The Privateer's Revenge(38)

"We—we're not going ashore, sir?" It was normally the prerogative of the first lieutenant to lead any party out of a ship.

"No, I am."

The evening drew in, with no movement seen ashore; this desolate spot would seldom be visited by any other than fishermen.

Kydd felt a thrill of apprehension. This was different from his hot-blooded landing at Granville: here there was time to admire the rugged sunset beauty—and imagine what could go wrong.

Was a troop of soldiers concealed ashore? Did a warship lie beyond the point waiting to come down with the tide and fall upon them? If it appeared while he was ashore Standish had the bounden duty to cut the cable and run, leaving them to the French as spies caught in the act.

A three-quarter moon was low in the sky and it was time. The gig was lowered gently. Two seamen, Cobb and Manley, took the oars, Kydd the tiller, and the boat pulled strongly inshore. As soon as they had left the comforting mass of the sloop he became aware of the evening quiet, just the slop and gurgle of water, the distant hiss of waves on shingle—and the enfolding shadows reaching out to claim them.

The boat nudged sand and Kydd stepped out. "We'll be back directly," he said to Manley. Cobb followed him up the beach. The land felt inert and lifeless underfoot, adding to Kydd's unease. He stopped and held up his hand: there was not the slightest sound. He looked about, eyes straining.

The tiny beach ended in a long ledge of rock at the north-western end. They trudged over and behind the rock, in its shadow, found an ordinary oblong wooden case with crude rope handles. Kydd took one end—it was heavy but not impossible for them—and Cobb grabbed the other. Before they lifted it Kydd froze. Was that a tiny scrape, a slither?

With an outraged squawk a large seabird launched itself past them. Kydd cursed and the two manhandled the chest into the boat. Kydd threw his boat-cloak over to conceal it.

"Go!" he hissed at Manley, and they returned hurriedly to Teazer. Standish was leaning over the side in great curiosity. "Strike it down into m' cabin immediately," Kydd snapped at the two seamen, and ordered Standish brusquely to get the ship to sea immediately.

He'd done it. As Teazer leaned to the soft night airs Kydd had the satisfaction of knowing that he had successfully performed his first secret order and now could concentrate on proper sailoring.



Hauling their wind for the south they tried to make up the time to the rendezvous, sailing between Guernsey and Jersey, taking care to fetch the treacherous Roches Douvres—"Rock Dovers" to the sailors—in the safety of morning light.

It was a sobering passage. Kydd had made up his mind to learn what he could of the area in which Teazer would be operating for the foreseeable future, a maze of shoals, sub-sea reefs, fierce tidal currents and some of the most desolate and forbidding coasts he had ever seen. Added to which there was the lesson learned of these waters early in the war when Saumarez himself had been chased by five French warships and thrown his heavy frigate through the hideous tangle of rocks in the west of Guernsey to freedom, a tribute to his courage and to his exceptional knowledge of local conditions.

Queripel had been eager to pass on what he knew, and Kydd began to accrue knowledge and wisdom. As he did so his respect for those who daily plied these waters increased; any who could keep the seas off this ironbound coast would be a good seaman— including the French. St Malo, an ancient town deep in the main bay of Brittany, had produced daring corsairs for centuries, some even now prowling as far afield as the Indian Ocean. This cruise would not be a sinecure.

Off the wicked tumble of grey-brown rocks that was the Île de Bréhat he saw a sloop hove-to. Her challenge was smartly run up, but Kydd was ready with the private signal. It was, of course, Carthew in Scorpion but this time there was no doubting the senior vessel, and as custom dictated, Teazer was sent round her stern to respectfully round to for hailing.

"You've taken your time, I observe, Mr Kydd," he blared, through his speaking trumpet. "I'd expected you a day or more ago. What delayed you?"

It took Kydd aback: it was unlikely that Carthew had knowledge of his secret orders and in any case it was not to be discussed in such a public way. "Er, an errand f'r Admiral Saumarez," he bellowed back. "All concluded now."

"I should think so," Carthew said tartly, then added, "No French about as I've seen to the westward, quiet in Paimpol and you have Harpy to the east'd for a rendezvous here in six days. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. Good hunting," he said flatly. His bored tone implied disinterest in Kydd's prospects, and Scorpion lost no time in bracing round and making off to the north, leaving Teazer in sole possession of the patrol area.