The Privateer's Revenge

by Julian Stockwin

  “Er, I’m considering th’ prospects,” Kydd answered politely.

  “Might I know what you conceive t’ be a captain’s first concern in a private man-o’-war?”

  Kydd hesitated, then came back stoutly, “T’ keep th’ seas without cease until a prize be sighted,” he said, “an’ then t’ spare nothing until th’ prize is ours.”

  Robidou replied in measured tones, “For m’self, I’d think that the higher is t’ take a proper regard f’r the ship an’ her fittings as they are the property o’ the owners, Mr Kydd. Cracking on in a chase is all fine an’ well, but if she strains aloft or carries away her sticks, is she fit t’ carry on after th’ next prize? An’ can ye tell me your outlay f’r a prime main-yard? ’Twould make y’ eyes water, sir.”

  Kydd mumbled something, but Robidou pressed on: “Then what would be y’r second-most concern, sir?”

  “Why, y’r books of account, o’ course, sir,” Kydd replied. “What is y’r prize-taking without y’ know your expenses t’ date as must be set against y’r profit? Double-entry, o’ course, an’ properly shipshape.”

  “Well said, sir!” rumbled Robidou. “So many neglect the same t’ the eventual mortification o’ their finances. Tell me, Mr Kydd, have ye experience at sea in th’ commercial line?”

  “I have, Mr Robidou. I was captain o’ the Totnes Castle in th’ colony trade around th’ Cape, an’ the owners were pleased enough wi’ my service.” There was probably no need to explain that it had been a convict transport. “And I stood by m’ brig-sloop fitting out in Malta. A right caution t’ see what hookum snivey the chousin’ rogues tried at th’ dockyard, it not being a King’s yard.”

  Robidou nodded. “Totnes Castle —can’t say I’ve knowledge of her. Now, these Channel Islands, do ye feel comfortable wi’ the sea conditions t’ be found here?”

  “Aye. In Teazer we had on board Mr Queripel, an’ a taut hand he was at y’r currents an’ tides. He was good enough t’ allow me t’ hoist aboard a mort o’ learning o’ th’ Brittany coast.”

  “I know Queripel,” Robidou said. “A good man. Well, I can see ye’ll need to haul in a lot more about the privateer trade, but b’ the look o’ you, we’ll rub along, I’m sure. Mr Vauvert, if we can satisfy Mr Kydd with our articles, I think we have a venture.”

  • • •

  It was no good. He couldn’t go on any longer: a privateer captain or a stagehand—he couldn’t be both. But if he stopped working he would be without enough funds to contribute to his lodging or whatever lay ahead.

  Rosie was sympathetic. “My dear, it happens to us all. You’re between engagements and embarrassed for means.” She smiled sweetly. “You shan’t leave us on that account.” Crossing to a corner table she touched an odd-looking china cat with an upraised paw. “If y’ have need, just ask Mojo here.” She lifted its head and found him some coins. “In course, we give him back th’ rhino as soon as we’re in the cobbs again.”

  Kydd felt a gush of warmth. He felt he was sharing in a tradition that might have been handed down from the travelling players of Shakespeare’s time, a custom that helped the needy without causing embarrassment. “Don’t worry, Rosie, I will,” he said. “An’ when m’ first prize comes home, we’ll have such a hob-a-nob together as will set th’ town t’ talkin’ f’r weeks.”

  Robidou’s small office was on the top floor of an old ship’s chandlery on the waterfront near the harbour and still smelled of the century of sea stores that had once been there. He looked up from a broad desk set under old-fashioned windows with a view out to sea. “I think it only proper t’ tell ye what’s to happen afore we can think t’ fit out our craft for cruising.”

  An elderly clerk scratching away against the wall murmured something but Robidou cut him short. “No, Samuel, those figures must be presented tonight—we’ll not disturb ye.” He took Kydd into another room and said gravely. “He’s preparing our case as will be put t’ the investors. It has t’ be a fine rousin’ one or they’ll not hazard their capital.”

  Kydd felt a sudden chill: his hopes might yet be turned to dust.

  “Don’t concern y’self, Mr Kydd, that’s business for me. But after we’ve got agreement we must appoint the officers.”

  “The officers?” Surely this was his prerogative?

