14-Caribbee: A Kydd Sea Adventure Page 11

  Stirk made the most of the fading light and went around the decks, checking. In the circumstances, the plan had to be simple. Enter Puerto de Barahona past any fortifications by bluff, and when within, spy out any vessel worth the cutting out. If there were anything to be gained by raiding ashore, then any general mayhem would be acceptable – a blue rocket would signal L’Aurore they were landing, a red that the defences were too strong.

  The coast loomed, thickly verdant and rumpled; the port was neither enemy nor friend at first appearance, an unsettling lack of certainty.

  Buckle stood stiffly by the wheel, clearly conscious of his role, pale-faced in his cocked hat and sword. ‘Right – everyone below, we’re nearly there,’ he ordered.

  ‘Sir,’ Stirk said heavily, ‘wouldn’t ye like to be in somethin’ more comfortable t’ wear, like?’ It was not up to him to point out the obvious: that an officer in the King’s uniform was an unusual sight in a privateer.

  Their run in was straightforward enough: chalk cliffs stood out stark in the fading light, angling down as if pointing to a cluster of buildings. Closer in, the harbour could be made out – a gap in two white-fringed reefs, then a low hook of land enfolding from the right. Small, but ideal for a privateer hideaway – no frigate was ever going to close with those reefs.

  The schooner, with the last of the sea breeze behind her, surged inside them. Balked of her prey, L’Aurore gave up and headed back out to sea. All eyes in Infanta were on the low spit of land to the right. What would be revealed when they were inside it?

  Long minutes later they had their answer: a near half-mile length of calm water with a sizeable brig at anchor and, at the far end, signs of a shipbuilding slip.

  The helm went over and they sheeted in for the run-up.

  ‘We go for the brig, do you think?’ Buckle asked.

  ‘Sir,’ Stirk said stolidly. Asking him what to do? At least he could see no signs of fear or panic in the man.

  ‘What—’ Calloway was looking astern in consternation. Not more than twenty yards behind was another, larger, schooner – in their eagerness they had not checked the other arm of the harbour to the left and they were now cut off. Trapped.

  From its rakish lines and the number of men, it was definitely another privateer and it was after them, coming up fast. A swarthy figure stood on the bowsprit holding on to a stay and bellowing something aggressively. Other men began bunching behind him.

  Stirk felt his gut knotting as he saw that Buckle’s choices had narrowed to two: fight or surrender. But then he did an utterly unexpected thing: he waved and yelled back a lengthy reply in the same heathen tongue.

  ‘Stirk – go below and, on your life, keep those men out of sight!’ he hissed urgently.

  ‘Sir!’ He wasted no time in obeying, then returned, expecting anything.

  But Buckle was hailing again. This time it produced a flurry of shouting and activity and then the schooner sheered widely around, and made off at speed for the reef gap.

  ‘Wha’?’ Stirk said in amazement. ‘Sir, can y’ tell me, what was all that?’

  ‘Why, nothing much. It was a Captain Romana, he was asking in Creole how we fared on our cruise. I told him we had all our men away in prizes, but if he was quick there’s still a couple for him to take.’

  In frank admiration, Stirk touched his forelock to the man. Quick thinking like that made up for a lot in his estimation.

  It had been close, but they were now free to move on the brig, and all attention turned forward.

  ‘Stand by, below!’

  The evening was drawing in with its usual velvet feel – but an edge of tension grew as the brig drew near.

  There was a lanthorn in the rigging aft, but apart from that, it lay in peaceful stillness, lapped by tiny waves in a picture of tranquillity. Stirk noted in satisfaction that Buckle ordered sail reduced as they approached: they would have aroused suspicion had they careered into the anchorage.

  The schooner eased its progress, ghosting the last few hundred yards as if to pass the anchored vessel. At the last minute course was altered to come alongside – still nobody was visible on deck, the glimmer of light through a side-scuttle aft the only sign of habitation.

  ‘Now, sir?’ Stirk wanted to know. If they were to storm the brig they needed men up on deck ready, sufficient to overwhelm any the other could muster.

