The Admiral's Daughter

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^theADMIRAL'S

daughter

THE KYDD SEA ADVENTURES, BY JULIAN STOCKWIN

Kydd

Artemis

Seaflower

Mutiny

Quarterdeck

Tenacious

Command

The Admiral's Daughter

The Privateer's Revenge

JULIAN STOCKWIN

^theADMIRAL'S

daughter

A KYDD SEA ADVENTURE

MCBOOKS PRESS, INC.

ITHACA, NEW YORK

www.mcbooks.com

Published by McBooks Press 2007

Published simultaneously in Great Britain by Hodder and Stoughton Copyright © 2007 Julian Stockwin

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the publisher. Requests for such permissions should be addressed to McBooks Press, Inc., ID Booth Building, 520 North Meadow St., Ithaca, NY 14850.

Cover painting by Geoff Hunt

Dust jacket and interior design by Panda Musgrove

The hardcover edition of this book was cataloged by the Library of Congress as:

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Stockwin, Julian. The admiral's daughter : a Kydd sea adventure / by Julian Stockwin. p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-59013-143-5 (alk. paper)

1. Kydd, Thomas (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—History, Naval—18th century—Fiction. 3. Seafaring life—Fiction. 4. Sailors—Fiction. I. Title.

PR6119.T66A36 2007 823'.92—dc22

2007013183

Visit the McBooks Press website at www.mcbooks.com. Printed in the United States of America 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND THAT LIVE AT HOME AT EASE, AH! LITTLE DO YOU THINK UPON THE DANGERS OF THE SEAS.

—Martyn Parker ca. 1635

^theADMIRAL'S

daughter

CHAPTER 1

NICHOLAS RENZI NODDED to the man sharing with him the warmth of the log fire at the Angel posting-house and regarding his deep tan with suspicion. It was not an attribute often seen in England after a hard winter. Renzi was newly returned from tumultuous experiences on the other side of the world that had left him questioning his reason. He had sailed to New South Wales as a free settler, determined to forge a new life there, but it was not to be. And now, in just a little while, he would see Cecilia . . .

The ship that had brought him home had docked three days ago and, having signed off on the voyage, he and Thomas Kydd had made for Guildford. It had been cowardly of him, Renzi acknowledged, to have asked his friend to arrive first to prepare his sister for their sudden reappearance. Cecilia had nursed him through a deadly fever and touched his heart, but such was his respect for her that he had vowed to achieve something in the world before he made his feelings known to her, and had left without a word.

He had laboured long and hard to try to create an Arcadia of his small landholding for Cecilia, in that raw land. Eventually Kydd had rescued him: he had suggested that Renzi make use of his education by devoting himself to the elucidation of natural philosophy from a new standpoint. Where Rousseau and his peers had pontificated from the comforts of rarefied academia, Renzi's studies would be rooted in the harsh reality of the wider world, which he had encountered at first hand in places as varied as the Caribbean and the vast South Seas, the sylvan quiet of Wiltshire and the alien starkness of Terra Australis.

He would distil his observations and experiences into a series of volumes on the extraordinary variety of human response to the imperatives of hunger and aggression, religion and security—all the threats and challenges that were the lot of man on earth . . . That would be an achievement indeed to lay before Cecilia and, it must be confessed, it was a prospect most congenial to himself.

This he would owe to Kydd, who had said he would employ his friend as secretary aboard whichever ship Kydd might captain.

For Renzi, performing this role—more of a clerk than anything— was a small price to pay for the freedom it bestowed on him; he had learned the tricks in Spanish Town long ago and knew that his duties would not be onerous. He had never set store by the petty vanities of rank and was glad to withdraw discreetly from the hurly-burly of tasking and discipline to be found on deck. Above all, he and Kydd, old friends, would continue to adventure together . . .

A boy brought the other man's pot of flip, beer spiked with rum, and looked doubtfully at Renzi, who shook his head and stared into the fire. It was all very well to have found for himself an agreeable position but the wider world was now filled with menace: the recently concluded hostilities had ended with the worst possible consequences. Prime Minister William Pitt had been replaced by Henry Addington, whose panicked response to the spiralling cost of the Revolutionary War was to trade away all of England's hard-won conquests round the world for peace at any price. And Napoleon Bonaparte, now squarely atop the pyramid of power in France, was energetically accruing the means to succeed in his greater goal: world dominance.

The King had recently delivered an unprecedented personal message to Parliament. In tones of bleak urgency, he had pointed to the First Consul's naked aggression since the peace—his occupation of Switzerland, his annexation of Savoy and more: there was little doubt now that Addington's gamble of appeasement had failed, and that England must brace herself to renew the struggle against the most powerful military force the world had ever seen.

Kydd, an experienced and distinguished naval officer, would not languish in unemployment for long and Renzi felt a stab of concern: might his friend be prevented from keeping his word on their arrangement?

He glanced at his pocket watch, his thoughts now on his imminent meeting. Cecilia's image had gone with him in his mind's eye on his long journey and stayed with him to be burnished and cherished: soon he would face its reality. He drew a long breath.

Kydd's mother handled the capacious muff of kangaroo skin dubiously; its warm, fox-red fur divided pleasingly to an underlying soft dark grey—but might not other ladies disdain it as an inferior substitute for fine pine marten?

"T' catch 'em boundin' along, Ma, it's so divertin' t' see! They hop—like this!" To the consternation of the house-maid, Kydd performed a creditable imitation of a kangaroo's leap.

"Do behave y'self, son," his mother scolded, but today Kydd could do little wrong. "Have y' not given thought, dear," she continued, in quite another tone, "that now you've achieved so much an' all it might be a prime time t' think about settlin' down? Take a pretty wife an' sport wi' y'r little ones—I saw some fine cottages on the Godalming road as might suit . . ." But her son was clearly not in the mood to listen.

The commotion of his arrival began to subside a little as the rest of the knick-knacks expected from a voyage of ten thousand miles were distributed. His father, now completely blind, felt the lustrous polish of a Cape walking-stick fashioned from walrus bone and exotic wood as Kydd presented Cecilia with a little box, which contained a single rock. "That, sis, y' may not buy, even in London f'r a thousan' guineas!" he said impressively.

Cecilia examined it quietly.

"It's fr'm the very furthest part o' the world. Any further an' there's jus' empty sea to th' South Pole—th' very end of every-thin'." He had pocketed the cool blue-grey shard when Renzi and he had gone ashore for a final time in the unspeakably remote Van Diemen's Land.

"It's—it's very nice," Cecilia said, in a small voice, her eyes averted. "You did promise me something of your strange land in the letter, Thomas," she said. "I do hope the voyage wasn't too . . . vexing for you."

Kydd knew she was referring to his captaincy of a convict ship and murmured an appropriate reply, but he was alarmed by her manner. This was not the spirited sister he had known and loved since childhood: there was a subdued grief in her taut, pale face that disturbed him. "Cec—"

"Thomas, do come and see the school. It's doing so well now," she said, sounding brittle, and retrieved the key from behind the door. Without another word they left the room and crossed the tiny quadrangle to enter a classroom.

For a space she faced away from him, and Kydd's stomach tightened.

"T-Thomas," she began, then lifted her head and held his eyes. "Dear Thomas . . . I—I want you to know that I—I'm so very sorry that I failed you . . ." Her hands worked nervously. Her head drooped. "You—you trusted me, with your d-dearest friend. And I let him wander out and be lost . . ."

"Wha—? Cec, you mean Nicholas?"

"Dear brother, whatever you say, I—failed you. It's no use." She buried her face in her hands and struggled for control. "I—I was so tired . . ."

Kydd reeled. He had sworn secrecy about Renzi's feelings for his sister and the logic that had impelled his friend to sever connection with her. They had prepared a story together to cover Renzi's disappearance: it had better be believable. He took his sister's hands and looked into her stricken face. "Cecilia, I have t' tell ye—Nicholas lives."

She froze, searching his eyes, her fingers digging painfully into his own.

"He's not lost, he—he straggled away, intellect all ahoo, y' see." It seemed such a paltry tale and he cursed yet again the foolish logic that had denied her the solace of just one letter from Renzi.

"He was, er, taken in an' attended f'r a long time, an' is now much recovered," he ended awkwardly.

"You know this?"

Kydd swallowed. "I heard about Nicholas in Deptford an' hurried to him. Cec, you'll be seein' him soon. He's on his way!"

"May I know who took him in?" she continued, in the same level voice.

This was not going to plan. "Oh, er, a parcel o' nuns or such," he said uncomfortably. "They said as how they didn't want thanks. Th' savin' o' souls was reward enough."

"So he's now recovered, yet was never, in all that time, able to pen a letter to me?"

Kydd mumbled something, but she cut in, "He tells you—he confides in his friend—but not me?" A shadow passed across her features. She stiffened and drew back. "Pray don't hold my feelings to account, Thomas. If you are sworn to discretion then who am I to strain your loyalties?"

"Cec, it's not as ye're sayin'—"

"Do you think me a fool?" she said icily. "If he's taken up with some doxy the least he can do is to oblige me with a polite note."

"Cec!"

"No! I'm strong enough! I can bear it! It's just that—I'm disappointed in Nicholas. Such base behaviour, only to be expected of—of—"

Her composure was crumbling and Kydd was in a turmoil.

Where did his loyalties lie? The words fell out of him. "Th' truth, then, sis, an' ye may not like it."

Now there was no going back. She waited, rigid.

"Ye have t' understand, Cec, that Nicholas is not like y' common sort o' cove. He has a rare enough headpiece."

"Go on."

"An' at times it leads him into strange notions." She did not stir. "Er, very strange." There was no help for it: she would have to know everything. "He—he cares f'r you, sis," Kydd said. "He told me so himself, 'I own before ye this day that Cecilia is dearer t' me than I c'n say.' This he said t' me in Van Diemen's Land."

She stared at him, eyes wide, hands at her mouth. "He was there with you? Then what . . . ?"

"Y' see, Cec, while he was abed wi' the fever he was thinkin'. Of you, sis. An' he feels as it would be improper for him t' make it known t' ye without he has achieved somethin' in th' world, somethin' he c'n lay before ye an' be worthy of y'r attention. So he ships out f'r New South Wales as a settler, thinkin' t' set up an estate in th' bush by his own hands. But I reckon he's no taut hand at y'r diggin' an' ploughin', an' he lost his fortune and reason toilin' away at his turnips."

Kydd took a deep breath. "I offered him passage home. Now he'll come t' sea wi' me an' work on an ethnical book. It's all a mort too deep f'r me, but when it's published, I'll wager ye'll hear from him then."

Cecilia swayed, only a slight tremor betraying her feelings.

Kydd went on anxiously, "He made me swear not t' tell a soul— an' it would go ill wi' me, y' understand, Cec, should he feel I'd betrayed his trust."

"Nicholas—the dear, dear man!" she breathed.

"We conjured up th' story, sis, as would see ye satisfied in th' particulars, but . . ." He tailed off uncertainly.

"Thomas! I do understand! It's more than I could ever . . ." A shuddering sigh escaped her and she threw her arms round him.

"Dear brother, you were so right to tell me. He shall keep his secret, and only when he's ready . . ."

"Why, it's Mr Renzi. Just as y' said, Thomas!" Mrs Kydd was clearly much pleased by Renzi's reappearance and ushered him into the room. His eyes found Cecilia's, then dropped.

"Why, Nicholas, you are so thin," Cecilia said teasingly. "And your complexion—anyone might think you one of Thomas's island savages." She crossed to him and kissed him quickly on both cheeks.

Renzi stood rigid, then pecked her in return, his face set. She drew away but held his eyes, asking sweetly, "I'm so grateful to the nuns who ministered to you. What was their order? I believe we should thank them properly for their mercies to our dear brother restored to us."

"Oh, er, that won't be necessary," Renzi said stiffly. "You may be assured that every expression of gratitude has been extended, dear sister."

"Then a small gift, a token—I will sew it myself," she insisted.

Kydd coughed meaningfully, then grunted, "Leave him be, Cec. Tell us your news, if y' please."

She tossed her head. "Why, nothing that might stand with your exciting adventures." She sighed. "Only last week—"

"Oh dear!"

"What is it, Mama?"

"I've jus' this minute remembered." Mrs Kydd rose and went to the sewing cupboard. "I have it here somewhere—now, where did I put it?"

"Put what, pray?"

"Oh, a letter f'r Thomas. From London, th' navy, I think." She rummaged away, oblivious to Kydd's keen attention. "I thought I'd better put it away safely until—ah, yes, here it is."

Kydd took it quickly. From the fouled anchor cipher on its face it was from the Admiralty. He flashed a look of triumph at Renzi and hastened to open it, his eyes devouring the words.

"The King . . . orders-in-council . . . you are required and directed . . ." Too excited to take in details, he raced to the end where, sure enough, he saw the hurried but unmistakable signature of the First Lord of the Admiralty—but no mention of a ship, a command.

Renzi stood by the mantelpiece, watching Kydd with a half-smile. "Nicholas, what do ye make o' this?" Kydd handed him the letter. "I should go t' Plymouth, not London?"

Renzi studied it coolly. "By this you may know that your days of unalloyed leisure on half-pay are now summarily concluded and you are, once again, to be an active sea officer. If I catch the implication correctly, Lord St Vincent has knowledge of your far voyaging and therefore is not sanguine as to your immediate availability for service. He directs you, however, to repair at once to Plymouth where, no doubt, the admiral will be pleased to employ you as he sees fit." He frowned. "Yet within there is no mention of the nature of your employment. I rather fancy you should be prepared for whatever the Good Lord—or the admiral—provides."

"Then we should clap on all sail an' set course f'r Plymouth, I believe!" exclaimed Kydd.

"Just so," said Renzi, quietly.

Cecilia's face set. "Nicholas, you're sadly indisposed. You need not go with Thomas."

With infinite gentleness Renzi turned to her. "Dear sister, but I do."

"Come!" The voice from inside the admiral's office was deep and authoritative.

Kydd entered cautiously as the flag-lieutenant intoned, "Commander Kydd, sir," then left, closing the door soundlessly after him.

Admiral Lockwood looked up from his papers, appraised Kydd for some seconds, then rose from his desk. He was a big man and, in his gold lace, powerfully intimidating. "Mr Kydd, I had been expecting you before now, sir. You're aware we'll be at war with Mr Bonaparte shortly?"

"Aye, sir," Kydd replied respectfully. It was not the navy way to offer excuses, whatever their merit.

"Hmm. The Admiralty seems to think well enough of you. Desires me to give you early employment." The gaze continued, considering, thoughtful.

"Now I can give you an immediate command"—Kydd's heart leapt—"in the Sea Fencibles. The whole coast from Exmouth to the Needles. Eighty miles, two hundred men. Immediate command! What do you say, sir?"

Kydd had no wish to take a passive role ashore with a body of enthusiastic amateurs and fishermen watching and waiting on the coast. He clung stubbornly to his hopes. "Er, that's very generous in ye, sir, but I had hoped f'r a—f'r a command at sea, sir."

"At sea!" Lockwood sighed. "As we all do, Mr Kydd." He came round the desk and stood before Kydd, legs braced as though on a quarterdeck. "You've come at it rather late for that. For weeks now I've had all the harum-scarum young bloods to satisfy and you as commander and not a lieutenant . . ."

It had come back to haunt Kydd yet again: as a lieutenant he could be put instantly in any one of the large number of cutters, brigs, armed schooners and the like, but as a commander only a sloop as befitting his rank would do. "Ah—I have it. Command? How do you feel about taking Brunswick, seventy-four, to the Leeward Islands, hey?"

A two-decker ship-of-the-line to the Caribbean? Kydd was dumbstruck. Was the admiral jesting? Where was the joke? Then he realised: the only way he could captain a seventy-four was if she was going to sail en flûte—all her guns removed to make room for troops and stores, a glorified transport, which would effectively remove him from the scene of action. "Sir, if y' please, I'd rather—"

"Yes, yes, I know you would, but almost everything that swims is in commission now. Don't suppose Volcano, fire-ship, appeals? No? Oh—I nearly forgot. Eaglet! Fine ship-sloop, in dock for repair. Confidentially, I rather fancy that, after the court meets, her present commander may find himself removed for hazarding his vessel and then we'll have to find somebody, hey?"

Kydd realised he had probably reached the end of the admiral's patience and, in any case, a ship-rigged sloop was an attractive proposition. "That would suit me main well, sir, I thank—"

"But then again . . ." Lockwood seemed to have warmed to him. His brow furrowed and he faced Kydd directly now. "It's only proper to tell you, Eaglet will be long in repair. There is one other in my gift—but again, to be fair, no one seems keen to take her. That's probably because she's a trifle odd in her particulars, foreign-built, Malta, I think. Now if you'd be—"

"Sir, her name's not—Teazer?"

"As it happens, yes. Do you know her?"

"Sir—I'll take her!"

CHAPTER 2

KYDD'S FACE WAS SORE from the spray whipping in with the dirty weather disputing every foot of Teazer's progress, but it bore an ecstatic smile as he braced against the convulsive movements of his ship.

