Conquest Page 23

  From the gardens they made their way to the first race meeting at Green Point Common and, in the senior officers’ enclosure, absorbed the excitement and atmosphere of the racing. The fine spectacle and fierce thud of hoof-beats brought a flush to her cheeks and an animation that was directed to him alone.

  Enjoying the many looks of curiosity and envy, Kydd bowed extravagantly to the governor and the fiscal, flashing a barely concealed look of triumph at Renzi, who was standing with them. Beside him, Thérèse curtsied in dignified court fashion and was rewarded by an exaggerated bow from Baird.

  More social interchanges would come later, at a governor’s levee, perhaps, but for now Kydd was supremely content. The acknowledged beauty and reclusive French princess had made her choice and all the world knew it.

  ‘A small matter, ma chère,’ he apologised, when the racing was over. He had chosen the recently formed Africa Club on the Heerengracht to make his social pied-à-terre and, besides a subscription of forty rixdollars, rules dictated he deposit twenty-five bottles of wine in the club’s cellar. Who better to select them than Thérèse?

  Duty done by the delighted club secretary, he stepped out with his lady into the fine evening, a French dinner à deux promised for later. He fought off a feeling of unreality as his mind allowed a fleeting but alluring image: returning to Guildford, a post-captain with a royalist French beauty of noble birth. It would be a breathtaking sensation in the little town, to be talked about for years . . .

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Secretary, but he’s insisting he’s to see the governor and no other,’ Stoll said apologetically, explaining that the man outside was one of the recent survivors so much talked about.

  ‘I’ll receive him here.’ Renzi sighed.

  He was called Knudsen and was of an age, bowed and with his silver hair still dull with the privations he had suffered, face cruelly burned by the sun.

  ‘I am the colonial secretary,’ Renzi said courteously, ‘and I’m to say that unhappily the governor is not to be disturbed at this time.’

  ‘I understand, sir,’ Knudsen said, in a voice barely above a whisper, and in curiously accented English. ‘My business, however, is of the greatest importance and must not be delayed.’

  He leaned forward confidentially. ‘A serious matter for His Excellency, concerning as it does the safety of this settlement.’

  There was something in the man’s calm but earnest manner that triggered unease in Renzi. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said, and went to find Baird.

  The general was in a genial mood. ‘Send him in, Renzi – and, mark you, he’ll not get a moment over ten minutes.’

  Knudsen was shown to a chair. He looked up at Baird, clearly having difficulty in finding the words. ‘Sir. You must believe me to be a true citizen of Denmark. Our countries are at war and this has placed me in a most odious moral position.’

  ‘Please go on, sir,’ Renzi said, in an encouraging tone.

  ‘I have fought with my conscience since we were in all humanity granted our liberty here in Cape Town and now have come to a personal decision.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Knudsen?’

  ‘It was a noble act that your frigate captain did, to land and search for us in hazard of his own life, and another that we were given our freedom as shipwrecked souls in this place.’

  ‘And . . . ?’

  ‘Therefore I’m come to a determination, even if it might be said to be a betrayal of my country, to tell you of a deadly threat to this settlement, one of which unhappily I cannot provide the details but which none the less appears to be of a fatal nature.’

  ‘Please be plain, sir.’

  ‘Our ship was on its way from Christianborg to the French islands in the Indian Ocean. On board were passengers, and two of these were French officers of the Army. They caroused much and what I overheard I will tell you now.

  ‘There is an enterprise afoot, which is intended to restore Cape Town to Bonaparte’s empire. It involves supplies, timing and that their navy plays its part. I cannot tell you more, except to say that one boasted to me that Cape Town would be theirs to plunder within the month.’

  In the shocked silence, Renzi was the first to recover. ‘Sir, it is of the first importance that we know whence the assault will come. From the sea? A privy landing on the coast far from here? Or a direct descent on the town, perhaps.’

