With a fine Caribbean day promising, a fair wind for the south and as happy a ship's company as any, Seaflower made for the open sea.
They sailed south, threading through the islets and shoals lying off the harbour, through unruly seas kicked up by a forceful land breeze, and into the wider Caribbean. It was there that they spread full sail, letting the craft show her true breeding. Farrell had made it clear that he would not be reporting Seaflower ready for sea until they had shaken down into an effective company, worthy of trust in any mission.
At the helm Kydd found himself working hard. A tiller had the advantage over a wheel in that it was in direct contact with the sea with all that this meant in instant response, but was without the damping and mechanical advantage of a wheel and tackle. Seaflower, under her big driving mainsail and eager foresail and jib, swooping and foaming at speed, was as skittish as a thoroughbred horse. Kydd felt the hammering rush of the sea in the tiller and leaned against the pressure of the marked weather helm - the trim of the cutter might need looking to. Going about was a dream. Unlike the minutes that even a frigate took, Seaflower shot around in a moment, sheaves squealing, seamen bringing in tacks and sheets hand over hand as if their lives depended on it — an exhilarating ballet of sea skills.
The square sails were then set; by this a topsail cutter had sailing options not open to her bigger brethren, and Kydd felt a stirring of excitement. Seaflower leaned happily to her topsail and topgallant, hissing along at a speed that sent a wake streaming like a mill-race past the low deck edge.
Right forward Renzi was having a busy time taking charge of the headsails, the distinctive huge sails spearing out ahead of the vessel. It was a very different situation from the stately pyramids of canvas of a square-rigger, and his cheerful wave.to Kydd was just a little harassed.
Farrell stood just forward of Kydd on the weather side of the deck, his hands clasped behind his back, feet braced against the lively movement. His voice as he set the craft about her paces was crisp and authoritative. Jarman stood to leeward; Kydd sensed some reserve between the two men. Farrell gave his orders directly. This left the master with nothing to do but observe, but perhaps this was the Captain trying the mettle of his company.
Merrick, the burly boatswain, stomped.about Sea/lower, his eyes flicking aggressively this way and that. His style was hard and uncompromising. Kydd had been lucky in his previous ships, he knew; no boatswain had really used his position to the sadistic limits possible that he had heard of in other ships.
'Stand down, if you please,' said Farrell, formally, to Merrick.
'Aye-aye, sir,' said Merrick, turned to Stiles, his mate, who was fingering his silver call in anticipation, and snapped, 'Hands turn to, part-o'-ship f'r cleaning—'
'Belay that,' Farrell interrupted. 'Secure the watch below and set a sea watch, was my meaning.' Significant looks went about: Farrell was going to stand by his men before the boatswain.
The last vestiges of sunset were fading over the Hellshire hills as they picked their way back to Port Royal, weary but satisfied. This time they anchored close by the Fleet — Farrell was clearly going to report his ship ready for sea.
'An' take a turn 'n' clinch at that,' Kydd ordered Farthing. He and Stirk were going to make themselves as comfortable as possible below; the senior petty officers berthed right aft within the large space below decks. Farthing finished the knittle line with a seizing, and there they had a taut canvas 'wall' screening off their space. In leisure time they would paint the partition with some suitable scene - mermaids, perhaps, or a lurid battle. Kydd surveyed the little space. 'Not as who would say over-sized,' he murmured, head bent under the low deckhead.
Stirk grinned at him. 'Seaflower, she's two hunnerd tons, makes 'er a big 'un up agin them Revenooers — near three times their size,' he said appreciatively. 'I say she's snug, is all.' At sea a full half of her company would be watch on deck, and at anchor in the balmy weather of the Caribbean many would probably sleep there.
Kydd swarmed up the narrow ladderway to the upper deck, where a sizeable gathering was celebrating Seaflower's prospects. Doggo was leaning on a swivel gun forward of the mast, waving his tankard, with an audience and in full flow. A slightly built man with a leathery face and bright eyes listened. Kydd guessed that this would be Snead, the carpenter's mate, and on the other side was the lean figure of Stiles without his silver call badge of office.
A friendly hail, and Renzi stepped on deck. 'Tip us some words, mate,' Petit called. Surprised muttering met this suggestion: few present knew Renzi and his odd predilections.
Renzi stood still and thoughtful, then declaimed into the velvet night:
'Majestically slow before the breeze
The tall ship marches on the a^ure seas;
In silent pomp she cleaves the watery plain
The pride and wonder of the billowy main.'
A respectful silence and scattering of polite appreciation followed, at which Renzi coughed apologetically. 'If it were in me to sing a hearty chorus, I would rather - but we have the prince of ballads himself aboard. Ned, dear fellow, entertain us!'