It would be some time before they could be sure of clearing the Cherbourg peninsula in this veering sou'-sou'-easterly, but it would be an easier beat as they bore up for Le Havre. Kydd couldn't help but reflect that it was passing strange to be navigating to raise the enemy coast directly where he had every intention of anchoring and making contact with the shore.

Earlier, he had eagerly claimed his ship and set about preparing her for sea. Then, in the midst of the work, urgent orders had been hurried over from the admiral's office: it was His Majesty's intention to respond to the repeated provocations of Napoleon Bonaparte by "granting general reprisals against the ships, goods and subjects of the French Republic" within days. It would be the end of the fragile peace.

England planned to steal a march on Napoleon by declaring war first and any vessels, like Teazer, that could be spared were dispatched urgently to the north coast of France to take off British subjects fleeing the country before the gates slammed shut.

Teazer had put to sea within hours, terribly short-handed and with few provisions, little in the way of charts and aids to navigation, and neither guns nor powder. In the race against time she had left behind her boatswain, master and others, including Renzi, who was ashore acquiring some arcane book.

Still, miraculously, Kydd was at sea, in his own ship—and it was Teazer, bound for war. What more could he ask of life?

Warmly, he recalled the welcome from the standing officers who had remained with the vessel all the time he had been far voyaging; Purchet the boatswain, Duckitt the gunner, Hurst the carpenter. And, in a time of the hottest press seen that age, the imperturbable quartermaster Poulden had appeared on the dockside, followed some hours later by the unmistakable bulk of Tobias Stirk, who was accompanied by another, younger seaman.

"Thought as how Teazer might need us, Mr Kydd," Stirk had said, with a wicked grin, and pushed forward the young man. "An' has ye need of a fine topman as c'n hand, reef 'n' steer, fit t' ship aboard the barky?"

Kydd had grunted and sized the man up; in his early twenties he had the build and direct gaze of a prime deep-water sailor. Of course he would take him—but why was the man wearing a grin from ear to ear that just wouldn't go away? Then it dawned on him. "Ah! Do I see young Luke, b' chance?" The ship's boy of long ago in the Caribbean had grown and matured almost unrecognisably and was now Able Seaman Luke Calloway.

But as Stirk and Calloway were trusted men, Kydd had allowed them to go ashore and they were somewhere in the dockyard when he had sailed.

"Sir!" Teazer's only other officer, Kydd's first lieutenant, Hodgson, pointed astern. Twisting in his streaming oilskins Kydd saw the dark outlines of questing scouting frigates emerge through the blurred grey horizon and then, behind them, lines of great ships stretching away into the distance.

He caught his breath: this was Cornwallis and the Channel Fleet—ships-of-the-line on their way to clamp a blockade on the great port of Brest and thereby deny Napoleon the advantage of having his major men-o'-war at sea on the outbreak of hostilities. The grey silhouettes firmed; the stately seventy-fours passed by one after another, only two reefs in their topsails to Teazer's own close-reefed sail and disdaining to notice the little brig-sloop.

The grand vision disappeared slowly to leeward across their stern. Kydd felt a humbling sense of the responsibility they held, the devotion to duty that would keep them at sea in foul conditions until the war had been won or lost.

"We've made our offing, I believe," Kydd threw at Hodgson. "Stations t' stay ship." Now was the time to put about to clear Start Point for the claw eastwards.

Kydd was grateful that a brig was more handy in stays than any ship-rigged vessel but he had to make the best of the situation caused by their hasty departure. "You'll be boatswain, Mr Hodgson, an' I'll be the master." As well as the absence of these vital two warrant officers, he had a raw and short-handed ship's company.

They wore round effectively, though, and set to for the thrash up-Channel. With no shortage of wind, they would be in position to seaward off Le Havre at dawn the next day.

However, Kydd was uncomfortably aware that nearly all his sea service had been in foreign waters; the boisterous and often ferocious conditions of these northerly islands were unfamiliar to him. The morning would tax his sea sense to the limit: all he had of the approaches was the small-scale private chart of Havre de Gr'ce of some forty years before, published by Jeffreys, with barely sufficient detail to warn of the hazards from shifting sandbanks in the estuary.

Daybreak brought relief as well as anxiety: they were off the French coast but where? Small craft scuttled past on their last voyages unthreatened by marauders and paid no attention to the brig offshore under easy sail. Kydd had ensured that no colours were aloft to provoke the French and assumed that if any of the vessels about him were English they would be doing the same.

He steadied his glass: rounded dark hills with cliffs here and there, the coast trending away sharply. From the pencilled notes on the old chart he realised that these were to the south of Le Havre and Teazer duly shaped course past them to the north. They would be up with their objective in hours.

His instructions were brief and plain. He was to make the closest approach conformable with safe navigation to Honfleur further up the river, then send a boat ashore to make contact with an agent whose name was not disclosed but whose challenge and reply were specified. It would mean the utmost caution and he would need to have men with a hand-lead in the chains as they entered the ten-mile-wide maze of channels and banks in the estuary.

They closed slowly with the land; the wind was now moderating and considerably more in the west. Then he spotted a sudden dropping away and receding of the coastline—it was the sign he had been looking for: this was where a great river met the sea, the mouth of the Seine. Paris, the centre for the storm that was sweeping the world into a climactic war, was just a hundred miles or so to the south-east.

In the forechains the leadsman began to intone his endless chant of the fathoms and deeps below: the Baie de Seine was a treacherous landscape of silted shallows and other hazards that could transform them into a shattered wreck, but that was not Kydd's greatest worry. As Teazer busily laid her course into the narrowing waters, who was to say that the peace had not ended while they were on passage, that behind the torpid quiet of the just visible fortifications ahead soldiers were not casting loose their guns and waiting for the little brig to glide past?

The firming heights of Cap de la Hève loomed on the north bank of the estuary; the chart noted the position closer in of the Fort de Sainte-Adresse, which lay squat atop the summit of its own mount, but their entry provoked no sudden warlike activity. The huddle and sprawl of a large town at its foot would be the main port of Havre de Gr'ce; their duty was to pass on, to lie off the ancient village of Honfleur on the opposite bank and make contact with the shore.

Uneasily Kydd conned the ship in. His chart was at pains to point out the menace of the Gambe d'Amfard, a sprawling, miles-long bank that dried at low water into hard-packed sand, lying squarely across the entrance. He glanced over the side: the turbid waters of the Seine slid past, murky and impenetrable.

He straightened and caught Hodgson looking at him gravely, others round the deck were still and watching. If the venture ended in failure there was no one to blame but the captain.

Kydd began to look for little rills and flurries in the pattern of wavelets out of synchrony with their neighbours, the betraying indications of shoaling waters. A deep-laden cargo vessel was making its way upriver and Kydd fell in to follow, carefully noting its track. A passing half-decked chaloupe came close to their stern and the man at the tiller hailed them incomprehensibly; but his friendly wave reassured Kydd as they passed the batteries into the confines of the river mouth.

Honfleur was five miles inside the entrance, a drab cluster of dwellings round a point of land. Kydd sniffed the wind: it was still unsettled, veering further, but if it went too far into the west they stood to be embayed or worse. "Stand by, forrard!" he snapped.

He turned to the set-faced Hodgson. "Take th' jolly-boat an' four men. There'll be one in th' character of an agent looking f'r us somewhere in th' town." He moved closer, out of earshot of the others, and muttered, "Challenge is 'peur,' reply 'dégoût,' Mr Hodgson."

"S-sir? Purr and day-goo?" the lieutenant asked hesitantly.

"That's fear an' loathin' in the Frenchy tongue," Kydd said impatiently.

"Ah, I see, sir. Fear and loathing—yes, sir."

" Peur and dégoût, if y' please!"

"Purr and day-goo. Aye aye, sir!"

Kydd smothered his irritability: it had not been so long ago that he was equally ignorant of French, and if the agent was wise, allowances would be made for uncultured Englishmen.

"And, sir," Hodgson held himself with pathetic dignity, "perhaps it were best that I shift out of uniform while ashore?"

Kydd hesitated. "Er, I think not. How will th' agent sight ye as a naval officer else?" He refrained from mentioning that in uniform it was less likely Hodgson would be mistaken for a spy.

It was unsettling to order another into danger, particularly the harmless and well-meaning Hodgson, who had been almost fawning in his gratitude to be aboard—he had spent the last five years on the beach—but there was no other with the authority. "Send th' boat back wi' the agent. We'll keep the rest o' the boats manned ready to ship th' refugees as y' sends 'em." Kydd stood back while Hodgson called for volunteers. There were none: Teazer had yet to acquire that sturdy interdependence within her ship's company that would develop into a battlefield trust, and even the most ignorant could see the danger. Kydd picked the only names he could remember, "Harman, Joseph," then pointed at a nearby pair, "an' you two." Later the rest would find themselves manning the other boats.

In deference to the unknown tide condition the anchor went down a quarter-mile offshore and Teazer swung immediately to face upriver, a disquieting measure of the strength of current. "Ye may leave now, Mr Hodgson," Kydd said encouragingly. "Red weft at th' main is y'r recall."

The little boat leant jauntily under a single spritsail, bobbing through the hurrying waves in a series of thumps of spray. It disappeared round the headland to the small port beyond, leaving Kydd under a pall of apprehension, now the rush and excitement had settled to danger and worry.

It seemed an age before the jolly-boat hove into view; the busy river still had no apparent interest in the anchored brig with no colours and the boat wove tightly through the other vessels. Hodgson was not in it but a dark-featured man with an intense expression boarded quickly and hurried to Kydd.

"M'sieur le capitaine?" he said in a low, nervous voice. "Nous devons nous déplacer rapidement!" Then, glancing about, he exclaimed, "C'est guerre! Le tyran a choisi de se déplacer contre l'Angleterre!"

Kydd went cold, and the agent continued. Napoleon had suddenly declared war himself on the pretext that Britain had not ceded Malta under the terms of the 1801 treaty. The news was not yet public but dispatches were being sent even now all over France—and the worst was that, contrary to the rules of war and common humanity, the First Consul had ordered the instant arrest on the same day of every citizen of Britain, including civilians, on French soil.

It could be days, hours or the next minute that the orders came, and when the origin of the unknown brig off Honfleur was revealed the guns would open fire. They were inside the ring of forts and in full view: the time to leave was now. But ashore there were desperate people who had made a frantic dash to the coast. Their only hope was Teazer. Kydd could not just depart.

"Every boat in th' water. We're not leavin' 'em to Boney," he yelled, and challenged the seamen with his eyes. "Do ye wish t' see the ladies taken b' the French soldiers? An' th' gentlemen cast in chokey?" There were growls of unease, but they came forward.

"Well done, y' sons o' Neptune," Kydd said heartily. "There's those who'll fin' reason t' bless ye tonight."

The first boat returned. The sight of the packed mass of forlorn, wind-whipped creatures brought mutterings of sympathy from those still aboard who helped them over the side, but Kydd did not want to waste time in introductions and waited apart.

Poulden dealt manfully with a tearful hysteric while the gunner took the brunt of a tirade from a foppish young blade. An animated babble replaced Teazer's disciplined quiet until the first passengers were shooed below at the sight of the cutter coming with others. More arrived, including a tearful woman who had been separated from her husband, and an older man with a strong countenance who looked about watchfully as he boarded.

How much more time would they be granted? A muffled crump sounded ominously from across the estuary, answered almost immediately from the Ficfleur battery further up the river. A horrified lull in the chatter on deck was followed by excited speculation, then alarm as another thud was heard. This time the ball could be seen, the distant plume of its first touch followed by an increasing series of smaller ones as it reached out towards them.

"Send up th' signal weft," Kydd ordered. There was no longer any doubt about French intentions: the news had got through and they must now know of Teazer's origins. "Be damned to it!" he said hotly. "Hoist th' ensign, if y' please." They would go out under their true colours. "Hands t' unmoor ship." There was every prospect of the situation turning into a shambles; so many were away in the boats still, yet he needed men to bring in the anchor, others to loose sail.

"Silence on deck!" he roared at the milling crowd, as more boatloads arrived in a rush.

Where was the damned jolly-boat? Was Hodgson having difficulties disengaging from the other frantic refugees who, no doubt, had arrived? His mind shied away from the memory of a similar plight in Guadeloupe and he tried to focus on the present. One more thud, then another—shots from cannon ranging on them. Distances over sea were deceptive for land-based gunners but sooner or later they would find the range and then the whole battery would open up on them.

He needed time to think: most forts faced the wrong way to be a serious menace at this stage but that didn't mean Teazer was safe.

Any warship hearing gunfire and coming to investigate would end their escape before it began.

A ball skipped and bounced not more than a hundred yards away to screams of fright from those who had never been under fire before. Kydd knew they had to go—but should he wait for Hodgson? Send someone back for him? There was still no sign of the jolly-boat but to put to sea now would condemn both the officer and the four seamen with him to capture and incarceration— or worse. Could he bear to have this on his conscience?

In a whirl of feeling and duty he made the decision to leave.

He lifted his face to sniff the wind again; it would dictate how Teazer should unmoor and win the open sea. Then he realised that while he had worried over other things the wind had shifted westwards and diminished—the arc of navigability for a square-rigged vessel was closing. Already their entry track was barred to them; more mid-channel and tightly close-hauled on the larboard tack was the only way out—and be damned to the half-tide banks.

He sent a hand forward to set axe to cable as others loosed sail on the fore alone. Tide-rode and therefore facing upstream, Teazer rapidly began to make sternway, and under the pressure of full sails on the fore, and a naked mainmast together with opposite helm, she wore neatly around until able to set loose at the fore, take up close-hauled—and proceed seaward.

A ripple grew under her forefoot: they were making way at two or three knots, and with the current from the great river this was increasing to a respectable speed. They had a chance. Kydd trained his glass on the fortifications. They seemed to have been caught unready by Teazer's smart pirouette and were silent, but the penalty for making mid-stream was that they were opening the bearing of the closer Villerville guns—and shortening the range for those on the opposite bank.

It would be a near thing; Kydd shied at the mental image of Hodgson and his seamen watching hopelessly as they left but he needed to concentrate on the sea surface ahead for any betraying cross-current and tried not to notice the renewed activity of the cannon. The fall of most shot could not be seen but several balls came close enough to bring on a fresh chorus of shrieks; he bellowed orders that the decks be cleared, all passengers driven below. It would give them no real protection but at least they would be out of sight of the gunfire—and Teazer's commander.

Poulden took several sailors and urged the passengers down the main-hatchway; a lazy dark stippling in the sea to larboard forced Kydd to order the helm up to pay off to leeward and skirt the unknown danger. Suddenly there was an avalanche of crumps from the far shore; they were losing patience with the little brig that was evidently winning through to freedom. But would the artillery officer in charge of this remote coastal battery be experienced enough to direct the aim with deadly effectiveness?

More sinister rippling appeared ahead; Teazer bore away a few points further to leeward. More guns sounded.

The last of the people were being shooed below, and in an unreal tableau, as though it happened at half the speed, Kydd saw a well-dressed lady take the rope at the hatchway and her arm disappear. She stared at the stump in bewilderment. Then the blood came, splashing on her dress and down the hatchway ladder. She crumpled to the deck.

Chaos broke out: some tried to force passage down the hatchway as others sought to escape the madness below. The fop tore himself free and beseeched Kydd to surrender; the man with the strong features snarled at him. It may have been just a lucky shot but who were these folk to appreciate that? Kydd reflected grimly.

Others joined in a relentless assault on his attention and his concentration slipped. With a discordant bumping Teazer took the ground and slewed to a stop. Sail was instantly brailed up but, with a sick feeling, Kydd knew his alternatives were few.

As far as he could tell they had gone aground on the southern edge of the Gambe d'Amfard tidal bank. The critical question was, what was the state of the tide? Would they float off on the flow or end hard and fast on the ebb?

He looked about helplessly. Virtually every vessel in the estuary had vanished at the sound of guns, the last scuttling away upriver as he watched. The battery rumbled another salvo and he felt the wind of at least one ball. It was now only a matter of time. Was there anything at all? And had he the right to risk civilian lives in the saving of a ship-of-war? Did his duty to his country extend to this? If only Renzi was by his side—but he was on his own.

"T' me! All Teazers lay aft at once, d' ye hear?" he roared against the bedlam. Frightened seamen obeyed hurriedly, probably expecting an abandon-ship order.

Kydd became aware that the strong-featured man had joined him. "Captain Massey," he said simply. "How can I help ye?"

After just a moment's pause, Kydd said, "That's right good in ye, sir. I've lost m' only l'tenant and if you'd . . ." It was breathtaking gall but in the next instant HMS Teazer had a full post-captain as her new temporary first lieutenant, in token of which Kydd gave him his own cocked hat as a symbol of authority. Together they turned to face the seamen as Kydd gave out his orders, ones that only he with his intimate knowledge of Teazer was able to give, and ones that were her only chance of breaking out to the open sea.

