William was silent and it had been noticed. His thoughts were with the black child down below, the sad child and the fleshy man who owned him. He knew in theory what might be going on, but could not understand it. His experience was small, and Lieutenant Kaye was keen on whores, or any woman.
"Beg pardon? I am miles away."
"Hah!" said Sam, but nothing more.
"They go well armed, some Indiamen," said Kershaw, keeping up the conversation. "Better than a tender anyhow. Better than that Katharine we stopped." They were all uncomfortable about the noises from the cabin. When something splashed to windward, a jumping fish or porpoise maybe, they sauntered over there, the captain's holy spot, when he was not busy down below. "There was a case some years ago with one, pitched battle with the Press and one or two men killed. The judge took sides against the Navy, I believe, but nobody was hanged."
They stayed conversing for the best part of the night, usually a pair on deck and one below to snatch a sleep, and for Will and Sam the time passed most pleasantly. Sam raised the business of him tutoring them in navigation at one stage, with the implication he was there to spy on them put up so clearly that Kershaw, an honest man it seemed, could not pretend he'd missed it. His crippled features altered to amused acknowledgement, but he did not make some startling admission.
"I think you'll find that Daniel Swift has another man in mind than you," he answered. "He implied to me, or so I read it, that in Mr. Bentley he reposed his trust. I assumed that you, sir, might be engaged to spy on me!"
"No!" said Will. "But ... I don't know, the other man is Kaye, is that correct? I don't think it's a secret to say he thought Kaye needed smartening? But..."
"But Christ!" said Sam. "No man could call him wrong on that score, could they? So Mr. Kershaw, did Captain Swift put no charge on you at all, concerning us? I can scarce believe that!"
Unfortunately though, the talk of Swift, the tone of rising banter, was affecting the nervous man adversely. His face was clouded, and his stoop was more pronounced, as if he was withdrawing from the conversation, while standing still. They saw him so infrequently that they'd almost forgotten their first impression, that he was as timid as a ghost. It was clear he wished he had not spoke so freely.
In the east the dawn was rising rapidly, and Gunning, against all expectation, chose this moment to burst back into life, and take the Biter with him. Lurched might have been a better word, for he came into their vision from out the forward scuttle like an unfolding knife, shouting loud orders back across his shoulder. He had a bottle in his hand, and the object of his wrath was Jem Taylor, the stolid boatswain, who was not a jot put out. Taylor, if drunk, did not show any signs, and before too long had passed there was a man to helm, hands were tailing halliards and braces, and Geoff Raper's galley stovepipe was belching smoke. Straight up, to be sure, for the windlessness continued, but not a man jack expected that to last for long. Kershaw, without another word, had disappeared below, leaving Will and Sam to watch the strange activity almost disconsolate, so divorced it seemed to be from them. But as the light grew so did a breeze, and out of the fading darkness ships appeared, first few and close, then farther off and many, mainly fishermen or trading barges, but with taller masts, white sails, dotted here and there. Soon Kent was visible, three leagues or so, and the Biter was leaning to a good north-easterly and throwing foam. After an hour, even the captain deigned to come on deck.
They plugged south all that day, moving across to check out larger vessels beating up, enjoying the wind advantage that made their task so easy, and by mid-afternoon were pretty sure they'd found one of their reported fleet. She was a good-sized merchanter, laden deep, with fronds of greenery they could spot through glasses from considerable distance. Weatherbeaten too, with the sails bleached by weeks or months of southern sun. From the ports they counted she had at least eight guns, and as Biter bore down close on her, they could see that knots of men had gathered round the pieces, almost as if they meant to clear away for action.
Will and Sam, lee side of the quarterdeck, watched Kaye watching her from his windward point, wiping his brow occasionally. His face was pale and blotchy from the night's debauching, and he was in the mood for trouble and unpleasantness. No shared breakfast today; he'd nodded curtly in acknowledgement of their polite good mornings and then ignored them. One thing about him, Sam said laconically he did not need advisers to help him make his bad decisions, he was his own fool in entirety.
"Do you think they'd go so far as firing?" Will asked. "It must be bluff?"
"They have a good excuse," said Sam. "They're clearing just in case we turn out to be a private Frenchman. Our colours count for naught in these waters, everyone flies false on principle. Did you not hear about the French frigate, oh not so long ago? Engaged a Netherlander off the South Foreland, brought down her mizzen-mast, lost her fore and half her bowsprit, went in hand-to-hand and called it off when the first lieutenants met in the chains and knew each other, went to school together, Canterbury I think. They were both English, like their ships. Big to-do!"
Will laughed, unsure if it were true or not. But he could see the trader's point. The Biter was not armed much more than adequate, and might sheer off if shook at with a heavy stick enough. Kaye, to give him benefit for some sense, had made no move to order his guns readied. But there was still time in plenty. Despite the good wind Biter was slow, and the East Indies man was moving upwind slower yet.
"Mark you," Sam added, 'you'd have to be a bloody pessimist indeed to think this sad old tub was really a French privateer. Built for lugging coal and the hold rigged out to make good sailors think they've gone to hell in handcuffs. Slack Dickie's glancing at us, hoping to catch us shirking off our duty. Time to break the swords and pistols out, I think."
The action, when it came, was more a mess than glorious. In the last half-hour, as the two ships closed, the Biter signalled her intentions exceeding clearly, and the Noble Goring, as the trader was bizarrely named, ignored them with plodding insouciance. Kaye's guns were manned, although not shotted but his colour rose as the gap grew smaller and the trader's captain, quite visible at the con, made not a move to bring her to, or ease a sheet, or deviate in any way at all from either his course or his intention. Kaye's colour rose, but John Gunning, at the Biter's con, almost on the helmsman's back indeed, showed signs of gibbering.
"Give her a shot!" he shouted, when his breaking point was reached. He turned to Kaye, his face congested, both hands clenched beside his cheekbones. "If he goes past, how will we claw back up to him again!"
Kaye turned large eyes on him as calmly as you please, expression supercilious. He was intent on asserting his command, that had become quite plain. He was as near as damn it sneering.
"You will cut across her bow and give the fool a fright," he said icily. "Then round up handsomely and lay her alongside. I suppose I can trust you to do that, Mr. Gunning?"
"Well," said Sam, for Will's ears only, 'you're a wizard in a boat. Could you do it?"
Will's stomach was knotted with excitement. The ships were careering down like two mad bulls. Two madmen in command, no one was giving way. He drew his breath in sharply.
"Aye, with a handy ship and handy crew," he said. "Not drunk, though; never in the world while drunk. Christ, Sam, he don't believe we'll do it! Look at him!"
The captain of the Noble Goring, as if waking from a peaceful sleep and finding it a nightmare, was rushing towards his helmsman to tear the wheel out of his hands. He was shouting things they could not hear, and men were scurrying to sheets and braces. Instead of hauling hard up, as the race demanded and the Biter men expected, he spun the wheel to put her head to windward while his crew good, fast men despite their worn appearances -braced main and fore yards round at such a speed they went aback instantly, with a battery of explosive cracks. Tacks were not raised, so presumably the old man and close-to be was old, maybe sixty had decided belatedly to stop dead in his tracks, not go about on to the other tack, in case the Navy mad dogs sent vessels, men, and all his precious cargo to the bottom.