Quarterdeck(90)

‘If it’s any consolation, my friend, it grieves me as much as it does you,’ Gindler said, in a voice low enough not to be overheard by the ragged crowd that had come to see the defeated Englishman leave.

‘Oh?’ said Kydd bitterly. He was in no mood to be consoled.

Gindler was spared having to answer by the thud of hoofs. The constable hove into view and pulled up his horse. ‘Mr Dwight sends ’is compliments an’ hopes you can pay him a call before y’ leaves.’

Kydd bit his lip. It was within half an hour of midday, and if he missed the time to display his signal flag, Tenacious would stand offshore for another day.

The constable leaned down. ‘Noos!’ he said hoarsely, and winked broadly.

Dwight was businesslike. ‘It’s none of your business, o’ course, Mr Kydd, but you’ll find out anyway – I’ve had word from the governor in Hartford, an’ he takes his advice from Philadelphia. Seems they’ve had enough o’ the Frenchies and I’m to serve an order on their captain that they’ve just twenty-four hours to quit United States territory.’ He stuffed papers into a desk. ‘I guess this means you’ll be about y’r business then, Mr Kydd,’ he added, holding the door open.

Kydd had minutes – if he could make his signal . . .

A wily captain like Junon could play it well; he would use all his twenty-four hours to fettle his ship for any circumstance. Then, no doubt, he would sail slowly and directly to the edge of territorial waters, luring Tenacious towards him. When the English ship was committed to his approach he would throw over his helm to one side or the other and, hoisting every possible sail, break out with his superior speed into the open sea.

Gindler was waiting curiously at the jetty. ‘Minotaure – she’s t’ sail within twenty-four hours,’ Kydd said quietly, catching his breath, watching the main topsail of Tenacious brace sturdily around as she made to heave to.

‘Well, now, you leave like a hero.’

‘Perhaps not – I have t’ think,’ Kydd said, distracted. True, the Minotaure was forced to sea, but what was the use of this if the privateer could slip away past her pursuer? It was damned bad luck that their sloop, Lynx, would not yet have returned from alerting the admiral of Tenacious’s dispositions, for the two together had a chance of hounding Minotaure to her doom. Could anything be done?

Desperate times meant desperate measures: Kydd had heard of a drag-sail being used to reduce speed; a disguised ship would pretend dull sailing to lure a prey. Perhaps he could stay ashore and tie a sail secretly to Minotaure, slow her enough to catch. He soon realised that before the privateer had gone any distance her captain would want to know why she was slowing and discover the trick.

‘Mr Kydd!’ Gindler pointed out to sea where Tenacious was bringing round her main topsail yard.

Kydd pulled the red number-one flag from his pocket and hurried to the front of the gaggle of spectators, spread it wide and let it hang. His news would surely set the ship abuzz.

There appeared to be little activity on her quarterdeck: the daily run inshore had lost its novelty, no doubt. Then topmen began mounting the shrouds and in a smart display the main topsail came around and filling, at the same time as the main course was loosed – and Tenacious gracefully got under way for the open sea.

Kydd held the signal high in the forlorn hope that someone was looking back on the little township but, her sails sheeted home, Tenacious made off to the horizon amid the sniggering and laughter of the onlookers.

Kydd stood mortified. Not only was he left stranded but he had failed to pass on his vital news. Even if he could find a boat quickly no small craft could catch a big square-rigger in full sail. The only certainty was that Tenacious would return the next day.

And where could he lay his head that night? He knew he could not go back to Hay. ‘Er, Mr Gindler, if y’re familiar with this town, do you know of any lodgin’ house?’

‘No, sir, I do not. That is, I don’t know of one fit for a gentleman.’ He smiled. ‘Come now, I can’t have an English guest take back a poor notion of my country. You shall stay with me, Mr Kydd.’

‘Why, Mr Gindler, that’s very kind in you.’

Gindler patted him on the shoulder. ‘And it keeps you safely under my eye . . .’

‘I always try to make New England for the summer, a prime place to rest the spirit – and it is here that I stay.’ It was a retired fisherman’s cottage by the edge of the water, complete with its own boathouse.

‘Do you fish, Mr Kydd? The halibut and cod here, fresh caught, will by any estimate grace the highest table in the land. We shall try some tonight.’