Julian Stockwin - Quarterdeck

Gindler was waiting curiously at the jetty. "Minotaure— she's t' sail within twenty-four hours," Kydd said quietly, catching his breath, watching the main topsail of Tenacious brace sturdily around as she made to heave to.

"Well, now, you leave like a hero."

"Perhaps not—I have t' think," Kydd said, distracted. True, the Minotaure was forced to sea, but what was the use of this if the privateer could slip away past her pursuer? It was damned bad luck that their sloop, Lynx, would not yet have returned from alerting the admiral of Tenacious 's dispositions, for the two together had a chance of hounding Minotaure to her doom. Could anything be done?

Desperate times meant desperate measures: Kydd had heard of a drag-sail being used to reduce speed; a disguised ship would pretend dull sailing to lure a prey. Perhaps he could stay ashore and tie a sail secretly to Minotaure, slow her enough to catch. He soon realised that before the privateer had gone any distance her captain would want to know why she was slowing and discover the trick.

"Mr Kydd!" Gindler pointed out to sea where Tenacious was bringing round her main topsail yard.

Kydd pulled the red number-one flag from his pocket and hurried to the front of the gaggle of spectators, spread it wide and let it hang. His news would surely set the ship abuzz.

There appeared to be little activity on her quarterdeck: the daily run inshore had lost its novelty, no doubt. Then topmen began mounting the shrouds and in a smart display the main topsail came around and filling, at the same time as the main course was loosed—and Tenacious gracefully got under way for the open sea.

Kydd held the signal high in the forlorn hope that someone was looking back on the little township but, her sails sheeted home, Tenacious made off to the horizon amid the sniggering and laughter of the onlookers.

Kydd stood mortified. Not only was he left stranded but he had failed to pass on his vital news. Even if he could find a boat quickly no small craft could catch a big square-rigger in full sail. The only certainty was that Tenacious would return the next day.

And where could he lay his head that night? He knew he could not go back to Hay. "Er, Mr Gindler, if y're familiar with this town, do you know of any lodgin' house?"

"No, sir, I do not. That is, I don't know of one fit for a gentleman." He smiled. "Come now, I can't have an English guest take back a poor notion of my country. You shall stay with me, Mr Kydd."

"Why, Mr Gindler, that's very kind in you."

Gindler patted him on the shoulder. "And it keeps you safely under my eye . . ."

"I always try to make New England for the summer, a prime place to rest the spirit—and it is here that I stay." It was a retired fisherman's cottage by the edge of the water, complete with its own boathouse.

"Do you fish, Mr Kydd? The halibut and cod here, fresh caught, will by any estimate grace the highest table in the land. We shall try some tonight."

Kydd tried to take an interest, but his mind was full of the consequences of his inattention at the jetty. The only glimmer of hope was that if Minotaure made use of her full twenty-four hours, Tenacious would have returned in time to try to catch her prey.

"We shall have to make shift for ourselves, sir," Gindler said apologetically. "The hire of this cottage does not include servants."

"Oh? Er, yes, of course, Mr Gindler."

"This is American territory, Mr Kydd. Be so kind as to address me by my first name, Edward—that is, Ned."

"Thank you, sir—I mean, Ned, and pray call me Tom."

Kydd went out on to the little porch and stared out to sea. Gindler joined him with pewter tankards of cider and they sat in cane chairs.

"If you can believe it, you have my earnest sympathy, Tom," he said. "Damnation to the French!" he added.

"But aren't they y'r friends?" said Kydd, startled out of his dejection.

"They've caused us more grief and loss than ever you English did, curse 'em, and I have that from Secretary of State Timothy Pickering himself."

Kydd's spirits returned. "So it wouldn't cause you heartbreak to see this corsair destroyed."

"No, sir. It would give me the greatest satisfaction."

Kydd grinned savagely. "Then let's get our heads together an' work out some way we c'n bring about that very thing."

Gindler shook his head. "We? Recollect, Tom, that this is the territory of the United States. Should I act against a ship of a neutral flag while she's lying in our waters I'd be hoist by both sides."

"So I'm on my own again."

"And I'm duty-bound to oppose any action against a neutral—especially in one of our ports, you'll understand."

Kydd slumped in his chair.

"Tell me, Tom, are we friends?" Gindler asked.

Surprised, Kydd agreed.

"Then my scruples tells me it is no crime to help a friend. What do you think?"

An immediate council of war concentrated on one overriding thing: unless Minotaure could be slowed there was little chance that Tenacious could catch her.

"Then we're th' only possible chance," Kydd said morosely.

"It seems that way. How about a drag-sail?"

"It would easily be discovered, soon as they put t' sea and felt its effect. Perhaps I could cut half through a brace or some-thin' that will carry away at the right time," Kydd said, more in despair than hope.

"With the barky alert and swarming with men? I don't think so."

It seemed ludicrous to contemplate two men against a frigate-sized ship, but Kydd persevered. "There is another way . . ." he pondered. "To slow the Frenchy's one thing t' bring him to us, but there's his steering as well."

"Steering? Helm and tiller ropes?"

"His rudder."

"You do anything with that and he's sure to know just as quick."

"Not so, if m' idea is sound." It was years ago, but the image was as clear as yesterday. An English frigate careening at a remote island in the south Pacific Ocean—and, in the balmy oceanic winds, the crew scraping and cleaning the vast rearing bulk of the hull. He had been at work around the stern, overawed by the hulking presence of the thirty-foot-high rudder at close quarters, and had gone to inspect its working.

"Ned," Kydd said cautiously, "may I quiz you on y'r understanding of how rudders are hung?"

"By all means."

"A pin—the pintle on the rudder, going through the eye of a gudgeon on the hull. Now I ask ye to agree this. At the last extremity o' the hull is the sternpost."

"Yes, this must be so. The underwater run of the hull coming together in a fine upright sternpost."

"And the rudder fits to th' sternpost with your gudgeons and pintles. Now I particularly desire ye to remark the gap between the forward edge of the rudder and the after edge o' the stern-post. The thickness of the rudder in a frigate would amaze you— it's every bit of a foot or more, as must be th' sternpost, and I mean t' thrust a wedge between them."

"A magnificent scheme, but pray how will you apply this wedge?"

"Er, we'll discuss that part later. F'r now, we have to settle some details. First, th' gap is only an inch or two wide. No wedge this thick c'n stand the sea forces of a rudder. But—and this needs y'r verifying—there is a very suitable place. At th' point where the pintle meets the gudgeon the shipwrights cut out a space in th' rudder below it, or else we cannot unship the rudder. This they call th' score."

"And how big is your gap there?"

"Above six inches—so now we have two flat surfaces a foot long an' six inches apart. A wedge that size has a chance." Kydd grinned boyishly. "Just think, Ned, the Frenchy goes t' sea, sees Tenacious coming for him an' throws over his helm t' slip by one side, but his helm is jammed. Before he has time t' work out the trouble he's kind enough to deliver himself straight to us."