In any other circumstance the usual course would be to lighten ship, jettison guns and water, anything that would reduce their draught, even by inches. But Teazer had not yet taken in her guns and stores and was as light as she would get. The next move would normally be to lay out a kedge anchor and warp off into deep water but he had neither the men nor the considerable time it would take for that.

And time was the critical factor. As if to underline the urgency another ripple of sullen thuds sounded from across the water, and seconds later balls skipped past, ever closer. "Long bowls," Massey grunted, slitting his eyes to make out the distant forts. A weak sun had appeared with the lessening airs and there was glare on the water.

The last element of their predicament, however, was the hardest: the winds that had carried them on to the bank were necessarily foul for a reverse course—they could not sail off against the wind. And Kydd had noticed the ominous appearance of a number of small vessels from inside the port of Le Havre. These could only be one thing—inshore gunboats. A ship the size of Teazer should have no reason to fear them but with empty gun ports, hard and fast . . .

What Kydd had in mind was a common enough exercise in the Mediterranean, but would it work here?

From below, seamen hurried up with sweeps, special oars a full thirty feet long with squared-off loom and angled copper-tipped blades. At the same time the sweep ports, nine tiny square openings along each of the bulwarks, closed off with a discreet buckler, were made ready. The sweeps would be plied across the deck, their great leverage used to try to move Teazer off the sandbank.

"Clear th' decks!" Kydd roared, at those still milling about in fear. Through the clatter he called to Massey, "If ye'd take the larboard, sir . . ." Then he bellowed, "Every man t' an oar! Yes, sir, even you!" he bawled at the fop, who was dragged, bewildered, to his place. Three rowers to each sweep, an experienced seaman the furthest inboard, the other two any who could clutch an oar.

"Hey, now—that lad, ahoy!" Kydd called, to a frightened youngster. "Down t' the galley, y' scamp, an' find the biggest pot an' spoon ye can."

Kydd, at an oar himself, urged them on. The ungainly sweeps built up a slow rhythm against the unyielding water. Then, with a grumbling slither from beneath, it seemed that a miracle had happened and the brig was easing back into her element—in the teeth of the wind.

To the dissonant accompaniment of a cannon bombardment and the urgent, ting-ting-ting clang of a galley pot, His Majesty's Brig-sloop Teazer slid from the bank and gathered way sternwards and into open water. The sweeps were pulled in, the playful breeze obliged and Teazer slewed round to take the wind on her cheeks. With sails braced up sharp she made for the blessed sanctuary of the open sea.

After this, it seemed all the more unfair when Kydd saw the three gunboats squarely across their path, a fourth and fifth on their way to join them. Clearly someone had been puzzled by the lack of spirited response from Teazer and had spotted the empty gun ports. One or two gunboats she could handle but no more, not a group sufficient to surround and, from their bow cannon, slowly smash her into surrender.

It was senseless to go on: they could close the range at will and deliver accurate, aimed fire at the defenceless vessel with only one possible outcome. This could not be asked of innocent civilians and, sick at heart, Kydd went to the signal halliards and prepared to lower their colours.

"I'd belay that if I were you, Mr Kydd," Massey said, and pointed to the bluff headland of Cap de la Hève. Kydd blinked in disbelief: there, like an avenging angel, an English man-o'-war had appeared, no doubt attracted by the sound of gunfire. He punched the air in exhilaration.

CHAPTER 3

"AYE, IT WAS AS WHO MIGHT SAY a tight-run thing," Kydd said, acknowledging with a raised glass the others round him in the King's Arms. He flashed a private grin at Captain Massey, who lifted his eyebrows drolly—their present coming together in sociable recognition of their deliverance was due to his generosity.

"I own, it's very heaven to be quit of that odious country. And poor Mrs Lewis—is there any hope for her at all?" a lady of mature years enquired.

"She is in the best of hands," Massey said, and added that she was at Stonehouse, the naval hospital.

Kydd looked out of the mullioned windows down into Sutton Pool, the main port area of old Plymouth. It was packed with vessels of all description, fled from the sea at the outbreak of war and now settling on the tidal mud; it took little imagination to conceive of the economic and human distress that all those idle ships would mean.

However, it was most agreeable to sit in the jolly atmosphere of the inn and let calm English voices and easy laughter work on his spirits. The immediate perils were over: Teazer now lay in the Hamoaze, awaiting her turn for the dry-dock after her encounter with the sandbank. Her grateful passengers were soon to take coach for their homes in all parts of the kingdom, there, no doubt, to relate their fearsome tales.

A couple from an adjoining table came across. "We must leave now, Captain," the elderly gentleman said. "You will know you have our eternal thanks—and we trust that your every endeavour in this new war will meet with the success it deserves."

Others joined them. Pink-faced, Kydd accepted their effusions as he saw them to the door. In a chorus of farewells they were gone, leaving him alone with Massey. Kydd turned to him. "I have t' thank ye, sir, for y'r kind assistance when—"

"Don't mention it, m'boy. What kind of shab would stand back and let you tackle such a shambles on your own!"

"But even so—"

"His Majesty will need every sea officer of merit at this time, Mr Kydd. I rather fancy it will be a much different war. The last was to contain the madness of a revolution. This is a naked snatching at empire. Bonaparte will not stop until he rules the world—and only us to stand in his way."

Kydd nodded gravely. The dogs of war had been unleashed; destruction on all sides, misery and hunger would be the lot of many in the near future—but it was this self-same conflict that gave meaning to his professional existence, his ambitions and future. No other circumstance would see his country set him on the quarterdeck of his own ship, in a fine uniform to the undoubted admiration of the ladies.

"I shall notify their lordships of my presence in due course," Massey said affably, "and you will no doubt be joining the select band of the Channel Gropers."

"Teazer was fitting out when we put t' sea," Kydd responded. "I'm t' receive m' orders after we complete." This was probably a deployment with Cornwallis's Channel Squadron off Brest.

"Yes," Massey said slowly. "But hold yourself ready for service anywhere in these waters. Our islands lie under as grave a threat as any in the last half a thousand years. No more Mediterranean sun for you, sir!"

At Kydd's awkward smile he added, "And for prizes the Western Approaches can't be beat! All France's trade may be met in the chops of the Channel and on her coasts you shall have sport aplenty." A look suspiciously like envy passed across his face before he continued. "But of course you shall earn it—it's not for nothing that the English coast is accounted a graveyard of ships."

"Yes, sir."

"And a different kind of seamanship, navigation."

"Sir."

"You'll take care of yourself, then, Mr Kydd. Who knows when we'll see each other again?" He rose and held out his hand. "Fare y' well, sir."

Kydd resumed his seat and let the thoughts crowd in.

"Admiral Lockwood will see you now, sir." The flag-lieutenant withdrew noiselessly, leaving Kydd standing gravely.

"Ah." Lockwood rose from his desk and bustled round to greet him warmly. "Glad you could find the time, Kydd—I know how busy you must be, fitting for sea, but I like to know something of the officers under my command."

Any kind of invitation from the port admiral was a summons but what had caught Kydd's attention was the "my." So it was not to be the Channel Fleet and a humble part of the close blockade, rather some sort of detached command of his own. "My honour, sir," Kydd said carefully.

"Do sit," Lockwood said, and returned to his desk.

Kydd took a chair quietly, sunlight from the tall windows warming him, the muted rumble of George Street traffic reaching him through the creeper-clad walls.

"Teazer did not suffer overmuch?" Lockwood said, as he hunted through his papers.

"But three days in dock only, Sir Reginald," Kydd answered, aware that in any other circumstance he would be before a court of inquiry for touching ground in a King's ship. "Two seamen hurt, an' a lady, I'm grieved t' say, has lost an arm."

"Tut tut! It's always a damnably distressing matter when your civilian is caught up in our warring."

"Aye, sir. Er, do ye have news o' my L'tenant Hodgson?"

Lockwood found what he was looking for and raised his head. "No, but you should be aware that a Lieutenant Standish is anxious to take his place—asking for you by name, Mr Kydd. Do you have any objection to his appointment in lieu?"

"None, sir." So Hodgson and the four seamen were still missing; the lieutenant would probably end up exchanged, but the unfortunate sailors would certainly spend the rest of the war incarcerated. As for his new lieutenant, he had never heard of him and could not guess at the reason for his request.

"Very well. So, let us assume your sloop will be ready for sea in the near future." The admiral leant back and regarded Kydd. "I'll tell you now, your locus of operations will be the Channel Approaches—specifically the coast from Weymouth to the Isles of Scilly, occasionally the Bristol Channel, and you shall have Plymouth as your base. Which, in course, means that you might wish to make arrangements for your family ashore here—you may sleep out of your ship while in Plymouth, Commander."

"No family, sir," Kydd said briefly.

The admiral nodded, then continued sternly, "Now, you'll be interested in your war tasks. You should be disabused, sir, of the notion that you will be part of a great battle fleet ranging the seas. There will be no bloody Nile battles, no treasure convoys, and it will be others who will look to the Frenchy invasion flotillas."

He paused, then eased his tone. "There will be employment enough for your ship, Mr Kydd. The entrance to the Channel where our shipping converges for its final run is a magnet for every privateer that dares think to prey on our shipping. And in this part of the world the wild country and filthy state of our roads means that four-fifths of our trade must go by sea—defenceless little ships, tiding it out in some tiny harbour and hoping to get their hard-won cargo up-Channel to market. Not to mention our homeward-bound overseas trade worth uncounted millions. Should this suffer depredation then England stands in peril of starvation and bankruptcy."

"I understand, sir," Kydd said.

"Therefore your prime task is patrol. Clear the Soundings of any enemy privateers or warships, safeguard our sea lanes. Other matters must give best to this, Mr Kydd."

"Other?"

"Come now, sir, I'm talking of dispatches, worthy passengers, uncommon freight—and the Revenue, of course."

"Sir?"

Lockwood looked sharply at Kydd. "Sir, I'm aware your service has been for the most part overseas—" He stopped, then continued evenly: "His Majesty's Customs and Excise has every right to call upon us to bear assistance upon these coasts should they feel overborne by a band of armed smugglers or similar. Understood?"

"Sir."

"Now, I say again that I would not have you lose sight of your main task for one moment, Mr Kydd."

"Security o' the seas, sir."

"Quite so. For this task you are appointed to a command that puts you out of the sight of your seniors, to make your own decisions as to deployment, engagements and so forth. This is a privilege, sir, that carries with it responsibilities. Should you show yourself unworthy of it by your conduct then I shall have no hesitation in removing you. Do you understand me, sir?"

"I do, sir."

"Very well. No doubt you will be acquainting yourself with navigation and its hazards in these home waters. I suggest you do the same soon for the other matters that must concern you."

"I will, sir."

The admiral leant back and smiled. "But then, of course, you will have a splendid opportunity in the near future."

"Sir?"

"I shall be holding a ball next month, which the officers of my command will be expected to attend. There will be every chance then for you to meet your fellow captains and conceivably learn much to your advantage."

He rose. "This I'll have you know, sir. Your contribution to the defence of these islands at this time stands in no way inferior to that of the Channel Fleet itself. If HMS Teazer and you, Mr Kydd, do your duty in a like manner to the other vessels under my flag I've no doubt about the final outcome of this present unpleasantness. Have you any questions?"

"None, sir." Then he ventured, "That is t' say, but one. Do ye have any objection to my shipping Mr Renzi as captain's clerk? He's as well—"

"You may ship Mother Giles if it gets you to sea the earlier," Lockwood said, with a grim smile. "Your orders will be with you soon. Good luck, Mr Kydd."

So this was to be Teazer's future: to face alone the predators that threatened, the storms and other hazards on this hard and rugged coast, relying only on himself, his ship's company, and the fine ship he had come to love—not in the forefront of a great battle fleet but with an equally vital mission.

Poulden brought the jolly-boat smartly alongside. The bowman hooked on and stood respectfully for Kydd to make his way forward and over Teazer's bulwark as Purchet's silver call pealed importantly.

Kydd doffed his hat to the mate-of-the-watch. The etiquette of the Royal Navy was important to him, not so much for its colour and dignity, or even its flattering deference to himself as a captain, but more for its outward display of the calm and unshakeable self-confidence, rooted in centuries of victory, that lay at the centre of the navy's pride.

Purchet came across to Kydd. "I'll need more hands t' tackle th' gammoning, sir, but she's all a-taunto, I believe."

Kydd hesitated before he headed below; the view from where Teazer was moored, opposite the dockyard in the spacious length of the Tamar River, was tranquil, a garden landscape of England that matched his contentment.

He turned abruptly, but paused at the foot of the companion-way. "Mr Dowse," he called.

"Aye, sir?" The master was tall, and had to stoop as he swung out of his cabin.

"Might I see ye f'r a moment?" They passed into the great cabin and Kydd removed a bundle of papers from his other easy chair, then offered it. "Have ye had service in this part o' the world, Mr Dowse?"

"I have that, sir. Not as you'd say recent, ye'd understand, but I know most o' the coastline hereabouts an' west t' the Longships. Can be tricky navigation, an' needs a lot o' respect."

"That's as may be. Our orders will keep us here f'r the future, an' I mean t' know this coast well, Mr Dowse. Do ye find the best charts an' rutters, then let me know when ye're satisfied an' we'll go over 'em together."

"I've sent out f'r the new Nories an' I has Hamilton Moore ready set by. F'r a Channel pilot he can't be beat."

More discussion followed; Dowse was new to Kydd, but was of an age and had experience. His wisdom would be vital in a small ship like Teazer. "Thank ye, we'll talk again before we sail."

With a sigh, Kydd turned to his paperwork. Fielding, the purser, had carefully prepared his accounts for signature. Tysoe entered silently with coffee, his urbane manner in keeping with his station as the captain's servant and valet: Kydd congratulated himself yet again on having sent Stirk ashore to find his servant of Teazer's last commission, whom he had necessarily had to let go when he had lost his ship with the brief peace of the Treaty of Amiens.

Tysoe had raised no objections to quitting his situation with a local merchant and had slipped back easily into his old post.

Kydd completed a small number of papers but found he was restless. All over the ship men were working steadily on the age-old tasks of completing for sea and all he could find to do was address his interminable load of reports. There was one matter, however, far more agreeable to attend to.

He got up quickly, passed through the wardroom and emerged on to the broad mess-deck. There were surprised looks from the seamen but his hat was firmly under his arm, signifying an unofficial visit, and he crossed quickly to the tiny cabin adjoining the surgeon's that extended into a corner of the mess space.

It was new, the thin panels still with the fragrance of pine and with a green curtain for a door. It had cost him much debate with the dockyard but Teazer now had a cabin for her captain's clerk, an unheard-of luxury for one so humble. Kydd tapped politely. After some movement the curtain was drawn aside and a dishevelled head appeared.

"Nicholas, is this at all to y'r liking or . . ." Renzi pulled back inside and Kydd could see into the tiny compartment. The forward bulkhead was lined with books from top to bottom as was the opposite side, with each row laced securely; in the middle a very small desk stood complete with a gimballed lamp, and a cot was being triced up out of the way. It was definitely a one-person abode but if the sea-chest could be made to suffer duty as a chair, and movements were considered and deliberate, there were possibilities.

Renzi gave a rueful smile, grateful that his years of sea service had prepared him for the motion here. "Should we meet with a seaway of spirit, it may require our stout boatswain to exercise his skills in the lashing of myself to my chair, but here I have my sanctum, thank you."

The contrast with Kydd's own appointments could not have been greater, but this was all that Renzi had asked for.

"Er, should ye be squared away b' evening, m' friend, might we sup together?"

"Nicholas, dear friend, it does m' heart good t' see ye aboard." The cabin was bathed in the cosy glow of twin candles on the table.

"Your chair, Nicholas," Kydd said pointedly, pulling forward one of an identical pair of easy chairs.

Renzi gave a half-smile but said nothing.

"Who would've thought it?" Kydd went on. "As ye'd remember, come aft through th' hawse an' all."

Renzi murmured something and reclined, watching Kydd steadily.

Tysoe filled the glasses and left noiselessly. "And now we're shipmates again," Kydd concluded lamely.

Renzi unbent a little. "This is true and I'm—gratified that it should be so, you must believe, brother."

Kydd smiled broadly and handed him a glass. "Then I give ye joy of our friendship, Nicholas!" He laughed. "If it's t' be half o' what it was when we were afore the mast, then . . ."

"Yes, dear fellow. Here's a toast to those days and to that which lies ahead," Renzi answered softly.

But Kydd realised in his heart that there was no going back. In the years since they had been foremast hands together too much had happened: his elevation to the majesty of command, Renzi's near-mortal fever and subsequent striving for significance in life— and all that had passed which had seen them both pitched into bloody combat and fear of their lives. They were both very different men. "Aye, the old days."

"More wine?" Renzi said politely. "I can only applaud your taste in whites. This Portuguee is the gayest vinho verde this age."

"Yes—that villain in town can't stand against Tysoe," Kydd said shortly. "Nicholas, may I know if ye've set course ready for y'r studies?"

"There may be no studies," Renzi said, his face taut.

Kydd's stomach tightened. "No studies?" Did Renzi see the great gulf in their situations as a sick reversal of the relationship that had gone before?

