Everyone knew the stakes. It was the synchrony of movements that held the key, and Teazer responded nobly. "Haul of all!" Kydd ordered exultantly—the main would fill and draw just as fast as the new weather tack and lee-sheets could be brought in. The fore was braced around smartly and, with a brisk banging and flapping, the sails caught. Teazer leaned to her new course, the men frantically at work to get in every foot of their hauling.
It was done—and beautifully. Kydd grunted, satisfied. His ship was as capable as she was pretty.
As they settled to their rushing passage he looked across at the barque. It was now on the same board and, although it was ahead by a considerable margin, the game was far from over. Their prey was clawing as close to the wind as it could, while Teazer, thanks to Kydd's patient and careful estimates, lay to the wind with every sail drawing optimally.
"We're fore-reaching," the master admitted, eyeing the other vessel. Their tracks were converging and Teazer was coming up on the barque with every minute. Kydd found himself clenching his fists, frustrated that there now seemed little more that could be done.
The boatswain cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er, sir, when I was a younker I seen a trick once."
"Oh?"
"Th' lower yards, sir. T' increase th' traverse."
A square-rigged ship could lie only about six points to the wind, for the big spars swinging across the ship would come up against the mast stay and shrouds, a natural limit. Kydd glanced at the big mainyard above them, immovably up against the mainstay at the extremity of its traverse. "I'd like to know how, Mr. Purchet."
"Why, sir, we slacks off th' truss-tackle as gives us play, an' then cants down th' weather yard-arm while we swigs off on th' cat-harpings all we can." This would allow the yard to slide up and into where the shrouds were at their narrowest—at the cost of the set of the sail.
From his memory of studying for his lieutenant's examination Kydd recalled the double tangent rule: the tangent of the angle of the wind to the yard should be twice that between yard and keel. This ensured that even a little achieved would see the effect multiplied. "We do it, Mr. Purchet," he said. It would be tricky work: with sails drawing hard, the truss-ropes held the big spar against the mast. To slacken them deliberately . . .
With both main- and fore-course cocked up at an angle they sheeted in once more.
"Half a point, I'd say," the master said, clearly impressed.
While this was not dramatic, it would amount over the miles to several ship's lengths further to weather. Could it make the difference? Kydd eyed the distances. The object was to point higher into the wind yet retain a faster speed, culminating in an overlap at any distance to windward with the chase at his mercy under his lee. Should they end even yards to leeward it was certain to get away.
Dowse assumed position next to Poulden and monitored closely the flutter at the edge of the main. It could so easily change to the sail taken violently aback. "Be ye yare at th' helm, son," he said quietly, aware of the tender situation. "I'll bear watch." Together they worked to bring the racing sloop to within a knife's edge of the wind.
"Luff 'n' lie," Dowse murmured, and Poulden inched over the wheel. "Dyce!" he ordered. "An' nothing t' leeward."
Teazer flew. In the gathering dusk she seemed to reach out after the fleeing barque, every man aboard watching forward and feeling for the gallant ship now doing her utmost for them. If the chase ended triumphantly, the epic pursuit would be talked about for years to come.
In the further distance the sullen dark mass of northern France lay across their path, with the lights of Cherbourg dead ahead and their prey now visibly nearer, as though it were being hauled closer on a rope. It was evident that before long a convergence would take place.
In the last of the sunset they were finally within cannon shot of the vessel to windward. Kydd spared a fleeting sympathy for the unknown captain, who must now be seeing the stone quays of the entrance to the harbour, but then he thought of the prisoners soon to taste freedom. "Place us within hailing distance, Mr. Dowse," Kydd said—but suddenly the situation changed utterly.
The barque fell away to leeward in a tight turn, wearing about to place itself directly before the wind—away from the safety of Cherbourg and back towards where they had come from. It caught Kydd completely off guard and it was some time before they could throw off the gear they had rigged for the chase against the wind.
It was a meaningless move: there was no friendly port to the north or anything except the endless desolation of rocks and reefs before Barfleur and there was now no question but that Teazer was the swifter. The barque had made good distance by the sudden wearing but Teazer was closing rapidly, the wind astern allowing any course she chose. When the other ship veered towards the shore Teazer did likewise. At this rate it would be over before they made Cap Lévi even though the Frenchman had put up a fine show.
Then, half a mile short of the cape and with Teazer only a few hundred yards astern, the vessel sheered towards the land and, in the gathering darkness, rounded to and calmly let go her anchor. Incredulous, Kydd was about to give the orders for a final reckoning when the mystery resolved. In a flurry of gunfire, bright flashes stabbed from the squat fort on the promontory above. In the gloom he had overlooked Fort Lévi. The guns were of respectable calibre and quite capable of smashing Teazer to a ruin well before he and his crew could secure their prize. It was all over.
Circling out of range, Kydd knew he should give best to the Frenchman now sheltering under the guns of the fort and move on. But his blood was up and he would not give in. Boats after dark—a cutting-out expedition! The French would imagine that he would give up and sail away during the night and therefore would wait patiently for morning before making for Cherbourg—but they would be in for an unwelcome surprise.
The night was moonless, impenetrably black and relatively calm; perfect conditions. The fort obliged by carelessly showing lights that were ideal navigation markers and Kydd set to with the planning.
He reviewed his forces: the barque would be manned by a prize-crew only and should not present a serious difficulty for a prime man-o'-war's boarding party. The main object was to crowd seamen aboard in sufficient quantity that sail could be loosed and set before the fort could react. Too few, and with three masts to man, there would be a fatal delay. So it must be every boat and all the hands that could be spared.
There would be two main divisions: the armed boarders as first wave over the larboard bulwarks and the seamen to work the ship over the starboard. It was essential to have the best men in the lead, those who would not flinch at mounting the rigging in the dark and with the initiative and sea skills to know what needed doing without being told.
"Mr. Hallum, are ye familiar with the barque rig?"
"Er, no, sir."
"Then I'll take command in the boats." There were no barque-rigged vessels in the Royal Navy and although the major difference was only in the fore-and-aft-rigged mizzen Kydd felt it was probably asking too much of this staid officer. And, of course, he himself had made a voyage to Botany Bay as the reluctant master of a convict-ship barque in the days of the last peace.
There was no point in delay. Divisions for boarding were quickly apportioned and equipment made ready—cutlasses, boarding pistols, along with a fresh-sharpened tomahawk for every fourth man to use in slashing through boarding nettings and the like.
Faces darkened by galley soot, the Teazers awaited Kydd's order. He peered into the blackness once more: nothing to see, no sound. They could wait for the last moment before moonrise just before midnight, but little would be gained by sitting about.