The Privateer's Revenge

With the wind dead astern the only course was ahead—and into the five-mile stretch of Morlaix Bay. Constrained to keep close inshore Bien Heureuse would need longer going round, and with Vicq taking a straight course to cross it there was only one outcome. The two vessels would converge on the other side of the bay and Kydd's sole voyage as a privateer would be summarily finished.

He balled his fists. It was not just the humiliation of craven surrender—for he could not in all conscience consider a fight against superior odds with the crew he had—it was that the investors who had believed in him would now lose every farthing.

His ship's company would be taken prisoner and, as privateers-men, had no hope of release. And, of course, he would be among them. He could reveal his true identity and claim the protection of his naval rank to be later exchanged, but he knew Bonaparte would make much of capturing a commander, Royal Navy, as captain of a privateer. He could never suffer such dishonour to his service.

Although he would not fight, Kydd was determined to resist capture with everything he had. He fixed Vicq with a terrible concentration, noticing he was disdaining the shallows at the head of the bay. This allowed Kydd to weather a menacing central peninsula but it was only delaying the final act.

As they came to understand the meaning of the drama, panic-stricken local fishermen scattered. They had obviously felt quite secure previously, for at the end of the other side of the bay was Roscoff, where Teazer had been cheated of her prize.

In less than a mile Bien Heureuse would reach the far side. Vicq was on an intercept course under the same wind from astern, which would prevent Kydd's retreat. The climax would occur close in off the ancient port in full view of the townsfolk and the gunboats sallying forth would put paid to any escape.

But the tide had been on the ebb for some time and Kydd reasoned it must now be close to its lowest point. Roscoff harbour was therefore an expanse of mud so neither the gunboats nor any other could be a threat. His spirits rose: the bay finished in the sullen mass of the Ile de Batz, three miles long but so close to port that every approaching ship must pass warily round it. If he could think of a way . . .

The harbour opened to view at the same time as Vicq, no more than a few hundred yards distant, triumphantly fired a gun to weather. Kydd saw with a sinking heart that any channel between Roscoff and the Ile de Batz was lost in a desolate and impenetrable rockbound maze.

'Give 'im best, Mr Kydd,' Rowan said sadly. 'Ye did y' damnedest for us.' Mortification boiled in Kydd. He felt an insane urge to throw the ship on the reefs to rob Vicq of his victory, but this would be at the cost of lives.

It was time. 'G' rot ye for a chicken-hearted scut!' came from behind.

Kydd swung round to a flush-faced Tranter, who had clearly taken refuge in drink as the chase drew to its inevitable climax. 'Clap a stopper on't, y' useless shab!' Kydd retorted.

'Or what?' sneered Tranter. 'We're goin' t' rot in some Frog chokey f'r years, thanks t' you! A dandy-prat King's man as thinks he's—'

'One more word from ye, an I'll—'

'Ye're finished! I'll be takin' no orders from you no more, Cap'n!'

Kydd's pent-up frustration exploded in a fist that felled the man to the deck in one. At that moment a shaft of pale sunlight turned the dull grey seas ahead to green; under the surface the black splotches of seaweed now could be seen streaming away from rocks that had lain hidden before and Kydd saw his chance.

The waters of the great Gulf of Avranches were draining fast into the Atlantic with the ebb—but the seaweed was not pointing straight ahead: it was at an angle, crossing their bow, indicating that the current was not going round the Ile de Batz but instead between it and the port, racing into the confusion of crags and half-tide islets between that had seemed so impassable.

'Take us in!' he roared.

Nervously the hand at the tiller worked the vessel round the last rocks and committed Bien Heureuse to the hazard. The current clutched at the lugger and whirled her forward. Distant shouts came from Vicq's vessel, but as Kydd turned to see what the Frenchman would do, the vessel hauled out for the seaward side of the big island and disappeared.

Clearly Vicq had no desire to imperil his own ship, but he was confirming, too, that Kydd had stumbled on local knowledge of a channel between, and was hastening round to trap him at the other end.

Or was he? Kydd's first instinct was to throw out an anchor and, after a time, double back the way they had come to freedom, leaving a frustrated Vicq to wait for them at the wrong end. But what if the wily corsair had considered this and was at that moment hove-to, ready for an unwary Bien Heureuse to track back into his arms? Or did he reason that Kydd would know this and instead press forward?

Distracted, Kydd noticed suddenly that the current was converging through scattered islets on a deeper but narrow passage close to the island—and it was carrying them along at a breathtaking pace. If he had had any ideas of returning it would be much harder the farther he went in. And now the tide had receded, exposing vast rock- strewn sandbanks and beaches as they left Roscoff to its somnolence.

There was no easy answer, just an even chance that Kydd would make the right choice. 'Put us in the lee o' that bluff ahead,' he decided. 'We'll stream a kedge b' th' stern.' The craggy cliff-face protruding out from the island with crumbling ruins atop would serve as a temporary refuge, and the ship's bows would be in the right direction if Vicq came after them so that they had to cut and run.

The small anchor splashed down and held. Roscoff was in plain view only a mile back but, dried out, was no threat and the lowering island was, as far as he could see, uninhabited. They were safe, but for how long?

'Get th' boat in th' water—now, y' lubbers.' Vicq was on the other side of the island. He would go and see for himself. Kydd swung over the side into the boat and took the oars. 'Get aboard— jus' you,' he told the seaman holding the painter.

'N-no, not me!' the man muttered, shrinking back.

'Be damned t' ye!' Kydd exploded. 'I need someone t' hold th' boat, y' villain!'

Not a man moved.

'Anyone!' he bellowed.