'Are ye going t' take him, sir?'
At first Kydd did not answer. This was so different from a war patrol in a King's ship when stopping a vessel with a row of guns at his back was so straightforward.
'Not so easy as that, lad,' Kydd said, then came to a decision. 'Bear down on him gently, Mr Rowan,' he ordered, and the privateer leaned to the wind on a course to intercept. 'Mr Calloway,' he said gravely, 'you're t' be a sea officer in time, an' I'll always remember it was a hard enough beat t' wind'd for me t' hoist aboard how we takes a prize. ' Kydd glanced at the distant ship, still holding her track. 'Let me give ye a course t' steer as will see y' through. There's only one thing we're after, an' that's evidence.'
'Evidence?'
'Aye, m' friend. Even y' stoutest courage at the cannon's mouth an' the bravest o' boardings won't stand unless we has th' proof.' He regarded Calloway seriously. 'The richest ship we c'n take will never make us a prize 'less th' Admiralty Court says so, an' this they'll never do without we show 'em evidence as will convince th' judge t' condemn him as good prize.'
'A—a judge, Mr Kydd? What's t' be th' crime?'
'An' we're talkin' international law now,' Kydd went on, 'as all nations agree on. Now here's the 'crime.' The one, if we bring evidence that he's an enemy o' the Crown. The other, if he's a neutral an' he's found a-tradin' with 'em.'
'That's all, Mr Kydd?'
'That's all—but th' devil's in th' detail, m' lad.'
'Er...?'
'Ye'll be findin' out soon, never fear.'
The heavily built merchant ship seemed resigned to her fate, bracing aback her foreyards and slowing.
He turned to Rowan. 'I'll board, an' take Calloway as m' notary, with three hands t' rummage th' hold,' he said. 'Have a boardin' party standin' by t' send across if I hail.' It was the usual arrangement when not expecting trouble.
Their boat was in the water smartly and Kydd eyed the vessel as they approached. His experience in boarding was extensive but almost all in the Mediterranean and overseas. Here the principles would be the same but the players different.
He had noted that the ship was the
'I'm Kydd, an' I hold th' Letter o' Marque of a private cruiser.' He offered the paper to the grey-haired man he took to be the master. It was ignored.
'I'll ask ye t' submit to my examination, sir,' he said evenly. The ship smelled of the Baltic: an undertone of pine resin and a certain dankness, which seemed to go with vessels from cold climes.
The man snapped orders at one of the men behind, then met Kydd's eyes coldly. 'I vill, thenk you,' he replied tightly, then added, 'Pedersen, master.' Yards were laid and sails doused to take the strain off the masts while the ship settled to wait, lifting uneasily on the slight swell.
They took to the small saloon, and after Kydd and Calloway were seated, Pedersen left to get the ship's papers. This was the living space for the officers; here among the polished panels and brass lamps they would eat their meals, exchange the comfortable gossip of the voyage. To Kydd, their intrusion seemed an act of violation.
Pedersen returned and slapped down a thick pack of papers. Sitting opposite, he waited with barely concealed bitterness.
'Spanish flag?' Kydd enquired mildly. The master made much of riffling through the pile and finding the sea- brief, the attested proof of ownership. He passed it across; as far as Kydd could see, the title of the ship was vested in Spanish owners trading with northern Europe and, as King George was as yet still in amity with Spain, this, with a florid certificate of registry on Cartagena, entitled it to fly the Spanish flag.
'Your muster roll, Captain.' As a naval officer, Kydd had by this means unmasked deserters and renegades among crews before now. Swedes, several Finns and other Scandinavians—no Danish. Spanish, Italian names, some unpronounceable Balkans—the usual bag for merchant ships in wartime. Nothing there.
He looked up at the master. 'No Englishmen, then, astray fr'm their duty?'
Pedersen returned his look stolidly.
So it was a neutral, but this by no means disqualified it as a prize. 'Charter party?' Pedersen found it and passed it over. This was the contract for the freighting of the cargo and might reveal to Kydd whether the owners or its destination was illegal—which would make the cargo contraband and subject to seizure.
It was a voyage from Bilbao to Goteborg in Sweden: varying shippers, each with an accompanying bill of lading and duly appearing on the manifest, all apparently innocent of a French connection. And most papers in Spanish but some in Swedish. But such were the common practices and argot of the sea that there was little difficulty is making it out; Kydd had dealt with far more impenetrable Moorish documents in the Mediterranean.
Watched by a wide-eyed Calloway he painstakingly compared dates and places. Even the smallest discrepancy could be exploited to reveal that the papers were false and therefore just reason to act.
He called for the mates' book. The practice in every country was that the first mate of a ship was responsible for stowing the cargo and maintaining a notebook of where each consignment was placed, generally on the principle of first in last out. Against the bills of lading Kydd now checked off their stowage for suspicious reversals of location while Calloway jotted down their actual declaration for later.
Conscious all the time of Pedersen's baleful glare, Kydd knew that under international law he was as entitled as any warship to stop and search a neutral and took his time. But he spotted nothing.