"We gull ourselves, brother," Renzi said evenly, "if we believe that the world will abide by our little conceit." He shifted in his chair to face Kydd squarely. "Consider: you are captain and therefore lord over all, and may direct every soul in this ship as you desire. But that is not the same as the unthinking obeisance of your redcoat or the sullen obedience of the serf in the field. Our Jack Tar famously has an independence of thought."

He smiled thinly. "You might set me at an eminence and sup with me. I may pace the quarterdeck in your company and be seen to step ashore with you. This is all within your gift—you are the captain. Yet what will our honest mariner perceive of it? And your new lieutenant—"

"T' arrive t'morrow."

"—what construction will he place on our easy confidences, our privy conversations? Am I to be in the character of the captain's spy?"

Renzi was right, of course. The practicality of such a relationship was now in serious question: any interpretation might be placed on their conduct, from the bawdy to the felonious. Kydd's position was fast becoming untenable and it would seem he risked his ship for the sake of an innocent friendship.

"Nicholas." To have the prospect of resolution to the loneliness of command snatched away was too much. "Answer me true, m' friend. Are ye still resolved on y'r achievin' in the academic line? For the sake o' Cecilia?" he added carefully.

"Were it possible."

"Then it shall be so, an' I'm settled on it," Kydd said firmly. "It is th' world's perceivin' only," he added, "an' the world must know how it is."

He paused, framing his words with care. "The truth is always th' safest. In society you shall be introduced as a learned gentleman, guest o' the captain, who is undertaking interestin' voyages f'r the sake of his studies, an' who f'r the sake of appearances in the navy takes on himself th' character of clerk—secretary—to th' captain."

This should prove the easiest task: it would be assumed in the time-honoured way that Renzi would not, of course, be expected to sully his hands with the actual clerking, which would be handled by a lowly writer.

"In the navy, we take another tack, which is just as truthful. Here we have th' captain takin' pity on an old sea-friend, recov-erin' from a mortal fever and takin' the sea cure, who spends his hours wi' books an' worthy writin'." He paused for effect. "I spoke with th' admiral," he continued innocently, "who told me directly that he sees no objection to Mr Renzi shippin' as clerk in Teazer."

"You discussed my health?" Renzi said acidly.

"Not in s'many details," Kydd replied, and hurriedly made much of Tysoe's reappearance signalling dinner. "Rattlin' fine kidneys," he offered, but Renzi ate in silence. Even a well-basted trout failed to elicit more than grunts and Kydd was troubled again. Was Renzi finding it impossible to accept their new relationship, or was he appalled by the difference in their living accommodation?

Kydd tried to brighten. "Why, here we lie at anchor in Devonshire, th' foremost in the kingdom in the article of lamb. Our noble cook fails in his duty, th' rogue, if he cannot conjure some such meat."

The cutlets were indeed moist and succulent and at last Renzi spoke. "I can conceive of above a dozen matters that may yet prove insuperable rocks and shoals to our objectives."

Kydd waited impatiently for the cloth to be drawn, allowing the appearance of a salver of marzipan fruits. "Crafted y'r Chretien pear an' Monaco fig damn well, don't y' think!"

"Just so," Renzi said, not to be distracted. "You will want to be apprised of these preclusions, I believe."

"If y' please, Nicholas."

"The first is yourself, of course."

Kydd held silent: there was no point in impatient prodding, for Renzi would logically tease out a problem until a solution emerged—or proved there was none.

"Very well. Some matters are readily evident, the chief of which is that this scheme requires I be placed in a condition of subjection to you, which the rule and custom of the sea demands shall be absolute. You shall be the highest, I . . . shall be the lowliest."

"Nicholas! No! Not at all! I—I would not . . ." Kydd trailed off as the truth of his friend's words sank in.

"Exactly." Renzi steepled his fingers. "I journey on your fine bark as a member of her crew—if this were not so there would be no place for me. Therefore we must say that the Articles of War bear on me as scrupulously as upon the meanest of your ordinary seamen and with all the same force of law."

Kydd made to interrupt but Renzi went on remorselessly: "As captain you cannot make exception. It therefore necessarily demands that I should be obliged to make my obedience to you in all things." There was a finality in his tone.

"Does this mean—"

"It does. But, my dear fellow, it is the most logical and consequently most amenable to sweet reason of all our difficulties." A smile stole across his features. "To leave issues unsaid, to be tacit and therefore at the mercy of a misapprehension is pusillanimous, thus I shall now be explicit.

"I do not see fit to vary my behaviour by one whit in this vessel. I see no reason why I should be obliged to. Do you?"

At a loss for words, Kydd merely mumbled something.

"I'm glad you agree, brother. Therefore from this time forth I shall render to the captain of HMS Teazer every mark of respect to his position in quite the same way as I allowed the captain of Tenacious, Seaflower, Artemis . . ."

"Aye, Nicholas," said Kydd, meekly.

"Splendid! In the same vein I shall, of course, discharge the duty of captain's clerk in the fullest sense—any less would be an abrogation of the moral obligation that allows me victualling and passage in Teazer, as you must surely understand."

"Y'r scruples do ye honour, m' friend—but this at least can be remedied. Cap'n's attendance take precedence: ye shall have a sidesman o' sorts, a writer, fr'm out of our company." Even before he had finished the sentence he knew who. Luke Calloway, who had learnt his letters from Kydd himself in the Caribbean would be completely trustworthy and on occasion would not object too strenuously to exchanging the holy-stone for the quill.

"But then we must attend to more stern questions." These had to wait as the table was cleared and the brandy left, and the captain and his visitor had resumed their easy chairs.

"Stern questions?"

"Some might say of the first martial importance. You wish to be assured of the conduct of every member of your company in the event of a rencontre with the enemy, including that of myself. This is your right to ask, and I will answer similarly as before. As a member of Teazer's crew I have my duties in time of battle as has everyone aboard."

"As a clerk? This is—"

"As a clerk, my quarters are strictly specified, and these are to attend upon my captain on the quarterdeck for the period of the engagement. I shall be there—this you may believe," he said softly.

Kydd looked away, overcome.

"And if Teazer faces an assault upon her decks from without, I shall not feel constrained in defending myself and my ship. This also you may believe." He paused. "But in any affair that calls for noble leadership, the drawn sword at the head of a band of warriors—there you will see that, by our own devising, we are denied. I am a clerk, not even a petty officer, and no man can thus be made to follow me. As bidden, I might carry a pike or haul on a rope but otherwise . . ."

Renzi was laying down terms for his continued existence in Teazer, or more properly defining limitations that tidied things logically for his fine mind. Kydd hoped fervently that there would be no situation in the future that tested the logic too far.

He found the brandy and refreshed their glasses. "Ye spoke of—preclusions, m' friend. Here is one!" Renzi regarded Kydd steadily. "How can it be right f'r a man o' letters, sensible of th' finer points, t' be battened below like a . . . like a common foremast jack?"

It was said.

To Kydd's relief Renzi eased his expression. "Do you not remember my time of exile in the company of Neptune's gentlemen? It was my comfort then to remark it, that the conditions were to be borne as a necessary consequence of such a sentence.

"I now take notice that there is a similarity: in like manner to your monk or hermit scratching away in his cell in his sublime pursuit of truth and beauty, there are conditions contingent on the situation that may have to be endured as price for the final object. Should I not have the felicity of voyaging in Teazer then I fear my purse would not withstand an alternative course, and therefore I humbly accept what is so agreeably at hand.

"Fear not, dear fellow, I have years at sea that will inure me and, besides, this time I have a sanctum sancti where at any time I may take refuge to allow my thoughts to run unchecked—I need not point out to you that the keeping of sea watches now, mercifully, will be a memory for me."

"That's well said, Nicholas—but you, er, will need t' talk out y'r ideas, try out some words or so . . ."

"Indeed I will. We shall promenade the decks in deep discussion—as the disposition of the ship allows, of course—and should you be at leisure of an evening it would gratify me beyond words to dispute with you on the eternal verities. Yet . . ." Kydd's soaring hopes hung suspended ". . . we both have calls upon our time. It were more apt to the situation should we both inhabit our different worlds for the normal rush of events and perhaps rely otherwise on the well-tried rules of politeness—which places so much value on invitation, rather than crass assumptions as to the liberty of the individual to receive."

Kydd smiled inwardly. This was no more than Renzi securing to himself the ability to disappear into his "sanctum" when he desired to. "By all means, Nicholas. Er, might I know y'r station f'r messin' . . . ?"

It was a delicate point. The need for a captain to keep his cabin and table clear for ship's business was unspoken, and therefore a standing arrangement for dining à deux was not in question. This had now been dealt with, but where Renzi took his victuals had considerable social significance. A lowly clerk in a brig-sloop could usually expect the open mess-decks; it was only in weightier vessels that the captain's clerk would rank as a cockpit officer and berth in the gunroom.

"I have been led to believe that steerage will be open to me." This was the open area below bounded on both sides by cabins and aft by the captain's quarters. It would be where the first lieutenant would hold court over the lesser officers—the master, surgeon and purser. The gunner, boatswain and carpenter had their own cabins forward.

"Why, this does seem a fine thing we've achieved this night," Kydd enthused, raising his glass. "Here's t' our success!"

Renzi gave an odd smile. "As it will rise or fall by the caprice of your own ship's company," he murmured.

"Aye. We'll find a way, Nicholas, never fear. So, let's drink."

An apologetic knock on the door sounded clear. "Come!" Kydd called.

It was the mate-of-the-watch. "Sir, we have Lieutenant Standish here come t' join." Behind him a figure loomed. Both streamed water; rain must have swept in unnoticed on the anchorage as they dined.

"L'tenant Standish? I hadn't thought ye'd join afore—"

"Sir. M' apologies and duty but I've been afire to be aboard since I heard I'm to be appointed." His figure was large but indistinct in the darker steerage. "Ah, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know you'd got company."

"Oh—that's no matter, Mr Standish. I'd like ye t' meet Mr Renzi. He's a learned gentleman who's takin' berth with us th' better to further his ethnical studies. In th' character of captain's clerk, as it were."

Standish looked mystified from one to the other, but Renzi got quickly to his feet. He inclined his head to the newcomer, then turned to Kydd and said civilly, "I do thank you for your politeness and entertainment, sir, but must now return below. Good night."

"Y' see, sir?" Duckitt held out a horny palm. In it was a tiny pyramid of harsh dark grey particles, the early-morning light picking out in curious detail the little grains, smaller than any peppercorn. "This is y' new cylinder powder—throws a ball jus' the same range wi' a third less charge," he said.

"Or a third further if y' charge is th' same," Kydd retorted, but his curiosity was piqued. It was seldom he came across the naked powder: guns were served with it sewn safely inside cartridges of serge or flannel to be rammed home out of sight, and priming powder had a different grain size.

"Ah, well, as t' that, sir, ye must know that it's an Admiralty order as we takes aboard twenty per centum fewer barrels." A sceptical look appeared on the hovering boatswain's face, which disappeared at Kydd's sharp glance. "And, o' course, ye'd be aware we gets less anyways, bein' Channel duties only."

"Are ye sayin', Mr Duckitt," Kydd snapped, "that we must land the powder we now has aboard?"

"Not all of it, sir. We keeps a mort o' White LG for close-in work an' salutin'. For th' rest it's all Red LG powder, best corned an' glazed, charge a third y'r shot weight and a half f'r carron-ades, one fourth for double-shottin'. It's all there in m' orders jus' received."

It would take time to discharge from their magazine, cramped into the after end of the hold. Then there was the swaying inboard of the lethal copper-banded barrels from the low red-flagged powder-barges, no doubt only now beginning their slow creep down from the magazines further upstream. "Very well. I'd have wished t' know of this afore now," Kydd growled.

Purchet turned anxiously. "Shall I rouse out th' larbowlines below now, sir?"

"No, no, Mr Purchet, th' forenoon will do. Let 'em lie." The thought of breakfast was cheering.

As he turned to go below he saw Standish emerge on deck, ready dressed for the day against Kydd's shirt and breeches.

"Sir—a very good morning to you!"

"Oh—er, thank 'ee." He had asked that his new first lieutenant present himself in the morning. Clearly the man had taken him literally and was prepared for the morning watch, which started at four. "I had expected ye later. Has all y' dunnage been brought aboard?"

"It has, sir—all stowed and put to rights. Cabin stores coming aboard this afternoon." He glanced up into Teazer's bare masts. "If we're to get to sea this age it were better I begin my duties directly," he said briskly.

Kydd paused. Was this an implied slight at Teazer's untidy state or the sign of a zealous officer? "It does ye credit, Mr Standish, but there's time enough f'r that. Shall we take breakfast together at all?" he added firmly. There was no reason why he should be cheated of his own repast and it would give him proper sight of the man for the first time.

"Why, thank you, sir." Standish seemed genuinely flattered and followed Kydd respectfully to the great cabin.

"Another f'r breakfast, Tysoe," Kydd warned. His own meal was ready laid at one end of the polished table—wiggs, dainty breakfast pastries, and sweet jelly, quiddany of plums, in a plain jar, the coffee pot steaming gently. "Well, Mr Standish, the sun's not yet over the foreyard but I'm t' welcome ye into Teazer, I believe."

Tysoe brought napery and cutlery and set another place.

"Pleased indeed to be aboard, sir. You'll understand that to be idle when your country stands in peril sits ill with me." Standish was well built, his strong features darkly handsome, hair tied back neatly in a queue, like Kydd's, but with a studied carelessness to the curly locks in front.

Kydd helped himself to one of the wiggs, added a curl of butter and a liberal spread of the conserve, then asked casually, "Tell me, sir, may I know why y' asked f'r Teazer especially?"

Standish seemed abashed. "Oh, well, sir . . ." He put down his knife and paused, turning to face Kydd. "Do you mind if I'm frank, sir?"

"Do fill an' stand on." The man held himself well and Kydd was warming to his evident willingness.

"You'll be aware that you, sir, are not unknown in the service," he began respectfully. "Your boat action at the Nile has often been remarked and, dare I say it, your courage at Acre has yet to see its reward."

"That's kind in ye to say so."

"I will be candid, sir. My last post was a ship-o'-the-line, and while a fine enough vessel, she was to join Cornwallis before Brest." He went on earnestly, "For an officer of aspiration this is, er, a slow route. A frigate berth is too much sought after to be in prospect—then I heard of L'tenant Hodgson's misfortune."

Kydd nodded for him to continue.

"Sir, my reason for requesting Teazer—you'll pardon the direct speaking—is that I believe you to be an active and enterprising captain who will see his chance and seize it. In fine, sir, prospects of a distinguished action for all will be better served in Teazer than another."

It was true that the only sure path to glory and promotion was distinction on the field of battle and subsequent recognition above one's peers. Standish had heard something of Kydd's history and had made a cool calculation that this captain would not hold back in the event of an engagement, so his chances were better for a bloody victory in Teazer than in a battleship on blockade duty.

"Thank ye f'r your frankness, Mr Standish. But it may be that within a short time th' Channel Fleet will meet the French an' their invasion fleet. Glory enough f'r all, I would say. Coffee?" The officer looked sincere and was clearly eager to be an active member of Teazer's company. "Tell, me, Mr Standish, have ye been fortunate in th' matter of actions?"

"I was at Copenhagen, sir, third o' the Monarch," he said modestly, "and was fourth in Minotaur when we cut out the Prima galley."

This was experience enough. In Nelson's squadron during the bloody affair against the Danes, and before, in the fine exploit off Genoa that saw the difficult capture of the heavily manned vessel. "Were ye in the boats?"

"I had the honour to command our pinnace on that occasion, yes, sir."

This was no stripling learning his trade in a small vessel. Standish was going to be a distinct asset—if his other qualities were as creditable. "Well, I hope Teazer c'n afford ye some entertainment in the future."

"Thank you, sir. May I ask it—do we have our orders yet?"

"None yet, but Admiral Lockwood assures me we'll have 'em presently. Do help y'self to more wiggs."

"If I might be allowed to make my excuses, sir, I feel I should make an early acquaintance with our watch and station bill." Kydd noted the "our" with satisfaction. "If there is fault to be found I'm anxious it shall not be mine," Standish added. He rose to leave, then hesitated. "Did I hear aright, sir, that your friend, our learned gentleman—"

"Mr Renzi?"

"—is he not also in the nature of a—a clerk?"

Kydd allowed his expression to grow stern. "In HMS Teazer he is captain's clerk, Mr Standish. He is b' way of being a retired sea officer and brings a deal of experience t' the post. You will find him of much value when he assists ye, as he will."

"Aye aye, sir," said Standish uncertainly.

It was while the powder boy was alongside, and the ship in a state of suspended terror at the sight of the deadly barrels swaying through the air, that Teazer's two midshipmen arrived. Awed by the tension they sensed in the manoeuvres around them, they stood bareheaded and nervous before a distracted Kydd.

"Andrews, sir," squeaked the younger. His wispy appearance was not going to impress the seamen, Kydd reflected.

"Boyd, sir," the other said stolidly.

