Julian Stockwin - The Privateer's Revenge

They stood regarding one another until Cheslyn spoke. "Cap'n Robidou says as ye're no strut-noddy," he said truculently, in a deep-chested voice. "An' he reckons ye're sharp. But yez a King's man—ever bin in a merchant hooker blue-water, like?"

"Aye," said Kydd evenly. "An' a gallows sight further'n you, I'd wager."

Robidou cut in apprehensively: "Mr Kydd took a convict ship t' Botany Bay in the peace, Henry."

Cheslyn ignored him. "Says ye've odd notions o' discipline—you ain't a-thinkin' o' goin' Navy?" he grunted sourly.

"Mr Cheslyn. I'm t' be captain o' the Witch. She's in the trade o' reprisal. I'm in the business o' finding m'self a sack o' guineas, an' anything or anyone goes athwart m' bows in that is goin' t' clew up fish-meat.

"So there's no misunderstandin', I'm writin' down m' expectations in th' articles f'r all t' sign, an' the one who's t' be m' first l'tenant will be in no doubt where I stand."

"Mr Kydd knows men," Robidou interjected firmly, "as he started a common foremast jack, ye'll know."

"Aye, well, I'll think on it," Cheslyn said, with a last piercing look at Kydd before he stumped away.

"A hard man." Robidou sighed, "Ye'll need t' steer small with him—but I'll tell ye now, he's bright in his nauticals an' a right mauler in a fight. If y' makes him mate, ye'll have no trouble with y' crew."

Within three days Cheslyn had assembled a core of hardened, wolfish seamen, all of whom, it seemed, were capable privateersmen of his long acquaintance. They packed Kydd's rendezvous, taking his measure silently.

This was not a time for fancy speeches. Kydd spoke to them of Caribbean wealth and South American treasure, of a mighty ocean but a well-found ship, shipmates and courage, spirit and discipline. Any who would go a-roving with him might return with a fistful of cobbs but must sign Kydd's articles and take his orders without a word. He finished. The room broke into a hubbub of excited talk. "S' who'll be first t' sign f'r an ocean cruise in th' saucy Witch?" he roared, above the noise.

They crushed forward, Cheslyn elbowing his way to the front. He raised his eyes once to Kydd, then bent to the book and scrawled awkwardly.

"Mate an' first l'tenant!" Kydd called loudly. "An' be s' good as t' introduce me to y'r men, Mr Cheslyn."

For his officers he had brought the one-eyed Le Cocq as his second, a short man but reputed fearless. Gostling, an experienced prize-master, was third. Kydd was surprised when Rosco, the boatswain of Bien Heureuse, fronted at the table.

"Y' has y'r chance now, Mr Kydd," he rumbled, and scratched his name. "An' I wants a piece of it," he said forcefully.

With Rosco as boatswain, and a cold-eyed mariner, Perchard, the gunner, he was well on the way to complement—and then Luke Calloway entered. Pale but resolute he stood before Kydd. "I'd wish t' be wi' ye, sir." How the young man had heard of the venture he had no idea—rumours must be flying in St Peter Port about this late-season cruise into the Atlantic.

"Ah, there's a berth if ye want it, Mr Calloway," Kydd said, "but I have t' tell ye, this is not y'r regular-goin' cruise. We'll be up against th' big ones as'll object t' being taken by a pawky schooner, an' will want t' give us a right pepperin'."

This was not the real reason: the men he would have aboard were a callous, pugnacious crew and young Calloway would be hard put to handle them.

"Sir, I—I'd want t' ship out, if y' please."

"Er, Luke, if it's pewter ye're lackin', then—"

"Able seaman afore th' mast would suit main well, Mr Kydd."

Kydd nodded and threw open the book for signing. Ironically Calloway would probably succeed better at that level without the need to assert himself over the hard characters in the crew, and his seaman's skills were second to none.

It was time for the final act. "Send in th' boys," he called to the door. Instantly the room was filled with an urgent press of youngsters eager to ship out in the Witch of Sarnia, the talk of the town.

One fought to the fore and stood proudly and expectantly before him. Kydd's heart fell at the sight of Pookie Turner. "No, it won't do," he said sadly. "It's an ocean voyage an' I can't—"

The young face set. "Cap'n, y' knows I—"

"I can't, an' ye knows why." Kydd looked pointedly at the eager boy behind.

At the end of the day Kydd sat back, satisfied. These were a dissimilar breed of men to the coastal privateers of his previous experience: tough, competent and professional, deep-sea sailors of one mind—the ruthless pursuit of prey and profit. This alone would make it an altogether different experience. All he had to do was put them in the way of what they desired and they would follow him.

"You're a black-hearted villain!" Rosie taunted him, hearing of Pookie's attempt to sign on. "Can't you understand? She wants adventure and excitement before the mast, Captain, just like you do. Shame on you!"

"Rosie, I'm never before th' mast in Witch, and I'll have y' know this is an ocean voyage wi' a crew o' right cut-throats as any I've seen. It's not right an' proper f'r a young—"

"Y' have ship's boys to do men's work, so if Pookie wants to be a boy why can't she be? Make her y' cabin-boy to keep her under eye if you have to, but I don't think she'll need any o' your protectin'." Kydd thought wryly of her prowess over the other boys with her fists, while Rosie went on warmly, "Besides, if you don't take her, she'll be back on the streets up to her old tricks. And don't forget her share of the booty. Won't this help her poor mama?"

"It's too late betimes, Rosie. I've closed books an' we sail on th' tide tomorrow forenoon. She's a game 'un, she'll find something else," he added lamely.

It was a day of autumn overcast, with a brisk wind that fluttered dresses and tugged at hats as Witch of Sarnia made ready for sea. A crowd had come to see the smart privateer that was reputedly making a daring foray into the Atlantic Ocean on which much Guernsey money was riding.

They lined the quay, gentlemen and ladies, quantities of curious wharf-loafers and the odd redcoat soldier with his woman. Robidou appeared and pushed through the crowd, waving what seemed to be a book. "Just been published," he shouted against the excitement, passing it to Kydd. "Someone gave it me f'r interest— but I think ye should have it."

Kydd yelled back his thanks, but there would be precious little time for books. "Stand by for'ard!" he bawled. As they began to single up the lines his eye was caught by a lone figure standing apart from the others.

With a grin he recognised Pookie who, no doubt, had come down hoping for a last-minute change of heart—so, with an exaggerated beckoning, the Witch of Sarnia's crew was complete. The delighted youngster threw a small bundle aboard, grabbed a rope, twirled round and landed lightly on the deck with a huge smile.

Departure was easy enough in the southerly; sail mounted quickly as lines were let go and hauled in, and water opened up between ship and quay. With Cheslyn by Kydd's side in well-worn sea gear, hard men efficiently handing along tackle falls, and overhead the crack and slap of a topsail spreading along its boom, the schooner made for the twin piers at the entrance.

A knot of spectators on the very end waved gaily, and as they passed close on their way to the open sea the group broke into whooping and shouts. A firework whizzed skywards and another followed. Kydd was touched: his theatrical friends were not allowing him to seek his fortune on the vasty deep without due ceremony. He waved back energetically, which would have produced expressions of horror on "Teazer's quarterdeck. "Kind in 'em to see us on our way," he murmured to Cheslyn, who had looked at him askance but Kydd, feeling the Witch heel as she took the wind at the harbour entrance eagerly seeking the freedom of the open sea, was letting nothing spoil his happiness of the moment.