The Admiral's Daughter

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.'