The Privateer's Revenge

'I'd like it well, Mr Kydd,' Calloway said, in a voice tinged with awe.

It vexed Kydd that he was apparently now touched by the glamour of a corsair. He went on sternly, 'In course, as soon as we're rightfully back aboard Teazer I'll see ye on the quarterdeck as reefer again.'

'Aye aye, Captain,' Calloway said happily.

'Get y' baggage an' be back smartly. I've a cook t' find fr'm somewhere,' Kydd said heavily, remembering. If he did not find one—

'Er, I do know o' one.'

'A sea-cook? Where?'

Calloway hesitated. 'Over in La Salerie, Mr Kydd. I seen him cook up f'r the boatyard there. See, he's of an age, as we'd say— you'd have t' hide th' grog or he's a devil cut loose, but—'

'He's been t' sea?'

The young man's face cleared. 'Oh, aye! If ye'd lend ear t' his yarns an' half of it true, why—'

'Get him here!'

Then, suddenly, it was time: after a last frantic scrabble to load stores and find missing crew, they were singling up the shore lines. Shouts were thrown at men standing uselessly about the fo'c'sle and the boatswain knocked a man to the deck in vexation. Canvas rustled as it was hoisted on the fore and a sightseer bent to give the bow-line an expert twist and toss into the water. As the wind caught the tall lug and the bow sheered away from the pier, Kydd roared the order that brought in the stern painter—and they were on their way out to sea.

Kydd took a deep breath to steady himself: he was back in command and outward bound on a voyage of fortune—free of the land. But this was in a small, barely armed former salt trader, with an untried crew, and in minutes they could be fighting for their lives—or seizing a rich prize.

As they left St Peter Port there had been no fine gun salutes or pennant snapping bravely at the main, the hallowed ceremony of a King's ship putting to sea to meet the enemy. Instead it had been a casual slipping from the pier to catch the ebb, along with all the other small vessels leaving to go about their business on great waters.

Bien Heureuse picked up the breeze and stood out into the channel of the Little Russel. Kydd took care that they carried only small sail until he was happy he knew his ship better. It was unsettling not to have a Queripel or a sailing-master aboard as they headed out past the sombre rocks round the harbour. Probably Robidou had reasoned that if he needed deeper local knowledge he could ask Rowan or one of the others, but for now he must be the one to give orders.

With clear skies and in only a slight lop, they shaped course past the Plattes for the north of Guernsey. 'Where are we headed, Mr Kydd?' Rowan asked, standing by his shoulder, perfectly braced on the heeling deck.

'We're t' quarter th' coast west o' Brehat,' Kydd said, in a tone that did not invite discussion. However, he planned to delay their arrival on these hunting grounds along the north coast of France as there was a driving need to get his ship in fighting array before their first encounter. He did not want arguments: he felt there was quarry in those regions and, besides, his one and only patrol of the French coast had been there so these were the only waters he knew well.

Rowan looked at him keenly but said nothing.

They reached the north of Guernsey and put the tiller down for a smart beat westward in the direction of the open Atlantic where he would have the sea-room to take her measure.

The fresh breeze strengthened in gusts and sent the lee gunwale dipping into the racing side wake: a lesson learned. Bien Heureuse was tender on a wind and would need more men to each mast. Her angle of heel was considerable, even for a fore-and-aft rigged vessel and Kydd found himself reaching for a shroud to steady himself. Approaching seas came in with a hard smack on the weather bow and transformed into solid spray that soaked every unwary hand; she was a wet ship.

He tested the wind, leaning into it with his eyes closed, feeling its strength and constancy. A strong blow from the south-southwest; surely they could carry more sail? He made the order to loose one of the two reefs on the fore—the bow fell off and buried itself in the brisk combers. 'An' th' main, Mr Rosco!' Kydd bawled; there was little subtlety in the lug rig, but this brought a definite improvement in her response at the tiller.

He sheeted the little ringsail behind him harder in and was surprised by the response. Not only did she right herself considerably and take fewer seas over the bow but her speed seemed to have increased. And closer to the wind: there were possibilities . . .

He let Bien Heureuse take up full and bye again, then tried her going free, downwind. Without a comfortable breadth of beam she felt uneasy, rolling in a regular arc to one side then lurching to the other—not her best point of sailing, and the absence of a weighty cargo low down didn't help.

A crestfallen Calloway appeared. 'Sorry, sir. Purvis is—um, flustered b' liquor an' needs t' rest.'

Kydd grimaced. Their cook, prostrate with drink. As were other crewmen who had disposed of their advances in the time-honoured way. They would have to be roused soon for the setting of watches, then must abide by the ageless rhythm of the sea. In the Navy such behaviour would earn at the least a night in the bilboes—but this was not the Navy.

'Mr Rowan? I'd be obliged should ye take the deck until we've got our watch-bill. Course west b' south f'r now.' Kydd wanted to get the paperwork squared away while the daylight lasted; there were no clear-light spermaceti lamps aboard this vessel.

The motion was uncomfortable in the confines of his cabin, a pronounced wallow that demanded a sustained bracing against the movement. He turned to his papers, hurriedly stuffed into a box. He had not had time fully to digest the 'Admiralty Instructions to Privateers,' a specific set of rules enclosed with the Letter of Marque, which by their infraction would result in the bond forfeited. They seemed straightforward enough, however, in the main to ensure that merchant ships of whatever flag, and particularly neutrals, were not assailed by swarms of ill-disciplined freebooters little better than pirates. From the look of some of his crew this was not impossible, Kydd thought wryly.

The other paperwork would have to wait. He swung out of the cabin and then on deck. In the cold evening bluster he saw only Rowan and the helmsman in any sense on watch, with possibly a pair of lookouts on the