"Ye're welcome aboard, gentlemen, but f'r now, clew up wi' Mr Prosser. That's him by th' forebitts. Say ye're to take station on him an' I'll attend to y' both later." Prosser was Teazer's only master's mate.

The lads trotted off and Kydd turned back to events. Purchet was in charge: his style was to give few orders and those quietly, forcing the party of men to a strained quiet in case they were missed, the boatswain's mate standing by meaningfully.

The morning wore on, and with the last of the powder aboard and securely in the magazine, the atmosphere eased. "Carry on, if y' please, Mr Prosser," Kydd said, and turned to go below.

At the bottom of the steps he nearly bumped into Standish. "Ah, sir, do you have a few moments?" He was carrying a sheaf of papers, and in the subdued light of belowdecks Kydd saw Renzi standing politely a few paces back.

He hesitated, caught between courtesy to his friend and a captain acknowledging a mere clerk in front of an officer, and compromised with a civil nod. The two officers went together to Kydd's cabin, leaving Renzi alone.

Standish spread out his papers: it was the watch and station bill and he had, no doubt with discreet hinting from Renzi, made sizeable inroads into the task. "Two watches, I think you requested, sir," he said, with businesslike vigour, smoothing out a larger paper made of two sheets pasted together. "With a complement of eighty-two men in a brig this size I see no difficulty here, sir. I will stand watch opposite Mr Prosser and we will apportion the men to divisions in like wise."

It was a good plan: both would see the same men every watch they would lead in detached service or for which they would take domestic responsibility.

Standish added, "As to petty officers o' the tops and similar, as you have been to sea once with them I respectfully seek your opinion." He handed over his list of stations for each seaman in the various manoeuvres that Teazer must perform; mooring ship, taking in sail, heaving up the anchors.

This showed a reassuring technical confidence. Discussion continued; mess numbers had been assigned and Standish had a useful suggestion about hammock markings and location.

It was always a tricky thing to find a man at night in the press of off-watch humanity below, and men did not take kindly to being clumsily awakened as the carpenter's crew or others were found and roused out.

"We stand eighteen short o' complement," Kydd said—it was a nagging worry as they had to be fully prepared for war. "I'm trusting t' snag some local men," he added doubtfully. It was unlikely but not impossible: there must be a fair number of sailors thrown ashore from the crowds of coastal shipping he had seen lie idle on the mud in Plymouth. They might be glad of the security of a King's ship known to be on service only in home waters.

Standish left as the purser came for more signatures. Suddenly, from the deck above there was a bull roar. "That pickerooning rascal in the foretop, ahoy! If you think to take your ease, sir, we can accommodate you—Mr Purchet?" It seemed Teazer's new first lieutenant was losing no time in making his presence felt.

Teazer's orders arrived; and Kydd sought the solitude of his cabin to open them. There were no surprises: the whole coastline between Portland Bill and the Isles of Scilly would be his responsibility ". . . to cruise for the protection of trade of His Majesty's Subjects, particularly of the coasters passing that way, from any attempts of the Enemy's Cruisers, using your best endeavours to take and destroy all ships and vessels belonging to France which you may discover or be informed of . . ."

He was to call regularly at Falmouth, Fowey and other ports to acquire "Intelligence, Orders or Letters," and further it seemed he should neglect no opportunity to procure men for His Majesty's Fleet who should then be borne on the Supernumerary List for victuals until conveyed to the nearest regulating captain.

There was, however, no mention of Customs and Excise but if any trade or convoy in the Downs bound to the westward should eventuate he was to "see them safely as far as their way may be with yours."

All in all, it was eminently suited to Teazer's qualities and vital to the country's survival. And it left full scope for a bold action against any enemy daring to cross her bows.

Kydd grunted in satisfaction, gathered up the papers and reviewed what had to be done now in the way of charts, victualling, manning. A small folded paper that he had over-looked slipped out. It was watermarked and of high quality and he opened it carefully. "Admiral Sir Reginald and Lady Lockwood request the pleasure of the company of Commander Thomas Kydd at a June Ball . . . at the Long Room, Stonehouse . . ."

Kydd caught his breath. There was no escape, he must go, and if Standish were invited separately he must make sure he accepted as well. It would be his first formal occasion in home waters as captain of a ship and because of his long overseas service it was, as well, his first entry into proper English society on his own terms— the Guildford assemblies paled into insignificance beside this.

This was something for Renzi. He knew all the finer points, the way through the social quicksands and the subtleties of conversational byplay, the rules for bowing and scraping. Kydd's grasp of the fundamentals of politeness was adequate for the usual run of social events but if at this level he were to bring disgrace on Teazer with an unfortunate gaucherie . . .

Kydd stood up and was on the very point of passing the word for Mr Renzi when he stopped. How in the name of friendship could he summon Renzi to appear before him simply when it suited? It would risk alienating him and fundamentally affect their delicate arrangement; it was important for the future that Kydd find a way to achieve the same object in a manner that did not offend sensibilities.

Of course! In Renzi's very words—the rules of politeness, the value of invitation: "Tysoe, do inform Mr Renzi that I request th' pleasure of his company when he is at liberty to do so . . ." As it was done in the best circles.

"M' friend, I'd take it kindly if ye'd give me a course t' steer in this matter." Kydd handed over the invitation.

Annoyingly, Renzi did not display any particular admiration or surprise. He merely looked up and asked calmly, "An invitation to a ball—is there an exceptional service you therefore wish of me?"

"I'm concerned t' put on a brave face f'r Teazer's sake—that is, not t' appear th' drumble as it were. Y' understand, Nicholas?" Kydd said warily.

"I think I do," Renzi said evenly. "This ball. It is given by our admiral and to it will come all the officers under his command in order that he might make their social acquaintance and allow the same to discover each other's wit and shining parts."

"Aye—this is what vexes me. Shall I be found wantin' in polite company? I've not attended a regular-goin' society ball in England. What is y'r advice, Nicholas? What c'n ye tell me of how to conduct m'self? What have I t' learn?"

"Dear fellow! You have the graces—polite conduct is the same in Nova Scotia, Malta and Plymouth. If you acquit yourself creditably there, then a mere ball . . . And be assured that as the captain of a ship you will not lack for admirers among the ladies and will command respect and attention from the gentlemen. I would not fear an ordeal."

"That's kind in ye to say so, m' friend. So they'll take me f'r who I am?"

"You may be quite certain they will not," Renzi said immediately. "This is England and they will take you as they see you—an uncultured boor or salty son of Neptune. Your character will be fixed only as they perceive it."

"But—"

"I will be clear. If the prescripts are not observed then, quite rightly, they will conclude that you are not of their ilk, their social persuasion, and would therefore not be comfortable in their company. In fine you would in mercy be excluded from their inner circle."

Kydd remained stubbornly silent, but listened as Renzi continued, "You would no doubt wish to exhibit the accomplishments of a gentleman in order not to frighten the ladies. Among these that you lack at the moment I might list dancing, cards and gallantry."

"I'm said t' be light on m' feet and—"

Renzi looked at him kindly. "On the matter of dancing, I dare say that you may well have been considered of the first rank, but I have to confide to you that those wretches the dancing masters, to secure their continued employment, are always inventing quantities of new dances. These you must surely hoist aboard, as unaccountably your female of the species sets inordinate store on their confident display. I would suggest some lessons without delay."

"Cards? Ye know I'm no friend t' gamblin'."

"Cards. Do you propose to spend the entire evening stepping it out with the ladies? This would surely be remarked upon. It would be much more the thing from time to time to sit at a table with your brother officers being amiable to the ladies at loo, vingt-et-un or some such. To hazard a shilling a hand would not be noticed."

"Then m' gallantry . . ."

"Ah—gallantry. This is not so easily won and may be said to have as its main objective the reluctance of the lady to quit your enchanting company. The science you will find in the worthy tomes such as your Baldwin, and the art—the art you must discover for yourself at the first hand."

"Baldwin?"

"My constant companion in youth, The Polite Academy, or, School of Behaviour for Gentlemen, which will repay you well in the studying. Now, if there is nothing else you desire of me I should return to my new acquaintance the Abbé Morelly, whose views on the origin of social ills is quite startling and—and interesting."

"Please do, Nicholas!" Kydd said warmly, then caught himself and added, "I find that ye're not t' be invited, m' friend. You should know this is not as I'd wish it . . ." He trailed off, embarrassed.

"No matter, brother," Renzi said quietly. "You have earned your right to enter in upon society—I seek quite another felicity."

There was a warm softness on the evening air, a delightful early-summer exhilaration that added to Kydd's heightened senses. He tried to maintain a sombre countenance before Standish, who sat next to him in the hired diligence as they clipped along Durnford Street, but it was difficult; this was the night when he would discover if he had it within him to claim a place in high society.

They passed the last elegant houses and across an open space to approach the curiously solitary single edifice of the Long Room: it was ablaze with light in every window, and the sight brought on in Kydd a fresh surge of excitement. They drew up before the stately entrance—flights of steps ascending each side of what was plainly the ballroom.

Handed down by a blank-faced driver, Kydd clapped on his hat and fumbled hastily for silver, aware of the gawping crowd standing about to see who was arriving in their finery. He turned and saw a young lieutenant in full-dress ceremonials approaching. "Good evening, sir, and welcome to the ball. Might I . . . ?"

"Kydd. Commander Thomas Kydd, captain of Teazer sloop-o'-war." He would not yet be known by sight, of course.

"If you would accompany me, sir, the admiral is receiving now." There was a guilty thrill in being aware of the respect he was accorded by this flag-lieutenant and Kydd followed with his head held high. As a lesser mortal, Standish would have to wait.

His boat-cloak and hat were taken deftly in the small ante-room and after a nervous twitch at his cravat he stepped from the small foyer into noise, light and colour.

"Thank you, Flags. Ah, Kydd. Glad to see you, sir." The admiral was in jovial mood, standing in the splendour of full-dress uniform, an intimidating figure. He turned to the two ladies who flanked him. "My dear, Persephone, might I present Commander Kydd, now captain in one of my ships here? He's much talked about in the Mediterranean, you must believe."

Kydd turned to the admiral's lady and bowed as elegantly as he could and was duly rewarded with a civil inclination of the head. "I do hope you will enjoy this evening, Commander. I did have my fears of the weather," she said loftily.

"An' I'm sure it will back westerly before sun-up, ma'am," Kydd replied graciously. He was uncomfortably aware of straight-backed dignity and hard, appraising eyes. He tried to smile convincingly when he turned to the daughter.

There was a quick impression of a willowy figure in a filmy white high-waisted gown that bobbed decorously in response to his bow; when she rose, Kydd's eyes were met by amused hazel ones in a fashionably pale, patrician face. A neat gloved hand was extended elegantly.

"Miss L-Lockwood," Kydd said, taking the hand. Renzi's polite words, learnt so laboriously, fled from his mind at the girl's cool beauty. "M-my honour, er, is mine," he stuttered.

"I do trust that you don't find England too dull after the Mediterranean, Mr Kydd—they do say that Naples is quite the most wicked city in the world." The well-bred voice had an underlying gaiety that Kydd could not help responding to with a grin.

"Aye, there's sights in Naples would set ye—" Something warned him of Lady Lockwood's frosty stare and the admiral's frown and he concluded hastily "—that is t' say, we have Pompeii an' Herculano both rattlin' good places t' be."

"Why, I shall certainly remember, should I ever have the good fortune to visit," the daughter said demurely, but the laughter was still in her eyes. After a brief hesitation she withdrew her hand gently from Kydd's fingers.

The orchestra's subdued airs went almost unnoticed among the hubbub. While he waited for Standish to be received Kydd looked about him. The room was filled with laughter and noise, the occasional splash of military scarlet, and to Kydd the much more satisfying splendour of the blue, white and gold of the Royal Navy. Tiered chandeliers hung low from the lofty ceiling, shining brightly to set eyes and jewellery a-sparkle and lightly touching every lady with soft gold. He looked back: there were still some to be received but Standish was not among them—he had disappeared into the throng.

Kydd was alone. Glances were thrown in his direction but no one ventured to approach: he knew why—he had not been introduced to any other than the admiral's party and he was unknown. Purposefully, he strode into the room, neatly avoiding knots of people in just the same way as he would on the mess-deck in a seaway, clutching to his heart Renzi's strictures about politeness and genteel behaviour.

Then he found what he was searching for: a jolly-looking commander who was holding forth to a fellow officer and his shy-looking lady while controlling a champagne glass with practised ease. Kydd hovered until the reminiscence was concluded but before he could step forward the man turned to him. "What cheer, m' lad? Are you here for the dancing or . . . ?"

"Oh, er, dancing would be capital fun," Kydd said stiffly, then added, with a courtly bow, "Commander Thomas Kydd o' Teazer sloop."

"Well, Commander Thomas Kydd, first we must see ye squared away wi' a glass." He signalled to a footman discreetly. "Bazely, sir, Edmund Bazely out o' Fenella brig-sloop, and this unhappy mortal be Parlby o' the Wyvern." The handshake was crisp, the glance keen. "Are ye to be a Channel Groper, b' chance?"

Kydd loosened; the champagne was cool and heady and his trepidation was changing by degrees into an irresistible surge of excitement. "Aye, so it seems, f'r my sins."

"An' new to our charming Devonshire?"

"Too new, Mr Bazely. All m' service has been foreign since— since I was a younker, an' I'm amazed at how I'm t' take aboard enough t' keep Teazer fr'm ornamentin' a rock one day."

"All foreign? Ye're t' be reckoned lucky, Kydd. As a midshipman I can recollect mooning about in a seventy-four at Spithead and with no more sea service than a convoy to the Downs for all o' two years." He mused for a moment, then recollected himself. "But we have a whole evening looming ahead. If ye'll excuse us, Mrs Parlby, I want to introduce m' foreign friend here to some others." As they moved slowly towards the side of the room he chuckled. "No lady in tow—I take it from this ye have no ties, Kydd?"

"None."

"Then where better to make your acquaintance wi' the female sex than tonight?" They reached a group of young ladies with fans fluttering, deep in excited gossip. They turned as one and fell silent as the two officers approached, fans stilled.

"Miss Robbins, Miss Amelia Wishart, Miss Emily Wishart, Miss Townley, might I present Commander Kydd?" Bazely said breezily. "And be ye advised that he is captain o' the good ship Teazer, now lying in Plymouth shortly to sail against the enemy!

"Miss Townley is visiting from Falmouth," he added amiably.

Kydd bowed to each, feeling their eyes on him as they bobbed in return; one bold, another shy, the others appraising. His mind scrambled to find something witty to say but he fell back on a feeble "Y'r servant, ladies."

"Mr Kydd, are you from these parts?" the bold-eyed Miss Robbins asked sweetly.

"Why, no, Miss Robbins, but I do hope t' make y'r closer acquaintance," Kydd replied, but was taken aback when the young ladies fell into a sudden fit of smothered giggles.

Bazely laughed. "If ye'd excuse me, m' dears, I have to return.

Do see my friend is tolerably entertained."

Kydd took in their waiting faces and tried to think of conversation. "Er, fine country is Devon," he ventured. "I've once been t' Falmouth, as pretty a place as ever I've seen."

"But, Mr Kydd, Falmouth is in Cornwall," Miss Robbins laughed.

"No, it is not," Kydd said firmly.

They subsided, looking at him uncertainly. "Not at all— Falmouth is in Antigua—the Caribbean," he added, at their blank looks.

"Mr Kydd, you have the advantage over we stay-at-homes. Pray tell, have you seen the sugar grow? Is it in lumps ready for the picking or must we dig it up?"

It was not so difficult, the ladies showing such an interest, and so pleasantly was time passing that he nearly forgot his duty. "Miss Amelia," he enquired graciously, of the shyest and therefore presumably safest, "c'n you find it in y'r heart t' reserve th' cotillion for m'self?"

Gratified, he watched alarm, then pleasure chase across her features. "Why, sir, this is an honour," she said, with a wide smile. A pity she was so diminutive—not like the admiral's daughter, who, he had noted, was nearly of a height with himself—but Miss Amelia had a charmingly cherubic face and he could not help swelling with pride at the image of the couple they must present.

A disturbance on the floor resolved into the master of ceremonies clearing a space about him and the hum of conversation grew to a noisy crescendo, then died away. "M' lords, ladies 'n' gentlemen, pray take your partners—for a minuet."

Kydd offered his arm: it had seemed so awkward practising in the great cabin of HMS Teazer with Renzi but now it felt natural. It was to be expected that a stately minuet would open the ball, but the dance's elaborate graces and moves were too intimidating to consider until his confidence strengthened, and they stood together on one side as the lines formed. He nodded amiably to the one or two couples that had seemed to notice him and glanced down at his young lady: she smiled back sweetly and Kydd's spirits soared.

It seemed that the admiral's formidable wife was being led out by his flag-lieutenant to open the dancing, and Kydd, conscious of Miss Amelia's arm on his, sought conversation. "A fine sight, y'r grand ball, is it not? Do ye have chance f'r many?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, sir, I have come out only this season," she said, in a small voice that had Kydd bending to hear.

