The Admiral's Daughter (11 page)

“So where . . . ?”

“Just as soon as we're able, we clap on sail to th' suth'ard—I mean t' make Wolf Rock b' sunset.”

“Wolf Rock?” said Renzi, in surprise. The dangerous single out-crop well out into the entrance to the Channel was feared by all seafarers.

“Aye.”

“And, er, why?” Renzi prompted.

“Pray excuse, Nicholas, there's a mort t' be done afore we sail.”

There was now just enough time to punish Andrews for breaking ship and hazarding his shipmates, then deal with Standish.

• • •

With Penzance under their lee they left Mount's Bay for the south. Kydd had dealt kindly with Andrews, even as the letter of the law judged him guilty of desertion and, what was worse, that his captain had been presented with a situation not of his intending or control. The crestfallen lad was given the thirty-fourth Article of War to get by heart before claiming his supper.

Standish, however, was a harder matter. Clearly quite sure of his opinion, he had become cold and reserved in his dealings and would need careful handling if this were not to turn into something more charged.

Within the hour they had left the shelter of the bay and headed out into the Channel, first to the south and, the winds proving favourable, further towards the open Atlantic. The seas moderated, and as the afternoon continued the sun made an appearance, setting all in their path a-glitter in a last display before dusk.

“Tide'll be an hour earlier'n Falmouth hereabouts, sir,” Dowse said laconically.

“Aye.”

“It's high-water springs, sir,” he added, with more feeling.

“That'll be so, I believe.”

Kydd didn't want any discussion about his dash for Wolf Rock, for while his reasons could be explained logically—the rock's position as a fine place of lookout squarely athwart both the east-west and north-south shipping channels—his conviction was based on intuition only. In some way he
knew
that the privateer captain would head for friendly waters for the night but then turn about and, believing
Teazer
to be continuing her patrol along the south coast, round the tip of Cornwall to resume his depredations, this time on the north coast. But first he would have to pass within sight of Wolf Rock—and there
Teazer
would be waiting.

“Sir,” Dowse went on heavily, “Wolf Rock covers at high- water spring tides.”

Kydd had seen the ugly rock several times from seaward but what Dowse was saying meant that his plan to lie off with it in sight as a means of keeping his position during the dark hours— and by knowing where it was, guard against coming upon it unawares—was now questionable.

As if mocking him, a pair of seagulls keened overhead while Dowse waited with dour patience. Dusk drew in and somewhere out there just under the surface was a deadly crag—it could be anywhere beneath the innocent waters ahead. Attempts in the past had been made to erect some kind of warning mark but the sea had always swept it away.

They could not continue into such danger. “Ah, it seems—” Kydd stopped. Away on the weather bow there was a discontinuity in the wan light on the sea, a black object that had appeared, vanished, then reappeared in the same place, where it remained. He stared at it, eyes watering.

Standish made a play of raising his telescope and lowering it again. “Naught but a seal,” he said, with studied boredom, “as we might expect this time of the year. I remember—”

“That will do,” Kydd said with relish. “The beast sits atop th' rock. Clear away th' best bower an' stream anchor an' we moor for the night.”

“Why, sir, I hardly think—” Dowse seemed lost for words.

“Mr Purchet, be sure an' buoy th' cables, we may have t' slip without a deal of warning.”

“Anchor, sir? Y' knows that Wolf Rock is steep to. Seabed drops away t'—what? Twenty, thirty fathom?” the boatswain said uneasily.

“He's right, sir,” Standish interjected. “If we were—”

“Silence!” Kydd roared. “Hold y' tongues, all o' you! T' question me on m' own quarterdeck—I'm not standin' f'r it!” He waited until he felt his fury subside, then went on frostily, “Th' bower cable's seven hundred 'n' fifty feet out to its bitter end, so with th' usual allowance f'r three times the depth o' water we c'n moor an' with cable t' spare.” It would be damnably little, but the greater peril lay in blundering about a dangerous shore in the blackness of night.

“By mooring f'r the night we'll be in position ready in th' morning, an' no danger of bein' cast up on the rock.” He glared round defiantly and left the deck for Standish to carry out his order.

“An hour before dawn, sir, and, er, nothing in sight.”

Kydd struggled to wakefulness at Tysoe's gentle rousing. He had spent a restless night even though at this distance offshore a spacious and soothing ocean swell had predominated over inshore fretfulness. He dressed hastily and made his way to the dimness of the quarterdeck, where Prosser was on watch. “Brisk mornin',” Kydd said, slapping his sides in the cold early- morning breeze.

“Sir,” Prosser said, without emotion, standing with his arms folded next to the empty helm.

“Do ye think we'll be lucky t' day?”

“Sir.”

The watch on deck were forward, rehanking falls and squaring away in the grey morning light. Kydd caught the flash of glances thrown in his direction—he needed no one to tell him the topic of their conversation.

The light strengthened: it was uncanny to be anchored in the middle of the sea, for while land was in sight from the masthead, in accordance with Kydd's plan to be both invisible and all- seeing, there was nothing at all from deck level except an unbroken expanse of water and the disfiguring sea-washed black of Wolf Rock away on their beam.

The men were piped to breakfast. An hour later, with nothing on the horizon and
Teazer
lying to single anchor, hands were turned to for exercise. Kydd paced along the deck.

Time passed, and apart from a small merchantman and a bevy of morning fishermen, the coast remained clear. Standish wore a look of pained toleration as he went about the deck, and Renzi kept out of the way below.

“
Sail hoooo!
In wi' the land—a big 'un!” There was no mistaking the animation in the mainmast lookout's voice. Kydd threw his hat to the deck and scrambled up the main-shrouds.

