The Admiral's Daughter

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.'