The Admiral's Daughter

th' foretop while I'll take th' main. Mr Dowse will remain on deck an' give orders f'r a cast t' larb'd and out.'

He demanded of a dumbfounded seaman his belt and knife, then filled his lungs and roared, 'All hands—lay out an' loose!'

Lunging at the main shrouds he swung himself up and began to climb into the blackness and rain. Shaking in the ropes told him he had been followed. Now mainly by feel he found first the catharpings then the futtock shrouds. Calling on skills that had lain dormant for years he swung himself up and into the maintop, then stopped for breath.

Not far behind him others came, crowding up with him into the top. It was madness—he had no call to risk his life up here with the topmen—but it was one way to deal with his feelings.

'Topsails!' he bawled, and reached for the weather topmast shrouds but stopped to peer at the figure first taking the leeward. It was too familiar. It couldn't be—but it was . . . 'Nicholas! You—why are ye—'

'Should we not mount the vaunting shrouds?' Renzi yelled, his face streaming with rain. 'The barky will not wait, I fear!'

Overcome, Kydd ducked round and began the climb to the remote topmast tops. Far above the unseen deck below, he fumbled for the footrope that must lie below the yard and inched his way out on the thin rope, elbows over the sodden bulk of bunched canvas atop the yard. More men came and jostled next to him, the footrope jerking over empty space as he worked free his knife.

The gaskets on the main topsail were plaited and he sawed at them awkwardly while the angle of the wind gradually changed— below they must be bracing the yard round as they worked. Those on deck would be seeing only jerking shadows and would have to judge as best they could the right moment to set the sails.

A harsh judder nearly toppled them from the yardarm. If they could not get away they would be beaten to pieces very shortly and themselves be taken by the sea. 'Off th' yard!' he screamed, for he had noticed the halliards shake; if the new-freed sails took the wind it would be sudden and uncontrollable.

They scrambled for the shrouds and Kydd made his way thankfully to the deck as Teazer leant to the blast, then miraculously got under way for the outer Sound.

'Mr Kydd, sir.' The carpenter anxiously touched his forehead. 'An' I have t' say, we're makin' water bad—more'n two foot in th' well.'

It was too much after all they had endured and done that day. 'Thank ye,' he said mechanically, and tried to reason against the cold and tiredness. Without doubt it would be due to seams opening under the crushing punishment of the mass weight of the ship bearing down on the curve of the hull—or worse: whole strakes giving way and the sea rushing unchecked into Teazer's bowels.

To founder out in the Sound in the anonymous night—it couldn't happen! But with no idea where the leaks were and no way to find out in the pitch dark of a flooding hold . . . 'Mr Purchet,' he croaked, 'we'll fother.' This would involve passing sails under the hull in the hope that it would staunch the inflow. 'The whole length o' the ship.'

He turned to Dowse. 'We're not t' make harbour, I believe. Is there any cove, any landing-place—anywhere in th' Sound as we c'n find . . . ?'

The master's face was pinched. 'Er, no, sir. Entirely rock-bound t' the Cattewater.' He hesitated, then said, 'But there is . . . if we stays this side a mite . . .'

Taking in water all the time Teazer staggered along before the gale. At a little after four in the morning she rounded to and flung a rope ashore to waiting soldiers, then slewed about close to the little quay of humble Fort Picklecombe.

As if tiring of the fight she gently took the ground and, creaking mightily, settled into a final stillness.

CHAPTER 12

RENZI HELD UP his Plymouth Dock Telegraph with an enigmatic smile. 'Dear fellow, there's an item here that's of some interest, bearing as it does on . . .' Kydd began to read what looked suspiciously like a gossip column.

Our doughty spy, LOOKOUT, once again mounts to the crow's nest in his tireless quest for items of value to pique our readers' interest. He raises his powerful glass and begins his search and it is not long before he spies a particularly gratifying sight. It is none other than that of our beautiful and accomplished Miss Persephone L—, the cynosure of every gentlemanly eye, the acknowledged catch of the season and the adornment of every gathering of the quality, who is seen to be promenading yet again with the same fortunate gentleman. LOOKOUT strains to make out his appearance but is unable to distinguish at such a distance beyond noting that he is in the character of a naval person and has an unmistakable air of Command about him. Can this be indeed the notorious Captain Kidd boarded and taken a prize? Knowing his duty, LOOKOUT instantly sends a messenger post-haste to the Telegraph offices advising that space be immediately held over, for it seems the society columns will soon be echoing to the sound of wedding bells. He does however beg the dear Reader to consider now the plight of the legion of the disappointed—

He threw down the newspaper. 'What catblash is this?' he growled, secretly delighted that he and Persephone were now so publicly linked. 'They even have m' name wrong, the swabs.'

After Teazer had been towed to the dockyard for repairs he had called on Persephone and found that she and Lady Lockwood had gone to Bath to take the waters. The admiral had advised him gruffly that it would not serve his case to go in pursuit and that in the meantime Kydd must bide his time patiently. The difficulty now was to find some occupation that did not bear too heavily on the purse in the coming weeks; on Persephone's return there would, no doubt, be a considerable strain on his means.

As if sensing his dilemma, Renzi got up and stretched. 'If you are of a mind, dear fellow, there is some small diversion in prospect that might serve us both.' He went to the table and picked up a letter. 'I have had the singular good fortune to meet a personable young man named Jonathan Couch, who seems to be somewhat enamoured of our piscatorial cousins. He's shown a gratifying degree of interest in my study and advises that to the enquiring mind there is no need to travel to the cannibal isles to observe man in nature. This may all be got in a wild and picturesque setting not so very far from here.

'In short, he suggests that I base myself there and make my observations at leisure in the countryside round about. He promised to speak to a local squire he knows in the matter of our lodgings and by this letter I find a most generous and open invitation for us both to stay at Polwithick Manor.'

It seemed an agreeable enough plan—Kydd could relax in the quiet and leisurely country surroundings and from time to time assist in whatever ethnical studies Renzi had in mind. 'Er, where is this wild place?'

'Oh, did I not mention it? It is Polperro.'