"That's as may be—but I'll wager ye'll not want f'r admirers in the future, Miss Amelia."

The cotillion was announced: Kydd led her out with pride and they joined the eightsome opposite a star-struck maiden and her attentive beau, a young lieutenant who bowed respectfully to Kydd. He inclined his head civilly and the music began.

Miss Amelia danced winsomely, her eyes always on him, the more vigorous measures bringing a flush to her cheeks. Kydd was sincerely regretful when it ended and he escorted her gallantly back to her friends.

Somehow he found himself in the position of requesting that Miss Robbins grant him the pleasure of the next dance, which luckily turned out to be "Gathering Peascods," a fashionable country dance that he had only recently acquired.

Between the changes Miss Robbins learnt that he was widely travelled, had been moderately fortunate in the matter of prize-money and was unmarried. Kydd was made aware that Miss Robbins was from a local family, much spoken of in banking, and lived in Buckfastleigh with her two younger sisters, single like herself.

There was no question but that this was the world he might now call his own. He was a gentleman and all now knew it! At the final chords he punctiliously accorded Miss Robbins the honours of the dance, then with her on his arm wended his way back to her chair.

Happy chatter swelled on all sides; he was conscious of the agreeable glitter of candlelight on his gold lace and epaulettes, the well-tailored sweep of his coat, and knew he must cut a figure of some distinction—it was time to widen his social connections.

He threaded his way through the crowded ballroom and headed for the upper floor, where there would be entertainment of a different sort—cards and conversation. At a glance he saw the tables with card-players and others politely attendant on them but also couples promenading, sociable groups and forlorn wallflowers.

"Mr Kydd, ahoy!" A remembered voice sounded effortlessly behind him and he wheeled round.

"Mr Bazely," he acknowledged, and went over to the table. Curious eyes looked up as he approached.

"Mrs Watkins, Miss Susanna, this is Commander Kydd, come to see how prodigious well the ladies play in Devon. Do take a chair, sir," he said, rising to his feet.

"May I know how the pot goes?" Kydd asked courteously, remaining standing.

"Why, four guineas, Mr Kydd," one of the ladies simpered.

Sensing that Bazely would not be averse to respite, he replied sadly, "Ah, a mort too deep f'r me, madam." Turning to Bazely, he bowed and asked, "But if you, sir, are at liberty t' speak with me of the country for a space, I'd be obliged."

Bazely made his excuses and they sauntered off in search of the punch table. "Your Mrs Watkins is a hard beat t' windward, Kydd," he sighed gustily, "Mr Watkins being a fiend for dancing and always absentin' himself," he added, with a glimmer of a smile.

"Tell me," Kydd asked, "how do ye find service in these waters, if I might ask ye?"

With a shrewd glance Bazely said, "For the learning of seamanship an' hard navigation it can't be beat. The coast to the sou' west is poor, remote, devilishly rock-bound and a terror in a fresh blow."

He pondered for a moment. "The folk live on fishing mostly, some coastal trading—and free tradin', if they gets a chance." Kydd knew this was a local euphemism for smuggling.

"So what sport's t' be had?"

"As it dares," Bazely grunted. Now at the punch table he found glasses and poured liberally. "Getting bold and saucy, y'r Johnny Crapaud. Sees his best chance is not b' comin' up agin Nelson an' his battleships but going after our trade. If he can choke it off, he has us beat. No trade, no gold t' pay for our war, no allies'll trust us. We'd be finished."

The punch was refined and had none of the gaiety Kydd remembered from the Caribbean. "But ye asked me how I find the service." Bazely smiled. "Aye, it has to be said I like it. No voyage too long, home vittles waiting at the end, entertainments t' be had, detached service so no big-fleet ways with a flagship always hanging out signals for ye—and doing a job as is saving the country."

"True enough," Kydd agreed.

"Come, now, Mr Fire-eater, should Boney make a sally you'll have all the diversion ye'd wish."

"Why here you are, Mr Kydd," a silvery voice cooed. "For shame! Neglecting the company to talk sea things. I'm persuaded a gentleman should not so easily abandon the ladies."

"Miss Lockwood! I stan' guilty as charged!" Kydd said, and offered his arm, his heart leaping with exultation. The admiral's daughter!

CHAPTER 4

"HELP Y'SELF TO THE BATH CAKES, Nicholas—I did s' well last evenin' at supper." Kydd stretched out in his chair. The morning bustle of a man-o'-war sounded from on deck but, gloriously, this was the concern of others.

"Then your appearance in Plymouthian society may be accounted a success?" Renzi asked. "I did have my concerns for you in the article of gallantry, it being a science of no mean accomplishing."

"All f'r nothing, m' friend. The ladies were most amiable an' I'm sanguine there's one or two would not hesitate t' throw out th' right signal t' come alongside should I haul into sight."

Kydd's broad smile had Renzi smothering one of his own. "Do I take it from this you find the experience . . . congenial?"

"Aye, ye do. It's—it's another world t' me, new discovered, an' I'm minded t' explore."

"But for the time being you will be taking your good ship to war, I believe."

Kydd flushed. "M' duty is not in question, Nicholas. We sail wi' the tide after midday. What I'm sayin' only is that if this is t' be m' future then I find it agreeable enough. We're t' expect some hands fr'm the Impress Service afore we sail," he added briskly. "This'll please Kit Standish."

Their eighteen men shortfall translated to a one-in-four void in every watch and station; he was uncomfortably aware that the first lieutenant had found it necessary to spread the crew of two forward guns round the others to provide full gun crews. The Impress Service would try its best, but after the hullabaloo of the hot press on the eve of the outbreak of war every true seaman still ashore would have long gone to ground.

Kydd finished his coffee—in hours Teazer would be making for the open sea. Out there the cold reality of war meant that the enemy was waiting to fall upon him and his ship without mercy, the extinction of them both a bounden duty. Was Teazer ready? Was he?

He nodded to Renzi. "I think I'll take a turn about th' deck— pray do finish y'r breakfast."

At two in the afternoon the signalling station at Mount Wise noted the departure of the brig-sloop Teazer as she passed Devil's Point outward bound through Plymouth Sound on her way to war. What they did not record was the hurry and confusion about her decks.

"M' compliments, an' ask Mr Standish t' come aft," Kydd snapped at the midshipman messenger beside him. Battling Teazer's exuberant motion Andrews staggered forward to the first lieutenant who was spluttering up at the foretopmen.

"Mr Standish, this will not do!" growled Kydd. Their first fight could well take place within hours and their sail-handling was pitiful. "I see y'r captain o' the foretop does not seem t' know how t' handle his men. We'll do it again, an' tell him he's to give up his post t' another unless he can pull 'em together—an' that directly."

"Sir."

"Only one bell f'r grog an' supper, then we go t' quarters to exercise gun crews until dusk." He lowered his tone and continued grimly, "We're not s' big we can wait until we're strong. Do ye bear down on 'em, if y' please."

While they were exercising on a straight course south and safely out to sea, they were away from the coast and not performing their assigned task. Kydd kept the deck all afternoon. He knew that the sailors, so recently in the grog-shops and other entertainments of the port, would be cursing his name as they laboured. The occasional flash of sullen eyes showed from the pressed men—there had been only nine men and a boy sent out to Teazer before she sailed, all of questionable worth. There were so few of her company he knew and trusted.

When eight bells sounded at the beginning of the first dog-watch sail was shortened, and after a quick supper it was to the guns until the long summer evening came to a close, Teazer's bow still to seaward. Kydd would not rest: one by one the seniors of the ship were summoned to the great cabin and, over a glass of claret, he queried them concerning the performance of their men, their strengths and prospects. It was not to be hurried, the intricate process of turning a collection of strangers into a strong team that would stand together through the worst that tempests and the enemy could bring. Kydd knew that any weaknesses would become apparent all too quickly under stress of weather or battle.

The following day broke with blue skies and a clear horizon; both watches went to exercise and at the noon grog issue Kydd saw the signs he was looking for—the previously wary, defensive responses were giving way to confident chatter and easy laughter that spoke of a shared, challenging existence. This would firm later into a comradely trust and reliance.

Already, characters were emerging; the loud and over-bearing, the quiet and efficient, those who hung back leaving others to take the lead, the ones who made a noisy show with little effect, the eager, the apprehensive, the brash. His seniors would be picking up on them all and he in turn would be taking their measure—it was the age-old way of the sea, where the actions of an individual could directly affect them all.

In the early afternoon they wore about to reverse course back to Plymouth but Kydd was determined that his ship should take up her station without the smallest delay. When the misty, rolling Devon coast firmed again, there was only one decision to be made—with his home port at the mid-point of his patrol area, should he go up-Channel or down?

The weather was fair, seas slight with a useful breeze from the Atlantic. "Mr Dowse to set us t' the westward, if y' please," he ordered.

Ready or no, Teazer was going to war. For him, it would be a much different conflict from those he had experienced so far. There was no specific objective to be won, no foreign shores with exotic craft and unknown threats: it would be a challenge of sea-keeping and endurance that might explode at any time into a blazing fight that must be faced alone.

Kydd recognised the massive triangular rockface of the Great Mewstone, the eastern sea mark of Plymouth Sound. That and the sprawling heights of Rame Head on the other side he knew from before, but then he had been a distracted captain about to set forth on his urgent mission to France.

Now his duty was to close with the land, to go against all the instincts of his years at sea and keep in with this hard, fractured coastline. There were other sail, some taking advantage of the flurries and downdraughts from the cliffs and appearing unconcerned at the hazards sternly advised in the chart and coast-pilot. No doubt they were local fishermen who had lived there all their lives.

Once past Penlee and Rame Head, the ten-mile sweep of Whitsand Bay opened up. Dowse moved closer. "If'n we wants t' clear all dangers between here 'n' Looe, we keep th' Mewstone open o' Rame Head."

Kydd noted the tone of careful advice: it would be easy for the master to slip into condescension or reserve and he needed this man's sea wisdom in these waters. "Aye, then that's what we'll do, Mr Dowse," he responded, and glancing astern he watched as the far-off dark rock slid obediently into alignment with the bluff face of Rame Head. With Teazer a good three miles offshore, this left a prudent distance to leeward in the brisk winds. Kydd relaxed a little: he and his sailing master would likely get along.

The early-summer sun was warm and beneficent; it set the green seas a-glitter and took the edge off the cool Atlantic winds. With Teazer eagerly taking the waves on her bow and held to a taut bowline, Kydd could not think of anywhere he would rather be. He gazed along the decks: his first lieutenant was standing forward, one foot on a carronade slide as he observed the topmen at work aloft; the watch on deck were busy tying off the lee lan-niards as new rigging took up the strain. Purchet had a party of hands amidships sending up a fresh main topmast staysail, and Kydd knew that below the purser was issuing slops to the pressed men, with Renzi and young Calloway preparing the recast quarters bill.

Somewhere under their lee were the first tiny ports of Cornwall—Portwrinkle and Looe, then the remote smuggling nest of Polperro. This was quite different country from the softer hills of Devon and he was curious to set foot in it.

The afternoon wore on. The big bay curved outwards again and ended in precipitous headlands and steep rocky slopes. With a little more south in the wind Whitsand Bay could well be a trap— embayed, a square-rigged ship would not be able to beat out and would end impaled on those same rocks.

"Makin' good time, Mr Kydd—that's Fowey ahead, beyond th' inner point." The visibility was excellent and Kydd lifted his telescope: presumably the port lay between the far headland, and the near landmass. He picked out the dark red of the oak-bark-tanned sails of inshore craft—but nowhere the pale sails of deeper-water vessels.

"Fowey? Then I believe we'll pay a visit, Mr Dowse." Fowey— Dowse had pronounced it "Foy"—was one of the Customs ports and well situated at the half-way point between Plymouth and the ocean-facing port of Falmouth. No doubt they would welcome a call from the navy and it was his duty to make himself known and check for orders.

"Mr Standish, we'll moor f'r the night—no liberty t' the hands, o' course." There was no point in sending the men, so soon to sail, into temptation. "I shall make m' call on th' authorities, an' I require ye to keep the ship at readiness t' sail."

"Aye aye, sir," Standish said crisply.

"An' find me a boat's crew o' trusties, if y' please."

The busy rush of the waves of the open sea calmed as they passed within the lee of Gribbin Head, the looming far headland. "Leavin' Punch Cross a cable's length berth—that's th' rocks yonder—until we c'n see the castle," Dowse told him. Kydd gratefully tucked away all such morsels of information at the back of his mind.

They glided through the narrow entrance and into the tranquillity of the inner harbour in the evening light and let go the anchor into the wide stretch of water that had opened up. A twinkle of lights began to appear in the small town opposite through the myriad masts of scores of ships.

"Nicholas, do ye wish t' step ashore or are books more to y'r taste?" said Kydd, as he changed from his comfortable but worn sea rig.

Renzi looked up. He had taken to reading in the easy chair by the light of the cabin window when Kydd was not at ship's business. This was more than agreeable to Kydd as now his cabin had lost its austere and lonely atmosphere and taken on the character of a friendly retreat, exactly as he had dared to imagine.

"When the Romans invaded these islands, brother, the native Britons who did not succumb to the blandishments of civilisation were driven to the remote fastnesses of Cornwall and Wales, there to rusticate in barbarian impunity. Thus we might account the natives here foreigners—or are we? I have a yen to discover the truth of the matter."

"And add this t' your bag o' ethnical curiosities, I'd wager."

"Just so," Renzi agreed.

"Then I'd be obliged if ye'd keep sight o' the boat once we land— I've no notion how long I'll be."

It was Stirk at the jolly-boat's tiller, Poulden at stroke, with Calloway opposite, and a midshipman at each of the two forward oars. Kydd gave the order to put off.

Andrews struggled with his big oar and tried his best to follow Poulden while the larger Boyd handled his strongly but with little sense of timing. Poulden leant into the strokes theatrically giving the youngsters every chance to keep with him as they made their way across the placid waters towards the town quay.

"Stay within hail, if y' please," Kydd called down, from the long stone wharf after he had disembarked. This left it up to Stirk to allow a small measure of freedom ashore for his crew but as Kydd and Renzi moved away he saw the boat shove off once again and savage growls floated back over the water. The trip back would be more seemly than the coming had been.

Nestled against steep hills, the town was compact and narrow. The main quay had substantial stone buildings, some medieval, to Renzi's delight, and all along the seafront a jumbled maze of small boat-builders, reeking fish quays and pokey alleyways met the eye. They were greeted with curious stares along the evening bustle of Fore Street—word would be going out already in the Fowey taverns that a King's ship had arrived.

The harbour commissioner's office was at the end of the quays, before the narrow road curved away up a steep slope. Inside, a single light showed. Renzi made his farewell and Kydd went up to the undistinguished door and knocked. A figure appeared, carrying a guttering candle. Before Kydd could say anything the man said gruffly, "The brig-sloop—come to show y'self. Right?"

"Aye, sir. Commander Thomas Kydd, sloop Teazer, at y' service." His bow was returned with an ill-natured grunt.

"As I've been waiting for ye!" he grumbled, beckoning Kydd into what appeared to be a musty waiting room illuminated by a pair of candles only. "Brandy?"

"Are ye the harbour commissioner, sir?" Kydd asked.

"Port o' Fowey t' Lostwithiel an' all outports—Bibby by name, Mr. Bibby to you, Cap'n." The spirit was poured in liberal measure.

"Might I know why ye've been waitin' for me?" Kydd said carefully.

Bibby snorted and settled further into a leather armchair. "Ye were sighted in the offing afore y' bore up for Fowey—stands t' reason ye'll want to make y' number with me." He gulped at his brandy. "So, in course, I'm a-waiting here for ye."

Kydd sipped—it was of the finest quality and quickly spread a delicious fire. "I don't understand. Why—"

Bibby slammed down his glass. "Then clap y' peepers on those! Y' see there?" he spluttered, gesturing out of the window into the dusk at the lights from the multitude of ships at anchor. "We're all a-waiting! For you, Mr damn Kydd!"

Kydd coloured. "I don't see—"

"War's been on wi' Boney for weeks now an' never a sight of a ship o' force as will give 'em the confidence t' put to sea! Where's the navy, Mr Kydd?"

"At sea, where it belongs. An' if I c'n remark it, where's the spirit as keeps a ship bailed up in harbour f'r fear of what's at sea?" Kydd came back.

Bibby paused, then went on gruffly, "Ye're new on the coast. Let me give ye somethin' t' ponder. Here's a merchant captain, and he has a modest kind o' vessel, say no more'n four, five hunnerd tons. Like all, he's concerned to see his cargo safe t' port, as it says in his papers, but in this part o' the world he's not doin' it for a big tradin' company—no, sir, for in his hold is bulk an' goods from every little farm an' village around and about. Brought down b' pack-mule, ox-wagon and a man's back t' load aboard in the trust it'll get to the Cattewater, Falmouth, the big tradin' ports up-Channel.

