The Admiral's Daughter

by Julian Stockwin

  It would be a tight chase: again, they were well to windward of their prey in a south-westerly and again the privateer could not contemplate putting about to return, for that would require tacking round and right into the path of his pursuer. But this time Teazer was perfectly positioned and conditions could not have been bettered: the winds were strong and in her best quarter for sailing while the privateer was being forced against the coast as it trended to the north-west to Land’s End, which must first be rounded before they could bear away along the north coast.

  In less than an hour the two ships would reach a point of convergence somewhere close to the Longships lighthouse, which stood atop a group of wicked rocks extending out from this final promontory.

  How to open the action? There was little need for lengthy planning, however: the lugger would lie under their guns to leeward in a very short time and his gun-captains would know what to do then. Kydd sent for his sword, remembering to speak encouraging words to those for whom this would be a first taste of powder, and in good time HMS Teazer went to quarters.

  The tumbling mass of grey rock that was the very tip of England drew closer—so did the lugger, sailing perilously in with the cliffs and rolling uncomfortably from the seas on her beam. Every detail became clear: the faded black sides, soaring pale lug-sails with odd, off-square topsails straining above and no colours of any sort flying.

  A point of red at her bow had Kydd reaching for his telescope— under its bold bowsprit was a figurehead, a crimson fighting cock with spurs extended in ferocious challenge.

  “I own I stand rebuked for want of faith, sir,” Standish said quietly. He stood in front of Kydd and bowed awkwardly. “That is Bloody Jacques for a surety—I heard a lot of him in Fowey.”

  “Ah, I had th’ feeling,” Kydd said lightly. “We open fire t’ st’b’d,” he went on, and resumed his hungry stare at the privateer, “when we’re within pistol-shot.” Teazer ’s carronades were deadly at close quarters but not to be relied on for accuracy beyond a few hundred yards.

  It would not be a one-sided fight, that much was certain. While Teazer outgunned the similarly sized vessel, her company would be so much less than that of a privateer crowded with prize-crew and she must at all costs remain out of reach of the torrent of boarders. Yet she must close the range—and risk any sudden lunge to grapple.

  “I can almost feel pity for the Frenchman.” Renzi’s calm, reassuring voice came from behind him; Kydd had not noticed his clerk take up his station for battle. His half-smile was in place and he wore a plain fighting hanger, but in accordance with duty held a regulation notebook to record all significant events.

  The privateer lay no more than seventy yards ahead and Kydd could see the small group round the helm clearly: one was certainly the shrewd captain, looking back at Teazer and weighing his chances. The Longships with its lighthouse now lay close ahead, and with rising exhilaration, Kydd began to estimate distances and sea room on what must soon be the field of battle.

  They had successfully crowded the lugger against the coastline and now it must shape course towards them to get round the Longships—that would be the time to let the seven starboard guns do their work. Kydd drew his sword and raised it high. “Teazers!” he roared—then stopped in bafflement.

  The privateer was not altering course: while Teazer was hauling her wind to round the Longships, the big lugger carried on with a full press of sail, heading for the narrow band of open white water between the shoreline and the lighthouse.

  “Be damned! Throw up y’r helm, Poulden, an’ follow in his wake!”

  “Sir!”

  “Where he c’n swim, so can we, Mr Standish.” Kydd tried not to think of Teazer ’s keel, cleaving the water a couple of fathoms below them as they bore off into the narrowing space between the lighthouse rocks and the cliffs. What if the lugger had been specially designed with a light draught for just this inshore work?

  Kydd clutched the shroud he was holding as they plunged through—dark shadows of kelp-strewn rock in the sea flicking past under them, the wind gusted and flawed so close to the shore. Another, smaller, outlying group of rocks surged white off to port—and Bloody Jacques opened fire.

  Admittedly they were four-pounder chase guns only but both of Teazer ’s were aft for defence and in Kydd’s cabin. The manoeuvre through the channel had brought both vessels into line and now as they bucketed madly along Teazer must suffer the vicious slam of shot across her decks.

  With the wind now dead astern they swept through together and on the other side it became clear that in these conditions Teazer had the edge—the lugger was slowly but surely being overhauled. As soon as they had established an overlap . . .

