Seaflower

Chapter 9

The boat skimmed over the spacious harbour, on its way from Kingston town to the naval dockyard at the end of a seven-mile sandy spit of land, the Palisades. This was Port Royal, the notorious pirate lair that had been destroyed spectacularly by an earthquake a century before. But Renzi had no eyes for this curiosity. Furious with himself for his impulsive and unreasoned act, he was yet in a fever of expectation and hope that had no foundation in logic — just a single name on a piece of paper.

He waited impatiently while the boat came alongside the wharf, then swung himself up and strode ashore. Ignoring the close-packed victualling storehouses, he followed the road through the sprawling ruins of the Polygon battery, the odd grey-flecked sand of the spit crunching loudly underfoot.

As he passed the stinking pitch-house and the bedlam of the smith's shop he had no real idea how to find his quarry — the employment return had merely said that this man was a dockyard worker, no indication of what type. It would be useless to ask any of the dockyard men about a new arrival: no one would know him. Over there was a rickety row of negro houses — Renzi had found that, generally, sailors got on well with slaves so perhaps .. .

He stopped dead. An unmistakable figure was coming round the corner at the dockyard wall with his head down. Kydd. Renzi stood still, noting the droop of the shoulders, the preoccupied air. He called softly, 'Avast there, brother! Spare an old friend a glance.'

Kydd stopped as though struck in the face. Incredulity, then joy lit his features. He hurried over and shook Renzi's hand until it ached.

'Do ye leave me my hand, Tom. It is the only one I have left on the right side,' Renzi said.

Port Royal town was old, a sea town with a gaudy past, and its superfluity of sailor taverns gave pleasing choice for their reunion. The early hour of the afternoon ensured they would not be disturbed, and they selected the Shipp Inn on Queen Street: it had a table in a bay window overlooking the calm of the inner harbour.

'You are safe — preserved!' Renzi said, with great feeling.

Kydd looked up, surprised. 'Oh, yes. Twas nothin', really. L'tenant Calley told us t' march out to Putty Borg on Bass Tair, but there they had th' fever, so we went to t' other side, Fort Mathilda, an' were picked up b' Trajan'

Renzi had shared too much with Kydd to believe that this bare account was all there was to tell, but it could wait. 'You're in the dockyard line now?' he asked.

'Aye,' said Kydd, his brow creased, 'but I'd give a bag o' guineas t' get back t' sea.' 'How—'

'Trajan was surveyed 'n' condemned, I had th' chance f'r a spell in a reg'lar-goin' dockyard.' 'And—'

'An' I ran afoul of a blue-light shipwright. Seems m' spirits were too — who should say? — ardent with the ladies,' Kydd explained, without rancour.

Renzi contemplated this. He knew that Kydd was not a concupiscent and signalled to the pot-boy. 'The punch here is considered of the first class,' he offered.

'Thank ye, no. I had th' yellow fever not a month past. Lost m' taste f'r grog lately.'

'Then we have your lemonadoes, rap, cacao-drink—'

'A small beer will answer,' Kydd said.

It was indeed satisfying to see Kydd again, and once more Renzi realised that here was his only true friend. He dreaded the parting that must come. Rebellion forced itself on his consciousness, but he conquered it. 'What are you about at the moment?' he asked, unwilling to confess to his impulse in coming.

'Scullin' about - seems I have t' wait for assigning,' Kydd said moodily. 'What're you doin' for y'rself?'

'Oh, somewhat in the character of a clerk. My small French is of value here, it seems. I labour in Spanish Town.' It was depressing, the very thought. 'Shall we not view the ruins of the old pirate town?' he went on quickly. 'I have a yen to see the very streets of Captain Morgan.'

They walked along the narrow streets of Port Royal. It was small and compact, occupying the tip of the Palisades; and it didn't take long to discover that there was no trace at all of the notorious city.

'Ah, dearie, ye have ter unnerstan' — all th't was wicked and godless, one arternoon, jus' ups and slides down inter the sea! All th' people fallin' into great cracks in th' ground an' screamin' an' being carried ter their doom — a judgement on 'em all,' the old washerwoman told them, with relish. 'They're still dahn there!' She cackled.

