Invasion

When the Locusts drew abreast Kydd's boat to pass, more taunts were thrown. Keane stood up in the boat and bowed low. It was galling to be treated this way again—Kydd spotted a Locust flour- bomb among the mess in the bilge, and as Keane straightened his posture, he received it full on the chest.

It burst with a satisfying white explosion and the young man teetered and fell, bringing down his stroke oar and causing the next man to catch a crab, then lose his oar. The boat came to a stop in hopeless confusion while the Teazers savagely saw their chance and threw themselves at their oars.

It was sweet victory! Captain Savery shook his head at the sight of the seamen who heaved themselves aboard but allowed the Teazers triumphantly to haul their colours aloft once more. A crestfallen Keane was summoned back to witness the award to the victor.

'Sir—sir, I . . .'

'Yes, Mr. Keane?'

'It wasn't fair!'

Kydd couldn't help it. 'Fortunes of war, old trout!' he rumbled smugly.

Savery held up the trophy, a handsome red-painted mast vane in the shape of a cockerel. 'Cock o' the Downs. And this I award to the rightful winner with the strict injunction: in hoc signis vincit!'

'Under this sign go ye forth and conquer!' murmured Renzi, next to Kydd.

With a satisfied smile Kydd stepped forward to accept the prize.

'Not you, sir!' Savery said, in mock horror, snatching away the vane. 'The Locusts are declared victors this day. Come forward and be honoured, Mr. Keane.'

'The Locusts sir?' Kydd spluttered. 'I don't understand—we were—'

'Mr. Kydd! I have above a hundred witnesses who will swear they saw you resume hostilities on your opponent even while your colours were struck. This is not to be borne, sir. Yet I dare to say you will be seeking a rencontre at another date . . .'

The north-westerly eased and veered overnight leaving a fine summer morning to spread its beneficence abroad. But at eleven, as the wind passed into its easterly quadrant, there was the thump of a gun and the red flag of the alert was hoisted. The wind was favourable for the French.

A hurried muster revealed the absence of the gunner and his mate at the King's Naval Yard and a victualling party at the storehouse. Both midshipmen were dispatched with trusties to find them posthaste and Teazer moved to sea watches.

Before noon her complement was entire and the ship ready for sea; lying to a ready-buoyed single anchor, sails bent on to yards, her broadsides primed and waiting. Kydd's eyes turned to Actaeon. The first sign of an alarm might be the sudden blossoming of a signal at the halliards and a warning gun. Then the flying squadron would be streaming instantly to sea.

But the day wore on. Was this to be their entire existence, to lie waiting at a split yarn? It could be days, weeks, before the French made their move to sea.

At sunset the men were piped to supper; at least, here they would eat well, fresh greens and regular meat from the garden county of Kent. And Renzi was clearly content with his lot: little ship's business to do and a stand of books to devour that would not disgrace a bookseller.

Kydd vowed to find fresh ways to keep the men occupied and in fighting trim, but for now he turned in early and drifted into sleep.

'Sir! Mr. Kydd, sir!' called an anxious Moyes. As mate-of-the-watch he was confronted with the old naval dilemma. He had been sent to wake an officer, but if he shook him this might in theory be construed as laying hands on a superior, with all the dire penalties that the act entailed.

Kydd propped himself up in his cot and rubbed his eyes. Moyes was streaming water from his oilskins; it must be dirty weather topside, although the ship's gentle motion did not indicate a blow. 'What o'clock is it?'

'Middle watch, sir, an' Actaeon is hanging out three lights with a gun.'

All captains!

'I'll be up directly. Rouse up a boat's crew and have the gig in the water immediately.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

Moyes disappeared, considerately leaving his lanthorn, and Kydd thudded to the deck, shaking his head to clear it of sleep.

'Cast off!' he growled, after they had entered the boat. He had only a sea-coat over his nightdress and maddeningly the light rain trickling off his hat found several ways to penetrate to his sleep-warm body. But he knew there could only be one reason for the urgent summons.

The boat hooked on and he heaved himself up the rain-slick side of the frigate, noting bustle through the open gunports. The ship was fully awake.

Savery lost no time. When all were assembled he snapped, 'An alarm, gentlemen. Sir Sidney Smith has sent urgent word of an invasion flotilla slipping out from Ostend, taking advantage of this nor'-easterly and thinking to join with others in Calais and Boulogne. It must be stopped.'

There were grave expressions on the faces of those who stood about, wet and drooping and in all manner of strange night attire.

'This is no small force. It numbers over sixty craft and, being a joint Dutch force, is defended by the Jonkheer ver Blaeu, who, I might remind you, learned his trade under de Winter at Camperdown.'

Kydd would never forget the ferocious scenes of combat that day—the British had been victorious, but the Dutch had fought like demons showing the old spirit that had seen them lay waste in the Medway the century before.

'They are even now at sea, proceeding down the coast towards Dunkirk, Ambleteuse—who knows? It seems to be an attempt to overwhelm us with numbers and I expect a stiff fight. There will be no help from Sir Sidney as he is heavily engaged, but he offers to break off and come to our aid if requested.' His demeanour gave little doubt as to the likelihood of this.