The Privateer's Revenge

leaning over the side in great curiosity. 'Strike it down into m' cabin immediately,' Kydd snapped at the two seamen, and ordered Standish brusquely to get the ship to sea immediately.

He'd done it. As Teazer leaned to the soft night airs Kydd had the satisfaction of knowing that he had successfully performed his first secret order and now could concentrate on proper sailoring.

Hauling their wind for the south they tried to make up the time to the rendezvous, sailing between Guernsey and Jersey, taking care to fetch the treacherous Roches Douvres—'Rock Dovers' to the sailors—in the safety of morning light.

It was a sobering passage. Kydd had made up his mind to learn what he could of the area in which Teazer would be operating for the foreseeable future, a maze of shoals, sub-sea reefs, fierce tidal currents and some of the most desolate and forbidding coasts he had ever seen. Added to which there was the lesson learned of these waters early in the war when Saumarez himself had been chased by five French warships and thrown his heavy frigate through the hideous tangle of rocks in the west of Guernsey to freedom, a tribute to his courage and to his exceptional knowledge of local conditions.

Queripel had been eager to pass on what he knew, and Kydd began to accrue knowledge and wisdom. As he did so his respect for those who daily plied these waters increased; any who could keep the seas off this ironbound coast would be a good seaman— including the French. St Malo, an ancient town deep in the main bay of Brittany, had produced daring corsairs for centuries, some even now prowling as far afield as the Indian Ocean. This cruise would not be a sinecure.

Off the wicked tumble of grey-brown rocks that was the Ile de Brehat he saw a sloop hove-to. Her challenge was smartly run up, but Kydd was ready with the private signal. It was, of course, Carthew in Scorpion but this time there was no doubting the senior vessel, and as custom dictated, Teazer was sent round her stern to respectfully round to for hailing.

'You've taken your time, I observe, Mr Kydd,' he blared, through his speaking trumpet. 'I'd expected you a day or more ago. What delayed you?'

It took Kydd aback: it was unlikely that Carthew had knowledge of his secret orders and in any case it was not to be discussed in such a public way. 'Er, an errand f'r Admiral Saumarez,' he bellowed back. 'All concluded now.'

'I should think so,' Carthew said tartly, then added, 'No French about as I've seen to the westward, quiet in Paimpol and you have Harpy to the east'd for a rendezvous here in six days. Any questions?'

'No, sir.'

'Very well. Good hunting,' he said flatly. His bored tone implied disinterest in Kydd's prospects, and Scorpion lost no time in bracing round and making off to the north, leaving Teazer in sole possession of the patrol area.

At last! It was a fine morning, the winds were fair, and there was the best part of a week to traverse the hundred and fifty odd miles westward to Ushant and back. With no ports of significance to speak of—Roscoff was the largest, but not a naval port, and the rest were mere rockbound tidal havens—it was an unpromising prospect.

But with the autumn roads now impassable by ox-cart, which could carry several score sacks of grain, it would have to be pack-horses, each managing at best only four. Every beast would itself require feeding and tending by a man, he in turn having needs, and this would be multiplied by the five or six days it would take to cross northern Brittany. How many would it take to keep the fleet in Brest, with its thirty thousand hungry seamen, supplied? A humble hoy could bring eighty tons along the coast in a day and go back for more. Dozens of these vessels must now be threading their way westward, trying to keep out of sight from seaward among the craggy islets and offshore sandbars, all helpless prey to a determined man-o'-war.

Kydd gave a passing thought to these inoffensive craft, manned by seamen whose daily fight was with the sea and this dire coast— how hard it must be to have their voyage cut short, their ship and livelihood snatched from them. Then he turned abruptly to the master: 'T' th' west, Mr Dowse.' In the fortunes of war, the merchant vessels had to take their chances as did every other seafarer. Even Teazer might suddenly be set upon. There was no room for sentiment.

The coast lay to larboard, its rocks caught in the morning sun with a soft pink tinge and lying in dense scatters or peeping coyly from the waves in a flurry of white. Islands sprawled in groups or out to sea as lonely outposts. This coast had a terrible beauty all of its own.

Teazer sailed on westward, past tortuous inlets leading to huddled settlements: Ploumanac'h and Skeiviec, ancient names from the beginning of time—here was quite another France to the pomp and fashion of Paris. They skirted the ugly jumble of Les Heaux de Brehat well out to sea, giving best to the small fry cowering up the long river at Treguier.

'I'd like t' cast a glance at Sept Iles,' Kydd murmured. These were sizeable islands lying offshore, of which the master would be aiming to keep Teazer to seaward, but frightened coasters might be skulking among them. They angled towards but from somewhere in their midst the smoke and tiny spat of a small cannon erupted.

'Closer,' Kydd ordered. An antique fort in the centre island was ineffectually disputing their progress; it did, however, serve to draw attention to the channel that lay between it and the mainland. 'An' south about,' he added.

The sloop eased into the passage, with a rose-coloured granite shoreline on either beam and, in the sea overside, an unsettling forest of kelp from the dark depths streaming away with the current. Ahead lay only the odd-shaped high islands of the Triagoz plateau, but the coast had now turned abruptly southwards.

A scream came from the masthead lookout: 'Deck hoooo! Two sail under a press o' canvas, standing away!'

From the deck it was clear what was happening. Their decision to take the inshore channel had spooked the two into abandoning their hiding-place in the Triagoz for a hasty dash to the safety of Roscoff, only a couple of hours' sailing across the bay.

'I want 'em!' Kydd grated, levelling his telescope. Across the deck grins appeared. 'Mr Queripel, depth o' water 'tween here 'n' Roscoff?'

'There's a channel fr'm the nor'-east . . .' he began uncomfortably.

'Aye?'