The Admiral's Daughter

'We used to say 'nutcracker' in Diomede,' Prosser said importantly. He had taken up position on the other side of Kydd, who didn't reply.

It proved to be Ushant and therefore they had their position exactly—for the moment. The westerly was holding and beginning to kick up a bit of a sea, although this was probably more due to its disputing with the last of the down-Channel ebb. Kydd fretted at the ragged rain squalls that marched across and lasted for long minutes, bringing visibility down to yards; not only did this make sighting Immortalite difficult but it hid the dark rocks off to starboard.

''T'were best we made our southing through the Chenal d'Four,' Davies offered. 'We have the slant wi' this westerly.'

Prosser puffed his cheeks. 'In Diomede it was always Chenal d'Helle, on account —'

'Hold y'r noise!' Kydd snapped. 'Haven't ye somethin' t' do forrard?'

Leaving the black mass of Ushant astern, they sailed on uneasily until a low line of darker grey spread across the horizon, hardening into a craggy coastline. 'France, sir,' Davies said unnecessarily. Kydd grunted; of more concern to him now was their undeviating approach directly towards it. Detail became clearer as they neared, a wicked, uncompromising cragginess.

The chart had shown an appalling jumble of unconnected reefs and half-tide rocks and had hinted of fierce tidal currents to be avoided at all costs. To thread a safe route through would be a nightmare without help.

'Are ye sure?'

Davies nodded patiently.

'Tut, tut, an' this is a rare moil,' exclaimed Dowse, looking askance at the approaching cliffs, now no more than a couple of miles distant. It was a dead lee shore and all his master's instincts jangled in alarm. His eyes met Kydd's.

'Nothing t' worry of,' Davies said cheerfully. 'Need to keep inshore o' L'Patresses, is all.'

The helm went over a bare mile short of the grim heights, but as they made their passage south to parallel them Kydd saw why: at this distance there was a noticeable back wind from the nearby sea-cliffs, which went some way to easing the situation.

Away to starboard the misty sea was full of dismal black crags, white-fringed and dreadful, and after they had passed a stern headland at less than a mile it was evident that they were edging nearer, being crowded ever closer to the coast—suddenly there was no longer any space to wear about or even to tack back to where they had come from. 'I mislike it, sir—no sea room, we can't put back,' Dowse said. 'What if . . . ?'

They were being funnelled between a substantial seaweed-black islet to starboard and a gaunt, twisted headland to larboard, but as they drew in, there was a flat thump on the damp air. Kydd heard more and searched feverishly for where the guns were. There must be a battery somewhere atop the lofty cliffs—which they would pass close beneath.

He turned to Davies, who said calmly, 'Pay no mind t' the Frenchy, sir. He's got no notion o' range over water, and in any case, I know a little diversion, this state o' th' tide, as'll take us close in past the Beniguete instead.'

True to his word, Teazer found herself picking her way warily past the frighteningly close kelp-strewn islet while the guns thudded away impotently. Another mile, and they were in open water, the dark coastline fallen away to nothing.

'Clear, sir,' Davies said smugly. 'This is y'r Goulet,' he added, gesturing to the tumble of seas stretching away to the left. 'And Brest lies no more'n a dozen miles away there t' the east'd.'

This was all very fine; they had won through the worst to the main approaches of the port but where was Immortalite? The little brig-sloop continued across the wide mouth towards the other side but still no trace. And the irritated French might be driven to sending out gunboats.

Picking up on Pointe du Toulinguet on the opposite side, to the anguish of the master watching the ugly scattering of black rocks stretching seaward for miles, they hauled away across the Iroise towards its natural boundary at the Pointe du Raz and the fifteen miles of reefs and shoals extending straight out to sea.

With a four-thousand-mile fetch, the wind from the open sea had a relentless urge to it that seemed to want to bully Teazer ever closer towards the grim coastline. And it was increasing now, with an ugly lop and white horses here and there. The rain had eased to flurries but there was low scud above the ragged cloud.

'Mr Davies?' Kydd asked heavily. It was getting uncomfortable, beam on to the racing seas, and while visibility was improving the doubled lookouts were not seeing any sign of sail.

'Why, y' have to understand, sir, in the inshore squadron we has two jobs to do—tell England when the Mongseers put t' sea, and the other is t' show ourselves anywhere there's a Frenchman, tells 'em they're under eye and it's better for 'em to stay snug in harbour. Immortalite could be . . . well, anywheres.'

'Thank you, Mr Davies.' Kydd looked out to the unfriendly sea and back to the forbidding coast. Naval duty was a hard taskmaster at times—was it expected that he comb the seas interminably until he found his frigate? In these dangerous waters, with thick weather promising?

The rocky barrier out from the Pointe du Raz was approaching; decisions would have to be made. To leeward, out of sight from the deck, the sweep of Douarnenez Bay had no port of interest, except possibly the small haven of Douarnenez itself. He was not about to risk entering the bay—Douarnenez! A tickle of memory came: his first ship and he a lowly ordinary seaman smelling gunpowder for the first time. It was here that Duke William had clashed briefly with emerging French ships-of-the-line. They must have been taking shelter in an accustomed anchorage—with which the frigate would of course be familiar and might now be reconnoitring.

'We bear up f'r Douarnenez, I believe, Mr Dowse.'

They entered the bay past a prominent foreland towering up to larboard, the bay opening up widely beyond. The further shore would only be in sight from the tops and Kydd gazed up at them impatiently. But—nothing. No sail, no frigate. 'G'damn it!' he blazed.