  The move was as unexpected as it was effective. Like a dancer pirouetting, the privateer threw down his helm and came up into the wind as close as he could lie, in the process bringing his entire broadside to bear. The gunsmoke was whipped away quickly downwind but Kydd felt the sickening crunch in the hull where balls had struck—and not a gun could they fire in return.

  The lugger was now away on the wind, the distance increasing by the second. “Follow!” he bellowed directly at the quartermaster, Poulden, who spun the wheel furiously. Teazer moved round more slowly—her square rig needed men at the braces instead of the guns now.

  It was lunacy: close-hauled, the privateer was now headed to pass the Longships and reach open sea where presumably Teazer would find sea room to force a conclusion. But was this a desperate attempt to shake off a pursuer or . . . ?

  Kydd glanced at Dowse. The master was tense and his white face told Kydd he had knowledge of perils that he was keeping to himself while in contact with the enemy. Renzi was looking up from noting the change of course but everyone else was gazing after the lugger whose deck seemed crowded with men, the occasional glint of steel among them giving point to their threat.

  The privateer captain was wily and kept a fine discipline to handle his ship as he had—there had to be a reason for his strange move. And there was: at precisely the right place the lugger’s bow swung, passing through the wind’s eye, took up on the other tack and stood away to the south-east.

  It was a master-stroke. The square-rigged Teazer needed room to manoeuvre if she wanted to tack about and must go beyond the Longships. The fore-and-aft-rigged lugger had gone about neatly enough but additionally he had taken advantage of the rocky outlier and was now threading between it and the Longships to return the way he had come, and would be long gone by the time Teazer could follow.

  “Sir! No!”

  But Kydd had no intention of trying to emulate the corsair. They had to let him go. He let out his breath in a sigh of appreciation at the princely display of seamanship, watching the lugger thrashing southward, and turned to Standish. “A right devil! Should we have—”

  “We could do no other, sir, I’m persuaded. And if I might make remark, our motions must have given him pause. He may well decide to prey on less well-defended shores.”

  “Why, thank ’ee, Mr Standish, but I’ve a feelin’ we’ll be meetin’ again. I’ll not forget this day.”

  The ship’s company of HMS Teazer gathered beside an open grave. The vicar of the ancient Gulval church had performed this office so many times—the sea giving up its dead from shipwreck, foundering, piracy and war. These at least had a Christian burial. Far more had been removed from human ken and had not returned from a voyage; they had died far from home of disease, a fall from aloft, any one of the multitude of hazards lying in wait for every seafarer.

  The young foretopman shyly added his handful of earth to the rest on the coffin, conscious of the sombre eyes of his shipmates, packed closely about the grave. He stepped back and raised his eyes to his captain. Kydd understood, and looked at the vicar, who nodded solemnly. “Er, ‘They that go down t’ th’ sea in ships . . .’” he began, and stopped. He was the captain; his ship had suffered her first loss to the sea and they were looking to him for words of strength. The trouble was
that he himself had been affected by the death, more so for its occurring not in the heat of battle but in the course of the seaman’s obedience to his own commands.

  He gulped and tried to concentrate. “We all who use th’ sea . . . the unseen perils . . . must find courage . . . our duty . . . to th’ end.” The unblinking eyes watching him gave no indication of the seamen’s thoughts. When he clapped on his hat they returned down the little road to Penzance.

  Kydd stood for a moment longer by the graveside. Then his eyes met Renzi’s. Wordlessly they turned and followed.

  CHAPTER 5

  WITH SIX SAIL-OF-THE-LINE at anchor in Cawsand Bay, and Plymouth Sound alive with wartime shipping, it was probably too much to expect any to notice the arrival in port of so modest a vessel as the brig-sloop Teazer, but Commander Kydd didn’t care. Pacing his own quarterdeck in his best coat and breeches, he was ready for any summons from the admiral after a not uneventful first war cruise.

  The challenge flag fluttered up the mast of the signal station at Mount Wise and Teazer ’s reply shot up the lee halliards as she eased to larboard to avoid an ungainly Indiaman working her way seaward. Then, within a few hundred yards of the grassy sward of Plymouth Hoe, Teazer ’s helm went over for the final mile to the notorious Devil’s Point and the entrance to the Hamoaze—and rest.

