The Admiral's Daughter

Teazer and had spotted the empty gun ports. One or two gunboats she could handle but no more, not a group sufficient to surround and, from their bow cannon, slowly smash her into surrender.

It was senseless to go on: they could close the range at will and deliver accurate, aimed fire at the defenceless vessel with only one possible outcome. This could not be asked of innocent civilians and, sick at heart, Kydd went to the signal halliards and prepared to lower their colours.

'I'd belay that if I were you, Mr Kydd,' Massey said, and pointed to the bluff headland of Cap de la Heve. Kydd blinked in disbelief: there, like an avenging angel, an English man-o'-war had appeared, no doubt attracted by the sound of gunfire. He punched the air in exhilaration.

CHAPTER 3

'AYE, IT WAS AS WHO MIGHT SAY a tight-run thing,' Kydd said, acknowledging with a raised glass the others round him in the King's Arms. He flashed a private grin at Captain Massey, who lifted his eyebrows drolly—their present coming together in sociable recognition of their deliverance was due to his generosity.

'I own, it's very heaven to be quit of that odious country. And poor Mrs Lewis—is there any hope for her at all?' a lady of mature years enquired.

'She is in the best of hands,' Massey said, and added that she was at Stonehouse, the naval hospital.

Kydd looked out of the mullioned windows down into Sutton Pool, the main port area of old Plymouth. It was packed with vessels of all description, fled from the sea at the outbreak of war and now settling on the tidal mud; it took little imagination to conceive of the economic and human distress that all those idle ships would mean.

However, it was most agreeable to sit in the jolly atmosphere of the inn and let calm English voices and easy laughter work on his spirits. The immediate perils were over: Teazer now lay in the Hamoaze, awaiting her turn for the dry-dock after her encounter with the sandbank. Her grateful passengers were soon to take coach for their homes in all parts of the kingdom, there, no doubt, to relate their fearsome tales.

A couple from an adjoining table came across. 'We must leave now, Captain,' the elderly gentleman said. 'You will know you have our eternal thanks—and we trust that your every endeavour in this new war will meet with the success it deserves.'

Others joined them. Pink-faced, Kydd accepted their effusions as he saw them to the door. In a chorus of farewells they were gone, leaving him alone with Massey. Kydd turned to him. 'I have t' thank ye, sir, for y'r kind assistance when—'

'Don't mention it, m'boy. What kind of shab would stand back and let you tackle such a shambles on your own!'

'But even so—'

'His Majesty will need every sea officer of merit at this time, Mr Kydd. I rather fancy it will be a much different war. The last was to contain the madness of a revolution. This is a naked snatching at empire. Bonaparte will not stop until he rules the world—and only us to stand in his way.'

Kydd nodded gravely. The dogs of war had been unleashed; destruction on all sides, misery and hunger would be the lot of many in the near future—but it was this self-same conflict that gave meaning to his professional existence, his ambitions and future. No other circumstance would see his country set him on the quarterdeck of his own ship, in a fine uniform to the undoubted admiration of the ladies.

'I shall notify their lordships of my presence in due course,' Massey said affably, 'and you will no doubt be joining the select band of the Channel Gropers.'

'Teazer was fitting out when we put t' sea,' Kydd responded. 'I'm t' receive m' orders after we complete.' This was probably a deployment with Cornwallis's Channel Squadron off Brest.

'Yes,' Massey said slowly. 'But hold yourself ready for service anywhere in these waters. Our islands lie under as grave a threat as any in the last half a thousand years. No more Mediterranean sun for you, sir!'

At Kydd's awkward smile he added, 'And for prizes the Western Approaches can't be beat! All France's trade may be met in the chops of the Channel and on her coasts you shall have sport aplenty.' A look suspiciously like envy passed across his face before he continued. 'But of course you shall earn it—it's not for nothing that the English coast is accounted a graveyard of ships.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And a different kind of seamanship, navigation.'

'Sir.'

'You'll take care of yourself, then, Mr Kydd. Who knows when we'll see each other again?' He rose and held out his hand. 'Fare y' well, sir.'

Kydd resumed his seat and let the thoughts crowd in.

'Admiral Lockwood will see you now, sir.' The flag-lieutenant withdrew noiselessly, leaving Kydd standing gravely.

'Ah.' Lockwood rose from his desk and bustled round to greet him warmly. 'Glad you could find the time, Kydd —I know how busy you must be, fitting for sea, but I like to know something of the officers under my command.'

Any kind of invitation from the port admiral was a summons but what had caught Kydd's attention was the 'my.' So it was not to be the Channel Fleet and a humble part of the close blockade, rather some sort of detached command of his own. 'My honour, sir,' Kydd said carefully.

'Do sit,' Lockwood said, and returned to his desk.

Kydd took a chair quietly, sunlight from the tall windows warming him, the muted rumble of George Street traffic reaching him through the creeper-clad walls.

'Teazer did not suffer overmuch?' Lockwood said, as he hunted through his papers.

'But three days in dock only, Sir Reginald,' Kydd answered, aware that in any other circumstance he would be before a court of inquiry for touching ground in a King's ship. 'Two seamen hurt, an' a lady, I'm grieved t' say, has lost an arm.'

'Tut tut! It's always a damnably distressing matter when your civilian is caught up in our warring.'