“Where away?” The lookout pointed to the distant dark band of coast, and there indeed was a vessel of size on the bearing—the three pale blobs had to be sail on three masts. Kydd fumbled for his glass. A lugger sprang into view, and with that oddly raked mizzen there could be little doubt.

“Deck hooo!”
he yelled in exultation. “
Enemy in sight!
Buoy an' slip this instant, d' ye hear?” He swung out and descended hastily, thinking of what he might say to Standish but nothing clever came to mind, and he contented himself with the brisk orders that sent the men to their stations for rapid transition from quiescence to flying chase.

He had been right! His intuition was sound and the privateer had returned to the place Kydd had reasoned he would. At anchor far to seaward and without sails abroad, they were invisible to the unsuspecting Frenchman who had passed Gwennap Head and was therefore now committed to the passage round to the north. He was due an unpleasant surprise.

The buoy with the anchor cable secured to it splashed away to set them free and sail dropped from the yards. As if in sudden eagerness
Teazer
caught the wind and leant towards their quarry, who must now be in complete astonishment at the man-o'-war that had appeared from nowhere, like a magic spell, and was now hot on his heels.

It would be a tight chase: again, they were well to windward of their prey in a south-westerly and again the privateer could not contemplate putting about to return, for that would require tacking round and right into the path of his pursuer. But this time
Teazer
was perfectly positioned and conditions could not have been bettered: the winds were strong and in her best quarter for sailing while the privateer was being forced against the coast as it trended to the north-west to Land's End, which must first be rounded before they could bear away along the north coast.

In less than an hour the two ships would reach a point of convergence somewhere close to the Longships lighthouse, which stood atop a group of wicked rocks extending out from this final promontory.

How to open the action? There was little need for lengthy planning, however: the lugger would lie under their guns to leeward in a very short time and his gun-captains would know what to do then. Kydd sent for his sword, remembering to speak encouraging words to those for whom this would be a first taste of powder, and in good time HMS
Teazer
went to quarters.

The tumbling mass of grey rock that was the very tip of England drew closer—so did the lugger, sailing perilously in with the cliffs and rolling uncomfortably from the seas on her beam. Every detail became clear: the faded black sides, soaring pale lug-sails with odd, off-square topsails straining above and no colours of any sort flying.

A point of red at her bow had Kydd reaching for his telescope— under its bold bowsprit was a figurehead, a crimson fighting cock with spurs extended in ferocious challenge.

“I own I stand rebuked for want of faith, sir,” Standish said quietly. He stood in front of Kydd and bowed awkwardly. “That is Bloody Jacques for a surety—I heard a lot of him in Fowey.”

“Ah, I had th' feeling,” Kydd said lightly. “We open fire t' st'b'd,” he went on, and resumed his hungry stare at the privateer, “when we're within pistol-shot.”
Teazer
's carronades were deadly at close quarters but not to be relied on for accuracy beyond a few hundred yards.

It would not be a one-sided fight, that much was certain. While
Teazer
outgunned the similarly sized vessel, her company would be so much less than that of a privateer crowded with prize-crew and she must at all costs remain out of reach of the torrent of boarders. Yet she must close the range—and risk any sudden lunge to grapple.

“I can almost feel pity for the Frenchman.” Renzi's calm, reassuring voice came from behind him; Kydd had not noticed his clerk take up his station for battle. His half-smile was in place and he wore a plain fighting hanger, but in accordance with duty held a regulation notebook to record all significant events.

The privateer lay no more than seventy yards ahead and Kydd could see the small group round the helm clearly: one was certainly the shrewd captain, looking back at
Teazer
and weighing his chances. The Longships with its lighthouse now lay close ahead, and with rising exhilaration, Kydd began to estimate distances and sea room on what must soon be the field of battle.

They had successfully crowded the lugger against the coastline and now it must shape course towards them to get round the Longships—that would be the time to let the seven starboard guns do their work. Kydd drew his sword and raised it high. “Teazers!” he roared—then stopped in bafflement.

The privateer was not altering course: while
Teazer
was hauling her wind to round the Longships, the big lugger carried on with a full press of sail, heading for the narrow band of open white water between the shoreline and the lighthouse.

“Be damned! Throw up y'r helm, Poulden, an' follow in his wake!”

“Sir!”

“Where he c'n swim, so can we, Mr Standish.” Kydd tried not to think of
Teazer
's keel, cleaving the water a couple of fathoms below them as they bore off into the narrowing space between the lighthouse rocks and the cliffs. What if the lugger had been specially designed with a light draught for just this inshore work?

Kydd clutched the shroud he was holding as they plunged through—dark shadows of kelp-strewn rock in the sea flicking past under them, the wind gusted and flawed so close to the shore. Another, smaller, outlying group of rocks surged white off to port—and Bloody Jacques opened fire.

Admittedly they were four-pounder chase guns only but both of
Teazer
's were aft for defence and in Kydd's cabin. The manoeuvre through the channel had brought both vessels into line and now as they bucketed madly along
Teazer
must suffer the vicious slam of shot across her decks.

With the wind now dead astern they swept through together and on the other side it became clear that in these conditions
Teazer
had the edge—the lugger was slowly but surely being overhauled. As soon as they had established an overlap . . .

The move was as unexpected as it was effective. Like a dancer pirouetting, the privateer threw down his helm and came up into the wind as close as he could lie, in the process bringing his entire broadside to bear. The gunsmoke was whipped away quickly downwind but Kydd felt the sickening crunch in the hull where balls had struck—and not a gun could they fire in return.