  Kydd concentrated on the approach. The vicious currents in the narrows had claimed many victims—their bleached timbers could still be seen on the banks.

  In the fine weather people were thronging the pleasant gardens on the point. “Why, there’s a beauty wants to be noticed!” Standish exclaimed. He had his telescope trained on one particular lady who was waving both arms enthusiastically. Distracted, Kydd turned back to the conn but something about that figure . . .

  “If y’ please?” he asked, and took a peek. It was Cecilia.

  “Mr Prosser, dip th’ ensign!” Standish looked at Kydd with alarm. “My sister,” he said defensively. Obediently Teazer ’s colours lowered six feet and proudly returned.

  He had no idea why she was there but her gaiety did not seem to indicate a family crisis. After Teazer had picked up her moorings, he penned a quick note to go ashore with the first boat, inviting her aboard after the flurry of official business, which always awaited a warship returning from a cruise.

  “Boat ahoy!” blared the mate-of-the-watch, at the approaching pinnace—there was really no need, for it plainly bore only an assortment of passengers, but its coxswain Poulden bellowed the required “No, no!” to indicate that no naval officer was coming aboard.

  Cecilia climbed daintily over the bulwarks, handed across by an attentive Kydd, who tried not to notice the look of admiration she received from Standish. His elaborate bow, however, was lost on her: she threw her arms determinedly round her brother and kissed him soundly, to the delight of the seamen on deck. “Dear Thomas! I’m so thrilled—you have no idea! Captain of your ship—”

  “Why, yes, er, welcome on board HMS Teazer, Cecilia,” Kydd said hastily. “An’ this is . . . ?” He turned to the two other passengers stepping aboard.

  “Oh, you must remember Jane! She invited me to stay, and how could I refuse?” The lady dimpled with pleasure at the introduction and shyly held out her hand as Cecilia continued, “In Jamaica, I helped at her wedding to William. And we all had dinner together that time . . . ?”

  The thickset man grinned broadly. “I was a lowly ensign o’ Foot.” He chuckled, clearly impressed to know the captain of a King’s ship and apparently not recalling that in Jamaica Kydd had been but the quartermaster’s mate of a tiny cutter.

  Cecilia took his arm with determination. “Do take us about your ship, Thomas,” she said, with an impish smile.

  Kydd cleared his throat importantly. “Mr Standish, let me know if ye have any troubles—I’ll be takin’ these people f’r a tour.”

  His visitors showed every delight at the sights to be had in a man-o’-war: towering masts with their incomprehensible tracery of rigging; the soaring, naked bowsprit so immensely long at close quarters; the deadly fascination of the line of guns at either side; the compass binnacle and spoked helm, now motionless.

  Heads were bumped on the deckhead below but they were able to see for themselves the clean expanse of the mess-deck with its tables triced up and ditty bags against the side. The boatswain affably displayed his store and they witnessed at first hand the procedure for the issuing of victuals to the mess-cooks for preparation.

  Finally they entered the great cabin of HMS Teazer, and admired the noble appointments accorded the ship’s captain. Cecilia’s eyes shone as she looked up at her brother. While her friends peered hesitantly into Kydd’s sleeping cabin he whispered, “An’ ye’re invited t’ the captain’s table at eight bells tonight, sis.”

  It called for sherry all round before Kydd had regretfully to announce that, owing to pressure of work, he must conclude their tour and send them ashore. They returned on deck, blinking in the sunshine, but Cecilia hung back. “Thomas,” she said in a small voice, “we haven’t seen Nicholas.”

  “Aye, well, he doesn’t like t’ be disturbed, y’ see,” he said uncomfortably. Renzi’s instructions had been clear.

  She met his eyes levelly but said nothing.

  “Ah, b’ chance he might be at leisure t’ see you,” he said, and excused himself to his visitors and went below, hearing Cecilia’s footsteps tapping behind him.

  The tiny cabin had its curtain pulled across but Kydd cleared his throat and said brightly, “Nicholas—er, here’s someone desirous o’ speaking with ye.”

