud's arm and hurried below to shift into his loose, sea-going rig.
The master was visibly pleased to see him. 'Ye know our new cap'n, Mr Jarman?'
asked Kydd.

'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.

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.'