of the other vessel. In minutes it was all over, the defenders falling back in panic at the stream of screeching privateersmen flooding aboard.
Kydd stood apart, watching Cheslyn urgently dispatch men into the rigging and along the deck—then raised his eyes to seek out the frigate. With a lurch of his heart he saw it had skilfully driven the brig clear to leeward, then had worn about instantly and was now beating back ferociously.
They had bare minutes to take possession. Having seen the masterly handling of the frigate Kydd knew it was impossible. Still under full sail, still within the convoy, they had to fight their way out—but to do this they needed to learn enough about the rigging operations of a strange ship to put about without a mistake and there was not the time.
The last of the defenders scuttled out of sight—he was master of the deck but with a hostile crew still unsubdued below. He forced his mind to an icy calm. One thing was clear: this prize was heavy with cargo and would never achieve the swift manoeuvres he needed—and all the time the frigate was thrashing closer.
Defiantly he looked back at the wheel. One of his men held it firmly, not daring to vary the ship's heading until he could be sure of the sail handling. The body of an unknown sailor lay sprawled at his feet.
Then Kydd had it. 'Steady as she goes!' he bawled at the helmsman, and hurried over to stand by him. Cheslyn looked aft questioningly. He had groups of men positioned at the base of each mast but Kydd knew that to go about now was simply too risky. Even missing stays would have the frigate right up with them and . . . He shook his head vigorously and concentrated.
They had just this chance. 'Follow m' motions!' he croaked at the nervous helmsman. As a square-rigger, they were sailing directly before the south-westerly, which gave them their only advantage—they had a wide angle of possible courses ahead.
'Steer f'r th' Frenchy frigate,' Kydd ordered. The helmsman gave a frightened glance but complied, and the ship swung ponderously until it was headed directly towards the ship beating up towards them between the two columns of the convoy.
The man-o'-war did not change its course and Kydd guessed there would be frenzied discussion on her quarterdeck. They stood on stubbornly, but Kydd knew that the frigate captain had only one object—to lay them aboard. He would do his best to oblige.
'Shake out that reef!' he hailed Cheslyn. Sails had been trimmed to achieve an even speed in convoy. Loosing the main and fore-course would give them speed in hand.
The frigate's track did not vary in the slightest and, head to head, the two ships approached each other. Everything now depended on the timing and the placements: Kydd's eye took in not only the menace of the French frigate but the convoy—especially the next-ahead vessel—and he made his calculations deliberately, passing his orders quietly for fine corrections of heading.
Their advance downwind was drawing the next-ahead perilously near, and somewhere on her inner beam there would be a meeting. One or other of the closing ships must give way.
The frigate slashed ahead, straight for them, with no sign of yielding way—but this was not Kydd's concern for at the last possible moment he gave orders to fall away to starboard. Instead of coming to a confrontation their ship instead passed to the outer side of the next-ahead and so close that the pale, shocked faces of the men at the wheel were clear and stark as they bucketed by.
In one move Kydd had placed this ship between him and the frigate as they passed in opposite directions—but the best was yet to come. Enraged by Kydd's bold escape the frigate captain made to bear away closely round the next-ahead's stern, but in his eagerness to grapple gave insufficient allowance for the strength of the fresh winds. In a chorus of splintering smashes, twangs and screams of indignity the frigate made close acquaintance with the vessel's stern quarters and, recoiling, fell off the wind, helpless.
Quickly, Kydd had his new prize angling off into the open sea with
Outside the Three Crowns Kydd stood in a maze of happiness. He was gazing at a poster on a pillar proclaiming boldly:
FOR SALE BY THE CANDLE
At three crowns tavern, St Peter Port, on Monday the next by Ten o' clock in the Forenoon,
And this was only the first of his two prizes. Hearings had taken place immediately and the evidences of French ownership sent to the Admiralty Prize Court had resulted in swift condemnation as prize, and the vessel was now in the process of being sold at auction.
'Mr Kydd, is it not?' a well-dressed man asked politely, removing his hat. 'I believe the heartiest congratulations would be insufficient to express my sense of admiration at your late action. And another prize to your name?'
'Aye, there is, sir,' Kydd answered warily.
'Magnificent! Just as in the old days! Oh, might I introduce myself? Robert de Havilland.' He handed Kydd a card. 'As you may see, I'm a banker and it did cross my mind that should you see fit to favour us with your financial interests then I'm sure that we would be able to offer very advantageous rates to a gentleman as distinguished as yourself. A line of credit against your captures, perhaps? Sovereign investment in Consols at above market—'
'Why, thank ye, Mr de Havilland,' Kydd came back politely, 'but I'm not ready t' change banks at th' moment.' It was truly amazing how many new friends he had made in the few days since his return from sea.
Curious to see proceedings he entered the tavern. It was stifling, packed with merchants watching while the auctioneer droned away on the fine qualities of the vessel under the hammer. A stir went through them when he had finished and an assistant brought a lighted taper.
'Are ye ready, gennelmen? Light th' candle!'
The bids were low at first, then from all sides the serious ones came in. 'One fifty t' you, sir—two hundred? Mr Mauger? Two seventy . . .'
Kydd had no idea of the value this represented but was content to let it wash over him. The bids petered out but all eyes were fixed on the candle and Kydd saw that it was burning down to where a blackened pin with a ribbon had been inserted. As the flame neared, the bids redoubled until there was a staccato hammer of shouts before the pin dropped clear, and the highest bidder was declared the new owner.
Turning to go, Kydd was stopped by the auctioneer, who had spotted him. To general acclamation he
