They had to turn either up or down the shoreline. Which was it to be? It couldn’t be far off-the compass bearing would set them in the right area-but if he chose the wrong side they could be uselessly pulling away from it.
He concentrated furiously. The bearing was right but if the slight breeze from the southwest had taken more effect over that mile or two, then …
“Larb’d, follow the coast,” he snapped.
The tiller went over and, snatching a glance astern, he saw the other boats conform. If he’d guessed wrong-
There! A clump of bushes and another distant from it and nothing between.
Heart bumping, Kydd made motions for the other boats to come up.
“Lay off. I’m going in to reconnoitre,” he whispered urgently.
It was a modest enough river, easing out to sea through the dunes but with depth of water enough to take a reasonable-sized vessel.
There was a bend to the right; they eased up to it to see around and-lights!
Not one but two ships lay at rest by the bank, quiet, unsuspecting.
“Back!” Kydd growled, hoping his elation didn’t show.
Quickly he came alongside Paddon’s boat. “Two of ’em and I want both. Merchantmen, shouldn’t cause you problems. I’ll take the further, you the nearer. Be sharp about it-moon rises in half an hour.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Paddon said, with irritating detachment.
The men bent to their oars and the launch surged forward, the cutter not far behind. Pulling like madmen they entered the river and started around the bend. There was no time for stealth or elaborate cunning-this was an assault by storm!
It worked. Only when within a hundred yards or so did an urgent cry go up from the nearer vessel and dim figures boiled up from below.
“Lay out like good ’uns, lads!” Kydd roared, slapping his side with the intensity of his feeling.
They passed the first ship as several muskets banged off, a derisory defence in the blackness. They came up fast on the further one, hearing harsh shouts behind them as Paddon’s crew prepared to board.
It was happening: they were going to do it!
Forcing coolness, Kydd concentrated on the approach. There were figures active on the quarterdeck but none forward-they’d board by the fore-chains.
The launch curved in and in the same moment that the bowman hooked on the rest were swarming up, screeching and yelling, effortlessly swinging over on to the little fore-deck. Caught up in the excitement, Kydd did likewise, adding his battle cries to the others.
At the sight of the boarders the Hollanders wasted no time. In a body they splashed into the water and struck out for the shore.
They had the ship! Against all the odds, they had taken a prize.
Something caught his eye. A rocket soared from Paddon’s ship and burst overhead with a huge lazy sparkle. What did it mean?
But Kydd had no time to think about it.
“Cable party-do your duty!” They loped forward with the big axe.
Inland and not so far away came an answering rocket, curving balefully across the sky. And another, further away.
“Topmen, lay aloft!”
There was canvas bent on the yards as he’d known it would be-with a small merchant-service crew it would not be a popular move to send it down when they’d be putting to sea the next day.
He sniffed the wind. A cast to starboard should do it. At this rate they’d get away well before … An indistinct figure was standing before him. “Sir, can’t cut the cable.”
“What? Get on with it, man!”
“It’s made o’ iron. Shackles an’ all.”
“Well, cast it off, damn it!”
“As it’s secured t’ a strongback an’ we can’t make it out in the dark. Two on ’em, too!” said the unknown voice, resentfully.
Kydd tried to think.
In one stroke the tables had been turned. Even if they found the tools it would take hours to cut through a wrought-iron cable link and this showed forethought: the cable would be doubled around the bitts and taken ashore again with its final securing hidden in the darkness. But if it were not released …
On the night air came the faint but urgent sounds of a martial drumming. Somewhere a militia had been called out to resist the English pirates.
He should have known! The inshore squadron of sloops and others would have made this coast a fearful place through cutting-out expeditions of their own. This was only the Dutch taking measures to deter them, and he had blundered into it.
Gulping down his bitterness he bowed to Fate. He must abandon their prize and return empty-handed, and with the militia on their way, he would not even have the satisfaction of properly setting fire to the ship.
“Into the boat,” he said dully.
Was there nothing he could do? Valuable articles to be seized at all costs were the navigation charts and papers that could provide precious intelligence.
“Keep alongside until I get back,” he called down to the launch, and hurried below.
The master’s cabin was easy to find but in the darkness impossible to ransack. He lunged outside to find a lanthorn but the haul was miserly. Outdated coastal charts and papers in Dutch that could mean anything.
He clattered up the companionway to the deck-already there was an appreciable ghostly lightening as the moon began lifting. Running to the ship’s side he-
The boat was not there!
He looked about frantically and spotted it disappearing into the murk after Paddon.
They had deserted him, left him to be taken or killed! The realisation shook Kydd.
A trumpet call sounded in the blackness, much nearer than the other.
He had to do something! But … what?
If he made it to the shore and blundered about looking for a path he’d quickly be found by the locals. And in full uniform what chance did he have in the open country?
Seething with rage and hopelessness, he could do nothing but wait for capture-or some militiaman cutting him down with a musket.
Then, with a catch in his throat at the unfairness of it all, he saw a miracle: out of the same blue river haze, the launch, pulling fast for the ship. They had come back for him-but, in God’s name, why?
Now was not the time to question it and he swung down into the fore-chains and when the bows of the launch touched he jumped in, knocking the bowman aside.
“Back-water!” It was Halgren’s voice, now harsh and commanding.
Kydd made his way aft clumsily through the rowers just as shouts erupted on the opposite bank.
“Hold water larb’d, give way starb’d.”
Through the reeds there was a vivid gun-flash of a musket and then another.
The launch was curving around and unavoidably nearing the bank. Half a dozen gun-flashes came at once, the whuup of a ball close, but Kydd knew that they had destroyed their night vision by firing too early and there was little to fear.
He thumped into the sternsheets seat and sat back, breathing deeply with tension and relief.
He got back aboard no wiser as to why they’d come back for him. Was it Halgren, or was it a general consensus with his agreement? The big seaman disappeared quickly and Kydd decided against calling him back for explanations.
But he felt a tiny stab of hope. At least someone cared about what happened to him.
On the other hand, there was no denying the mood was ugly. In the darkness he heard savage shouts, sour rejoinders.
Hollis barely concealed his contempt and Paddon needed prodding to admit the fact that he’d even had one deserter, leaping ashore to vanish into the night. He’d pleaded confusion as to why he’d left Kydd to his fate. Most likely he’d made away without seeking orders just as soon as the situation had become plain.
Only the sailing master showed any kind of sympathy, asking for details and commiserating quietly.
The boats were hoisted in and the ship reverted to sea routine, heading out under easy sail.