Julian Stockwin - Command

But there, in plain view, resting on top of the rock, was the white dot of the letter that Bowden had left. "Stay in th' boat, if y' please," Kydd ordered. He stared at the French vessel until his eyes watered. This was his last throw of the dice.

"Sir!" Attard's eyes had caught sight of something around the bow of the corvette; then a boat pulled smartly into view. It also had a flag of truce and it headed for the rock. The letter was snatched up and handed down into the boat, which lost no time in returning.

It had worked! So far. By now word of Kydd's action would have spread the length and breadth of Teazer and the deck was crowded with excited men who had no business being away from their quarters for battle but Kydd could not deny them.

Time dragged. Teazer wore round for another stretch out to sea—but the boat reappeared and again headed for the rock. A figure mounted the highest point and sounded off a meticulous and elaborate call on his trumpet, so much more martial than their offering. And when the boat headed back there was a letter waiting in the precise centre of the rock.

"Go!" Bowden and his crew needed no urging, pulling directly for the rock and claiming the letter. In a fever of anticipation Kydd took it below, in passing snapping at Dacres to send the men properly to quarters.

It was exquisitely written, the wordy introductory paragraphs ornate with unnecessary curlicues. Kydd's eyes went to the closing salutation; it seemed the commander of La Fouine had the honour to be Capitaine de Frégate Jean Reynaud. There was no other clue about the man he had the duty to kill or vanquish—or who would do the same to him.

Kydd began the laborious task of penetrating the thicket of verbiage then, too impatient to continue, he summoned Dacres. "There—what do ye think o' this?" he said.

Skimming the text with a frown Dacres looked up. "Er, it seems plain enough, sir," he said, with a degree of wary puzzlement.

"I asked ye what you make of it, Mr Dacres."

"Well, sir, he, er—"

"Read it out, man—in English, th' main heads."

"Aye aye, sir. Starts with compliments on our fine vessel—"

"Th' main heads."

"Yes, sir. Er, he accepts that we are in a state of war and therefore we have a certain duty to assault his ship . . . but notes that while he is tranquil in a secure anchorage, well supplied, we are obliged to ply the sea until he decides to quit it. And, er, as this is not convenient to him at the present time he is desolated to be obliged to decline your gracious invitation . . ."

Kydd's spirits sank. The French captain knew that Teazer could not wait indefinitely and had made exactly the decision he himself would have made in like circumstances. For the French captain it was a hostile sea with no friendly harbours or dockyards for repair; there was no compelling reason for him to risk damage that would cut short his cruise of depredation, and therefore he would lie at anchor until Teazer left. Quite the logical thing to do, in fact.

But Kydd had had to try. Before they left, could he think of any other card to play? What would Renzi have said? Perhaps this was not the kind of problem he would have been best placed to resolve, he being such a martyr to logic . . . Of course. "Mr Dacres! Time is short an' I'd take it kindly if you would assist me!" With Dacres sitting at the desk writing French in a flying hand at Kydd's dictation and Mr Peck hovering by, the task was quickly completed.

It was nothing elaborate, no cunning scheme of deception, it merely pointed out that as the clandestine anchorage was now known, Teazer would have no alternative but to lie off waiting for a period of time before quitting to secure provisions— or she would leave immediately and soon return; La Fouine would never know which, and the chances were that he would be set upon almost immediately he departed. The logical course therefore would be to stop wasting time, deal with his tormentor at once, and so be sure of the situation.

The letter was sealed and taken out to the rock with all due ceremony and Teazer waited once again. The answer was prompt and unequivocal. One by one, at every masthead, the ensign of France floated free. At the same time the yards were manned and activity at bow and stern revealed work at the anchor cables.

Nervous exaltation seized Kydd. He had what he wanted: this was now to be no less than a duel between two ships-of-war, and more than pride was at stake. "Shorten t' tops'ls," he ordered, conforming to his promise.

Under easy sail, Teazer slipped along in a feather of water, all aboard at a knife-edge of tension. There was one final thing Kydd wanted to do. "With me, Mr Attard," he said, to the solemn-faced youngster. "I'm taking a turn about the decks, Mr Dacres. If anything—"

"Aye aye, sir," said Dacres, who crossed to the helm, his expression grave and resolute.

The gun crews turned to watch Kydd pass, some with studied nonchalance, others with a smile or an air of bravado. "Where's y'r stations f'r boarding?" he challenged the most cocksure.

"Why, sir, th' foremast wi' Mr Bowden," he said easily.

"And?"

"Oh, well, barkers an' slashers in course—jus' follows Mr Bowden, sir."

"Aye, that's well said," Kydd said gruffly, and moved on.

It was the way of it. Nelson always had said that if in doubt no captain could go wrong if he placed his ship alongside that of an enemy, and in this he was only taking to a higher plane the lion-hearted spirit of the seamen that was so much the reason for the invincibility of the Royal Navy.

Forward, Bowden touched his hat; his gaze was direct and untroubled. "All forrard ready and waiting, sir," he said gravely.

"Thank 'ee, Mr Bowden. I hope . . ." But Kydd could not finish and turned away abruptly.

The gunner was imperturbable in his tiny, claustrophobic magazine; the carpenter and his mates waited patiently at the forward end of the mess deck for the first smashing cannon strike through Teazer's side.

Acknowledging the boatswain's sketchy salute as he handed out from his store the tackles and stoppers for emergency repair to the rigging Kydd mounted the fore hatchway, nearly tripping over the sailmaker who was mustering his gear. "Ye're going t' be busy in a short while, Mr Clegg," he said.

"Sir," he acknowledged, in his dry, whispery voice. The man had probably seen more service than that of any other two aboard put together.

Kydd moved to go, then paused. "Ah, I'd like t' be very certain Teazer is properly at quarters in every part. Er, can ye tell me—slipped m' mind—what's the quarters f'r battle of, er, Able Seaman Sprits'l?"

Clegg's face creased into a pleased smile. "Why, sir, you'll find him in y'r cabin safe 'n' snug," he said, without embarrassment, "Mr Tysoe standin' by."

La Fouine took the wind to starboard and gathered way, his bowsprit as unwavering as an arrow, fixed on Teazer, who lay quietly under topsails two miles offshore.

"He's comin' out!" The yell went up from all parts of the ship, dissolving into high-spirited cheers. If there was to be any doubt about the outcome it would not be from before the mast.

Kydd stared forward resolutely, trying to penetrate the mind of the man who opposed him but receiving no hint from the cloud of canvas the ship carried as he pressed on through the entrance. What would be his next move? A flying pass, bow to bow, followed by a sudden turn to rake across Teazer 's stern? A stand-off bombardment, given his greater range guns? Close-in carnage? He must foresee every possible move and be ready to parry. And have his own counter-moves.

La Fouine came on fast with all plain sail set, no topsails for him. Kydd grew uneasy: what did it imply? He was just about to send topmen aloft when, clearing the mouth of the cove, La Fouine put up his helm and plunged downwind through the unknown coastal shoals, making for the open sea at the south end of the island.