"He sails wi' the tide—an' gets took right away by a privateer. That's bad, but what's worse is that these folk o' the humble sort have put all their means into the cargo and now it's lost. No insurance—in time o' war it's ruinous expensive and they can't afford it. So they're done for, sir, quite finished. It may be the whole village is ruined. And the sailors from these parts, their loved 'uns 'll now be without a penny an' on the parish. The ship? She'll be on shares from the same parts, now all lost.

"So you're going down now t' the quay an' tellin' our merchant captain to his face as he's a cowardly knave for preservin' his ship when he knows as there's at least three o' the beasts out there?"

Kydd kept his tone even. "There's three Frenchy privateers been sighted in these waters? Where was this'n exactly?"

"Well, three ships taken these last two days, stands t' reason. Anyways, one we know, we call the bugger Bloody Jacques on account he doesn't hesitate to murther sailors if'n he's vexed."

"Then it's one privateer f'r certain only. And I've yet t' see a corsair stand against a man-o'-war in a fair fight, sir," Kydd said stoutly. But a hundred and fifty miles of coastline defended by himself alone?

However, there was something he could do. He took a deep breath and said, "An' so we'll have a convoy. I'm t' sail f'r Falmouth presently an' any who wishes may come—er, that is, only deep-water vessels desirous o' protection before joining their reg'lar Atlantic convoy there."

This was going far beyond his orders, which called only for his assistance to existing convoys chancing through his area. Convoys were formed solely by flag-officers and were complex and troublesome to administer, with their printed instructions to masters, special signals and all the implications of claims of legal responsibility upon the Admiralty once a vessel was under the direction of an escort. By taking it on himself to declare a convoy he had thereby assumed personal responsibility for any vessel that suffered capture and in that case would most surely face the destruction of his career and financial ruin.

"I shall speak with th' masters in the morning, if ye'd be s' good as to pass the word," Kydd said.

"Nicholas. I've declared a convoy," Kydd mumbled, through his toast.

"Have you indeed, dear fellow?" Renzi replied, adding more cream to his coffee. "Er, are you sure this is within the competence of your sloop commander, however eminent?"

Despite his anxiety Kydd felt suddenly joyful. At last! The decision might have been his but never more would he have to face one alone. "Perhaps not, but can y' think of aught else as will stir 'em t' sea?"

"Teazer is a fine ship, but one escort?"

"I saw a cutter at moorings upriver off Bodinnick—she'll have only a l'tenant-in-command and thusly my junior. Shortly he'll hear that he's now t' sail under my orders." She would help considerably but it would be little enough escort for the dozen or so deep-water vessels he could see at anchor. If they could get away to sea quickly, though, word of them would not reach the jackals on the other side of the Channel in time.

"So, would ye rouse out every hand aboard c'n drive a quill? I've some instructions f'r the convoy t' be copied, an' I mean to have 'em given out after I talk." Kydd pushed back his plate and began jotting down his main points: a simple private identifying signal, instructions to be followed if attacked, elementary distress indicators. Vanes, wefts and other arcane features of a proper convoy were an impossibility, but should he consider the customary large numbers painted on each ship's quarter?

HMS Teazer led a streaming gaggle of vessels, all endeavouring eagerly to keep with her in the light winds, past the ruins of Polruan Castle and the ugly scatter of the Punch Cross rocks.

In the open sea, and with the rounded green-grey headland of the Gribbin to starboard, she hove to, allowing the convoy to assemble. Kydd's instructions had specified that Teazer would be in the van, with Sparrow, the cutter, taking the rear. Her elderly lieutenant had been indignant when prised from his comfortable berth and had pleaded lack of stores and water, but Kydd was having none of it and the little craft was now shepherding those at the rear out to sea.

The wind was light in this first hour after dawn. Kydd's plan was to make the safety of Falmouth harbour before dark but a dazzling glitter from an expanse of calm waters met him to seaward.

The light airs were fluky about Gribbin Head and Kydd shook out enough sail to ease away slightly. He looked back to check on Sparrow but she was still out of sight, and the narrow entrance was crowded with vessels issuing forth in an unholy scramble to be included in the convoy.

The little bay would soon be filled with jockeying ships, which in the slight breeze would have little steerage way, and before long there would be collisions. There was nothing for it but to set sail without delay. Teazer bore away in noble style as if conscious of her grand position as convoy leader.

An excited Andrews pointed high up to the rounded summit of Gribbin Head where an unmistakable flutter of colour had appeared.

"Signal station, sir," said Standish, smartly bringing up his glass.

Kydd's eyes, however, were on the ships crowding into the bay—there were scores. He swivelled round and squinted against the glare of the open sea. Now would be a sovereign opportunity for Bloody Jacques to fall upon the unformed herd and take his pick. It was fast turning into a nightmare.

"Can't seem to make 'em out," Standish muttered, bracing his telescope tightly. They must have been perplexed to see the port suddenly empty of shipping and were probably wanting reassurance. A small thud and a lazy puff of gunsmoke drew attention to the hoist. But it hung limp and unreadable in the warm still airs.

"Hell's bloody bells!" Kydd snarled. There was no way he could conduct a conversation by crude flag signals at this juncture.

"God rot th' pratting lubbers for a—" He checked himself. "We didn't see 'em, did we?" he bit off. "Tell Prosser t' douse his 'acknowledge'—keep it at th' dip."

Standish gave a conspiratorial grin. "Aye aye, sir!"

It was perfect weather for those ashore enjoying the splendid view of so many ships outward bound. The mists of the morning softened every colour; where sea met sky the green of the water graded imperceptibly into the higher blue through a broad band of haze, an intense paleness suffused by the sunlight.

"Take station astern, y' mumpin' lunatic!" Kydd roared, at an eager West Country lugger trying to pass them to the wider sea. His instruction to the convoy had been elementary: essentially a "follow me" that even the most stupid could understand. He took off his hat and mopped his brow, aware that he was making a spectacle of himself, but not caring. The milling throng began to string out slowly and at last, in the rear, Kydd saw Sparrow but she was not making much way in the calm air and was ineffectual in her task of whipping in the stragglers.

Indeed, Teazer found herself throwing out more and more sail; the zephyr that had seen them out of harbour was barely enough to keep up a walking pace. However, with Gribbin Head now past, and the wider expanse of St Austell Bay opening up abeam, they had but to weather Dodman Point and would then have a straight run to St Anthony's Head and Falmouth.

Apart from the insignificant inshore craft, the sea was mercifully clear of sail, but who could know, with the bright haze veiling the horizon? Looking back astern again Kydd saw a dismaying number of ships strung out faithfully following in his wake. By turns he was appalled and proud: the undisciplined rabble was as unlike a real convoy as it was possible to be but on the other hand he and his fine sloop had set the argosy on its way.

"How d'ye believe we're proceedin', Mr Dowse?" Kydd said.

Dowse's significant glance at the feathered dog-vane lifting languidly in the main-shrouds, followed by a measured stare at the even slope of the Dodman, was eloquent enough. "I mislike that mist in the sun's eye, I do, sir. I'd like t' lay the Dodman at th' least two mile under our lee."

"Very well, Mr Dowse." The band of haze had broadened but, charged as it was with the new sun's splendour, Kydd had paid it little attention. But if this was a sea-fog it was unlike any he had seen—the dank, close ones of the Grand Banks, the cool, welcome mists of the Mediterranean. Surely this summer haze should give no problem?

"Hoist 'keep better station,'" Kydd called to the pair at the signal halliards. Sparrow seemed to have recovered some of the sea breeze but was crossing about behind their flock to no apparent purpose. After a few minutes she drew back to the centre of the rear but it was clear they were going to get no reply: either the humble cutter did not possess a full set of signal bunting or her captain did not see why he should play big-fleet manoeuvres at Kydd's whim.

"Sir." Dowse nodded meaningfully at the haze. It was broader and the luminous quality at its mid-part now had an unmistakable core, soft and virginal white.

Kydd glanced at the Dodman—St Austell Bay had swept round again to culminate in this historic point ahead, one of the major sea marks for generations of mariners over the centuries. It was now far closer: the menace of Gwineas Rocks to starboard showed stark and ugly—and the band of misty haze was wide enough now to touch the lower limb of the sun.

"Early summer, sir. In a southerly ye sometimes find as after it passes over th' cool seas it'll whip up a thick mist quick as ye'd like, specially if'n the wind veers more t' the west."

The sun was now reduced to a pearlescent halo, the foot of the advancing mist clearly defined. Things had suddenly changed for the worse. Kydd glanced at the looming precipitous bluff. It was so unfair: another mile and they would have weathered the point but they would be overtaken by the rolling mist just as they reached the hazards to the south of the Dodman, the heavy tidal overfalls of the Bellows, stretching out for a mile or more into the Channel. To fall back from where they had come with his unwieldy armada in an impenetrable fog and a lee shore was impossible and a dash north for Mevagissey or one of the other tiny harbours marked on the chart was out of the question for a complete convoy.

Kydd bit his lip. He could not return; neither could he go on and chance that unseen currents and an onshore wind would draw Teazer and the convoy on to the deadly Bellows. Should he anchor and wait it out? That would risk his charges, who, expecting him to press on, might blunder about hopelessly looking for him.

The first cool wisps of the mist brushed his cheek. The world changed to a calm, enveloping, uniform white that left tiny dew-drops on his coat, and rendered nearby vessels diaphanous ghosts that disappeared. Kydd took a deep breath and made his decision. He was about to give the orders when he saw a still form standing back. "Why, Mr Renzi, I didn't notice ye on deck before," he said, distracted.

"You will anchor, I believe."

"I never doubted it," Kydd replied, nettled at Renzi's easy observation. Then he realised that the words were intended as a friendly contribution to the burden of decision-making and added, "Aye, the greater risk is t' go on."

He took a few paces forward. "Mr Dowse, way off the ship. Mr Purchet, hands t' mooring ship. We'll wait it out."

Their bower anchor splashed noisily into the calm and the wind died to a whisper. Dowse had previously recorded careful bearings of the shore and had now himself taken a cast of the lead and was inspecting the gravel and broken shells at its base.

A sepulchral dong from close astern was answered by their own bell, struck enthusiastically by a ship's boy. There was an occasional muffled crack of a swivel gun from a nervous vessel. Other sounds, near and distant, came flatly from all round them.

The mist swirled gently past as Kydd peered over the bulwarks. He could see the water was sliding along on its way aft equally on both sides; the tide was on the make and at her anchor Teazer was headed into it and therefore would be facing into the currents surging round the Dodman. They were as safe as it was possible to be in the circumstance and could only wait for the sun to burn off the mist.

It was little more than an hour later that the forms of vessels could be made out once more and the sun burst through. Kydd scanned about anxiously and his heart lurched as he saw that of the dense mass of ships that had followed him to sea there were only ten or fifteen left. Had they failed to notice him anchor? Had they drifted ashore? Been taken by a corsair in the fog?

"Such a practical race of sailors," Renzi murmured.

"What?" Kydd said sharply.

"Why, I'm sure you've made notice that these vessels remaining are your deep-sea species only. The small fry, being local, have navigated clear and, inspired by your actions, have for a surety pressed on to Falmouth."

His friend was right, of course, Kydd acknowledged grudgingly, then smiled. In brilliant sunshine and a strengthening breeze, what remained of the convoy won its anchors and rounded the Dodman. They took little more than an hour in the fine south-easterly to lay the dramatic Gull Rock to starboard, and by early afternoon they made Falmouth Bay.

Kydd, however, had no intention of going ashore at Falmouth and possibly having to make explanation, so he rounded to well off the entrance. His charges passed into the harbour, some with a jaunty hail of thanks. The cutter tacked about smartly and disappeared without ceremony.

It had been an experience but Teazer was accounting herself well in this, her first war cruise. "Mr Standish, course south, an' all sail abroad. I mean t' clear the Manacles before dusk an' then we snug down f'r the night."

"Aye aye, sir," the first lieutenant confirmed. His orders were chalked on the watch-keeper's slate and Teazer shaped her course.

"Er—an' pipe hands t' supper with a double tot f'r all," Kydd added. There was no reason by way of service custom for the generosity but he felt his little ship and her company had reached a milestone.

Dawn arrived overcast; the ship had stood off and on in the lee of the Lizard throughout the night and was now closing with the coast once more—the massive iron-grey granite of Black Head loomed.

There was nothing around but fishing craft and, in the distance, a shabby coastal ketch. Kydd decided to send the men to breakfast, then put about to press on westward. This would mean a closer acquaintance of that most evocative of all the sea marks of the south-west: the Lizard, the exact southerly tip of Great Britain and for most deep-ocean voyages the last of England the men saw on their way to war or adventure, fortune or death. It was, as well, the longed-for landfall for every returning ship running down the latitude of 49°20' finally to raise the fabled headland and the waters of home.

Kydd had seen the Lizard several times, and each experience had been different—watching it emerge leaden and stolid from curtains of rain, or seeing it dappled dark and grey in the sunshine and sighted twenty miles away—but always with feeling and significance.

"Do ye lay us in with th' coast, Mr Dowse," Kydd ordered. Curiosity was driving him to take a close-in sight of this famed place. "Oh—younker," he called to a rapt midshipman, "my compliments t' Mr Renzi an' I'd be happy t' see him on deck." He would never be forgiven if it were missed.

The master pursed his lips. "Aye, sir. A board to the suth'ard will give us an offing of somethin' less'n a mile."

"Thank ye," Kydd said gravely. With the south-westerly strengthening it was a dead lee shore around the point and asking a lot of the master to approach. They stood away to the south until the last eastern headland was reached; beyond, the Atlantic swell crowding past the Lizard was resulting in ugly, tumbling seas that put Teazer into violent motion, the wind now with real strength in it, producing long white streaks downwind from the crests.

The land receded as the offing was made, then approached again after they went about on the other tack, the seas almost directly abeam causing the brig to roll deeply. "Call down th' lookouts," Kydd snapped. Even at forty feet, with the motion magnified by height, the situation for the men in the foretop would be dangerous and near unendurable.

Dowse pointed inshore where the sea met the land in a continuous band of explosions of white. "Man-o'-war reef, the Quadrant yonder." He indicated a cluster of dark rocks standing out to sea and in furious altercation with the waves. "An' Lizard Point."

There it was: the southernmost point of England and the place Kydd had always sighted before from the sanctity and safety of the quarterdeck of a ship-of-the-line. He clung to a weather shroud and took it all in, the abrupt thump of waves against the bow and a second later the stinging whip of spray leaving the taste of salt on his tongue.

They eased round to the north-west and into the sweeping curve of Mount's Bay, the last before the end of England. The scene was as dramatic as any Kydd had met at sea: completely open to the hardening south-westerly and long Atlantic swell piling in, the rugged coastline was a smother of white.

Kydd said nothing when he noticed the quartermaster was edging imperceptibly to seaward from the dead lee shore, but turned to the master. "I think we'll give best t' this sou'-westerly, Mr Dowse. Is there any haven short o' Penzance to th' west'd?"

"None as we c'n use, sir—this is a hard piece o' coast." He gazed thoughtfully at the busy seas hurrying shoreward. "Porthleven? Opens t' the sou'-west. Nought else really, Mr Kydd."

"Then Penzance it'll have t' be. Mr Boyd? Compliments t' Mr Standish an' I believe we'll send th' hands t' dinner after we moor there." Most would prefer the comfort of a hot meal later than a scratch one now. The midshipman looked uncomfortable. "Come, come, Mr Boyd, lively now!"

Reluctantly the lad released his grip and lurched to another handhold. Kydd realised that his order sending the boy below would probably condemn him to the seasickness he had so far manfully avoided. As Teazer leant closer to the wind to clear a small island Boyd slid down the canted deck to finish well soused in the scuppers.

The islet passed under their lee; a tiny scatter of houses huddled together under dark, precipitous cliffs at the head of a small patch of discoloured sand. Who lived in this impossibly remote place?

"Mullion Cove, sir—an' there?" Dowse had noticed a big, three-masted lugger at anchor riding out the blow in the lee of the island, the only vessel they had sighted since the Lizard. No doubt all smaller local craft had scuttled off prudently to find a harbour.

"A wise man," Kydd replied, but something niggled.

They plunged on. An indistinct hail came from forward, then Calloway hurried aft and touched his forehead shyly. "Sir, I saw . . . over on th' land in them cottages . . ."

"Yes?"

"It were red, like. Fr'm the windows." He trailed off, dropping his eyes.

Those nearby looked at each other in amusement, but Kydd knew Calloway from the past. His young eyes were probably the best in the ship. "Tell me, if y' please," he said kindly.

"Well, as we was passin' I saw somebody hold somethin' red out o' the window. An' as I watched, I swear, one b' one they all has red out o' their windows." Doggedly he went on, "An' then, sir, they all starts shakin' it, like."

The amusement was open now, titters starting from the waist-ers who had fallen back to hear. "I swear it, Mr Kydd!" Calloway blurted.

At a loss, Kydd looked about the little group on the quarterdeck. All averted their eyes, except Renzi. "Ah, there is one conceivable explanation. Supposing our unlettered country-folk were to recognise us as a King's ship. Equally suppose that they have a guest, an unwelcome one, who holds them in deadly thrall from where he lies at anchor . . ."

