The Privateer's Revenge

foredeck, but more probably they were landmen, unable to keep below-decks.

He stumped down to the curtained officers' quarters and found the other prize-captain lying in his cot. 'Mr Tranter, muster all hands f'r watches,' he snapped.

'Bit hard, like,' the man drawled. 'They been on th' turps—we lets 'em sleep it off.' He made no move to rise.

Kydd saw red. 'Out 'n' down—now!' he roared. 'If I don't see ye on deck this instant, so help me I'll have ye turned afore the mast!'

Tranter rolled an eye towards him. 'Y' can't do that,' he said, in an aggrieved tone. 'This ain't a King's ship. We got articles as say I'm a prize-captain.' He contemplated Kydd for a moment more, then slipped down slowly and reached for his watch-coat.

Stumping up the companionway Kydd clamped down his anger. If he was going to have a well-trained crew, instead of a cutlass-waving bunch of pirates, he had his work cut out.

The men came on deck reluctantly, some helped by their shipmates; there were by count but fifty-one, all told. The chill wind whipping in set the unprepared shivering, but Kydd was in no mood for sympathy. He waited until they were still. 'Ye're crew o' the Bien Heureuse privateer,' he rasped. 'Ye've signed articles, an' now ye're takin' my orders.'

Apart from some sullen shuffling there seemed to be stolid acceptance; he would show them he knew the customs of the merchant service well enough. 'Mr Rowan, Mr Tranter,' he called importantly. Rowan stepped forward and, pursing his lips, pointed to a level-eyed seaman with his arms folded across his chest. 'Raynor,' he grunted.

The man obediently crossed the deck and stood by him. With a grimace, Tranter moved forward and surveyed the group. He called out a thickset seaman from the back, who shuffled across to him through the others.

It went on: the best men fairly distributed, the unknowns parcelled out. When it reached the boys Kydd intervened. 'I'll take him t' be m' peggy,' he said, pointing to the tallest. He wanted a cabin boy who could stand up for himself.

When the process was complete, Kydd set Calloway to taking down the details. 'I'll have a full watch o' the hands b' morning,' he ordered both lieutenants. It was now up to them to assign their own men to best advantage in the watch that they themselves would lead.

He left them to it and headed for his cabin, relieved that the first steps had been taken in bringing order to the world. No sooner had he sat down than there was a tap at the door. 'Come!' he called.

It was the young lad he had chosen as his cabin boy. 'Well, now, an' ye've nothing t' fear if y' do y'r duty, younker,' Kydd said genially. Was there not something familiar about the youngster?

'Yes, sir,' he replied, not meeting Kydd's eyes.

'I'm sure I've seen ye somewhere about—what do they call ye?'

'L-Leon, s' please ye, sir,' the boy said, shrinking back.

Realisation dawned. 'Be damned, an' Leon it's not! Pookie more like!' Kydd spluttered. 'What th' devil—what d' ye think y'r playin' at, y' chuckle-headed loon?' A twelve-year-old waif of a girl in a privateer, however big for her age?

'I—I want t' be a pirate,' she said stiffly, 'an' sail the seven seas—'

'Pirate?' Kydd choked.

'—t' seize an' plunder, an' then I'll give it to m' ma.'

It was rank lunacy. 'How—'

'I heard as how you was goin' t' be captain o' the good ship Ben Herses, an' cruise the seas for—'

'Enough o' th' catblash! You're goin' back t' y'r ma.'

The child's eyes filled. 'Please, Mr Kydd! I want t' be a sailor, see aroun' the world like you do—an' ye did promise us when we signed as we'd be able seamen afore we knew it. That's what y' said.'

Kydd's first reaction was to summon the boatswain and have the girl taken off his hands, but then he sat back heavily. The ship was halfway between Guernsey and the French coast with night coming on: he was not risking those rocky outliers to return in the darkness with a fluky wind. She would have to stay on board for the night.

To return in the morning would be to waste their hard-won westing and result in an ignominious arrival in port to explain that one of the hands he had personally signed up was female. Not to speak of the expense, which would be mounting hourly. And he couldn't land the rascal somewhere to pick up later: there was no friendly territory anywhere to the west of Guernsey. Kydd sighed. 'What can y'r mother be feeling now, y' scamp?'

'Ma?' she said scornfully. 'She's so plagued b' the little 'uns, she'd be main pleased t' see th' last o' me. I been away before, y' know,' she added, with self-possession beyond her years.

'Y' can't stay aboard. What if they finds ye a—a female? Does anyone know?'

'No, they doesn't, Mr Kydd,' she said stoutly. 'Look, I'll be th' same as the others—honest! I'll pull on y'r ropes an' such, just like a man. Don't make me go back.'

Kydd had to admit that she was indistinguishable from a boy in her breeches and plain homespun, and her hair, while long, was in keeping with that of the other ship's boys. Her impish features suggested anything but a demure damsel. Despite himself he warmed to her need to escape dreary poverty for the freedoms of the sea. He made up his mind. 'Be just th' same as the other lads? Take orders wi'out a cackle? Stand up f'r y'self?'

'I will, Mr Kydd,' she said, with fervour.

'Then I'll make ye a deal.'

'Mr Kydd?'