The Admiral's Daughter

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