  ‘No!’ Buckle said firmly. ‘We’ll do it quietly. Take only three and go below to persuade ’em that resistance is folly. Understand?’

  The two vessels nudged together and Stirk stepped across, cutlass drawn. With a fierce grin he led his men down the after hatch.

  The only crew aboard were playing cards at a table in the diminutive saloon. They looked up in astonishment at the invasion.

  It was short work to secure the ship. No shots fired, no sudden assault to waken the little town, and now they had a prize: it was a master-stroke. How it would be got to sea was another matter, of course.

  When Infanta poled off to return to L’Aurore there were still no signs of alarm along the dusky shore and Buckle paused. ‘Do you think we should stir them up a bit? Let them know the L’Aurores have visited?’

  Poulden looked at Stirk in mock resignation. ‘Aye, a good idea, sir.’

  The far end of the harbour was the loading wharf; it had a sugar lighter tied up to it. ‘That’s depth o’ water enough for us!’ crowed Doud.

  The schooner got under way and as they crossed the last hundred yards people began crowding along the shore.

  ‘Come to see what we’ve got for ’em after our cruise.’ Poulden chuckled.

  Infanta doused sail and glided in under the gaze of the curious spectators. Buckle hailed the crowd – one bent to take the line thrown ashore and others helped to haul in the schooner. In the twilight they had not seen anything amiss.

  Suddenly a blue rocket whooshed up from the schooner, soaring high across the sky. L’Aurore now knew they were storming ashore and would have boats in the water to take them off if things went against them.

  The people fell back in dismay – then a crowd of English seamen boiled up from the hatch brandishing cutlasses and shrieking war cries.

  Most onlookers broke and ran; others hid as two armed parties made for their objectives.

  One, under Calloway, raced for the shipyard, the marines beside them, with muskets a-port. The yard had closed for the day but the lock at the gates was no match for Wong’s crowbar. Inside were two ships building on slips – nearby, pitch pots and teased oakum for caulking, perfect fire starters. Soon flames leaped and flared dramatically in the darkness.

  The other party under Buckle made for the town, hurrying through the few mean streets and searching for opportunities for mayhem. Townsfolk scattered, screaming.

  At the end of the road they were surprised to be met by shouts and desperate yelling. It was coming from men inside a stockade, English sailors held prisoners. ‘Turn ’em loose,’ Buckle said. ‘They’re crew of the brig as will take it to sea for us.’

  One wild-eyed seaman held back. ‘I wants t’ get evens on the Spanish. If ye’ll follow me, I’ll show y’ where Don Espada lives, the bastard.’

  It was a mansion set out from the hill on the slope. As they approached there was the flash of muskets from the mock turrets, but in the bad light the shots went wide, and soon the men were crashing through the ornamental garden and battering down the door.

  Muffled shouts came from within and Buckle ordered them all to fall back while he negotiated. The door was opened by a haughty Spaniard, who stood sullenly.

  ‘Secure him and we’d better be on our way back,’ Buckle ordered briefly.

  From the waterfront, they heard scattered musket fire. If they were prevented from getting back aboard, there could be only one ending to their adventure. A ball zinged from the road and another slapped through a marine’s jacket.

  ‘Take cover!’ Buckle yelled. It was only another intersection before they arrived at the wharf
– but they were under fire from an unknown direction.

  ‘A flying column to secure the wharf?’ Clinton suggested. Casualties would be severe, and worse, if they then held their positions until inevitably enemy reinforcements arrived.

  ‘Waste of men. No, I’ll—’

  Suddenly, like a thunderclap in the still night air, a carronade smashed out. It could mean only one thing – L’Aurore’s boats come in support. The launch and cutter, under oars and stretching out fiercely, had opened fire when well out of range but it was effective: the unknown snipers had run for their lives.

  ‘Go!’ yelled Buckle, and pelted towards the seafront.

  Calloway and his party were waiting for them in Infanta and they lost no time in putting out to join the L’Aurores, the schooner abuzz with jubilation.

  ‘A right good mill!’ Doud cackled, looking back at the leaping flames.

  ‘You really think so?’ Buckle replied, with obvious pleasure.

