Seaflower

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.'