Seaflower

He stepped back, and saw Patch finish coiling the fall of the topsail sheet. With a careless thump the privateers-man cast the coil on the deck against the bulwark and made to leave. Incensed, Kydd shouted and pointed at the untidy twists. Patch saw him, but deliberately turned away. Kydd moved fast, knocking aside another sailor as he confronted Patch. 'Take that lubberly shittle and belay it right,' he said, in a hard voice. Tangling coils were a hazard on any deck but, besides that, Kydd's seaman's pride was offended at the slovenly sight.

Patch stared at him, contempt in his dark eyes. 'King's ship ways on a fuckin' cutter? Ye must be—' 'Now!'

Patch paused. Kydd was not getting angry: his voice was iron, his control icy. Drawn by the raised voices, the boatswain approached from behind Patch, who failed to notice him. Merrick watched and waited with a slight smile.

Kydd did not lower his gaze before the case-hardened bigger man. 'Do ye take a bight and belay that fall,' he repeated.

Patch looked again in Kydd's face. Something passed between them - and Patch moved. He bent and picked up the rope, his eyes never leaving Kydd's as he obeyed grudgingly. Kydd paused, then walked back to his watch position.

 

In just a few hours they hove to off Port Morant and collected a satchel of despatches, then resumed course. They would reach the eastward tip of Jamaica in only an hour or so, then would keep clear of the offshore banks before shaping course for the Leeward Islands.

With no sign of an eager combing of the sea for an expected prey, there was a definite edge to the mess-deck chatter at dinner. Kydd and Renzi kept the deck to avoid questions. Stirk and Doggo found something to do with the six-pounders, but it was clear there would be an accounting soon.

Gun practice was piped immediately after the noon meal, the hard-bitten seamen making child's play of their weapons. Farrell kept them at it, and just as Morant Point drew abeam he ordered that live firing would take place. Seaflower's decks were cleared, and the pieces manned. Kydd took his place at the helm and silence fell as all eyes turned to Farrell.

At that precise moment the quiet was split by an urgent hail from the lookout on the crosstree. 'Sail hooooo!’ Above the low-lying point could be seen first the topgallants and then the topsails of a square-rigged vessel, and shortly after, the barque slid into view. At least twice their size and a sinister black, she quickly spotted Seaflower and her length foreshortened as she turned to intercept.

'Ready about!' Farrell snapped, his telescope up searching her masts for a flag. They slewed round and closed the distance, Farrell seeming to have no hesitation about closing the larger vessel.

There was an apprehensive quiet about Seaflower's decks. 'She's a twenty-eight at least, lads,' Doud murmured. 'Saw her ports.' Several faces popped out of the fore-hatch and gazed over the blue seas to the black-hulled vessel. The barque altered her heading to a broader angle. It served to show her gunports opening all along her hull, cannon rumbling into place at each. Still there were no colours aloft. A cold trepidation came over Kydd — the worst situation, with the banks to seaward and the unknown craft closing in to weather.

'Give her a gun, Stirk,' Farrell said quietly. A six-pounder crashed out forward, sounding toy-like after a frigate's 24s. There was a minute or two's delay, as if the stranger was amused at the small ship's presumption, before a flutter of colour at her mizzen peak appeared, shaking out into the stripes and stars of the United States.

'Thank Gawd!' laughed Farthing. 'I thought we wuz in fer a hazin'.' The barque's sheets eased, and she braced around slowly to diverge, clearly not deigning to dally with an Englisher. Relieved chatter broke out along Seaflower's deck.

'Sir, if y' please ...' Jarman had not joined in the general relief, and took Farrell's Dollond glass. 'Ah! As I thought. There's no Yankee I know of wears a red cap 'n' petticoat breeches. Sir, she's a Frenchie!'

Farrell snatched back the telescope and swept the barque's decks — only Jarman's suspicions and a careless French sailor had given the game away. 'Brail topsails!' he snapped. Under fore-and-aft sail only, Seaflower sped