Kydd sent for Stirk and told him what he was planning to do; the man grinned and went to each gun captain in turn. Dacres looked grave when he received his orders; Poulden's reaction was a gratified salute. Now nothing more could be done.
La Fouine drew closer, coming in from astern as Teazer tried to make way after the "failure" of her tacking, her guns run out along her length, men standing forward to catch sight of their victim. There was an unmistakable air of triumph aboard: his bowsprit drew level with Teazer's quarterdeck. Kydd was relying on the corvette's cupidity: that they would not wish to damage their future prize unduly.
The first guns spoke: balls whistled overhead from La Fouine's eight-pounders aimed high, and Teazer continued to claw into the wind, apparent panic on her decks. The corvette sheered confidently across, men massed on the fo'c'sle. Their purpose was all too plain—boarders!
Kydd watched the distance narrow and held his order until the moment was right—there would be only the one chance. He roared the command: Teazer 's helm went down and as she slewed across towards La Fouine the carronades blasted out together. Shot three times bigger still than La Fouine's smashed into his vitals—but every other gun was loaded with canister on grape-shot and these turned his decks into a bloody charnel-house.
The shock and surprise were complete and the two ships came together in a splintering crash. Acrid gun-smoke hid Kydd's final throw. Drawing his sword he leaped for the bulwarks and on to the enemy deck. Impelled by both dizzying nervous excitement and desperation he battered down a cutlass-wielding seaman's defence then mercilessly impaled him. A pistol banged off next to him, catching another in the belly as a wild-eyed Frenchman lunged at Kydd with a pike, then dropped screaming. An officer with a rapier flicked it venomously at him but at that moment the two ships ground together again and they both staggered. Kydd regained his footing first and his blade took the man in the neck; the victim's weapon clattered down as he clutched at the blood spurting over his white uniform facings.
"Teazers t' me!" Kydd bellowed, seeing a gap in the milling mass and pounding aft towards the wheel. He heard others behind him and hoped they were his men; the two Frenchmen at the helm fled, leaving the area clear about the wheel. They were in a position to turn the tables on their attacker—but, to Kydd's dismay, the smoke cleared to reveal the worst. The two ships had drifted apart and he was left stranded on the enemy deck with only the men who had been able to scramble across before it happened.
He looked round rapidly; none were behind him on the after end of the ship but, forward, the French had recognised the situation and were beginning to regroup. Teazer's hull slid further away—there could be no help from her. Then the French charged and once again there was frantic hacking and slashing: Kydd had learned in a hard school and fought savagely.
They were being driven to their last stand—the afterdeck with the mizzen mast in the centre, then nothing further but the taff-rail and the sea. Still the widening gap of sea between the two ships. Should he cry, "Enough," then surrender and save lives?
In a split-second glance about the decks he noted a skylight in the centre of the deck and did not hesitate. "Here!" he bawled, and leaped feet first, smashing through the glass into the cabin below. Others tumbled after him in disarray. Staggering to his feet he saw that, as he had guessed, this was the great cabin. A flash and bang of a pistol from a side cabin made him wince, the bullet's wind passing close to his face, but the man paid for his temerity at the point of Poulden's cutlass.
Kydd reached the ornate door to the cabin spaces and barred it crudely, only just in time. There came the unmistakable sounds of men clattering down the main hatchway forward and battering at the door as the French seamen realised where they had gone. Soon there were ominous thumps and the wicked point of a pike pierced the door with a ringing thud. It was only a matter of time before the maddened men broke through.
The eyes of the men trapped below showed the whites—but then came the most beautiful sound in the world: the heavy smash of Teazer's carronades. Those aboard had seen Kydd disappear below, leaving the deck clear and had obliged with grape-shot and canister once more.
The buffeting at the door faltered and stopped: the French were hastily returning to man the upper-deck guns but were being cut down by the murderous carronades. On the edge of reason with blood-lust, Kydd forced himself to cold control but when the crunch and grind of the ships' coming together again sounded he threw back the door and, cheering frantically, he and his men burst on to the deck to take the defenders from behind just as they were overwhelmed by waves of Teazers swarming over the bulwarks.
They had won.
The great cabin of HMS Teazer was alive with laughter, feminine faces and excitement, the candlelight glinting on the ladies' adornments and Captain Winthrop's gold lace, and it was hard to concentrate in the hearty bedlam. Kydd, flushed and happy, sat at the head of the table and beamed at the world.
"Wine with ye, Mr Dacres!" he called across the table. It had been difficult to know whom to invite to his victory dinner and he had settled on Teazer's other officer, with the frigate captain and an envious lieutenant-in-command of the only other man-o'-war in harbour. The two ladies were of Winthrop's acquaintance and had been nearly overcome to be chosen to attend the most famous event in Malta.
Miss Peacock's tinkling laugh at a sally by Dacres brought a smile to Winthrop's weathered features. "My dear Kydd, I do wish you joy of your evening—it does one's heart good to see audacity and courage at the cannon's mouth rewarded in such measure!"
"I thank ye, sir, but do y' not think—"
"No, I do not, Mr Kydd! You are fortune's darling, for you have seized what she's offered and turned it to best account. Go forth in trust to take your portion of glory and never again repine. Your health, sir!"
Red with embarrassment Kydd raised his glass and mumbled something.
"Of course things have changed for you now," Winthrop said archly.
"Sir?"
"Why, it's not every officer who may claim a gazette," he said significantly.
"You think . . . ?"
"I do."
With a sense of unreality, the implications of what Winthrop was saying dawned on Kydd. A famous action at sea was a matter of the deepest interest to the whole nation and it was now the established tradition that the personal dispatches of the senior officer concerned would be published in full in the London Gazette, the government's publication of record, for all to peruse. His actual dispatch—his words—would appear along with the Court Circular, the highest legal notices and the weightiest of news and would, of course, be read by every noble and statesman in the land. Even the King himself would read it! The Naval Chronicle, of course, would want a fuller account and his few hours of madness would later be taken in thoughtfully by every ambitious naval officer . . .
"And it hardly needs remarking, no flag officer would dare to contemplate the removal from command of an established hero. Sir, you have your distinction—you may nevermore fear that your ship be taken from you."
When it had penetrated, a profound happiness suffused Kydd's being to the very core. No more to fear the brusque letter of dismissal, the dread of being cast up on an uncaring land, the—
A scream of terror pierced the merriment and the cabin fell rapidly into a shocked silence. Everyone turned to Miss Peacock, who was staring into a corner, struck dumb with fright. Kydd hurried over to her and followed her pointing finger. Chuckling, he bent down and retrieved a petrified scrap of fur. "Sprits'l, bless y' heart!" he said, turning to the throng. "Doesn't care f'r cannon fire—we've searched the whole barky, fore 'n' aft, looking for the little rascal!"