The Privateer's Revenge(104)

The Witch of Sarnia passed Flores once more and continued south. After barely a day they sighted something in the west: a tiny blob of white on the rim of the world, a sail. At first blinking in and out of existence, then keeping steady, it seized the attention of every soul. They altered towards it instantly, knowing they had the advantage that as their sails were edge on to the other ship their sighting would be delayed.

Then more and more sail came into view. "A convoy," Cheslyn grunted. "But whose?"

Kydd held his telescope steady and tried to make out clues. Anonymous merchant shipping—blue-water vessels certainly. There was a frigate in the van; a large one, possibly of 32 guns, no colours. He swung back to the merchantmen. Nothing remarkable; if they had been closer he would see identifying vanes at their mastheads, numbers in white on their stern quarters.

He began counting the ships—six, eight . . . and that was all. This was very likely not a British convoy; it was a telling comment on his nation's primacy at sea that convoys of sixty or a hundred ships were more the rule.

"Johnny Crapaud," he said crisply, and while the Witch closed with the distant ships he took in the situation. They were running before the south-westerly directly towards the French coast, over a week away. The frigate was protectively at their head and far too formidable even to think of engaging, but if anything happened to it he could take his pick of the brood.

"We stay with th' convoy," he told Cheslyn.

Easing sheets he allowed the ships to advance on him, edging round as the frigate pointedly took position between the privateer and the convoy and shortened sail, allowing its charges to sail on steadily until they were all past, while still remaining between the Witch and her intended victims.

This was exactly what Kydd would have done in the circumstances. They were now astern of the convoy, which was downwind of them, but between them and any prize was the impossible menace of the heavy frigate.

The convoy ploughed on, the frigate on guard and immovably positioned astern. Experimentally Kydd allowed the schooner to ease round the rear of the convoy and begin dropping down towards the van but there was no advantage whatsoever to their fore-and-aft rig in this point of sailing and the frigate kept effortlessly with them.

Kydd eased away and the convoy moved ahead again, the frigate keeping pace with the Witch as though on wires. Eventually they took their place astern of the convoy once more and it was time to think again.

Aboard every one of those ships there would be fear of the privateer dogging them but Kydd could not see how to move against them. He could go tearing downwind to fall on one of the leading vessels but well before he could secure his victim the frigate would be upon him.

On the other hand his advantage of better sailing into the wind was of no use, for the frigate was already on the windward edge of the convoy and perfectly positioned to go to the aid of any as they were all to leeward and in a direct line of sailing.

There was no easy answer. They were only a few days off retiring from the area so perhaps he must let them go—but any accident aboard one of the vessels would make it fall out of line and then it would be theirs; or at night some inexperienced master might lose the convoy and in morning light be found alone on the ocean.

So he would follow in their wake ready to snap up stragglers, like a wolf prowling about a flock of frightened sheep, waiting to catch them off-guard.

They stayed with it through the afternoon and evening. As dusk drew in the frigate, having nothing to fear from revealing her position, hung two lanthorns along the foreyard, three along the main, and settled comfortably in the centre of the two columns of four ships where all might see and be comforted by the bright lights.

There would be no lost sheep, it seemed. The night passed, and the day following, with not the slightest false move by the frigate, which stayed in perfect station between the Witch and the ships huddling together. It was a masterly textbook defence and Kydd wryly honoured the unknown captain.

Two more days went by. They were now approaching France, heading probably to a port south of Brest, possibly Nantes or La Rochelle. Still the skilled blocking. But this course was not altogether out of their way and Kydd would stay with them until the last moment, then head for home.

Meanwhile he would take the opportunity to circumnavigate the convoy slowly, taking in details of each ship and making a hypothetical choice of which he would choose as victim. Speculation passed round Witch as to their qualities and value, but still the frigate kept careful watch and ward.

As they drew nearer the coast they saw various craft, mainly local traders scuttling from port to port and occasionally a larger vessel. Then, with France a low blue-grey smudge ahead at last, everything changed with the sighting of a single vessel closer inshore: not a particularly large ship, a brig, but purposefully beating out towards them.