  Knudsen shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I sincerely wish that was in my power. As you might expect, talking between themselves, there was no general plan laid out, and as a merchant factor, my interest was never in any military adventure.

  ‘Sir, I tell you this in violation of my feelings as a Danish citizen, but in respect of my obligation to you for your kindness. I know no more.’

  After he was shown out, Baird sat down slowly, his face grey. ‘I knew the French would retaliate – but this! We know nothing of it, how or where they will come, except that it must be very soon. What can I do to defend against what we’ve just heard?’

  Renzi had no answer.

  ‘Very well. Not a word of this must get out to the common people. We can only hope that the French show their hand early so we can move to delay them until the reinforcements get here. All I can say is, God help us, Renzi.’

  Back in his office, Renzi tried to think it through. That there was a threat was not in question – the source was unimpeachable. That it was well advanced could be deduced from the facts as told – an attack before the month was out.

  But that could not be, for the news of Blaauwberg would only very recently have been received in Europe and any expedition mounted as a consequence could never have been planned and put into operation within the time-frame.

  Therefore it was a local response.

  This raised as many questions as it answered. To overwhelm a prepared defence even of the order of what could be mustered at Cape Town implied a massive landing by a major force, together with a powerful naval squadron to sweep aside the sea defences. Where was that coming from on a local level? And the transport shipping required: this must be of a similar scale. It simply did not add up. Or did it?

  He went back to Baird and explained his reasoning. ‘If it’s local it’s unreasonable to think they can deploy enough military resources to succeed in a landing. Therefore we must consider how else it can be achieved – and I believe I know.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They’re already here.’

  Baird blinked. ‘Do tell me, Mr Secretary.’

  ‘Sir, it’s my belief that somewhere beyond the mountains among the Boers the French are building up a secret army. Instead of a direct landing, they’re sending troops overland from the east to add to this force until it’s ready to challenge us. Then they’ll descend from the mountains to crush us, our navy powerless to stop them.’

  ‘Umm. Not impossible. You mean, they’re being infiltrated somewhere along the coast past the settlements and marched inland? There’s many a reason a military man might find to say how this might fail, but for now I’ll allow it.’

  He considered for a moment and added, ‘I’d think to have heard something of any build-up of soldiery but, as you say, if it’s placed among our Boer friends they’ve everything to gain by keeping quiet. No matter, I’ll send out patrols and—’

  ‘Sir. You’ve an immense country to cover and there’s simply not the time – and, besides, you’ll set the colony to speculation and panic. No, sir – there is another way.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I make a surprise tour of the interior, the purpose of which is let out to be of ensuring that our administration is fairly and truly conducted, namely, that the books of register and account are well kept and in their proper form.’

  ‘You have a reason.’

  ‘Certainly. An army has to be supplied. From these accounts I can easily see if the receipts of foodstuffs in Cape Town no longer match production in the country – that they are being diverted for other purposes.’

  ‘Quite so – well d
one!’ He grunted ruefully and added, ‘Although it offends my military sensibilities that the French might be thwarted by mere books of account.’

  ‘Then I’ll set out immediately, if I may, Sir David. There’s not a moment to lose.’

  ‘Of course. And I’ll ask the commodore that a ship be sent to look into the coast to the east as well. We must move on this as quickly as we can.’

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  It was true that, with impunity, Janssens had held out in the mountains until his army of unreliable militia had melted away, but if now there was a core of Napoleon’s professionals, gathered up from the garrisons in Mauritius and other Indian Ocean islands . . .

  Popham had thus been obliged to send his lightest frigate to the east to join Leda, already on station.

  Kydd’s orders were brief and open: he was to cruise off the long south coast of Africa to intercept anything that looked like a supply train or to acquire any intelligence that would reveal something of a clandestine force.

  With the desolate coastline now under his lee he summoned Gilbey and Kendall to discuss a plan of action.

  ‘This is a puzzler, gentlemen. Here we have a secret army being landed but no port available to them.’

  ‘Mossel Bay?’ hazarded Gilbey.

