Bien Heureuse picked up the breeze and stood out into the channel of the Little Russel. Kydd took care that they carried only small sail until he was happy he knew his ship better. It was unsettling not to have a Queripel or a sailing-master aboard as they headed out past the sombre rocks round the harbour. Probably Robidou had reasoned that if he needed deeper local knowledge he could ask Rowan or one of the others, but for now he must be the one to give orders.
With clear skies and in only a slight lop, they shaped course past the Plattes for the north of Guernsey. "Where are we headed, Mr Kydd?" Rowan asked, standing by his shoulder, perfectly braced on the heeling deck.
"We're t' quarter th' coast west o' Bréhat," Kydd said, in a tone that did not invite discussion. However, he planned to delay their arrival on these hunting grounds along the north coast of France as there was a driving need to get his ship in fighting array before their first encounter. He did not want arguments: he felt there was quarry in those regions and, besides, his one and only patrol of the French coast had been there so these were the only waters he knew well.
Rowan looked at him keenly but said nothing.
They reached the north of Guernsey and put the tiller down for a smart beat westward in the direction of the open Atlantic where he would have the sea-room to take her measure.
The fresh breeze strengthened in gusts and sent the lee gunwale dipping into the racing side wake: a lesson learned. Bien Heureuse was tender on a wind and would need more men to each mast. Her angle of heel was considerable, even for a fore-and-aft rigged vessel and Kydd found himself reaching for a shroud to steady himself. Approaching seas came in with a hard smack on the weather bow and transformed into solid spray that soaked every unwary hand; she was a wet ship.
He tested the wind, leaning into it with his eyes closed, feeling its strength and constancy. A strong blow from the south-southwest; surely they could carry more sail? He made the order to loose one of the two reefs on the fore—the bow fell off and buried itself in the brisk combers. "An' th' main, Mr Rosco!" Kydd bawled; there was little subtlety in the lug rig, but this brought a definite improvement in her response at the tiller.
He sheeted the little ringsail behind him harder in and was surprised by the response. Not only did she right herself considerably and take fewer seas over the bow but her speed seemed to have increased. And closer to the wind: there were possibilities . . .
He let Bien Heureuse take up full and bye again, then tried her going free, downwind. Without a comfortable breadth of beam she felt uneasy, rolling in a regular arc to one side then lurching to the other—not her best point of sailing, and the absence of a weighty cargo low down didn't help.
A crestfallen Calloway appeared. "Sorry, sir. Purvis is—um, flustered b' liquor an' needs t' rest."
Kydd grimaced. Their cook, prostrate with drink. As were other crewmen who had disposed of their advances in the time-honoured way. They would have to be roused soon for the setting of watches, then must abide by the ageless rhythm of the sea. In the Navy such behaviour would earn at the least a night in the bilboes—but this was not the Navy.
"Mr Rowan? I'd be obliged should ye take the deck until we've got our watch-bill. Course west b' south f'r now." Kydd wanted to get the paperwork squared away while the daylight lasted; there were no clear-light spermaceti lamps aboard this vessel.
The motion was uncomfortable in the confines of his cabin, a pronounced wallow that demanded a sustained bracing against the movement. He turned to his papers, hurriedly stuffed into a box. He had not had time fully to digest the "Admiralty Instructions to Privateers," a specific set of rules enclosed with the Letter of Marque, which by their infraction would result in the bond forfeited. They seemed straightforward enough, however, in the main to ensure that merchant ships of whatever flag, and particularly neutrals, were not assailed by swarms of ill-disciplined freebooters little better than pirates. From the look of some of his crew this was not impossible, Kydd thought wryly.
The other paperwork would have to wait. He swung out of the cabin and then on deck. In the cold evening bluster he saw only Rowan and the helmsman in any sense on watch, with possibly a pair of lookouts on the foredeck, but more probably they were landmen, unable to keep below-decks.
He stumped down to the curtained officers' quarters and found the other prize-captain lying in his cot. "Mr Tranter, muster all hands f'r watches," he snapped.
"Bit hard, like," the man drawled. "They been on th' turps—we lets 'em sleep it off." He made no move to rise.
Kydd saw red. "Out 'n' down—now!" he roared. "If I don't see ye on deck this instant, so help me I'll have ye turned afore the mast!"
Tranter rolled an eye towards him. "Y' can't do that," he said, in an aggrieved tone. "This ain't a King's ship. We got articles as say I'm a prize-captain." He contemplated Kydd for a moment more, then slipped down slowly and reached for his watch-coat.
Stumping up the companionway Kydd clamped down his anger. If he was going to have a well-trained crew, instead of a cutlass-waving bunch of pirates, he had his work cut out.
The men came on deck reluctantly, some helped by their shipmates; there were by count but fifty-one, all told. The chill wind whipping in set the unprepared shivering, but Kydd was in no mood for sympathy. He waited until they were still. "Ye're crew o' the Bien Heureuse privateer," he rasped. "Ye've signed articles, an' now ye're takin' my orders."
Apart from some sullen shuffling there seemed to be stolid acceptance; he would show them he knew the customs of the merchant service well enough. "Mr Rowan, Mr Tranter," he called importantly. Rowan stepped forward and, pursing his lips, pointed to a level-eyed seaman with his arms folded across his chest. "Raynor," he grunted.
The man obediently crossed the deck and stood by him. With a grimace, Tranter moved forward and surveyed the group. He called out a thickset seaman from the back, who shuffled across to him through the others.
It went on: the best men fairly distributed, the unknowns parcelled out. When it reached the boys Kydd intervened. "I'll take him t' be m' peggy," he said, pointing to the tallest. He wanted a cabin boy who could stand up for himself.
When the process was complete, Kydd set Calloway to taking down the details. "I'll have a full watch o' the hands b' morning," he ordered both lieutenants. It was now up to them to assign their own men to best advantage in the watch that they themselves would lead.
He left them to it and headed for his cabin, relieved that the first steps had been taken in bringing order to the world. No sooner had he sat down than there was a tap at the door. "Come!" he called.
It was the young lad he had chosen as his cabin boy. "Well, now, an' ye've nothing t' fear if y' do y'r duty, younker," Kydd said genially. Was there not something familiar about the youngster?
"Yes, sir," he replied, not meeting Kydd's eyes.
"I'm sure I've seen ye somewhere about—what do they call ye?"
"L-Leon, s' please ye, sir," the boy said, shrinking back.
Realisation dawned. "Be damned, an' Leon it's not! Pookie more like!" Kydd spluttered. "What th' devil—what d' ye think y'r playin' at, y' chuckle-headed loon?" A twelve-year-old waif of a girl in a privateer, however big for her age?
"I—I want t' be a pirate," she said stiffly, "an' sail the seven seas—"
"Pirate?" Kydd choked.
"—t' seize an' plunder, an' then I'll give it to m' ma."
It was rank lunacy. "How—"
"I heard as how you was goin' t' be captain o' the good ship Ben Herses, an' cruise the seas for—"
"Enough o' th' catblash! You're goin' back t' y'r ma."
The child's eyes filled. "Please, Mr Kydd! I want t' be a sailor, see aroun' the world like you do—an' ye did promise us when we signed as we'd be able seamen afore we knew it. That's what y' said."