  “Why, yes! I shall be made ship’s husband, o’ course, but there’s the business house in London. We’ll need a bond agent—Paul Le Mesurier I’d trust. We has t’ find a proctor an’ notary public, and there’ll be insurance and legal agents t’ appoint. But ye won’t be interested in this-all, you’ll want t’ hear about drawing up th’ articles of agreement and shares.”

  “I do, Mr Robidou!” Kydd said, as heartily as he could.

  “Well, curb y’ impatience, sir, all in good time. Now after this is signed, we have the venture. I’ll be collectin’ the subscriptions an’ establishin’ our credit wi’ the Priaulx house—they owns privateers but they’ll handle fittin’ out for us in return we gives ’em commissions of appraisement an’ such on our prizes. When I’ve done that we can go lookin’ for a ship for ye.” Robidou chuckled. “Then ye has t’ find a crew as will follow, an’ then finally take out y’r Letter o’ Marque!”

  It was an intoxicating thought: there was every reason to hope that soon he could be once more at sea and, miraculously, as captain! “When do we—That is, m’ ship. Do we . . . ?”

  Just how did one go about acquiring a privateer vessel? Go to a builder of privateers? Look in the newspaper advertisements? Impatience flooded Kydd.

  “Your ship? A mite impetuous when we hasn’t yet an agreement, sir.” Robidou relented with a grin. “Why don’t ye take a walk along the harbour? If’n there’s a saucy craft as takes y’r eye, it’s possible we’ll make an offer. Havelet Bay an’ St Sampson, the builders’ yards there, might have something t’ interest ye.”

  Kydd lost no time. There was every conceivable vessel in St Peter Port harbour. Stately barques, nondescript luggers, and at anchor in the Great Road large merchantmen sporting a surprising number of guns a side.

  But where were the privateers? Would he recognise one? Those he had come upon at sea were a mixed bag indeed, from large three-masters to the swarms in the Mediterranean not much bigger than boats. There was probably not a single type of vessel that could be classed definitively as a privateer.

  His pace slowed. This would not be easy. Were vessels purpose-built to be privateers? If so, what would their characteristics be? Fast craft, probably sharp in the hull with sparring to take a cloud of canvas—but those were the very kind whose sea-keeping was so poor they would have to retire at the first sign of a blow. And as well, in the confines of a sharp-built vessel, where were the prize-crews going to find berths? And stowage for stores to keep the seas for any length of time? Then again, if he were the prey, a smart, rakish predator lifting above the horizon would instantly have him sheering away for his life, and it would be a tedious and costly stern chase to go after every prize.

  It was something to which he had never before given thought. He looked at the ships working cargoes: what would be their perspectives on the matter? As prey at sea, they would be as wary as any wild animal fearing a fox ranging nearby, so if the privateer seemed one of them on its lawful occasions they would not take much notice of his approach or any manoeuvre that would otherwise seem threatening.

  Yes! A ship of respectable size, probably brig-rigged, as so many traders were. Then a sudden unmasking of a goodly row of guns to convince even the stoutest heart that resistance would be futile. This would have the additional benefit that there would be no gun-play to damage prize or cargo. A ship, in fact, not so very different from Teazer . . .

  There were several that might qualify: as he surveyed the busy harbour one in particular stood out. A black-hulled brigantine of two or three hundred tons, sitting handily on the mud in the tidal harbour to reveal her sweet underwater lines. There were few about her decks; her hatches were on, proba
bly awaiting her cargo—or she was in idleness.

  His heart beat faster. Was this the ship that would take him to wealth and respectability—to adventure in the unknown? Casually, he walked round the harbour wall until he was up with her. Close to, she appeared well cared-for, the gear tautly bowsed, lines from aloft properly tarred, decks priddied. All this was a good indicator of her condition below.

  He sauntered past to peer at her stern. Cheval Marin was painted there in ornate yellow lettering. Seahorse: a fine name. A ship-keeper gazed up at him curiously. Kydd walked on: he knew now what he wanted— if the investors came to an agreement.