  ‘The only place possible, I’ll agree, but we’ve since sent in the lobsterbacks to keep order. No – that leaves no docking worth the name on this whole stretch of coast. They’ll have thousands of troops, stores and guns to get ashore, and you’ve seen the beach surf in this part o’ the world.’

  ‘A river, then?’

  Kendall harrumphed. ‘Not as who’s t’ say. Never seen such a continent without it has its river navigations,’ he offered, adding that the south part of Africa had not one river capable of taking sea-going vessels.

  ‘Up the coast, somewhere uncharted b’ us?’

  ‘We can say no to that, Mr Gilbey – the French are good at marching but in your case they’d have to sweat along for many hundreds of miles across to reach us. And by our intelligence they’re but a month away from a descent on Cape Town, so must be nearer. And, as well, if they land in unexplored country they’ll be in the middle of savage tribes who’ll resent ’em crossing there.

  ‘My suspicion is they’re closer, the Boers hiding ’em somewhere among themselves. And if we smoke out how they victual, we’ll find it.’ It was an easy thing to say but the reality was quite another matter. It was a long coast, and if they discovered nothing, did this mean there was no secret army?

  ‘Sir, may we know how far out the Boers have settled away from Cape Town? This’ll limit the search a mite, I’m thinking.’

  ‘I have this map from the colonial secretary’s office. They’re saying they’ve spread east as far as this’ – Kydd indicated a point two-thirds along the blunt heel of Africa – ‘as they call it, the frontier. That’s the Sundays River and after this there’s nothing but tribes o’ savages pressing in.’

  ‘Which a mariner might know as Algoa Bay,’ Kendall murmured.

  ‘Which Mr Renzi would tell us is as far as Dias got before his men informed him they’d cut his throat if he took ’em further, the land so unfriendly.’

  ‘Aye, sir – but where’s to go, these nor’-easterlies an’ all?’

  Kydd nodded. It made more sense to make a fast board out to sea past the end point, then search the coast on return with a favourable wind all the way.

  There was little else that could be profitably discussed and L’Aurore was set to making her offing, an exhilarating swoop in the swell with the steady winds, a regular crash and burst of spray at the bows, the weather shrouds bar-taut.

  On the return board, however, the day had lost its shine and the cloud became sulky and low, the deep-sea combers showing a vivid white against the greying waters. It persisted, and when the coast was raised once more, the bearings that placed them in position for their run down the coast were taken through a misty layer of spindrift.

  A sea kicked up that had L’Aurore corkscrewing along, now with curtains of driving rain passing that made observations close inshore both uncomfortable and chancy.

  ‘Let’s find some shelter an’ ride it out, sir,’ Kendall offered. ‘No use in trying to search in this’n.’

  Kydd agreed, but it was not until some distance further that an offshore island providentially appeared, not a large one but sufficient. ‘We’ll go to single anchor in its lee.’ This would have the added bonus of facing the shore to keep it under observation.

  A cold rain squall blustered while they shaped course to round the end of the island. When it passed by, a simultaneous yell came from the two lookouts. There, as large as life and doing much the same as them, was another frigate, and it was not Leda.

  ‘Hard a-larboard!’ Kydd snapped. ‘Take us out again, Mr Kendall.’

  L’Aurore came round hard up to the wind and started thrashing seaward as Kydd took in the scene. An unknown heavy frigate, no colours but not Dutch, sails still in their gear and men on the fore-deck – almost certainly coming up to the moor – and, curiously, just beyond, there was a large brig of undoubted merchant origin. Ship and escort? Unlikely – a single brig with a frigate escort was not how it was done.

  L’Aurore was completely outclassed by the 38-gun stranger who would no doubt be mounting a battery of long eighteen-pounders and therefore it was both prudent and honourable to withdraw. But what the devil was a big frigate doing so close inshore here? Was it something to do with the secret army, or a chance encounter with one of the French frigates set to range the sea-lanes for prey? Kydd could find no answer.

