The Admiral's Daughter

fortifications. They seemed to have been caught unready by Teazer's smart pirouette and were silent, but the penalty for making mid-stream was that they were opening the bearing of the closer Villerville guns—and shortening the range for those on the opposite bank.

It would be a near thing; Kydd shied at the mental image of Hodgson and his seamen watching hopelessly as they left but he needed to concentrate on the sea surface ahead for any betraying cross-current and tried not to notice the renewed activity of the cannon. The fall of most shot could not be seen but several balls came close enough to bring on a fresh chorus of shrieks; he bellowed orders that the decks be cleared, all passengers driven below. It would give them no real protection but at least they would be out of sight of the gunfire—and Teazer's commander.

Poulden took several sailors and urged the passengers down the main-hatchway; a lazy dark stippling in the sea to larboard forced Kydd to order the helm up to pay off to leeward and skirt the unknown danger. Suddenly there was an avalanche of crumps from the far shore; they were losing patience with the little brig that was evidently winning through to freedom. But would the artillery officer in charge of this remote coastal battery be experienced enough to direct the aim with deadly effectiveness?

More sinister rippling appeared ahead; Teazer bore away a few points further to leeward. More guns sounded.

The last of the people were being shooed below, and in an unreal tableau, as though it happened at half the speed, Kydd saw a well-dressed lady take the rope at the hatchway and her arm disappear. She stared at the stump in bewilderment. Then the blood came, splashing on her dress and down the hatchway ladder. She crumpled to the deck.

Chaos broke out: some tried to force passage down the hatchway as others sought to escape the madness below. The fop tore himself free and beseeched Kydd to surrender; the man with the strong features snarled at him. It may have been just a lucky shot but who were these folk to appreciate that? Kydd reflected grimly.

Others joined in a relentless assault on his attention and his concentration slipped. With a discordant bumping Teazer took the ground and slewed to a stop. Sail was instantly brailed up but, with a sick feeling, Kydd knew his alternatives were few.

As far as he could tell they had gone aground on the southern edge of the Gambe d'Amfard tidal bank. The critical question was, what was the state of the tide? Would they float off on the flow or end hard and fast on the ebb?

He looked about helplessly. Virtually every vessel in the estuary had vanished at the sound of guns, the last scuttling away upriver as he watched. The battery rumbled another salvo and he felt the wind of at least one ball. It was now only a matter of time. Was there anything at all? And had he the right to risk civilian lives in the saving of a ship-of-war? Did his duty to his country extend to this? If only Renzi was by his side —but he was on his own.

'T' me! All Teazers lay aft at once, d' ye hear?' he roared against the bedlam. Frightened seamen obeyed hurriedly, probably expecting an abandon-ship order.

Kydd became aware that the strong-featured man had joined him. 'Captain Massey,' he said simply. 'How can I help ye?'

After just a moment's pause, Kydd said, 'That's right good in ye, sir. I've lost m' only l'tenant and if you'd . . .' It was breathtaking gall but in the next instant HMS Teazer had a full post-captain as her new temporary first lieutenant, in token of which Kydd gave him his own cocked hat as a symbol of authority. Together they turned to face the seamen as Kydd gave out his orders, ones that only he with his intimate knowledge of Teazer was able to give, and ones that were her only chance of breaking out to the open sea.

In any other circumstance the usual course would be to lighten ship, jettison guns and water, anything that would reduce their draught, even by inches. But Teazer had not yet taken in her guns and stores and was as light as she would get. The next move would normally be to lay out a kedge anchor and warp off into deep water but he had neither the men nor the considerable time it would take for that.

And time was the critical factor. As if to underline the urgency another ripple of sullen thuds sounded from across the water, and seconds later balls skipped past, ever closer. 'Long bowls,' Massey grunted, slitting his eyes to make out the distant forts. A weak sun had appeared with the lessening airs and there was glare on the water.

The last element of their predicament, however, was the hardest: the winds that had carried them on to the bank were necessarily foul for a reverse course—they could not sail off against the wind. And Kydd had noticed the ominous appearance of a number of small vessels from inside the port of Le Havre. These could only be one thing— inshore gunboats. A ship the size of Teazer should have no reason to fear them but with empty gun ports, hard and fast . . .

What Kydd had in mind was a common enough exercise in the Mediterranean, but would it work here?

From below, seamen hurried up with sweeps, special oars a full thirty feet long with squared-off loom and angled copper-tipped blades. At the same time the sweep ports, nine tiny square openings along each of the bulwarks, closed off with a discreet buckler, were made ready. The sweeps would be plied across the deck, their great leverage used to try to move Teazer off the sandbank.

'Clear th' decks!' Kydd roared, at those still milling about in fear. Through the clatter he called to Massey, 'If ye'd take the larboard, sir . . .' Then he bellowed, 'Every man t' an oar! Yes, sir, even you!' he bawled at the fop, who was dragged, bewildered, to his place. Three rowers to each sweep, an experienced seaman the furthest inboard, the other two any who could clutch an oar.

'Hey, now—that lad, ahoy!' Kydd called, to a frightened youngster. 'Down t' the galley, y' scamp, an' find the biggest pot an' spoon ye can.'

Kydd, at an oar himself, urged them on. The ungainly sweeps built up a slow rhythm against the unyielding water. Then, with a grumbling slither from beneath, it seemed that a miracle had happened and the brig was easing back into her element—in the teeth of the wind.

To the dissonant accompaniment of a cannon bombardment and the urgent, ting-ting-ting clang of a galley pot, His Majesty's Brig-sloop Teazer slid from the bank and gathered way sternwards and into open water. The sweeps were pulled in, the playful breeze obliged and Teazer slewed round to take the wind on her cheeks. With sails braced up sharp she made for the blessed sanctuary of the open sea.

After this, it seemed all the more unfair when Kydd saw the three gunboats squarely across their path, a fourth and fifth on their way to join them. Clearly someone had been puzzled by the lack of spirited response from