  ‘Sir, I protest! It should’ve been my landing,’ Gilbey said, aggrieved, as the victors boarded L’Aurore.

  ‘And lose my first lieutenant?’ Kydd said mildly, looking down benignly on his capering men. ‘I’ll have you know it was a close-run thing and events could have turned out in quite another way.’

  Gilbey did not appear mollified, but for Kydd it had been a resounding success: a prize won even if its cargo had been brought ashore. As a prize recovered it would count as salvage only but then again, with the release of the brig’s men, there had been no need to provide crew.

  The shipyard set afire would render the port useless as a privateer base and, in any case, the townsfolk would know that, its secret out, it would be under eye from the British fleet from now on. And to cap it all, they had in custody one Don Espada, a Spaniard who’d been secretly running things there, to prove the situation.

  That night while the seamen were enjoying an extended suppertime with a double tot, Kydd invited his officers to dinner, braving Tysoe’s frowns to broach his private cabin stores. The wine was the best he possessed and the officers’ cook excelled himself. This was going to be a night to remember.

  ‘Wine with you, sir!’ said Curzon to Gilbey, who was rapidly thawing in the happy atmosphere. Further down, Buckle was glowing in new-found respect.

  ‘To Lady Fortune, who’s done so handsomely for the Billy Roarers,’ Gilbey returned. He was never going to allow that Buckle was anything but the child of luck for his achievement. He then turned to Kydd. ‘In course, what you said about prize accounts is so much catblash.’

  Kydd smiled thinly. ‘I’ve asked Mr Renzi to look into the matter and his appreciation is that if we grant that it is another vessel entirely, then those who were aboard her must be in the nature of deserters, they still being on the muster-roll of L’Aurore. Unhappily, therefore, it would seem that each must choose between a flogging or allowing their shipmates to share in the prize.’

  Renzi blinked, then offered with solemnity, ‘Or L’Aurore’s captain is court-martialled for misappropration of a prize before it be condemned.’

  It was a good point: prize rules were strict, and a charge of piracy could be brought against the captain of any King’s ship who took possession of a vessel before it had been examined in a vice-admiralty court and declared subject to forfeiture, and therefore made good prize, no matter what the circumstances.

  It stilled conversation about the table until Kydd said lightly, ‘Save only where the ship is a man-o’-war under the flag of an enemy power. And I take Infanta to be so, even if in a private line of business.’

  There was a relieved murmuring about the table but then Owen, the dry Welshman and purser, spoke: ‘Then it were better our books of account were put in order before our return.’

  ‘Books?’ Kydd said, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, Captain. Should you have taken up this vessel into your service, then there must be a line of disbursement for stores and equipment. Neither I nor the gunner nor boatswain can be expected to write off items consumed without a proper ticket.’

  ‘Oh. Well, what do you recommend, Mr Owen?’

  ‘Why, there’s naught to say. The deed is done.’

  Kydd sighed. The last thing he needed was the prospect of having to explain himself later to a clerk of the cheque concerning the expenditure of funds intended for L’Aurore upon another vessel.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do?’

  ‘As I said, the books must be squared.’

  Kydd was irritated by this intrusion into the warmth of the evening. ‘How will we do that?’

  ‘I can do this, but I must have your predated certificate that Infanta is taken up as tender to HMS L’Aurore.’

  A tender. A minor craft set in menial attendance on a much larger, usually a ship-of-the-line when in port, to convey passengers, supplies and generally be at beck and call. Then it dawned: a tender was borne on the books of its mother ship for stores and victualling, but much more important was what it implied.

  ‘You shall have your certificate, Mr Owen.’

  Kydd grinned as the idea grew to full flower. ‘And thank you for the steer. Gentlemen, our sainted purser has solved our accounting problems and given us a splendid opportunity at one and the same time.’

  Kydd raised his glass to the mystified purser. ‘Do I explain, sir, or will you? No? Then it shall be me.’

  He had their full attention. ‘Mr Owen is pointing out that we now have a regular-going tender, just like a battleship. And what do tenders do? They go where they’re bid, no questions asked. So if, while we’re on patrol in the Mona Passage, it is sent on a whim to, say, twenty degrees north, there’s none to gainsay us.’