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.

'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

'I'll have a word wi' the Cap'n, can't promise ye a berth — but, mark you, not a word to him that y' knows anything, on y'r life.'

The riot that followed was only brought under some sort of order by Stirk setting up in the corner and taking names, for all the world like a farmers' fair. Merchant seamen in hiding from the Press, even privateersmen crowded in, all anxious to take their share of the expected bounty. Well within time Seaflower's longboat brought out a full and excited ship's company, and a sorely puzzled young captain was making plans for sea.

Storing ship for Seaflower was not on the vast scale of a ship-of-the-line with its tens of thousands of pounds' weight of victuals, water and naval stores to last for six months or more at sea. A cutter was not expected to be at sea for more than days at a time.

There was a matter that Kydd felt would make perfect his change of situation. 'Cap'n, sir,' he asked of Farrell, at an appropriate time, 'we now has a prime body o' petty officers, you'll agree?'

Farrell gave a guarded assent.

'An' y'r steward has to make shift f'r the warrant officers too?'

'He does, but what—'

'Then c'd I suggest, sir, we gets a ship's boy t' bear a hand? I have just such a one in mind an', besides, he knows well how t' serve a gun ...'

Farrell considered. 'We sail before dark,' he said.

Kydd knew that, released from temporary service as his servant, Luke was ashore glumly awaiting an unknown assignment. 'He'll be aboard, sir,' Kydd said crisply.

Readied for sea, Seaflower had still one to join her company. When in the late afternoon the windlass was cast loose and hatches secured Doud made his move.

The boatswain touched his hat to Farrell and reported, 'Sir, all aboard save that mumpin' toad of a cook,' he said.

'Still ashore?' Farrell snapped. The cook had been told to return with last-minute cabin stores for him.

'If yer please, sir,' Doud asked humbly, 'I got a mate as is a spankin' good cook, lookin' f'r a berth . . .'

'Get him,' Farrell said. Doud's friend had entertained the old cook for hours until he was dead drunk, and was now waiting with his sea-bag for the signal.

Just as the topmen laid out on the yard to loose sail, the windlass taking up the slack of the cable and Kydd was standing at the tiller, a black face wearing an infectious smile climbed over the bulwarks and the familiar figure of Quashee stepped aboard. He of the Artemis, the legendary star-gazy pie and his 'conweniences' — herbs and spices. With him aboard they would not starve.

With a fine Caribbean day promising, a fair wind for the south and as happy a ship's company as any, Seaflower made for the open sea.

They sailed south, threading through the islets and shoals lying off the harbour, through unruly seas kicked up by a forceful land breeze, and into the wider Caribbean. It was there that they spread full sail, letting the craft show her true breeding. Farrell had made it clear that he would not be reporting Seaflower ready for sea until they had shaken down into an effective company, worthy of trust in any mission.

At the helm Kydd found himself working hard. A tiller had the advantage over a wheel in that it was in direct contact with the sea with all that this meant in instant response, but was without the damping and mechanical advantage of a wheel and tackle. Seaflower, under her big driving mainsail and eager foresail and jib, swooping and foaming at speed, was as skittish as a thoroughbred horse. Kydd felt the hammering rush of the sea in the tiller and leaned against the pressure of the marked weather helm - the trim of the cutter might need looking to. Going about was a dream. Unlike the minutes that even a frigate took, Seaflower shot around in a moment, sheaves squealing, seamen bringing in tacks and sheets hand over hand as if their lives depended on it — an exhilarating ballet of sea skills.

The square sails were then set; by this a topsail cutter had sailing options not open to her bigger brethren, and Kydd felt a stirring of excitement. Seaflower leaned happily to her topsail and topgallant, hissing along at a speed that sent a wake streaming like a mill-race past the low deck edge.

Right forward Renzi was having a busy time taking charge of the headsails, the distinctive huge sails spearing out ahead of the vessel. It was a very different situation from the stately pyramids of canvas of a square-rigger, and his cheerful wave.to Kydd was just a little harassed.

