"No, Mr Robidou. It's about what I can do f'r you." Kydd knew his man and got to the point. Straight talking, no tacking and veering, simply that if he was given assistance with a proposal he would see to it that Robidou was appointed armateur for the venture.
The name of Zephaniah Job was sufficient to get him a fair hearing and Kydd found himself back in the Three Crowns tavern. He ransacked Robidou's experience: the best area for serious cruising was indeed beyond the Azores—close enough to be at a reasonable sailing distance and far enough that receiving convoys and their escorts would not have formed up. There was stirring talk of cargoes: sugar, coffee, cotton inbound—and outbound exotics like mercury destined for the mines, luxury items for the colonies, bullion. And their chances. French, Batavian, Ligurian, all for the taking, but ready for a fight and disinclined to heave-to at the order of one half their size.
The discussion turned to their ship. Kydd's instinct was for the manoeuvrability of square rig but with the high pointing of fore and aft. Both men agreed on the type of vessel that best fitted the description: a topsail schooner. Robidou knew of one, just laid up for the winter.
As soon as Kydd clapped eyes on the Witch of Sarnia he knew he had to have her. She had been designed and built on speculation as a privateer with a fine-lined hull that took no account of any need for cavernous cargo holds. Low and rakish, there was no mistaking her purpose, but an innocent approach would not be practical with wary deep-water merchantmen, and sailing qualities alone would decide the issue.
She was recently out of the water, propped at the top of the slip and Kydd walked slowly round her, taking in the tight seams, true curves and obviously new construction. This was a sound, well-built and altogether convincing craft as a privateer. His pulse quickened.
A rope-ladder hung over her neat stern and Kydd hauled himself aboard. With most of her gear stored and decks clear of ropes it was possible to take in her sweet lines, leading forward to a bowsprit fully half as long again as the main hull.
As she was bigger than Bien Heureuse his cabin was roomier— narrow, but longer. There were two cabins a side for officers and a pleasant saloon, which would later double as an examining place. Forward, a modest hold was followed by a magazine and store cabins, a galley well and finely contrived crew accommodation.
It was impressive, as unlike Bien Heureuse as it was possible to be, including limewood panelling below and herringbone decking above. Her hull was a wicked black, not from tarred sides but fine enamelling, and with a compelling urgency in her coppered underwater lines, the Witch gave an overwhelming impression of a thoroughbred predator.
Robidou looked pleased at Kydd's evident approval, but cautioned, "This'n is goin' t' be a pretty penny, Mr Kydd. I knows Janvrin and he's not a-goin' t' let this sweet thing go for a song."
The costing began. Although prepared for a bigger outlay than there had been with Bien Heureuse Kydd was shocked as the sum mounted and Robidou's eyebrows rose.
And because it was virtually certain that they would have to fight for their prey, there was the expensive question of armament. A warship had to be equipped to engage in any number of modes: ship-to-ship broadsides, a cutting out, repelling an aggressive boarding, a shore landing—but for Kydd there would be only one: the subduing of a larger ship followed by an unstoppable boarding. And, unlike in a man-o'-war, defensive fire was not required: if the tide turned against them, the slim-lined schooner's response would be to turn and flee, unworried by notions of honour that would have them stay to fight it out.
A gun-deck and rows of cannon were not in contemplation. Instead it would be close-quarter weapons. Swivel guns, a car-ronade or two capable of blasting a sheet of musketballs across the deck and, of course, cutlasses and a pistol for every boarder. Halfpikes and tomahawks were to be carried by some to intimidate, and among the cool-headed he would distribute grenadoes—two pounds of lethal iron ball packed with gunpowder and a lighted fusee to hurl on the opposing deck. And he could see how the topsail cro'jack could be made to do service with stink-pots, devices filled with evil-smelling combustibles . . . In all this the object was to spread fire and fear but without causing damage to a future prize.
Fitting out, manning, storing—without Robidou's head for figures it would have been impossible. More work on the inevitable fees, allowances and imposts, and suddenly it was finished. The proposal was made ready, checked and sent in.
An answer came back with startling promptness: a venture association was being convened immediately on the basis of their proposal and Mr Robidou would be invited to act as armateur. It was extraordinary and wonderful—Kydd was a captain once more.