Seaflower

vessel's bow began to open clear water next to the mole. The soldiers, seeing this, came to a stop and knelt to fire at the brig, but their hard running was not conducive to good shooting and their balls whistled past harmlessly. Others made a charge against the brig, but were decimated by the quarterdeck swivel gun cracking out above, plied by English seamen.

The brig parted from the mole, more sail was set and, while Kydd held his head on his knees, they victoriously put to sea to rejoin Seaflower.

 

'Ye had us a mort worried, m' friend, coming in so strange-like,' Kydd told Renzi, remembering the stop—start dispute he had seen on the lighter. He was lying stomach down on the main grating of Seaflower Renzi gently applying goose grease to the angry weal down his back.

Renzi paused. 'It was not the best of times to be seeing a pack of soldiers waiting for us — were we betrayed?'

He resumed his soothing strokes. 'Then the Captain sees our longboat chasing fishermen! His comments on undisciplined rabble disobeying their orders were a curiosity to hear, please believe, but then I recognised your shirt hoisted up the mast and we understood.'

'As I should have,' Kydd said crossly. The treatment hurt, and his head throbbed, broken skin and a dark bruise extending out from his hair-line were where the pistol had struck. The surgeon's mate had been dismissive of the head wound and, in Kydd's opinion, ham-fisted in his ministrations to his back.

He brooded, but by raising his head just a little he could see the fine sight astern of the French brig-o'-war lifting and bobbing — his prize money must now be growing significant and the prize agent would soon have golden guineas to hand out. This was a happier thought: what would he and Renzi enjoy ashore on the proceeds? Seaflower was only hours from Port Morant. She would soon make her number to the small naval station there, and all the world would then know that saucy Seaflower had been lucky again.

'Mr Kydd!' Luke's eager voice broke in on his thoughts. 'Cap'n desires yer should attend on him, if ye should be at leisure t' do so,' he recited. The odd phraseology set warning bells ringing. Warily Kydd got to his feet. For a moment he wondered whether he should put on a shirt: he had received dispensation while his wound was still sore and decided that this still held.

He went down the after hatchway to the Captain's minuscule cabin. Farrell was seated at the tiny desk. He turned, and held a sheet of paper. 'This is my despatch to the Commander-in-Chief, to be landed at Port Morant.

Farrell found the right place and read:

 

... but as we approached, a body of soldiers hitherto concealed from us became evident. I was minded to abandon the venture, were it not for the clever ruse of Thomas Kydd, coxswain of the longboat and quartermaster in Seaflower. He caused his party to be split, one part of which went ahead in a fishing boat in the character of a craft under pursuit by English seamen, the other part in the longboat that followed.

The action was most successful, surprise being complete. The soldiers were lured away from their place by the supposition that a landing in force was under way in the town. The brig was carried at slight loss ...

 

Farrell could easily have claimed that Kydd was acting under orders. Kydd glowed at the tribute - being mentioned in despatches was an unusual honour.

Renzi looked at him oddly at the news, but said nothing. On the matter of where they would celebrate, he smiled secretly and assured Kydd that he would not be disappointed were he to trust him to find somewhere.

 

For such an insignificant man-o'-war as Seaflower there was no manning of yards in honour from the ships of the Fleet when she entered port, but the enemy brig demurely astern, so much bigger than Seaflower, was proof enough of their prowess. There was no real need for the elaborate sail-handling when curving so prettily around to anchor under the envious eyes of the Fleet, but it was another chance to show the world what kind of man-o'-war the