"T' me! All Teazers lay aft at once, d' ye hear?" he roared against the bedlam. Frightened seamen obeyed hurriedly, probably expecting an abandon-ship order.
Kydd became aware that the strong-featured man had joined him. "Captain Massey," he said simply. "How can I help ye?"
After just a moment's pause, Kydd said, "That's right good in ye, sir. I've lost m' only l'tenant and if you'd . . ." It was breathtaking gall but in the next instant HMS Teazer had a full post-captain as her new temporary first lieutenant, in token of which Kydd gave him his own cocked hat as a symbol of authority. Together they turned to face the seamen as Kydd gave out his orders, ones that only he with his intimate knowledge of Teazer was able to give, and ones that were her only chance of breaking out to the open sea.
In any other circumstance the usual course would be to lighten ship, jettison guns and water, anything that would reduce their draught, even by inches. But Teazer had not yet taken in her guns and stores and was as light as she would get. The next move would normally be to lay out a kedge anchor and warp off into deep water but he had neither the men nor the considerable time it would take for that.
And time was the critical factor. As if to underline the urgency another ripple of sullen thuds sounded from across the water, and seconds later balls skipped past, ever closer. "Long bowls," Massey grunted, slitting his eyes to make out the distant forts. A weak sun had appeared with the lessening airs and there was glare on the water.
The last element of their predicament, however, was the hardest: the winds that had carried them on to the bank were necessarily foul for a reverse course—they could not sail off against the wind. And Kydd had noticed the ominous appearance of a number of small vessels from inside the port of Le Havre. These could only be one thing—inshore gunboats. A ship the size of Teazer should have no reason to fear them but with empty gun ports, hard and fast . . .
What Kydd had in mind was a common enough exercise in the Mediterranean, but would it work here?
From below, seamen hurried up with sweeps, special oars a full thirty feet long with squared-off loom and angled copper-tipped blades. At the same time the sweep ports, nine tiny square openings along each of the bulwarks, closed off with a discreet buckler, were made ready. The sweeps would be plied across the deck, their great leverage used to try to move Teazer off the sandbank.
"Clear th' decks!" Kydd roared, at those still milling about in fear. Through the clatter he called to Massey, "If ye'd take the larboard, sir . . ." Then he bellowed, "Every man t' an oar! Yes, sir, even you!" he bawled at the fop, who was dragged, bewildered, to his place. Three rowers to each sweep, an experienced seaman the furthest inboard, the other two any who could clutch an oar.
"Hey, now—that lad, ahoy!" Kydd called, to a frightened youngster. "Down t' the galley, y' scamp, an' find the biggest pot an' spoon ye can."
Kydd, at an oar himself, urged them on. The ungainly sweeps built up a slow rhythm against the unyielding water. Then, with a grumbling slither from beneath, it seemed that a miracle had happened and the brig was easing back into her element—in the teeth of the wind.
To the dissonant accompaniment of a cannon bombardment and the urgent, ting-ting-ting clang of a galley pot, His Majesty's Brig-sloop Teazer slid from the bank and gathered way sternwards and into open water. The sweeps were pulled in, the playful breeze obliged and Teazer slewed round to take the wind on her cheeks. With sails braced up sharp she made for the blessed sanctuary of the open sea.
After this, it seemed all the more unfair when Kydd saw the three gunboats squarely across their path, a fourth and fifth on their way to join them. Clearly someone had been puzzled by the lack of spirited response from Teazer and had spotted the empty gun ports. One or two gunboats she could handle but no more, not a group sufficient to surround and, from their bow cannon, slowly smash her into surrender.
It was senseless to go on: they could close the range at will and deliver accurate, aimed fire at the defenceless vessel with only one possible outcome. This could not be asked of innocent civilians and, sick at heart, Kydd went to the signal halliards and prepared to lower their colours.
"I'd belay that if I were you, Mr Kydd," Massey said, and pointed to the bluff headland of Cap de la Hève. Kydd blinked in disbelief: there, like an avenging angel, an English man-o'-war had appeared, no doubt attracted by the sound of gunfire. He punched the air in exhilaration.
CHAPTER 3
"AYE, IT WAS AS WHO MIGHT SAY a tight-run thing," Kydd said, acknowledging with a raised glass the others round him in the King's Arms. He flashed a private grin at Captain Massey, who lifted his eyebrows drolly—their present coming together in sociable recognition of their deliverance was due to his generosity.
"I own, it's very heaven to be quit of that odious country. And poor Mrs Lewis—is there any hope for her at all?" a lady of mature years enquired.
"She is in the best of hands," Massey said, and added that she was at Stonehouse, the naval hospital.
Kydd looked out of the mullioned windows down into Sutton Pool, the main port area of old Plymouth. It was packed with vessels of all description, fled from the sea at the outbreak of war and now settling on the tidal mud; it took little imagination to conceive of the economic and human distress that all those idle ships would mean.
However, it was most agreeable to sit in the jolly atmosphere of the inn and let calm English voices and easy laughter work on his spirits. The immediate perils were over: Teazer now lay in the Hamoaze, awaiting her turn for the dry-dock after her encounter with the sandbank. Her grateful passengers were soon to take coach for their homes in all parts of the kingdom, there, no doubt, to relate their fearsome tales.
A couple from an adjoining table came across. "We must leave now, Captain," the elderly gentleman said. "You will know you have our eternal thanks—and we trust that your every endeavour in this new war will meet with the success it deserves."
Others joined them. Pink-faced, Kydd accepted their effusions as he saw them to the door. In a chorus of farewells they were gone, leaving him alone with Massey. Kydd turned to him. "I have t' thank ye, sir, for y'r kind assistance when—"
"Don't mention it, m'boy. What kind of shab would stand back and let you tackle such a shambles on your own!"
"But even so—"
"His Majesty will need every sea officer of merit at this time, Mr Kydd. I rather fancy it will be a much different war. The last was to contain the madness of a revolution. This is a naked snatching at empire. Bonaparte will not stop until he rules the world—and only us to stand in his way."
Kydd nodded gravely. The dogs of war had been unleashed; destruction on all sides, misery and hunger would be the lot of many in the near future—but it was this self-same conflict that gave meaning to his professional existence, his ambitions and future. No other circumstance would see his country set him on the quarterdeck of his own ship, in a fine uniform to the undoubted admiration of the ladies.
"I shall notify their lordships of my presence in due course," Massey said affably, "and you will no doubt be joining the select band of the Channel Gropers."