Conquest

by Julian Stockwin

  ‘Hold water!’ he ordered. They lay to fifty yards offshore, fearful that once they were seen, the panic could easily turn into a killing vengeance. In a frenzy they searched the riverbanks for their shipmates. Nothing.

  Gilbey’s orders were to stay out and cover their approach with his carronade. Ashore, the disorder seemed to be subsiding – at any moment the horde could turn on them. Kydd left the sternsheets and scrambled forward to stand in the bows at the gun, peering to see.

  ‘Sir!’ one of the oarsmen said urgently. ‘Over t’ larb’d!’

  It was clearly Stirk, and the others with him, struggling along towards the jetty and dragging another – but from the opposite side came a roar of anger. They’d been seen – and it was clear they were not going to make it to the jetty before they were overwhelmed. After all their immense bravery, to be slaughtered in sight of their salvation.

  ‘Ready the carronade,’ Kydd said steadily. In the dark, without the possibility of a reload, there were two shots and two only available between both boats.

  ‘Fire!’

  The crash of the eighteen-pounder from out in the night with its heightened gun-flash was shocking as a heavy round-shot was sent skipping and slamming over the water to end smashing and rampaging through the undergrowth – a very visible blast of terror that renewed the panic.

  ‘Go for your lives!’ The oarsmen needed no urging and the big launch flew in towards the jetty.

  ‘Move!’ bellowed Kydd, frantically beckoning to the waiting figures.

  Stirk roughly pushed in the stranger, who fell protesting into Kydd’s outstretched hands. ‘Who the devil—?’

  ‘Y’r ringleader, if y’ please, sir,’ Stirk said laconically, urging in his men before clambering in himself.

  ‘Be damned!’ Kydd spluttered, and hastily turning to the bowman roared, ‘Bear off, there – let’s away!’

  Stirk grasped his arm. ‘I’d be waitin’ a mort longer, sir, as beggin’ y’r pardon,’ he said firmly.

  Something about his old mess-mate’s manner made him pause but the warriors could now see what was happening and started to storm forward once more – then out of the blackness came another thunderclap: Gilbey had seen what was happening and fired his own carronade.

  They were now defenceless – but Stirk had seen something and muttered, ‘They’s coming now, sir.’

  To Kydd’s utter stupefaction, the unmistakable figure of Renzi loomed. Then, to his even greater astonishment, his friend theatrically produced Thérèse, sullen and tattered.

  ‘Might I present to you the Baron de Caradeuc, whose daughter I believe you’re already acquainted with?’

  Kydd could only stare.

  ‘Er, we gets under way, y’ said, sir?’ the anxious bowman pleaded.

  ‘Aye – let’s be back aboard, by all means.’

  Tired but elated, Kydd and his victorious men stepped aboard L’Aurore to a roar of welcome. ‘Get these two below under guard,’ he told Bowden, briskly, indicating the prisoners. ‘I don’t want to see ’em again before Cape Town.’

  When he’d finally disengaged Renzi from the throng they went to the sanctuary of Kydd’s cabin. ‘Tysoe! Mr Renzi is near gut-foundered and craves a restorative.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  The officers’ cook came personally and busied himself with supervising several tempting dishes, and Tysoe murmured, ‘We have still one of the ’ninety-two Margaux, which I recollect Mr Renzi particularly favours.’

  ‘Make it so, you rogue, and be damned to the hour!’ Kydd said happily, and fussed about a protesting Renzi in his old chair.

  Soon glasses were raised and limbs eased. ‘Now, Nicholas, you’ll tell me what the Hades you were doing in such a place – or should I not ask?’

  Between wolfed mouthfuls of mutton cutlets, Renzi told his tale, ending with ‘So when that fearful fog-horn let go, how could I not remember those times off the Grand Banks in Tenacious when the damned thing was going morn to night? And here’s to that old barky, dear fellow!’

  ‘And here’s to Toby Stirk, the cunning dog, who thought of it!’

  ‘Which I’ll second – I understand we owe our rapid withdrawal afterwards to the disinclination of our Xhosa friends to venture after us in the darkness where such dreadful spirits must lurk.’

  After finishing his food Renzi laid down his knife and fork with a shuddering sigh, and closed his eyes. ‘There were times, my friend . . .’

  ‘Quite,’ Kydd murmured, in sympathy. He knew better than to go further – Renzi would talk more in his own good time. He toyed with his glass for a moment, then said, with a trace of defiance, ‘You must think me a sad looby to be gulled by Thérèse. I’m to say I never suspected for a moment, even while she dunned me with all those questions.’

  ‘Of course not, old trout. There’s others who’ve been deceived by her beauty and mystery, the chief of which must be my own self. And I’m here to tell you that her scheming to prise intelligence from you she considered a waste of effort, but as a man you proved to be . . . diverting.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Indeed. Er, might it be hoped that this unholy experience has not soured you on the female race?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Kydd reassured him, with a wicked grin, ‘although perhaps I shall take a little more care where I set my cap in future . . .’

