The privateer’s fore topsail rose: she was about to proceed. Kydd’s heart beat faster. Her headsails fluttered into life and, as he watched, her bow detached from the wharf. The French tricolour was lowered from her ensign staff but reappeared at her mizzen peak. Other canvas made its appearance and Minotaure stood out into the sound.
Her actions were not lost on Tenacious whose battle-ensign soared up to the mainmasthead in answer. Kydd pictured the frenzied rush to quarters and was torn between the desire to be back aboard his ship in action and the knowledge of what he had to do.
Tenacious stood squarely across the entrance at the edge of the boundary, heaving to in the slight winds, while the privateer advanced cautiously towards her under just topsails, not giving the slightest indication of which side she was going to pass.
Kydd’s admiration for the coolness of the French captain increased as he noticed that the wind’s direction had Tenacious hove to with broadside towards, normally a battle-winning raking position, but the bigger ship could not in any circumstances open fire into United States waters and certainly not risk shot ricocheting into the town. Therefore Minotaure could move forward in perfect safety.
‘We need t’ get under her stern,’ Kydd growled. Gindler sheered the boat round and edged more into the sound, keeping safely to one side. The privateer drew nearer and Kydd visualised the wedge and the little bundle bumping over the mud of the sea-bed, hopefully then to stream out behind – or they might already have been torn off.
Kydd spoke, more to himself than to Gindler: ‘When she makes her move, she’ll loose sail t’ crack on speed and only then choose her side an’ put over her helm sharp. Therefore our signal will be when she looses more sail.’ Tenacious would have little chance of reacting in time, being stationary in the water with only the chance of a fleeting shot as the faster vessel surged past.
The privateer came on, seeming immense from the little smack. Her upper decks appeared full of men and her gunports were open. Gindler eased away the sail and let the big ship come down on them, jockeying to be as near as possible.
‘Wave at ’em!’ Kydd said urgently. Answering waves appeared up at the deckline. They were very close now, every raw detail of her timbers and gun muzzles plain. Gindler put over his tiller and the boat spun about to face the same direction, jibbing and rolling in the side wake of the privateer. Tenacious was precisely dead ahead – still no indication. Kydd waved again, anxiety flooding him at the thought of what hung on the next few minutes.
Gindler jockeyed the boat about, slipping back until the stern-windows of the ship came into view then sidling up behind. ‘The duckling, find th’ duck!’ Kydd gasped. They searched frantically astern of the ship – but there was no sign of a buoy.
‘No!’ Kydd cried harshly.
Gindler kept on behind the rearing stern then pointed. ‘Th-there!’ he whooped. Kydd leaned over and saw, in the roiling, bubbling wake, a jaunty duckling bobbing vigorously, much closer to the stern than he had planned.
‘Get us in there, f’r God’s sake!’ he yelled hoarsely, careless of anything but the final task.
Hardening in the sheets Gindler brought the smack closer but startled faces appeared over the stern high above. ‘Snag the bastard, quick!’ he hissed. The boat was bouncing around in the uneven wake and the wind around the looming stern was fitful and chancy.
Clear and positive over the noise of the tumbling water came the sound of a boatswain’s calls – to man yards and set sail. Kydd leaned far over the bow, reaching, scrabbling for the ducking. There would be no second chance now, and shouts were coming from above.
He touched the painted wood but it bounced out of reach then skittered back. He grabbed at it with the furthest extremity of his reach – he had it, pulled, but it jerked from his grasp. Kydd cried out in frustration.
The shouts above turned angry, demanding, dangerous. In despair he glanced back at Gindler, whose pale, set face took on a look of determination. He yanked on the sheets and the little boat responded, going right under the stern of the big ship. Kydd fell over the thwarts trying to keep with the buoy but at last he seized it in both hands.
Gindler instantly let out sheets and the smack fell back. Kydd was ready for it and crushed the little duck to him as the soaked line tautened unbearably – then fell slack. It was over.
Near sobbing with relief, Kydd fell back into the boat, still with the duckling clasped to his chest. He looked up – Minotaure was receding from them and, indeed, was loosing sail from every bare yard. She was still heading for Tenacious and waiting until the sails drew, gathering speed for the vital turn.