same way. 'It is my most firm resolve, Benjamin, to recognise the quite extraordinary deeds of these men who carried me through so valiantly.'
The Admiral stroked his jaw. 'A purse of guineas from you is the usual thing, and possibly an address by myself before the ship's company ...'
'I rather feel that, in this case, something more in the way of a professional distinction perhaps, a form of honour ...'
'I understand, Frederick. You will tell me more of them and I will make a suggestion.'
'The one is the quartermaster of Seaflower y a perfectly noble specimen of the sea race and in my untutored eyes destined for some eminence in the sea profession. And we have another who is of a most interesting character and who is the most nearly learned of any I have had the fortune to meet The last is a bold seaman of courage and humour who would be an ornament to any vessel that has the honour to bear him.'
'Quite so. Hmmm, it is within my gift to raise them to the felicity of warrant officer, but I rather fancy the last named may prefer more to carry my personal recommendation to his next captain for a fitting advancement to petty officer.'
The Commander-in-Chief of the Leeward Islands Squadron looked directly at Stanhope: 'Very well. These two are master's mates from this hour, but the warrant will require that the Admiralty do confirm my motions.'
'My dear Benjamin, I think that is a matter that can safely be left to me . . .'
Author's Note
I am a visile — I have to 'see' things in my mind's eye before I can write about them. I try to go to the very places that were so important to history, to caress the old stones, to sight along a great gun that men once served in bloody battle, and most precious and transcendent, to step aboard men-o'-war of Kydd's day — particularly the glorious ship-of-the-line Victory and the valiant frigate Constitution.
Away from the gaudy tourist haunts in the Caribbean there are many tactile relics of rousing times past, unwittingly bequeathed to us by men whose concerns of the hour did not include a care for posterity. Henry Morgan's Port Royal slid into the sea a century before Kydd arrived, but the bones of the dockyard still exist, albeit in a parlous state. More rewarding is English Harbour in Antigua, where Kydd suffered and loved, and which remains much as he would remember — a uniquely preserved jewel of naval history.
There are many who care deeply about the Caribbean's past, and I think especially of Reg Murphy of Antigua dockyard, who told me the story of the deadly confrontation on the quayside, which I faithfully retell in this book, and Desmond Nicholson whose encyclopaedic knowledge so enriched my visit. In Barbados, the staff of the museum were especially kind, enabling me to find Karl Watson at an archaeological dig of the eighteenth century; he then provided me with an embarrassment of material. In Jamaica, John Aarons at the National Library proved a fascinating source of his country's deeply interesting past. In fact, my apologies are due to all of them that, within the scope of one book, I have not been able to do justice to their generosity.
Above all, it is to my wife and creative companion that I owe so much: Kathy's cool judgement on my hot imagination, and sturdy practicality in walking and talking the plot delight my publisher with the result. Thus it is with some confidence that I let the juices flow and now set forth on my next — and very different - story in Thomas Kydd's tale.
Julian Stockwin, October 2002
