Julian Stockwin - The Privateer's Revenge

"Good day t' ye, Mr Prosser," Kydd said menacingly. Crimson-faced, the man swung over the bulwarks and barked at his men to shove off.

Kydd saw the pinnace clear, then ordered sail to be loosed and Bien Heureuse resumed her course. He tried not to look astern, but when he did it was to see Teazer brace round and set out in chase.

The high crack of a bow gun fired to weather gave point to her hoist at the signal halliards: "heave-to immediately." Pointedly it was in the naval code, which no strange merchant ship could be expected to know.

Once again Bien Heureuse lay submissively to leeward. Teazer eased close alongside, men at quarters next to their guns in plain sight. "Let everything go by the run or I shall fire into you!" Standish hailed from the quarterdeck, his voice ringing with hauteur.

Kydd bit out orders for the yards to be lowered and tried to keep his anger in check. Was the man showing off in front of his ship's company or was it a deliberate attempt to belittle Kydd in front of his men?

The two ships moved together in the long swell, every detail of the lovely Teazer before him. The chess-tree was set at such a rake that by so doing it cunningly led the tack clear of both the sheet-anchor fluke and a nearby gun-port—he hadn't noticed this before.

Standing back he waited with arms folded. The boarding party swung over the bulwarks and quickly spread out, a petty officer and six with bared cutlasses, then Standish, glorious in brand-new commander's gold lace and sword.

He took his time, disdainfully inspecting the plain decks, a glimmer of a smile at the single pair of nine-pounders and a cursory glance aloft before he strolled over to Kydd. He did not remove his hat. "You failed to stop on my lawful order. What is the meaning of this?"

"You, sir, have come aboard my vessel armed, t' th' contempt of the law an' custom o' the sea. What's th' meanin' o' that?"

Standish blinked. He had obviously forgotten that in the arcane practices of the sea it was quite in order to board with a party of men armed to the teeth—but the officer in charge should never bear a weapon. "I may have omitted the observance in this instance, sir, but I do require an answer to my question."

Several of the boarders dropped their eyes and shuffled in embarrassment.

"An answer? I hove-to in th' first instance, an' the order was improper in the second," Kydd said tightly.

"Improper?" Standish said languidly, moving a few steps away and testing a down-haul. "I rather think not. As I command a King's ship you shall obey my every order whether you like it or not. That is the law."

Kydd held his tongue. How long would this charade continue?

"Lieutenant Prosser was within his rights to demand your papers, as well you know," he went on, and returned to stand arrogantly before Kydd, legs a-brace. "He tells me you bear a Letter of Marque as a private ship. Any luck?" he asked casually.

"Th' sport is thin—" Kydd said thickly.

"Good!" cracked Standish, with a cruel smile, "Then you won't miss a few men. Do you muster your crew on deck, I shall press half, I would think."

"Ye'll press my men?" Kydd choked.

"Are you disputing my right to do so?" He was well within his rights. Prime privateersmen were a favourite target for the press in any form. "If any of your men have protections then in course they will be left to you." He went on implacably, "Do turn your men up more quickly, Mr Kydd. I really don't have time to waste."

With a terrible intensity, Kydd leaned forward, "Have a care, Standish. Lay a hand on just one o' my men an' I'll see ye standing afore Admiral Saumarez to explain y'self!"

Standish recoiled. "You forget yourself, Kydd. You no longer—"

"Oh?" Kydd replied. "Then I'll be glad t' hear what ye'll be saying t' th' commander-in-chief as ye tell him ye've decided t' disobey his orders."

"Orders?"

"Aye. His written order that no native-born Guernseyman—as is his own countryman—shall be subject t' th' press. An' everyone aboard is, as they'll swear."

Standish blinked. "Is this right? Sir James has never given me a written order to that effect."

Kydd pulled himself erect. "Then ye'll be tellin' y'r commander-inchief as ye haven't had th' time t' hoist in his standin' orders?"

Somewhere Kydd had heard that a Guernseyman had ancient privileges that allowed him to serve the "Duke of Normandy" rather than the English sovereign, giving him theoretical protection from the press gang. It was unlikely that Saumarez would take kindly to any who trampled the rights of his proud bailiwick—and who would be the one to argue?

"Very well. Mark my words, Mr Kydd. If this is your deceiving, the next time I see you and, er, your private ship-of-war, I will strip you down to the cook, do you hear?" He stalked to the ship's side and signalled to his boat. Impassively Kydd watched him leave.

When the boat was halfway a full-throated shout came from forward in Teazer. "God save ye as a good 'un, Mr Kydd!"

Stirk's shout was taken up in a roar of others. Standish leaped to his feet in outrage, the boat swaying perilously. "Seize that man in irons!" he yelled. "And stop your cackle instantly—d' you hear me, you mumping rogues?—or I'll see the whole lot of you up before me!"

Kydd gave a wry smile. "Loose sail, Mr Rowan. Let's be away!"

CHAPTER 14

THE SPORT WAS THIN. Days later, of three encounters only one had proved fruitful, a tiny but voluble Portuguese with a freight of slab cork that could only have one destination in this part of the world, and time was getting short. Kydd's hopes of wealth were disappearing fast.

Still, he had learned much of the privateering trade and could see that, given certain advantages in the future, there was every chance of succeeding in a handsome way. There would be changes on the next voyage, he would see to it.

Bien Heureuse returned to St Peter Port in the tail end of an autumn gale but the Great Road lay as a welcome triangle of calm away from the port shielding it from the battering of the south-westerly, and the little privateer finally lay at rest alongside the pier.

Kydd made his way smugly to Robidou's rickety top-floor office to receive an appreciation for a good start in the privateering business and to learn when he was to receive his share of the proceeds.

Robidou told him gruffly to wait while he dealt with his clerk and Kydd contented himself with the fine view over the harbour, including his two prizes.

The clerk was then sent away and, with a cold look, he was bade to sit. It unsettled Kydd—he had expected a warmer welcome. Besides, he wanted to get away to tell his theatrical friends of his adventures.

"Ye've disappointed me, sir," Robidou began heavily. Kydd's heart sank. "M' investors did expect much more'n ye found for 'em," he went on remorselessly. "I told 'em as ye was th' proven article as an active an' enterprisin' privateersman."

Kydd's hackles rose. "Only a couple o' weeks at sea? An' two prizes on m' first voyage."

"Two prizes?" Robidou said acidly. "Th' first a store-ship wi' dried fish an' potatoes—how d' ye expect me t' place such a cargo on the market? Potatoes, when we has our own Jerseys that knocks such into a cocked hat? An' dried fish, as is only fit f'r soldiers?"

"The ship?" Kydd tried.

"A store-ship? Worthless! None wants a slab-sided scow as is built t' supply an army. No, sir, this is no prize worth the name."

Face burning, Kydd said tightly, "Th' Portuguee—a freight o' cork as can only be bound f'r the French wine ports?"

Robidou sighed. "He's worse. I'll agree, it c'n only be f'r the French, but the master is savvy, an' knows it's no use t' us. We don't make wine. So he protests th' capture. In course, we must go to t' litigation in an Admiralty court but this takes a mort o' time—and fees. If'n we win, it's only cork we has, not worth a Brummagem ha'penny a bushel, the ship contemptible an' we can't cover the fees. We have t' let him go."