The Privateer's Revenge

'I don't know ye're a female. Nobody told me. Now, if any aboard find out, ye're taken straight t' this cabin th' same instant an' locked in until we make port again. Y' scavey?'

'Aye, Mr Kydd,' she whispered, eyes shining.

'An' none o' y'r snafflin' tricks either—sailors has a short way wi' thieves.'

'Never, sir. I only did it t' give Ma.'

'Remember—if just a one sees ye're female . . .'

'They won't, Mr Kydd.'

He looked at her very directly, 'And if'n any shows ye any mischief at all, you're t' come t' me directly. I'll not stand f'r it, d' ye hear?'

'Yes, Mr Kydd.'

'Right. Well, Mr. Turner, let me tell ye of y'r duties.'

Morning found them under small sail tossing uneasily in a long swell from the west. Bleary-eyed men were roused from below to meet the dawn. This would be the last time Kydd allowed the ship not to be ready at quarters—or whatever passed for battle readiness in a privateer.

'Mr Rowan!' he hailed. 'I'll give both watches one bell f'r their breakfast an' then we'll turn to f'r some real sailorin'.' It was near impossible to work up a ship's company to effectiveness as a fighting unit in such a short time—but it would be their captain they blamed if they failed to take a prize or, worse, were overcome themselves.

The men left the deck, muttering, and Kydd remembered the cook. Going forward he found the forehatch but, praise be, immediately below it Purvis was at work with his pots and pans on the small portable stove. He looked up cheerily. 'Ho there, Cap'n!' he breezed.

'Everything in hand?' Kydd called down. The stove was rigged over a bed of bricks under the open hatch but how it was possible to bring in meals for scores of men in such conditions was a mystery to him.

'Aye—all's a-taunto, sir.'

Kydd left him to it and returned to his cabin. Inside, an apprehensive cabin boy waited with a steaming dish and plates on a tray under a neat canvas spray-cover. 'Why, thank 'ee, er, Turner.' Clearly the cook had been consulted and together they had managed a hot breakfast fit for a captain. It was a hearty burgoo and toast thick with Jersey butter—Kydd had not been able to afford his usual private cabin stores and knew he was sharing with his men.

'Mr Purvis says as if ye has y'r particular taste he will oblige, Mr Kydd.'

'That's kind in him,' Kydd said. 'Now, you duck below an' crowd some victuals inboard. I've got work f'r all hands this forenoon as'll have 'em all in a sweat.' He chuckled. The smell of hot food was irresistible and he realised he was very hungry.

Later, restored after his meal Kydd went on deck. He had given it some thought: there was no use trying to bring things along by setting masts to compete or appealing to some sense of nautical excellence. These merchant seamen were used to a sea life very different from the Navy, often with parsimonious owners providing tiny crews barely adequate to do the job, leaving little time or energy for non-essentials.

No, it would be necessary to go about it in other ways. The first was to trust the mates, that they would see to it their men would not let them down.

'Mr Rowan! I desire ye t' exercise y'r men under sail. What do y' have in mind?'

At first it was a shambles, but that was to be expected. Order out of chaos, seamen out of men, the time- honoured sequence when each had to learn the ropes on an unfamiliar ship that did things in its own particular way. 'Different ships, different long-splices' was the old saw. But Rowan proved experienced and wise, and well before midday each point of sailing, every manoeuvring task, any major event to be expected in a chase had been completed to satisfaction.

With a core of competence at the heart of the watch it would now be possible to build on it and start the task of bringing along the ordinary seamen, landmen and boys to their rightful standing and respect as full able-bodied seamen.

After a hearty noon meal of beef stew, it was time to attend the guns. Kevern assembled a crew and they set to on their main armament.

It quickly became obvious that they were paradoxically both over- and undergunned. A vessel of their tonnage could be expected to mount at least four carriage guns a side. In his desire for the authoritative heavy crash of a sizeable gun Kydd had acquired a pair of nine-pounders. It had been a mistake: they were too long, unwieldy, and their full recoil would send them right across the deck; if they had to reduce charges out of respect to Bien Heureuse's light timbers the weapons would be of no more use than smaller ones.

Kydd realised he should have stayed with more but lighter guns and felt resentful that Kevern had let him go to sea so encumbered. He consoled himself, however, with the thought that a pitched gun-battle was the last thing he wanted. A quick chase and rapid boarding: that was the way to get an unspoiled prize.

They were making headway: the restraining of his Navy instincts and understanding of his men's ways had gone a long way to winning their grudging respect. It was left to see how they would behave in a boarding. Should he begin to exercise with cutlass and pistols?

Along the horizon on the larboard bow Kydd saw, just starting to lift, the low untidy jumble of dark granite islets that was the north of France. There was little time left now to prepare. He took a deep breath. So much depended on—

'Saaail hoooo!' An excited whoop from forward shattered his thoughts.

'Where awaaay?' he bellowed. The lookout obliged with a pointing finger. There were no tops and ratlines up the shrouds with the lug-rig so he was at essentially the same level.

An excited roar went up and Kydd fumbled for his pocket telescope. This close to the coast, the odds were in favour of it being French and a prize—so soon! His heart thudded as he tried to focus.

They had surprised the ship as it had come round the cliffy headland into full view. No more than three or four