  There was movement and Renzi’s head poked out. He paused when he saw Kydd’s sister, then turned and looked accusingly at Kydd. Cecilia gave an encouraging smile and said sweetly, “So kind in you, sir, to receive us without notice. Do I find you in health?” Her eyes were already straying beyond the curtain, and Renzi, with a curious air of dignity yet defiance, answered, “I do thank you for your politeness but as you may see I cannot in all civility invite you to enter.”

  Kydd hastened to say, “Oh, er, you’ll understand, Cec, we don’t have an overplus o’ room aboard, an’ this is how Nicholas wants it.”

  Cecilia stooped to see inside, ignoring Renzi’s pained expression. “Why, this is nothing but your monk’s cell,” she said, taking in its Spartan simplicity. “It’s just the right place for you, I vow. And will we be seeing you tonight, Mr Renzi?”

  “I—I’m desolated to find that on this occasion there is ship’s business ashore that has the prior claim upon me, Miss Kydd.”

  “Oh? Aye, this c’n be so, Cecilia,” Kydd said hastily. “Y’ remember he acts in th’ character of ship’s clerk an’ always knows his duty, I find.”

  “Miss Cecilia, sir.” Tysoe held the door as she entered the great cabin, awed now by the effect of the candlelight’s tawny gold on the naval splendour within.

  “Good evening, Thomas—how kind of you to invite me.”

  Tysoe accepted her pelisse with the utmost courtesy, his approval of the quality of Kydd’s visitor barely concealed.

  “Oh, sis, I don’t think ye’ve made y’r number with Tysoe here. He’s been m’ personal servant since before Canada an’ gives the greatest satisfaction.”

  Tysoe exchanged a pleased inclination of the head for Cecilia’s wary interest. “My brother is in good hands, then,” she said, and allowed herself to be conducted to one of the two easy chairs, set to take full advantage of the view from the stern windows in the gathering dusk. Kydd sat companionably in the other.

  “Our dinner’ll be alongside presently, Cec. The cook’s warned off ye’re aboard. Can I help ye t’ the wine afore we eat?”

  “That’s so kind, but I will decline for now, Thomas,” she replied delicately. The incongruity of his younger sister deploying the arts of politeness for his sake touched a chord and he laughed, evoking in her a pleased smile.

  “Just think,” she said, with childish warmth, “it was only a few years a
go . . .” Her face shone. Then she turned and said eagerly, “Tell me what it’s like, Tom! The captain of a King’s ship—how does it feel? ”

  Kydd affected not to notice the deep glow of the gold lace on his coat. “Why, it’s so fine a thing, I find it hard t’ remember when I was aught else—but I c’n tell ye now, ye must believe th’ biggest thing in life was t’ be removed fr’m the fo’c’sle to th’ quarterdeck.”

  Cecilia remained silent as he continued. “Y’ see, sis, when ye’re only a foremast jack, y’ peep aft an’ see officers who’re calm ’n’ strict, looking down at ye, all the power an’ discipline . . . an’ when I heard I was t’ join ’em I didn’t know what I must expect. F’r me, the big surprise was t’ find that in th’ wardroom all th’ rank an’ ceremony is left on deck, not an order given except it’s on the quarterdeck, never below.

  “It means we’re all equal, y’ see. We share like brothers an’ this means that in battles an’ such we understand an’ trust, one wi’ the other. It’s—it’s . . .”

  “But now you’re captain!”

  “That’s what I’m tryin’ to say. I’ve been plucked out o’ their comp’ny now, Cec, an’ not a one c’n speak t’ Tom Kydd but he’s addressin’ his captain, an’ we both know it.”

  Her eyes grew round. “Then this is why Nicholas is . . .”

  “Aye—I own that I’m truly fortunate t’ have his company aboard, even if it’s a mort hard t’ hoist in his meanings at times.”

  Tysoe interrupted an introspective silence. “Dinner is served, sir.”

  Cecilia regained her vivacity as the meal progressed. “To think it—do you eat in such ceremony every day, and all alone?” Reassured on the practicalities, she persisted, with a shy giggle, “Does it not cross your mind, ever, what your sailors must be feeling as they look at you? I mean, once you were one and you must know what they’re thinking.”