"She has stern-chasers," Adams remarked soberly. These guns, which could fire straight aft into a pursuer when there was no opportunity to return fire, would be a sore trial. At the next salvo Kydd heard the crack of the guns and, moments later, felt the slam of the passage of one ball over their heads. Several officers ducked automatically, then rose shamefacedly.
"Marines, go below. Stand the men down into the waist, Mr Bryant," Houghton ordered. Although these were only light six-pounders banging away, a hit would kill.
They kept up the chase for another twenty minutes, falling astern the whole while until the first lieutenant approached the captain. "There's no profit in this, sir—we shall have to give him best, I fear."
Houghton glared at him. "Damned if I will! Observe—he cannot run to leeward for ever. On this course he stands to meet the Nantucket shoals off Cape Cod before long. He must choose then between hauling his wind and going east about the Cape to slip into the Gulf o' Maine, or an easier passage west but directly into United States waters.
"I want to box him into the coast. Therefore I shall desire Lynx to lie to his starb'd and persuade him that this is his better course." The little sloop would thus stand between the enemy and a refuge in the wider reaches of the Gulf of Maine—but it would be a foolhardy move for the French captain to take on the little ship knowing that just one lucky hit from any of the sloop's sixteen six-pounders could deliver her straight into the clutches of the waiting bigger ship.
"Aye, sir."
Houghton smiled for the first time. "And when he has to bear away, he's under our lee and then we'll have him . . ."
In the early afternoon, the enemy was far ahead but, with Lynx faithfully to her starboard, the master was satisfied that they were irrevocably within the hook of the shoals, cutting off her escape to the east. "Tides o' five knots or more around 'em. Steep too, so sounding won't answer and if fog comes, it's all up with the ship," he added, with feeling.
The wind dropped further until it was a ghosting calm, favouring the smaller vessel, which glided a little further and out of range before ceasing movement. The three ships lay becalmed in the grey dusk.
Kydd came on watch: the position of the chase the same. In the night hours there was a choice for their quarry—to attempt a repair by the light of bunched lanthorns, or not show any betraying light and hope to steal away in the night.
She chose the latter: were it not for the quick-witted commander of Lynx she might have succeeded. As darkness closed in, the little sloop rigged a makeshift beacon for Tenacious of a cluster of lanthorns in a box beaming their light secretly in one direction only.
Through the night Lynx stayed faithfully with the enemy, her beacon trained; Tenacious lay back in the blackness. When the wind came up some time after midnight and the privateer captain made his move, Houghton knew all about it.
Coming round to the west, the Frenchman clearly wanted to put distance between him and his tormentor before he struck for the open sea, but dawn's grey light showed her the flat nondescript coast of an outlying island of New England to the northeast and two men-o'-war of the Royal Navy to seaward.
Houghton was on deck to greet the dawn, sniffing the wind's direction. "We have him!" he said, with relish. "He can't show much sail forrard with this wind abeam and no square sail aft— we can try for a conclusion before noon, I believe." He looked at the group on the quarterdeck with satisfaction. "It will be a good day's work for all today."
Tenacious bore down, guns run out. With land to leeward and two English ships to weather, the Frenchman's only course was west, the wind veering more southerly. To maintain a reasonable westerly course it was necessary to balance fore and aft saiclass="underline" with no mizzen topsail the logical thing was to reduce sail forward to compensate and accept a loss of speed.
However, from her cro'jack yard canvas appeared. It was not a sail-bearing spar but the French had lashed a sail along its length, loosed it and secured its clews. They had a drawing square sail aft. Kydd shook his head in admiration; admittedly the "sail" blanketed the poop, silencing the chase guns, but she could keep ahead of her pursuers.
"I'm not concerned," said Houghton, in tones that suggested he was. "There's Long Island Sound ahead—he has to go about or he'll be trapped, so it's there we'll have Lynx waiting."
Kydd's first sight of the United States, therefore, was the nondescript sandy scrubland of Block Island ahead, then the low, forested New England coast to the north.
"Sir, I must point out that these are American waters." There was no response to Adams's concern, Houghton keeping his gaze on the fleeing ship ahead. "They're well known to be jealous of their sovereignty, sir—"
"I know that, damn your blood!" Houghton said. But the Frenchman showed no signs whatsoever of putting down her helm and proceeded to pass Block Island, entering the closed length of Long Island Sound.
"They're mad! They've no way out—what do they—"
"Mr Hambly! Quickly! What's the distance across the widest entrance to the sound?"
"Er, to nor'ard—that's betwixt Matunuck and Sandy Point on th' island—and it's . . . seven miles."
"We can do it. North about it is, Mr Hambly. Have a care you stay exactly mid-channel—the Americans claim one league from the low-water mark, which by my reckoning leaves just a mile breadth for our peaceful passage."
"Aye aye, sir," said Hambly, eyeing the Frenchman, who seemed to have no notion of such niceties.
Leaving Block Island to larboard, Tenacious entered the capacious arm of the sea; there could be no escape now—with both English ships to windward and able to close with the Frenchman if he turned back, it was only a matter of waiting.
"He's wasting time," snorted Houghton, impatient.
"Sir, recollect: the French have been friends to the Americans since their support for them in the late war." Renzi had come up from the gun-deck in curiosity.
Bryant sneered: "Pah! Nonsense! They've seen how the French conduct revolutions and want no part of such roguery."
"Then what is the meaning of his motions now?" Renzi answered quietly. The privateer had run up a huge tricolour, which streamed out to leeward and barely two miles ahead, and boldly put up his helm to pass through the mile-wide entrance to an inner expanse of water.
"One league, sir."
"Yes, yes, I had not forgotten." Houghton bit his lip as he eyed the scene. "Take a cast of the lead. I believe we will anchor. One league off shore precisely."
After one last look at the French privateer, just six miles away and, with calm impunity, preparing to berth in a tiny port, Kydd joined the others in the captain's cabin. Houghton was irascible. "Ideas?"
"Cut 'em out!" Bryant's growl was instant. "And be damned to any consequences. There's nought hereabouts but fisherfolk an' farmers—and the Americans have no navy at all that I've heard about."
"True," said Houghton, thoughtfully, "but I'll remind you that in law this must be construed as a combatant seeking refuge in a neutral port, and it would go ill with any who can be shown to violate it."
"And who's to know? Cloth over our name on the stern, boat's crews at night and you can't make 'em out—"
"I honour the ardency of your spirit, Mr Bryant, but I fear this would provoke extremely."
"Swimmers! Under cover o' dark, they go in with borers, sink the bugger where he lies—"
"Mr Bryant! I will not suffer such language! And, besides, they'll never pierce a copper-sheathed hull without fuss and noise."
The cabin fell quiet until Renzi spoke. "Under the assumption that the sympathies of the Americans must lie with the French, I rather feel they would not be over-nice in the laws applicable in cases of neutrality. We may find ourselves lying at anchor, waiting, for some considerable time. Therefore it would seem logical to sail away—with deep regrets, of course."