Command (22 page)

. . .
” He presumed it was spelled the same way in French, if not then they could guess. Then the meat. That he was disappointed with the dull spirit of the famed French Revolution that they felt unable to try the fortune of their flag against such an insignificant and lone brig-sloop of His Majesty’s Navy. That for their convenience he was shortening sail and holding fire until they were both fairly on the open sea and would salute their flag with the utmost politeness before any act of hostility. In effect this was no less than a personal challenge.

He waited for Peck to finish, then snatched the paper and scanned it quickly. The painful hours of learning with Renzi had
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yielded a workmanlike competence in the language but by no means a familiarity with the high-flown courtliness that seemed to be the style required in high diplomacy. But with a savage smile he decided that if he had erred on the side of plain speaking then so much the better. “Ask Mr Dacres t’ attend me,” he said to Peck. Dacres was fluent but Kydd did not want to be told what to say: they had to be his words—but with no misunderstandings.

Dacres took the paper as if it would catch fire but manfully worked his way through it. “Sir, if I could suggest . . .” To Kydd they were footling changes but he allowed them in the final draft.

“Did you find a trumpet?” he asked, when they had regained the deck.

“Er, Able Seaman Ridoli—it would seem he has tolerable skill at the flügelhorn, which he assures me is a species of trumpet. As he will never be parted from his instrument, he therefore has it on board—”

“Get him in the boat. Mr Bowden, ye know what to do? When you reach th’ rock, set Ridoli t’ play for a space, then return.”

“May I know what he should play, sir?”

“Damn it, I don’t know!” Kydd said irritably. “Some kind o’

tan-tara
as the lobsterbacks like playing—use y’r initiative.”

The boat left
Teazer
under a huge white flag of truce and headed shorewards. There was no response from the French, and through his telescope Kydd saw Bowden head purposefully for a prominent flat rock. There was a wild leap from the bowman and then Bowden and Ridoli clambered uncertainly through the seaweed to stand atop the craggy outcrop. Ridoli took up his instrument, glittering brassily in the sunlight and the mellow, haunting strains of some Italian air floated back across the wave-tops. Bowden waved him to silence and they boarded the boat again for the pull back.

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

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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.”

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“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

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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.

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“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

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165

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.

“Be buggered! He’s runnin’, the shy cock!”

It was totally unexpected and Kydd had no option but to throw
Teazer
round and follow at a safe distance offshore, losing ground until his own courses were set and drawing. The straggling headland at the last of the land came and went; there was nothing now but a vast and empty sea, the ultimate battlefield.

Was
La Fouine
enticing
Teazer
towards a more powerful consort? Or simply making a break? At least his duty was plain: to use all possible means to close with the enemy and bring him to battle. But
La Fouine
was making fine speed away to the south-east and
Teazer
had yet to get into her stride.

There was one niggling fact, however: if
La Fouine
was trying to get away, why had he not set stuns’ls and all other possible aids to speed in running before the wind? Whatever the reason Kydd would not set them either; if
La Fouine
saw them laboriously rig stuns’l booms and bend on such sail he need only wait until all was in place, then go hard up into the wind, leaving
Teazer
to thrash along for the time she needed to take them in again.

The two ships stretched out over the sea until it became evident by sextant that the angle from waterline to
La Fouine
’s masthead was increasing.
Teazer
was gaining! For all
La Fouine
’s fancy ship-rig and smart seamanship
Teazer
was the faster vessel before the wind.

Thumping the rail Kydd urged his little ship on.
La Fouine
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was now visibly nearer and a plan for close action would be needed. Through his glass Kydd thought he could pick out the blue and white figure of the captain on his quarterdeck: what was he thinking of
Teazer
now?

Then, not more than a quarter of a mile ahead,
La Fouine
spun at right angles to take the wind hard on his starboard cheek, angling away to the right. At the same time as his side length-ened his whole broadside bore on
Teazer—
he did not waste his chance and up and down his length hammered the flash and smoke of his guns, the breeze gaily sending the smoke rolling away over him to leeward.

Teazer
’s guns could not bear, but she made a narrow target, bows on; as far as Kydd could detect there was no damage.

Quickly he bellowed orders that had her pirouetting round as fast as the braces could be won, but
La Fouine
had gained vital points by reducing
Teazer
’s advantage to weather.

In the contest of ships’ speeds it did not take the sextant to tell that close-hauled
Teazer
was even faster. Kydd guessed that
La
Fouine
was overdue a careening, and a brig-sloop had the edge over the less handy ship-rigged species, but even so he felt a jet of pride.

A conclusion was now inevitable, and Kydd’s mind raced. In the chase to windward he had the same kind of quandary: close-hauled, the best advantage to be gained was to toggle bowlines to their bridles and stretch forward the weather edge of the sails.