Persephone by Julian Stockwin

Author:Julian Stockwin [Julian Stockwin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodder and Stoughton
Published: 2017-04-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 45

‘Clean done, sir,’ Kydd, now back on deck enthused to Sankey. ‘Dead reckoning and you raise the Naze in one!’

The masthead lookout had confirmed sighting the unmistakable Naze Tower, and the old captain eased visibly. ‘I’m sanguine we’re now clear o’ the Gunfleet and are in with the King’s Channel. I believe I’ll keep abreast the land to round the Ness, then all plain sail to Yarmouth Roads.’

Kydd said nothing. They were now where they should have been if they’d gone direct but he felt for the man: without the reassurance of hallowed routine and having the heir to England’s throne on board, he’d achieved a workmanlike transit safely to this place.

‘Odd. Nothing much about, is there?’ he wondered aloud. This was the main sea highway from the north to London and there should have been a steady stream of Newcastle colliers and other vessels on their way to feed the insatiable maw of the capital. But as far as he could see there was only one or two sail in sight in both directions.

Then he realised this would be the case if they’d arrived soon after the passing of a coastal convoy or the passage of a naval vessel of size attracting an informal gaggle of sail.

Sankey gave the order and, bracing around, the ship took up to a quartering breeze north-eastward. The sailors had little to do but stand back and allow the yacht to make Yarmouth on one board. For the passengers it was disagreeable to be on deck as the increasing westerly was slapping driven waves into her beam and, despite the high freeboard, an occasional dash of spray soaked the unwary.

‘Deck hooooo! I mislike the two sail t’ weather!’

Sankey whirled on his midshipman messenger. ‘Get aloft and send that man down to explain himself! This instant, sir!’

An irritated Sankey told Kydd, ‘In a royal yacht sightings are never bawled out promiscuous from the masthead, at peril of incurring His Royal Highness’s annoyance. My orders specifically state that—’

But before he could finish Kydd had sprung into the lower shrouds and demanded the officer-of-the-watch’s telescope.

It was passed up and, bracing it against the thick rope, Kydd trained it inshore. At first he couldn’t make out anything but two pale blurs, but when he adjusted the focus they leaped into view. Not two but three – and what he saw chilled him: a large schooner and a pair of smaller luggers, three-masted.

He knew the breed and they weren’t English. Without question these were enemy: French or Dutch, waiting to snap up any lone merchantman on the east coast without the wit to sail in company.

He’d heard of the trick from Brice, who’d served in these waters. The desolate marshy lowland about the Colne estuary a dozen miles to the south was out of sight of the shipping lanes and protected from curious eyes by miles of marshland. It made an ideal skulking place for privateers as they could not be seen from seaward of the Gunfleet Sands where any naval patrols would be confined as they kept watch and ward in the King’s Channel.

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