Seaflower

pipe of tobacco on the foredeck, ignoring the occasional spatter of spray. They sat against the weather cathead, the better to see the gathering sunset astern. Renzi drew an appreciative puff at his clay pipe and sighed. 'This prime Virginia is as pleasing to the senses as any I have yet tried.'

Kydd was knotting a hammock clew. His nimble fingers plied the ivory fid he used for close work, the intricate net of radiating knittles woven into a pattern that ostensibly gave a more comfortable spread of tensions, but in reality were a fine display of sea skills. He had never caught the habit of tobacco, but knew that it gave Renzi satisfaction, and murmured something appropriate. 'We're right lucky t' take the barque,' he said. Patch had been considerably mollified and was now warily respectful of Kydd.

'Just so,' said Renzi, gazing at the spreading red display astern, 'yet I believe our captain must be much relieved.'

'Aye, we could not have taken a real pepperin' from such a one.' Kydd raised his voice against a sudden burst of laughter from the others enjoying the evening on deck.

Renzi smiled. 'A captain of a vessel charged with despatches endangers his vessel at his peril — but his bold actions may be accounted necessary with shoals under his lee and the enemy to weather.'

'Doud says as he's a hellfire jack, an' sent into Seaflower for the gettin' of prizes f'r the Admiral,' Kydd said.

'Possibly - but a humble cutter? Maid-of-all-work? But did not David prevail over the disdainful Goliath?'

Kydd grinned.

'You've done well for yourself, my friend. Who would have thought it? A quartermaster — and so quick!'

'Only a cutter, is all,' Kydd said, but his voice was warm. To direct the conn of a ship of war was a real achievement for any seaman.

Letting the fragrance of his tobacco wreathe about him, Renzi mused, 'Tom, have you given thought to your future?'

Kydd looked up, surprised. 'Future? Why, it's here in Seaflower, o' course.' He stopped work and stared at the horizon, then turned to Renzi. 'If you mean, t' better myself, then y' understand, I'm now a quartermaster an' as high as I c'n go. Any higher needs an Admiralty warrant, an' I don't have the interest t' get me one.' He had spoken without bitterness. 'Next ship'll be bigger, an' after that, who knows? Quartermaster o' some ship-o'-the-line will do me right well.' His broad smile lit up his face as he added, 'Y’ can't work to wind'ard o' fate, so my feelin' is, be happy with what I have.'

Renzi persisted, 'Captain Cook was an able seaman to begin with, my friend — and Admiral Benbow.'

Kydd's voice softened in respect. 'Aye, but they're great men, an' I ...'

 

'You sees, Mr Cole, the boatswain is a mason,' Doggo whispered, looking around fearfully.

The midshipman opened his eyes wide and leaned forward the better to hear. It was hard on young Cole, the only midshipman aboard and no high-spirited friends to share his lot, but he was a serious-minded lad who wanted to excel in the King's Service. 'I have a great-uncle a freemason, too,' he said, in a slightly awed voice.

'Do yez good ter get the bo'sun an' you like this,' Doggo held two fingers together, 'an' he'll put in a powerful good word fer you t' the Captain.'

Cole nodded gravely. 'I see that, but how ...'

'Well, the masons have this secret sign, wot they use to signal ter each other.' Doggo looked furtively around the sunlit deck. ‘Like this,' he said, and held up his open hand to his face, thumb to nose, and the fingers all spread out.

Awkwardly, Cole imitated him. Doggo pulled his hand down roughly. 'Not now! Someone'll see. Now, mark what I say, it's terrible important yez do it the right way, or 'e'll think yer mockin' the masons.'