  Should he stay and shadow, or tiptoe past and continue his mission? But the choice was taken out of his hands – sail was cast loose on the big ship and it took the wind, curving about the far side of the island to re-emerge on a course directly towards them.

  This was insane! The first duty of a commerce-raider was to avoid battle – even if it became the victor, any damage incurred far from a friendly dockyard could end the cruise at that point. Kydd didn’t like so many unanswered questions, and not only that: until he had the measure of his opponent’s sailing qualities there was no certainty that in this blow they could even get away.

  He glanced up: after her long voyage from England, L’Aurore’s rigging was no longer new and her sails were stretched and sea-darkened. If there was to be a chase, it would be prudent not to put too much strain on the gear aloft. They had a heavier suit in the sail locker but it would be suicide to stop now and bend them on.

  ‘Ease her, if you please. We’ll wait and see what that one’s made of.’ The frigate was a mile or more astern and there was no need for heroic measures yet but Kydd watched it keenly.

  Its sails visibly hardened as they were sheeted in, a topgallant briefly appearing and then disappearing as it was trialled, and a bone in the teeth grew larger as the frigate leaned into it. L’Aurore was under topsails and courses – Kydd dismissed the idea to spread reefed topgallants because any risky venture aloft that did not come off could end in dismasting and ruin.

  Patience and safe seamanship were what was necessary at this point, holding on until the hunter tired of the chase. Cold spray dashed him in the face; they were having a hard time of it in the strengthening wind, which was at cross-purposes to the swell, resulting in abruptly mounting triangular wave-forms that L’Aurore struck heavily as she fled.

  Within the hour it became clear that there would be no early abandoning of the chase and, worse, the gap was closing. It was now getting serious – as the weather deteriorated it would favour the larger vessel, and any advantage L’Aurore had in manoeuvrability would be nullified.

  They’d go about now. Kydd had the utmost confidence in his ship’s company: they’d been well tried and had settled into a fine body of seamen. ‘Hands t’ station for staying!’

  In this fresh weather it would require the utmost concentration. ‘Ease down the helm,’ Kendall ordered, all
owing L’Aurore to quarter the wind to her best speed.

  ‘Lay aloft.’ Men scrambled up the shrouds to clear away the rigging, while along the deck, braces were thrown off their pins and laid out for running.

  There would be no second chance: if they missed stays it could be disastrous.

  ‘Helm’s a-lee!’

  They were committed. With the stakes all too apparent, the men threw themselves at the tacks and braces as the orders cracked out, one after another.

  ‘Rise tacks ’n’ sheets!’

  ‘Mainsail haul!’

  ‘Haaaul of all!’

  Responding nobly, L’Aurore swept about, sail taking up on the other tack with a thunderous slatting and banging, the seas now meeting her weather bow with explosions of white.

  Kydd watched the other frigate intently. The unknown captain was not to be hurried – given that L’Aurore had the initiative, he nevertheless held on until he was ready, then made a faultless stay about, falling in astern with little ground lost, an indication of a competent and well-tested crew.

  The seas were resulting in an uncomfortable bucking and stiff roll, and still the Frenchman came on – and still no reason as to why he would risk taking on even a smaller ship, especially in these increasingly brisk conditions.

  Kydd had to think of a way out. Standard tricks in a chase, such as lightening ship, would be of little use in these seas and smacked of desperation, but any attempt to set more sail would be risky – better to leave it as a last resort.

  To wait it out in the hope that the other would abandon the chase was the only option, that and attend scrupulously to sail trim to wring the last knot from the ship. But it was as though there was a malignity in the other captain, a hostility that was hateful and personal, driving him to extremes in wishing Kydd and his ship destroyed.

  They raced together over the southern ocean as if tied with an invisible rope. What looked like a goosewinged topgallant appeared briefly on the fore of the other vessel, but almost immediately blew out into ribbons streaming away. Now the deadly intensity of their adversary was palpable.