The Admiral's Daughter

'It is that,' Puckey replied, and glanced at Cowan.

'Aye, I'll grant ye,' Cowan said cautiously. 'Shares all roun'— what do thee men say t' these two gettin' a whack?'

The cover was placed on the hold and Polperro Fancy made for home. Stirk lay back exhausted; this was a job like no other. However, their readiness to bear a hand must have been noted and their acceptance into this small village would be that much the closer.

Around fifteen boats converged with them in the final entry to harbour on the flooding tide; sails were brailed and they lay to a scull at the transom waiting for room at the fish quay.

They found a place and Stirk bent his back once more in the task of keeping the baskets filled to sway up and disgorge on to the noisy quay where an auction was taking place. For some reason the others in the boat were downcast and when they had finished and taken the Fancy to her moorings Stirk asked Cowan why.

'Chancy thing, mackerel fishin'—some days y' finds nothin', other days . . .' He was without his smile as he went on, 'Well, t'day every soul in Polperro—save us—has good luck.' They stopped at the edge of the fish quay and he pointed out a strapping woman with a basket on her back and voluminous pockets filled with salt. 'That's a fish jowter, sellin' our fish all over th' parish. She's sittin' pretty 'cos with everyone lucky the market's flooded and prices go t' the devil.'

He gave a theatrical sigh and added, 'Will we be seein' ye again, Mr Jem?'

After crumpling into their bed of nets Stirk and Calloway slept until midday, at which point hunger drove them to re-enter the world. Mrs Puckey had seen the boats arrive and land their catch, and her lips were thin.

'What's fer vittles, darlin'? I'm gut-foundered,' Puckey said, sprawling wearily in his chair.

'Teddies 'n' point—what else c'n thee expect?' she muttered, bringing over a pot.

'Th'—the what, Mrs Puckey?' Calloway asked hesitantly.

Puckey grinned, without humour. 'Taties as we grows at the back, an' she'll point out th' meat fer thee in case y' misses it.'

After the thin meal Stirk made his excuses and the two shipmates wandered down to the harbour and the outer pier where they sat leaning companionably against a pile of nets. At first Stirk said nothing, letting the keening of the gulls wheeling over the fish quay form a backdrop to his thoughts. He lay back and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his aching limbs.

He heard Calloway stir. 'What d' we do next, Mr Stirk?'

He grunted. 'Fer now, cully, I'll allow it's 'Toby' till we're back aboard.' But were they getting any closer to uncovering anything to do with smuggling? It was odd, but here the fisher-folk were clearly dirt-poor and hard- working, not as would be expected if they were living high on the proceeds of smuggling.

'Aye aye, Toby,' Calloway replied, and went on more soberly, 'I don't want t' go back t' Mr Kydd wi' nothing, y' know.'

'As we both don't, mate,' Stirk muttered.

'What d' ye think he'd do if'n he was here, Toby?'

'I don't know what Mr Kydd would do if'n he was here, younker,' Stirk said sarcastically. But of a surety in his place Kydd could be relied on to find some cunning way through. If there was one thing Kydd had, it was a right sound headpiece that had set him apart from the start, that and the sand to stand up for himself when it was needed.

He didn't want to let the man down: what must it have cost Kydd to claw his way to the quarterdeck and now be captain of his own ship? In a way Stirk took personal pride in this, one of his own gun crew of the past reaching for the stars and getting there.

And besides which, Kydd was a right true seaman, not like some he could put a name to. No, he had to do something. 'Luke, step down t' Mr Butters an' help him. See if y' can hear aught o' this smugglin'—but steer small, cuffin. They's a short way wi' them as runs athwart their hawse.'

He stood up stiffly. There was nothing to be gained from sitting about and waiting. He would take a stroll, see something of the place, keep a weather eye open.

Polperro was as distinctive a fishing village as it could be. Its focus was the small harbour, of course, and the steepest sides of the coombe were bare of dwellings but as he walked he could see that this separated the settlement into a working western side with the fish quay and humble homes, and the eastern area, with more substantial residences.

A charming rivulet ran down to the sea, along which ageless buildings crowded together in a communal huddle. Stirk walked the narrow streets, passing the chapel by the tiny green and one or two humble shops. Nothing in any wise betrayed the presence of smuggling.

Folk looked at him curiously but he could detect no suspicion or hostility. Either Polperro's reputation was undeserved or the Revenue was getting the better of the problem, both of which contradicted what Mr Kydd had been told. It was a conundrum and Stirk knew he would have to try harder to resolve it.

Puckey was outside his house, mending nets. He gave a friendly nod and Stirk went inside for his bundle. Then he had an idea. Carefully he cleared the fishing gear and clutter away from the far corner, exposing the dusty earth floor. He found a stick and brought it firmly across, feeling as he went. Nothing. Then again, a few inches further— and the stick caught. He smoothed the surface and looked closely until he found what he was looking for: a faint line in the dust.

He slipped out his seaman's knife, prodded and twisted until he had the disguised trapdoor free, then swung it up to reveal a cavernous space below. A candle stub in a pottery dish stood nearby. He took a sniff. This hiding- place had been used recently.

He replaced everything and left quickly. Outside, Puckey looked up. 'If thee has th' time, m' wife would thank ye well fer a hand at th' taties.'

She was half-way up the hill, scraping a furrow in the thin soil of a little plot and was grateful for Stirk's help. He didn't mind: without this to sustain them in bleak times they would starve and, besides, it gave him time to