The Privateer's Revenge(102)

The day ended quietly, and night saw them lasking along under easy sail. Soon after midnight the overcast cleared and a fat, gibbous moon rose. By morning the weather was near balmy with bright sunlight and a glittering sea.

So far south the temperatures were more than tolerable and Kydd was enjoying the utter contentment of flying-fish weather in a well-found craft, knowing that even if the rest of the voyage proved fruitless he had cleared the costs and, judging from Cheslyn's comments, probably produced some return into the bargain.

The ship fell into routine, far from naval in its details but as comprehensive as Kydd could make it in the circumstances, chief of which was practice with weapons.

In another four days they had reached the limits of their beat across the tracks of homeward-bound vessels and put about for the slant to the southwest. Unusually the weather calmed until they found themselves ghosting along in a glaring sea, a luminous band of white concealing where water met sky.

The sun grew higher and warmer. On the bow the mist burned off and there, revealed for all to see, was a ship. Incredulous yells broke out as its delicate image took form. They were sighted in turn, the vessel's masts coming together, then separating as it put down its helm and made off as fast as it could.

It had gone into a quartering run to allow its square sails to fill to best advantage and, in the light airs, the Witch was finding it a hard chase. No colours or any indication of origin was visible and the angle of the ship made identification impossible. Their own flag would be difficult to make out, end on as it would be.

As noon passed the situation changed: an afternoon breeze strengthened and the schooner picked up speed over the deep blue of the sea. Within an hour white horses were studding the seascape and, their prey encumbered with cargo, eventual success was assured.

"Larb'd side, do y' think, Mr Cheslyn?" Kydd said amiably. He had closed up his crew to quarters, the small gun-crews at the six-pounders, the rest flinting pistols and edging cutlasses—no martial thunder of drums or bravely waving pennons, simply hard-faced men making ready for a fight.

The anticlimax when it came was cruel. As they fore-reached on the sea-worn ship there was sudden activity among the few on her afterdeck and her topsail sheets were let fly as English colours soared up into her rigging.

Rosco recognised the ship. "Bristol Pride, or I'm a Dutchman. Trades wi' Nova Scotia an' the West Country in dried cod an' colonial goods. Reg'lar as clockwork an' this must be her last voyage o' th' season."

The Witch of Sarnia ranged alongside and the Canadian twang of the master floated over the water to confirm that they were indeed on passage from Halifax to Falmouth with such a freighting. Kydd waved and hailed back suitably, aware that the black schooner hissing along so close to them must make a handsome showing.

Nevertheless, this was no prey for the Witch. "Sheer off," he ordered the helm.

"Mr Kydd!" Calloway called urgently, racing up to him.

"Wha—?"

"There, sir!" He pointed vigorously below the Bristol Pride's bowsprit. The buckler, a blanking piece inserted in the hawse while at sea, had been knocked out and an arm was protruding from the hole, frantically jerking a white shirt.

After a split second's incomprehension Kydd bellowed, "Stand to!" at the boarders. "Mr Perchard, a shot afore his bow!"

But they had no stomach for a fight against the numbers that the Witch of Sarnia could muster and Kydd quickly found himself in delighted possession of a French prize of three days before. Her English crew, confined to the fo'c'sle, had found means to alert them and now the bilingual Québecois master and his prize-crew were themselves prisoners.

"Some happy sailors going home t' England," Calloway said mournfully, as they bade farewell to Bristol Pride, "but no prize f'r us, is she, Mr Kydd?"

"No prize," agreed Kydd, then broke into a fierce grin. "But for us there's th' salvage on recapture. One sixth o' th' entire value an' no questions asked."

This was a time for celebration—and relief—for Kydd had needed to demonstrate faith in himself before the investors and had commuted his entire pay for the voyage into shares, which would accrue to his account if, and only if, the voyage was successful.

The length and breadth of the privateer fell quiet as every man figured his own reward. And Kydd now saw his position in the world transformed: even if they met with no more good luck, he had not only cleared expenses but was well on the way to being far better off than at any other time in his life.

It was astonishing how quickly the balance sheet could change. A cargo ship could carry the equivalent of the complete stock of hundreds of shops, and as prize law conveyed the entire ship and cargo to the captor they were in the same position as a prosperous merchant without the need for capital. It was an intoxicating thought.