Invasion

'Could be twelves, Mr. Kydd.'

Some frigates mounted twelve-pounders as main armament, and if he went to see what it was about, Kydd knew he might find himself turned upon by one of unanswerable force. His duty was plain, however. 'Clap on more sail, Mr. Dowse.'

As near as he could tell it had been somewhere in the open sea beyond where Cap Levi marked the abrupt turn south into the bay of Cherbourg, so he decided to press on directly after reaching the cape.

They passed the sprawling point and met deep water once more. Stretching out for the west, Teazer lengthened her stride in relief that the treacherous shoals were left behind, and in half an hour's fast sailing she had made her sighting: right in the eye of the sunset, and as close to the veering southerly breeze as practicable, it was a substantial vessel. If it saw them it gave no sign, crossing their bows steadily on the starboard tack some three miles or so distant, making directly for Cherbourg.

With the light fading, it was difficult to discern details until two things made all plain. The first was that the ship was barque-rigged, so it was not a man-o'-war. And the second was the two flags that fluttered at her mizzen—the French national flag triumphantly over the English ensign. She was, therefore, a British merchant ship taken recently by the enemy vessel whose guns they had heard. The French, with the safety of the port so close, were flaunting their prize.

It was galling—in front of their eyes a valuable British ship being borne off to France. Kydd felt for the luckless crew, now prisoners destined to rot in one of Bonaparte's prison-fortresses. 'Be damned to it! I'll not see 'em in chokey!' he burst out, but he was not clear how this could be prevented. Teazer was still on the same larboard tack, leaning into it on a course parallel with the distant depths of the bay, while the barque was already on the opposite tack and set fair to make Cherbourg in one reach.

Firing on the vessel was out of the question and the time needed to tack about in chase would probably hand the Frenchman an unbeatable lead. They could hope for a wind-change in the fluky conditions nearer the coast, but the breeze was holding strength, now veering slowly to the south-west.

Kydd saw the plain stern-quarters of the barque pulling steadily away and gritted his teeth. Either way they stood to lose the chase— unless . . .

It was without question that he had the finer ship. But how much better? 'Mr. Purchet, bowlines to th' bridle, an' sheet in on all courses until ye hears 'em sing.' He was going to make a race of it; a long board deep into the bay, a flying stay about to the other tack and direct chase in the hope that he could head the other ship before it made port.

Word got about quickly. Soon the decks were crowded with tars, each with his own opinion of how to get the best from their fair barque, some all for an immediate tack and lunge, others urging extremes of sail spread.

The boatswain was cautious. 'Sir, ye'll want a slip-rope an' toggle on the bowlines, I'm thinking.' Their purpose was to tauten the leading edge of the major sails to allow the helmsman to ease in right up to the wind. Purchet was suggesting a way to cast them off rapidly and take up on the other side when they tacked about.

'Aye, make it so,' Kydd agreed, as he considered the next move. Teazer 's trim was fine. He made a point of checking whenever possible for it had a surprising effect on performance: if the ship had a tendency to come up to the wind—if she was ardent—this had to be counteracted by the opposite rudder, which necessarily caused a degree of turbulence and drag to the detriment of speed.

He crossed to the helmsman, Poulden, probably the best timoneer aboard. 'Does she gripe?' he demanded. He had not sensed any giveaway lurch to windward when the bows rose.

'Not as who should say, sir,' the man said stolidly.

They were making excellent speed. The seas were fine on the bow, and without the need to punch through them, there would be no slowing to their progress. However, the barque was well past and into the bay, making a fine show of it with royals now spread.

It was time for vigorous measures. Teazer did not carry fancy sail—he could set the fore-topmast stuns'l in these conditions, but bonnets and drabblers would impede rather than assist. No, this race would be won if he tuned his ship like a violin.

'I'll have ye swift in the cat-harpings,' he told the boatswain. He considered for a moment, then turned to the master. 'Take the lar-bowlines an' see to the bracing, Mr. Dowse. Each yard to be braced in half a point more'n the one below it.' The resulting slight spiral would take into account the stronger winds to be found aloft.

'Aye aye, sir.'

'An' set hands to th' lifts, the yards to be agreeable as ye can to the horizon.' At their lively degree of heel so close-hauled, this would restore the sails' natural aspect rather than bag the wind to the lee side.

'Sir.'

There was more to think about: too great a press of sail might bury her forefoot or thrust her to leeward. Paradoxically it was often better to reduce sail to increase speed—that foretop-gallant, for instance? He gave the order to Dowse to make it so.

It was exhilarating sailing. Never had Teazer been urged like this, the sea hissing and seething past, all sail drawing to perfection in the spanking breeze and glorious sunset.

Kydd stood by the wheel, every nerve at full stretch, sensing the exact angle of the wind on his cheeks, listening intently to its thrum on taut rigging and the creaking, high-pitched then low, from deep within the ship as the waves passed under her keel. Any of this might change and be the first warning of sudden calamity in the straining spars and rigging.

'Mr. Hallum? Stations f'r staying.' This was the trickiest part: putting about to the other tack. If they fumbled it, all would be over. And they needed more than a workmanlike manoeuvre. They had to make it a lightning move that had them over on their new tack and sails fully drawing with not a second's delay.

Kydd snatched a glance at the barque, now significantly closer to Cherbourg and safety. He was going to play it out to the last card. 'I have the ship, Mr. Dowse,' he said formally, to the sailing master.

'Aye, sir.' There was no resentment in his tone: he understood that it was for his own protection—any failure in timing or execution could not now be blamed on him.

'Stay by me, if y' please,' Kydd added quietly.