  Renzi and d’Auvergne fell quickly into a working relationship based on mutual respect. Together they reviewed the plot, the heroic lengths to which Georges and his compatriots were going merely to maintain themselves at the centre of Napoleon’s capital. They traced the route out of Paris that the fleeing carriage and its prisoner must take—west through the meadows and beech forests of the Orne, into the uplands and to the rugged coast, to a secluded but accessible place where the final delivery of the would-be emperor to the waiting vessel could be effected in secrecy and at speed.

  That done, it was now necessary to prepare the ground. The secret records of La Correspondance—d’Auvergne’s underground network dating back to the days of the Revolution, to the doomed risings in the Vendée with all their desperate valour and treachery— these would hold what was needed.

  Renzi placed his candle on the bare table, oppressed by the stifling atmosphere of the ancient dungeon, and crossed to the iron chests. The heavy keys were awkward and the lock wheezed reluctantly, but then he had them: deeds of heroism never to be told to the world, letters of pleading ended briefly in another hand, bald receipts for gold and arms—and the names of those living quietly in the peace of the countryside who had to be informed that service and sacrifice were now asked of them.

  He stuffed the ones he needed into his satchel, relocked the chests, closed the grim door and left the room to the dust of centuries.

  While Renzi’s first requisition was being readied he started on the hundreds of messages that were to go out. Each missive, reaching to villages and farmhouses in a long line to the capital, had to be carefully phrased to avoid implication if it was intercepted but be undeniably authentic.

  For Kydd time passed heavily. Then a hurried note came from Robidou to the effect that one of the investors had raised a serious objection. To him as captain? It didn’t say, but Kydd knew that Vauvert and Robidou were relying on his name as a daring naval officer to offset his lack of experience. Would this suffice?

  Two nights later a letter arrived by hand of messenger. Kydd ripped it open. There was agreement: he was appointed captain, and expected at the office at ten the following morning for the formalities, which would include his acceptance of the initial articles.

  Kydd called his friends: “Rosie! Richard! Raise y’r glasses, please, t’ Guernsey’s newest privateer captain!”

  “Hurrah!” Rosie squealed, hugging Kydd. “A real corsair! How romantic! We’ll come down to the harbour an’ see you off on your voyage o’ plunder and adventure. You lucky man!”

  At Robidou’s office he picked up the memorandum and articles of association that were the foundation of his future. It was strange to see before his eyes, in sombre, weighty phrases, the financial underpinning to nothing less than a voyage of predation—but then he remembered that he was a mere employee of the association, the captain of their venture but, nevertheless, a servant of the owners.

  This became even more plain when preparation began on the articles of the voyage. There was dignified discussion concerning his emoluments but this was merely a form of politeness: his basic income would be no more than a bare wage. The incentive for captain and crew would be a share in the proceeds of any prize they might take. This was apportioned out and agreed at a five-eighths share to the managing owners, the rest to be distributed among the privateer crew. The captain would receive sixty shares, twice that of the officers; the boatswain, gunner and other valuable members half that again. The common seaman could expect anything from twelve to two shares in accordance with his worth to the ship.

  That settled, there was the question of the conduct of the voyage. In the merchant service there were no Articles of War, no regulations or Admiralty Instructions as a comforting guide and sometime refuge from decision. On a merchantman, aside from the venerable customs of the sea, the captain stood alone to rule as he saw fit—and be ready to take the consequences.

  There had to be something sturdy and bracing in the articles, however, as this was the only binding document for a seaman, who must sign them before the forthcoming voyage. For a privateer it was a particular case: carrying on the profession of war but within the structure of the merchant service. Under Robidou’s advice, Kydd compromised on simple clauses that required obedience to lawful orders and refraining from insolence and disorderly conduct.

  As to provisions touching on combat, it was no use to make appeal to King and country. There was but one simple equation: those who flinched in action or showed cowardly behaviour would forfeit their share in the prize. On the other hand the first man to board a resisting prize would be rewarded: six gold guineas for him and one each for the next six; no pillage to be tolerated.

  The articles went on to other details: no extra privileges to officers save the captain; a week’s wages in advance on signing and a redeemable ticket for shares immediately on prize condemnation; none to suffer loss of wages or prize money if put ashore with illness or injury caused in the line of duty; and all monies due a seaman to be payable within three months of the end of the voyage.

