The Admiral's Daughter

privateer, 'when we're within pistol-shot.' Teazer's carronades were deadly at close quarters but not to be relied on for accuracy beyond a few hundred yards.

It would not be a one-sided fight, that much was certain. While Teazer outgunned the similarly sized vessel, her company would be so much less than that of a privateer crowded with prize-crew and she must at all costs remain out of reach of the torrent of boarders. Yet she must close the range—and risk any sudden lunge to grapple.

'I can almost feel pity for the Frenchman.' Renzi's calm, reassuring voice came from behind him; Kydd had not noticed his clerk take up his station for battle. His half-smile was in place and he wore a plain fighting hanger, but in accordance with duty held a regulation notebook to record all significant events.

The privateer lay no more than seventy yards ahead and Kydd could see the small group round the helm clearly: one was certainly the shrewd captain, looking back at Teazer and weighing his chances. The Longships with its lighthouse now lay close ahead, and with rising exhilaration, Kydd began to estimate distances and sea room on what must soon be the field of battle.

They had successfully crowded the lugger against the coastline and now it must shape course towards them to get round the Longships—that would be the time to let the seven starboard guns do their work. Kydd drew his sword and raised it high. 'Teazers!' he roared—then stopped in bafflement.

The privateer was not altering course: while Teazer was hauling her wind to round the Longships, the big lugger carried on with a full press of sail, heading for the narrow band of open white water between the shoreline and the lighthouse.

'Be damned! Throw up y'r helm, Poulden, an' follow in his wake!'

'Sir!'

'Where he c'n swim, so can we, Mr Standish.' Kydd tried not to think of Teazer's keel, cleaving the water a couple of fathoms below them as they bore off into the narrowing space between the lighthouse rocks and the cliffs. What if the lugger had been specially designed with a light draught for just this inshore work?

Kydd clutched the shroud he was holding as they plunged through—dark shadows of kelp-strewn rock in the sea flicking past under them, the wind gusted and flawed so close to the shore. Another, smaller, outlying group of rocks surged white off to port—and Bloody Jacques opened fire.

Admittedly they were four-pounder chase guns only but both of Teazer's were aft for defence and in Kydd's cabin. The manoeuvre through the channel had brought both vessels into line and now as they bucketed madly along Teazer must suffer the vicious slam of shot across her decks.

With the wind now dead astern they swept through together and on the other side it became clear that in these conditions Teazer had the edge—the lugger was slowly but surely being overhauled. As soon as they had established an overlap . . .

The move was as unexpected as it was effective. Like a dancer pirouetting, the privateer threw down his helm and came up into the wind as close as he could lie, in the process bringing his entire broadside to bear. The gunsmoke was whipped away quickly downwind but Kydd felt the sickening crunch in the hull where balls had struck—and not a gun could they fire in return.

The lugger was now away on the wind, the distance increasing by the second. 'Follow!' he bellowed directly at the quartermaster, Poulden, who spun the wheel furiously. Teazer moved round more slowly—her square rig needed men at the braces instead of the guns now.

It was lunacy: close-hauled, the privateer was now headed to pass the Longships and reach open sea where presumably Teazer would find sea room to force a conclusion. But was this a desperate attempt to shake off a pursuer or . . . ?

Kydd glanced at Dowse. The master was tense and his white face told Kydd he had knowledge of perils that he was keeping to himself while in contact with the enemy. Renzi was looking up from noting the change of course but everyone else was gazing after the lugger whose deck seemed crowded with men, the occasional glint of steel among them giving point to their threat.

The privateer captain was wily and kept a fine discipline to handle his ship as he had—there had to be a reason for his strange move. And there was: at precisely the right place the lugger's bow swung, passing through the wind's eye, took up on the other tack and stood away to the south-east.

It was a master-stroke. The square-rigged Teazer needed room to manoeuvre if she wanted to tack about and must go beyond the Longships. The fore-and-aft-rigged lugger had gone about neatly enough but additionally he had taken advantage of the rocky outlier and was now threading between it and the Longships to return the way he had come, and would be long gone by the time Teazer could follow.

'Sir! No!'

But Kydd had no intention of trying to emulate the corsair. They had to let him go. He let out his breath in a sigh of appreciation at the princely display of seamanship, watching the lugger thrashing southward, and turned to Standish. 'A right devil! Should we have—'

'We could do no other, sir, I'm persuaded. And if I might make remark, our motions must have given him pause. He may well decide to prey on less well-defended shores.'

'Why, thank 'ee, Mr Standish, but I've a feelin' we'll be meetin' again. I'll not forget this day.'

The ship's company of HMS Teazer gathered beside an open grave. The vicar of the ancient Gulval church had performed this office so many times—the sea giving up its dead from shipwreck, foundering, piracy and war. These at least had a Christian burial. Far more had been removed from human ken and had not returned from a voyage; they had died far from home of disease, a fall from aloft, any one of the multitude of hazards lying in wait for every seafarer.

The young foretopman shyly added his handful of earth to the rest on the coffin, conscious of the sombre eyes of his shipmates, packed closely about the grave. He stepped back and raised his eyes to his captain. Kydd understood, and looked at the vicar, who nodded solemnly. 'Er, 'They that go down t' th' sea in ships . . .'' he began, and stopped. He was the captain; his ship had suffered her first loss to the sea and they were looking to him for words of strength. The trouble was that he himself had been affected by the death, more so for its occurring not in the heat of battle but in the course of the seaman's obedience to his own commands.

He gulped and tried to concentrate. 'We all who use th' sea . . . the unseen perils . . . must find courage . . . our