"The lugger!"

". . . how then should they signal their disquiet? A red flag of some sort for danger. I can see no other interpretation of such—"

"Helm a-lee!" Kydd bawled to the wheel. "Luff'n' touch her—Mr Dowse, once we have th' sea room we wear about an' return!"

In an instant the atmosphere aboard changed and activity became frenzied. Braces were manned by seamen slipping and sliding in the crazy bucketing as Teazer was sent clawing offshore as close to the wind as she could lie. Only when they were at a sufficient distance from the dangerous shore could they risk a turn inwards to the land.

Kydd's mind raced: a bloody engagement—in these conditions? It was preposterous but the logic of war demanded it. He was now sure in his own mind that the anonymous-looking fine-lined lugger was an enemy—and it was his duty to destroy him.

A dishevelled first lieutenant burst out on deck.

"Mr Standish, I believe we've surprised a Frenchy privateer an' I mean t' take him. We'll go t' quarters only when we have to, but I desire ye to bring th' ship to readiness now."

"Aye aye, sir!" There was no mistaking the fierce gleam in the officer's eye.

Kydd took out his pocket telescope and trained it aft on the lugger, but the wild jerking made it near impossible to focus. Once he caught a dancing image of a vessel quite as big as their own, a long bowsprit, raked mizzen-mast and a line of closed gun ports the whole length of the ship.

He forced his mind to coolness: what were the elements in the equation? He had never seen a northern French privateer lugger, a Breton chasse-marée or others of this breed, but he had heard of their reputation for speed on the wind and the daring impudence of their captains. But no privateer worth his salt would take on a man-o'-war: their business and profit were in the taking of prizes, not the fighting of battles.

Kydd lifted the telescope and tried to steady it against a shroud but the brisk thrumming thwarted his efforts and he lowered it in frustration. But by eye there was some movement aboard; someone must have correctly interpreted Teazer's move as the precursor to a return and most likely they were now busy preparing a hot defence—with all the lugger's men sent to the guns.

"Haaaands to stations t' wear ship!" The manoeuvre of tacking was tighter but anything going wrong would result in their being blown rapidly ashore; even so, in wearing ship, the act of deliberately turning their backs to the wind this close inshore had its own dangers.

Kydd threw a final glance at the lugger. Held by his anchor directly into the wind there was sudden jerky activity at his prow. They were cutting the cable! Exactly at the moment the vessel swung free, a jib soared up from the long bowsprit and instantly caught the wind, slewing his bow round. Then sail appeared on all three masts together, evidence of a sizeable crew.

It was neatly done. The lugger was now under way close inshore, paralleling the coast—and thereby closing with Teazer. The realisation hit Kydd with a cold shock: they were going to have to fight in the open sea and any advantage they had at the guns would be nullified by the wild circumstances. What was the enemy thinking, to try conclusions in these conditions, when any victor would be unable to board and take their prize?

"Belay that!" he roared at the seamen ready at the braces. "Stand down th' men, Mr Purchet." The obvious course for the lugger was to throw over his helm at the right moment to take up on the other tack and, with the advantage of his fore-and-aft rig, slash straight out to where the close-hauled Teazer was striving desperately to get to seaward.

And then what? It was clear when he thought about it: the privateer needed only to bring about some little damage to their rigging and the weather would do the rest. In these winds the square-rigged Teazer would be driven out of control on to the white-lashed crags and be destroyed as utterly as if she had been cannonaded into ruin.

Kydd's grip on the shroud tightened. It had changed so quickly— and only one could see them through: Teazer's captain. He raised his eyes and met Renzi's; his friend did not speak but gave a half-smile. Standish gazed hungrily at the oncoming lugger while the others about the deck watched silently.

They must hold their course seaward: the only question now was when to send the men to the guns—but with the leeward bulwarks so low and seas swirling aboard, any pretence at serving a gun there was futile. On their lee side they were essentially defenceless.

The privateer gathered speed, rolling wickedly with the seas abeam but making good progress a half-mile closer inshore. Kydd allowed reluctant admiration for the unknown seaman in command of her: he must possess considerable local knowledge to feel so confident close to this grim coast.

Kydd decided that the men would go to the guns precisely when the privateer put down his helm to tack in their direction; he waited tensely for the lugger to find Teazer at the right angle for that sudden slash towards.

Minutes passed, and still the privateer held her course down the coast. "The villain's making a run f'r it, Nicholas!"

Once again the situation had changed, but Kydd was beginning to appreciate his opponent's clear thinking: he had declined battle for good, practical reasons and was now using his lugger's superior rate of sailing to make off, using that local knowledge to stay close inshore, knowing his antagonist dared not do likewise.

"We're going after th' rascal." Teazer eased away three points or so and no longer tight to the wind stretched out in fine style, on the same course parallel to the coast but further seaward. Kydd guessed the privateer's intention was to use his speed to pull far enough ahead to chance going about across their bows, then to escape seaward with no risk of battle damage to cut short his cruise.

It was a shrewd move—but there was one essential not within their control: the winds. Teazer was from the Mediterranean, the home of the savage tramontana, and with just a single reef in her topsails was handling the bluster with ease, her sturdy design well able to take the steeper seas close inshore. The lugger, on the other hand, was making heavy weather of it. With lugsails taut on all three masts, he had not attempted topsails, at the cost of his speed advantage.

The result was that Teazer was more than holding with the privateer and paced the vessel. The long sweep of Mount's Bay ahead ended suddenly at Penzance and as long as they could keep sail on, there would be a conclusion before the day was out.

It was an exhilarating charge along the white-streaked waves, rampaging towards the dour coastline, the lugger tapping every resource of knowledge about rock and shoal in keeping so close in with the shore, while Teazer kept tight watch far enough offshore to have warning of any sudden move and in prime position to intercept a break for the open sea.

Dowse pointed out the little settlements as they passed. Poldhu, Chyanvounder, Berepper and then Porthleven. Foreign-sounding, exotic and untouchably remote. A headland loomed, its steep grey crags half hidden in misty spume. Beyond, a beach all of a mile long stretched away with another, larger promontory at its end. Now, more than half-way to Penzance, was this where the attempt would be made?

As if in direct response to the thought Dowse gave a sudden shout. The aspect of the privateer was altering rapidly—he was making his move and it was to seaward. Kydd's stomach tightened. To serve a gun in the insane rolling was madness. Yet how else was he going to fight?

Then, without warning, every sail on the privateer disappeared and the bare-masted vessel fell back, still bows to sea, until it was just clear of the breakers rolling into the beach.

"Well, I'll be—He's thrown out an anchor, sir, an' hopes t' ride it out till dark!" Dowse said, in open admiration.

If in fact that was the intention, Kydd mused. He'd already led them on a merry dance. "Mr Dowse, heave to, if y' please," he ordered. It would give him time to think, and for a short time preserve his superior position.

Lying awkwardly diagonal across the line of white-caps, Teazer's motion changed from a deep rolling to a vicious whip as the waves passed at an angle down the pitching hull, making it difficult to concentrate. If the privateer—

Muffled shouts from forward—an urgent "Man overboard!"

Kydd saw the fall of a sheet uncoil out to leeward and staggered to the side. At first he saw nothing but foam-streaked waves in vigorous progression towards the shore but then he made out a dark head against the foam and an arm clutching frantically at air, not five yards off.

It must have been a foremast hand caught by the sudden change of motion and pitched overboard. Kydd could not recognise him from the flailing shape but he was being carried by the waves' impetus ever further from his ship.

"Poor beggar!" Standish handed himself along to stand next to Kydd. But his eyes were on the enemy.

Kydd said nothing; his mind furiously reviewing his alternatives. "Mr Purchet, secure a dan buoy to th' kedge cable and—"

"Sir! You're not proposing a rescue?"

"Why, yes, Mr Standish, o' course I am."

Face set, Standish confronted Kydd. "Sir, the lugger might take the opportunity to escape."

"He might."

"Sir, it is my duty to remind you that we are in the presence of the enemy—that man is as much a casualty of war as if he had fallen from a shot."

The sailor was now several waves downwind and thrashing about in panic; like most seafarers, he could not swim.

What Standish had said was undeniable, but Kydd's plan would give the man a chance and still have them in some sort of position to—

More confused shouting came from forward, then a figure rose to the bulwarks and toppled into the sea. "Get forrard an' find out what th' hell's goin' on," Kydd snarled at Standish: with two in the water his plan was now in disarray—were they to be the first men to die in Teazer?

"Clear away th' cutter," he bawled, at the gaping mainmast hands. It was the biggest boat they had and was secured up in its davits. "Cut th' gripes away, damnit!" he shouted, as they fumbled with the ropes. This was a desperate throw—he would have the boat streamed off to leeward at the end of a line and hauled back bodily. If it capsized, the men could cling to it.

Standish worked his way aft, his face expressionless. "Sir, I have to report that Midshipman Andrews took it upon him to cast himself in the sea in an attempt to save the man."

"Four volunteers f'r the boat," Kydd snapped, "each with a lifeline t' a thwart." What was the boy thinking, to take such a risk? It was madness, but a noble act for one so young.

It was a fearsome thing to set the cutter afloat with the rocketing rise and dizzying fall of the seas under their stern but at least this was in Teazer's lee and temporary protection. The seaman was out of sight downwind, hidden by the driving combers, but the midshipman could occasionally be seen striking out manfully for him in the welter of seas.

"He's seen our boat," Standish said coldly, watching the lugger. A jib was jerking up in the privateer, and when it had taken the wind, other sails were smartly hoisted. Kydd refused to comment, obstinately watching the cutter as line was paid out and it drew near to Andrews.

"Sir! He's under way and going round our stern. We've lost him."

Kydd glanced once at the lugger as it leant to the hammering south-westerly and made its escape, derisory yells coming faintly over the tumult accompanied by rude gestures from the matelots along the decks.

The privateer was still in sight, driving southwards towards France under all sail possible when the boat was hauled in, half full of water, with a soaked and subdued Andrews. The sailor had not been found.

"Will you follow him, do you think?" Renzi asked softly. Kydd had not seen his friend come up but now Standish had moved away and was standing apart, trying to catch the fast-disappearing lugger in his glass.

"Not today," Kydd said quietly. It was over for the poor wretch who had reached out obediently to do his duty and found instead a lonely death. In an hour or so a dark shape would appear in the line of breakers at the sea's edge, carelessly rolled about by the swash of surf. They would retrieve it and give it a Christian burial in Penzance.

Kydd's eyes pricked: no matter that he had seen so many lose their lives following their profession of the sea—this had occurred on Teazer's first commission in home waters and he as captain. Things could never be the same.

Feeling the need to be alone, he left Standish to lay Teazer to her anchor, went to his cabin, sprawled in his chair and stared moodily out of the stern windows. There was a soft knock at the door and Renzi appeared. "Come in, old friend," Kydd said. Renzi made his way cautiously to the other chair, the lively movement becoming more unpredictable as the ship felt her anchor.

"You would think it fatuous of me should I remark that the sea is a hard mistress."

"Aye, I would."

"Then—"

"But then, o' course, it doesn't stop it bein' true, Nicholas." Kydd heaved a sigh and continued softly, "It's just that—that . . ."

"'They that go down to the sea in ships . . .'" Renzi intoned softly.

"True as well."

Renzi broke the moody silence. "Is the Frenchman to be blamed, do you think?" he asked.

"No," Kydd said decisively. "He has his duty, an' that he's doing main well." He levered himself upright. "What takes m' interest is that not only does he shine in his nauticals but he knows too damn much of th' coast."

He reflected for a moment, then said quietly, "He's goin' t' be a right Tartar t' lay by the tail, m' friend." Pensively he watched the shoreline come slowly into view as Teazer snubbed to her anchor, then added, "But we must account him our pigeon right enough. What will I do, Nicholas?"

There was no reply, and when Kydd turned to look at Renzi he saw his friend with his arms folded, regarding him gravely. "I find I must refuse to answer," Renzi said finally.

"You . . . ?"

"Let me be more explicit. Do you accept the undoubted fact that you have your limitations?"

There was no use in being impatient when Renzi was in logic, Kydd knew, and he answered amiably, "That must be true enough, Nicholas."

"Then you must hold that this must be true for myself also."

"Aye."

"And it follows that since you have advanced so far and so rapidly in the sea profession, you must be gifted far beyond the ordinary to have achieved so."

Kydd shifted uncomfortably. "If ye mean—"

"For myself, I accept this without rancour, that you are so much my superior in the nautical arts. You have the technical excellence, the daring and—if I may make bold to remark it—the ambition that places you at such an eminence, all of which sets my own small competences to the blush."

"Nicholas, you—"

"Therefore the corollary is inescapable, and it is that if I were to venture an opinion in such matters then it will have sprung from so shallow a soil that it may not stand against one cultured to so full a bloom. It would be an impertinence to attach weight or significance to it and from this we must accept therefore that it were better not uttered—I shall not be offering a view on how you will conduct your ship, nor praise and still less blame. Your decisions shall be yours to make, and I, like every one of Teazer's company, will happily abide by them."

So there would be no private councils-of-war, for there was no shifting Renzi's resolve, logically arrived at. But then it dawned on Kydd. Close friends as they were, nothing could be more calculated to drive a wedge between them than the holding of opposite opinions before an action, only one of which would be proved correct to the discomfiture of the other—whoever that might be.

Renzi was putting their friendship before self, Kydd recognised. For the future, the decisions would be his own but unconditional warmth of the companionship would always be there at the trifling cost of some defining limits. "Why, that's handsomely said, Nicholas," he replied softly. He paused, then began again in a different tone: "We have t' put down the rascal, that's clear, but where t' find him? That's the rub."

Renzi waited.

"An' I have notion where we might . . ."

"May I know your reasoning?" Renzi said carefully. Evidently discussion was possible but advice and opinions were not.

"I feel it in m' bones. Our Bloody Jacques is not going home. He's lost not a single spar in th' meeting of us—why should he give it away while he c'n still cruise?" Unspoken was the feeling that, be damned to it, he was going to have a reckoning for his own self-respect.

"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 outcrop 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 un-awares—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.

The lugger was now away on the wind, the distance increasing by the second. "Follow!" he bellowed directly at the quartermaster, Poulden, who spun the wheel furiously. Teazer moved round more slowly—her square rig needed men at the braces instead of the guns now.

It was lunacy: close-hauled, the privateer was now headed to pass the Longships and reach open sea where presumably Teazer would find sea room to force a conclusion. But was this a desperate attempt to shake off a pursuer or . . . ?

Kydd glanced at Dowse. The master was tense and his white face told Kydd he had knowledge of perils that he was keeping to himself while in contact with the enemy. Renzi was looking up from noting the change of course but everyone else was gazing after the lugger whose deck seemed crowded with men, the occasional glint of steel among them giving point to their threat.

The privateer captain was wily and kept a fine discipline to handle his ship as he had—there had to be a reason for his strange move. And there was: at precisely the right place the lugger's bow swung, passing through the wind's eye, took up on the other tack and stood away to the south-east.

It was a master-stroke. The square-rigged Teazer needed room to manoeuvre if she wanted to tack about and must go beyond the Longships. The fore-and-aft-rigged lugger had gone about neatly enough but additionally he had taken advantage of the rocky outlier and was now threading between it and the Longships to return the way he had come, and would be long gone by the time Teazer could follow.

"Sir! No!"

But Kydd had no intention of trying to emulate the corsair. They had to let him go. He let out his breath in a sigh of appreciation at the princely display of seamanship, watching the lugger thrashing southward, and turned to Standish. "A right devil! Should we have—"

"We could do no other, sir, I'm persuaded. And if I might make remark, our motions must have given him pause. He may well decide to prey on less well-defended shores."

"Why, thank 'ee, Mr Standish, but I've a feelin' we'll be meetin' again. I'll not forget this day."

The ship's company of HMS Teazer gathered beside an open grave. The vicar of the ancient Gulval church had performed this office so many times—the sea giving up its dead from shipwreck, foundering, piracy and war. These at least had a Christian burial. Far more had been removed from human ken and had not returned from a voyage; they had died far from home of disease, a fall from aloft, any one of the multitude of hazards lying in wait for every seafarer.

The young foretopman shyly added his handful of earth to the rest on the coffin, conscious of the sombre eyes of his shipmates, packed closely about the grave. He stepped back and raised his eyes to his captain. Kydd understood, and looked at the vicar, who nodded solemnly. "Er, 'They that go down t' th' sea in ships . . .'" he began, and stopped. He was the captain; his ship had suffered her first loss to the sea and they were looking to him for words of strength. The trouble was that he himself had been affected by the death, more so for its occurring not in the heat of battle but in the course of the seaman's obedience to his own commands.

He gulped and tried to concentrate. "We all who use th' sea . . . the unseen perils . . . must find courage . . . our duty . . . to th' end." The unblinking eyes watching him gave no indication of the seamen's thoughts. When he clapped on his hat they returned down the little road to Penzance.

Kydd stood for a moment longer by the graveside. Then his eyes met Renzi's. Wordlessly they turned and followed.