  These were clear enough, for Kydd had been master of a merchant vessel before and the legalities of such documents as the Portage Bill, and others concerning the crew, were no mystery to him. He must have impressed, for Robidou sat back in satisfaction and grunted, “An’ if ye’ll clap y’r scratch t’ the articles we can get th’ venture under way.”

  The armateur pulled out a bottle of malt whisky and glasses. “Here’s t’ your good health, Mr Kydd, an’ may our enterprise be profitable.”

  It was time to find a ship.

  “Aye, I did get sight o’ one,” Kydd said casually. “She’s alongside by South Pier. Name of Cheval Marin . Fine lines she has, trim an’ well fettled, wi’ a deck as’ll take a line o’ six-pounders—”

  “The brigantine? About two, three hundred ton, a mite over-sparred f’r the Channel?”

  “Aye, but not a problem f’r a cruiser.”

  Robidou’s expression hardened. “Pray tell me, Mr Kydd, why do ye think she’ll make a privateer?”

  “Why, she has the size t’ discourage valour and looks a simple merchantman well enough.”

  “And where did ye say y’r cruising?”

  “Gulf of Avranches t’ Brest,” Kydd said defensively, remembering the two quarry he had seen from Teazer .

  “Then ye’ll need to think again, I believe. There’s two things y’ may have overlooked. The first of ’em is, in those waters they’re all coasters close in. Shallow draught is what’s wanted in chase through shoal waters, bigod, an’ that’s not y’r Cheval .

  “Second is, have ye costed the barky? Three hundred tons, a hundred an’ fifty crew—puttin’ aside th’ purchase price, what’ll she cost each day o’ sea-time? Disbursements in harbour dues, wharf-age, repair an’ maintenance? Add all y’r other outlay with this an’ we come to a pretty sum. Now, how much do y’ reckon a coaster prize will yield, figuring on a ready market but fees o’ thirty per centum at the least? Not enough t’ cover expenses.

  “No, sir. It will not do. You’ll be wantin’ a trim coaster y’self, I’m thinkin’, no more’n eighty ton, probably lug-rigged an’ country built, a hold well enough f’r a prize-crew. Y’ won’t need storin’ past a week or so at a time.”

  Kydd’s dreams of cutting the figure of a rapacious privateer putting to sea in a proud cr
aft in search of booty were rapidly fading.

  “I did see one as I’ll allow is more t’ my taste,” Robidou went on. “In St Sampson f’r repair, a saucy lugger, just y’r size. You’ll want t’ see her first, o’ course. Name o’ Bien Heureuse , been in th’ salt trade this last twelve-month, a common enough sight to the French.”

  “What weight o’ metal?” Kydd asked dubiously.

  Robidou chuckled. “A Frenchy coastin’ craft won’t have more’n swivels, so a pair o’ small carriage guns’ll be enough t’ terrify him. If ye’re crafty an’ go quietly ye’ll outsail any deep-laden vessel o’ y’r own class, an’ then it’s how well y’ board.”

  Kydd’s first sight of Bien Heureuse was a vessel propped up on the mud near a slip-yard up the coast at St Sampson. Plank walk-ways were laid to allow their inspection but as Kydd made his way gingerly towards the rearing bulk his heart sank.

  Her construction was sound enough, carvel strakes of a thickness out of respect to the rocky shoals and reefs—but so drab. No figurehead or decoration to relieve the sturdy lines, not a touch of gold-leaf or a proud stern-gallery. Her hull was utilitarian tarred black-sided, faded in parts but her spars and rails were varnished, giving an overall impression of unpretentious strength.

  They clambered up a wooden ladder to the deck. She was two-masted, really; the third much smaller and well-raked mast right aft was so out of keeping with the others. But at least they soared to a satisfying height, Kydd reflected, and they could probably spread topsails above.

  Flush-decked, there was one hatchway forward and one aft: the latter led to what would be his cabin, little more than a hutch with a table and space for a cot, with two tiny skylights above. Forward was a space with curtained-off bunks above lockers, no doubt the officers’ accommodation.

  Reaching the open air again, Kydd saw that with gratings in the hatches the partitioned hold held good promise of accommodation for prize-crew, and there was the usual fo’c’sle glory-hole right forward for the main crew.