Farrell stood just forward of Kydd on the weather side of the deck, his hands clasped behind his back, feet braced against the lively movement. His voice as he set the craft about her paces was crisp and authoritative. Jarman stood to leeward; Kydd sensed some reserve between the two men. Farrell gave his orders directly. This left the master with nothing to do but observe, but perhaps this was the Captain trying the mettle of his company.

Merrick, the burly boatswain, stomped.about Sea/lower, his eyes flicking aggressively this way and that. His style was hard and uncompromising. Kydd had been lucky in his previous ships, he knew; no boatswain had really used his position to the sadistic limits possible that he had heard of in other ships.

'Stand down, if you please,' said Farrell, formally, to Merrick.

'Aye-aye, sir,' said Merrick, turned to Stiles, his mate, who was fingering his silver call in anticipation, and snapped, 'Hands turn to, part-o'-ship f'r cleaning—'

'Belay that,' Farrell interrupted. 'Secure the watch below and set a sea watch, was my meaning.' Significant looks went about: Farrell was going to stand by his men before the boatswain.

The last vestiges of sunset were fading over the Hellshire hills as they picked their way back to Port Royal, weary but satisfied. This time they anchored close by the Fleet — Farrell was clearly going to report his ship ready for sea.

'An' take a turn 'n' clinch at that,' Kydd ordered Farthing. He and Stirk were going to make themselves as comfortable as possible below; the senior petty officers berthed right aft within the large space below decks. Farthing finished the knittle line with a seizing, and there they had a taut canvas 'wall' screening off their space. In leisure time they would paint the partition with some suitable scene - mermaids, perhaps, or a lurid battle. Kydd surveyed the little space. 'Not as who would say over-sized,' he murmured, head bent under the low deckhead.

Stirk grinned at him. 'Seaflower, she's two hunnerd tons, makes 'er a big 'un up agin them Revenooers — near three times their size,' he said appreciatively. 'I say she's snug, is all.' At sea a full half of her company would be watch on deck, and at anchor in the balmy weather of the Caribbean many would probably sleep there.

Kydd swarmed up the narrow ladderway to the upper deck, where a sizeable gathering was celebrating Seaflower's prospects. Doggo was leaning on a swivel gun forward of the mast, waving his tankard, with an audience and in full flow. A slightly built man with a leathery face and bright eyes listened. Kydd guessed that this would be Snead, the carpenter's mate, and on the other side was the lean figure of Stiles without his silver call badge of office.

A friendly hail, and Renzi stepped on deck. 'Tip us some words, mate,' Petit called. Surprised muttering met this suggestion: few present knew Renzi and his odd predilections.

Renzi stood still and thoughtful, then declaimed into the velvet night:

'Majestically slow before the breeze

The tall ship marches on the a^ure seas;

In silent pomp she cleaves the watery plain

The pride and wonder of the billowy main.'

A respectful silence and scattering of polite appreciation followed, at which Renzi coughed apologetically. 'If it were in me to sing a hearty chorus, I would rather - but we have the prince of ballads himself aboard. Ned, dear fellow, entertain us!'

Doud flashed his broad white smile, and rose, handing his tankard to Farthing. He struck a noble pose and in a perfect tenor sang,

'Come, come, m' jolly lads!

The winds abaft

Brisk gales our sails shall crowd;

The ship's unmoor'd, all hands aboard

The barky's well mann'd and stor'd!'

The Drury Lane ballad, though confected by a landman, was a great favourite, and all joined in the chorus

'Then sling the flowing bowl — fond hopes arise

The can, boys, bring; we'll drink and sing

While foaming billows roll'

Kydd sang lustily, enjoying the fellowship and good feeling. Luke brought another pot. The lad was growing, and now affected a red bandanna tied round his head like a pirate, with a smile that wouldn't go away. At the edge of the crowd Kydd noticed the wide-eyed young midshipman, Cole, and further away, the shadowy figure of the Captain, both drawn to the singing.

In the warm darkness something told Kydd that he would be lucky to experience an evening quite so pleasurable again.