  Enjoying the baffled looks around the table, he continued, ‘It being a rascally part of the world it is naturally armed. Which would be fortunate, should it fall in with an enemy. That is, any enemy.’

  Smiles began to appear as his drift became apparent. ‘Which is to say, even hostile merchant vessels who choose to cross its bows, which can never be suffered by any under the King’s colours, even if only a paltry tender.’

  There was open laughter now. ‘So I must find an officer well acquainted with these coasts who I may trust with the charge of L’Aurore’s tender,’ Kydd concluded. ‘One not to be daunted by service in a small ship and one of undoubted sagacity in tight circumstances.’

  He looked about, then allowed his gaze to settle on the hero of the hour. ‘Mr Buckle, I give you joy of your command. Gentlemen, do raise your glasses to … His Majesty’s jolly Privateer Infanta!’

  Chapter 6

  It was showy, but Kydd couldn’t resist His Majesty’s Frigate L’Aurore returning to her harbour home of Port Royal proudly at the head of a procession. Not one or two but four prizes followed in her wake at regularly spaced intervals, each with the ensign of the Royal Navy above that of the vanquished. They weren’t the largest or most spectacular ever seen, and one in the amount of salvage only, but Kydd was confident it would put the admiral in the right frame of mind when he explained about the tender.

  ‘North settin’ current,’ the master warned, eyeing the less-than-hundred-yard gap between Gun Cay and tiny Rackham Cay. It was a tricky passage, but Kydd knew the current’s effect would be offset by the balmy north-easterly. Kendall was right to bring it to his notice but this more direct course had the advantage that their approach would lead them close by the land for all to admire his little show.

  They proceeded around Port Royal Point and into Kingston Harbour, punctilious in their salutes. Kydd allowed a smile at the thought of the words of jealousy aboard Northumberland at the sight of the pretty frigate arriving with prizes at her tail.

  The admiral’s flag was at the main, so he could pay his call immediately instead of taking carriage to the residence on the hill. He went below to change, reflecting that he would remember this time in his naval service as one of contentment, the larger war somewhere on the other side of the Atlantic and Bonaparte caged in Europe, powerless to
affect this agreeable existence.

  His gig put off for the flagship. Kydd had laid out his own money to revarnish the boat and then embellish it with Lincoln green inside, scarlet fittings and a peep of gold-leaf about the carvings of the stern-sheets. If L’Aurore was going to be a long-term feature of the Caribbean scene he wanted her to look the part. He mused idly that he should probably give thought to a residence ashore, a place to spend time out of the ship, acquire curios, perhaps, and to throw open for occasions of a social nature.

  The boat had nearly reached the flagship and, as he looked about the familiar harbour, he wondered why there seemed to be so many ships. The small naval squadron was the same. It was the merchant shipping that was more numerous, some rafted together at anchor. Were they reluctant to put to sea for some reason? That didn’t make sense, for if that was the case the naval ships would be out dealing with whatever the threat was.

  He shrugged, and they hooked on at the main-chains. His action had resulted in prizes and he passed over the bulwarks to the keening of the boatswain’s call with a light heart.

  ‘Captain.’ The first lieutenant greeted him, but his features were tense and lined. ‘I’ll see if the admiral is able to see you, sir.’ He hurried off, leaving Kydd on the quarterdeck.

  Something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  A couple of lieutenants stood together to one side, talking in low tones.

  ‘Boney’s master-stroke, I believe,’ said one, his face grave. ‘As not to say, a war-winner.’

  ‘It’s got Dacres in a whirl, right enough,’ the other agreed. ‘Helpless, can’t do a thing to stop it.’

  Kydd went over to them. ‘I’ve been at sea – what’s this about Bonaparte striking back?’ he demanded. He couldn’t help recalling Renzi’s foreboding that there would be some form of malevolent avenging of Trafalgar – was it now to be revealed?

  ‘Ah, I do think the admiral should give you the news himself, sir.’

  Before Kydd could press the matter, the first lieutenant returned. ‘He’ll see you now, Captain – if you’ll be quick,’ he added, with embarrassment.