  Two days later, L’Aurore, her prize astern of her, rounded the point into Table Bay. Surprisingly, it was considerably crowded, with more than two score weather-beaten ships moored all along the wide anchorage.

  ‘A convoy from England, Nicholas!’ Kydd beamed. ‘Our reinforcements have arrived at last, thank God.’ Baird’s dispatches must have done their work, for now not only had Whitehall received tidings of the action at Blaauwberg but had responded with all that was needed to make their presence permanent.

  There were transports for garrison soldiers, store-ships with military supplies, merchantmen, no doubt laden with necessaries and luxuries, and stately Indiamen with notables on their way to India, who were now freely touching at their new port-of-call – Cape Town.

  ‘Well, m’ friend, I think we can say that Cape Colony now exists on the books in London. You’ll no doubt have such a scurrying about, quantities of forms to return, new regulations and laws – not to mention the accounting of it all. I almost feel sorry for you!’

  ‘Yes, it will be a challenge,’ Renzi said gravely, his eyes on the massive grandeur of the African country before him.

  After hearing Kydd’s report Popham not only ordered him to inform the governor directly but insisted on accompanying him, along with the colonial secretary. ‘Good God, Renzi!’ Baird spluttered, aghast as the three were brought into his presence. ‘You’re – you’re alive! We thought you were taken by a leopard!’

  Renzi set out the plot and its foiling briefly and succinctly, taking pains to give due recognition to Kydd and his intelligent reasoning, followed by his decision to go forward with the attack in the face of such odds.

  When he finished, Baird shook his head. ‘The greatest stroke I’ve come across this age,’ he managed at last. ‘Have you ever heard the like, Dasher?’

  ‘Never,’ said Popham, warmly. ‘In the best traditions of the Service, Sir David. In particular I’d like to commend Captain Kydd on the moral courage he showed in breaking off the action with Leda to pursue the higher purpose. Captain Honyman was much annoyed as the Frenchy frigate slipped him by, but I shall speak with him on the matter and I’m certain he’ll hear no more of it.’

  ‘So,’ said Baird, with feeling, ‘here’s a what-a-to-do before me, I must declare. We can’t let it become public property in the colony that we were ever affrighted by the French or a rising by the Xhosa, so how can we decently hail it as a triumph? At the very least, gentlemen, in my dispatches I promise you I shall make it my business that it is not forgotten.’

  He held out his hand in sincere admiration.

  ‘Well,’ Renzi said, w
ith a sigh, ‘after the excitement it’s back to work for me, I fear. My desk under a monstrous pile, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘Ah, as to that, er . . .’ Baird looked uncomfortable ‘. . . um, there’s someone I’d like you to meet, Renzi.’

  He went to the door and called, ‘Ask Mr Barnard to attend me, if you please.’

  A studious gentleman, with a careful but intelligent manner, entered.

  ‘Renzi, there’s no way I can think to break this to you without disappointment, therefore without further scruple, I have to introduce Mr Andrew Barnard, who is to be the permanent colonial secretary for Cape Colony.’

  Turning white with shock, Renzi stood for a moment before awkwardly returning his bow.

  ‘Whitehall has seen fit to ignore my earnest recommendation on your behalf and is insisting on a professional civil servant in post. I’m – I’m truly sorry that this has been denied you, especially after your recent, er, experiences, of course.’

  Seeing Renzi’s stricken features, he hastened on, ‘I’m sure Mr Barnard will be kind enough to desire that you remain in your quarters in the castle until your affairs are, um, more settled.’

  ‘That – that won’t be necessary,’ Renzi said faintly.

  ‘Ahem. I’d wish it were possible to offer you a lesser post in keeping with your undoubted talents but these have all been taken and I fear that the financials would frown on my creating a sinecure.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  With the utmost dignity, he turned and left.

  The bottle of Cape brandy was half gone, and Renzi stared bleakly out of the mullioned stern windows at the grand sight of the majestic mountain and the pretty town beneath it.

  His eyes brimmed as he murmured brokenly, ‘Cecilia would have loved it here. Such a spirited creature! It must have been for her that Pliny wrote, “Ex Africa semper aliquid novi.”’

  He sobbed just once, then looked up. Seeing Kydd hadn’t understood the Latin, he said distantly, ‘“There’s always something new out of Africa.”

  ‘And now this great land denied me.’

  He buried his face in his hands.

  ‘There’s some who would rejoice it,’ Kydd said.

  ‘How so?’ Renzi said, raising his head.

  ‘Those who’ve missed having their friend to share adventures and triumphs.’

  Renzi gave a wan smile. ‘But I’m destitute – no future, no—’

  Kydd bit his lip, then spoke in rising irritation. ‘Nicholas, I find I’m to talk to you as I must to a foremast jack who’s clewed up before me at the captain’s table for the seventh time and needs a steer in life. I speak plainly, for you are my closest friend. You’re a man of colossal intellect and logic, who’s also the bravest person I know. How then can I put this? With all your talents, m’ friend, there’s one thing you lack that’s sorely needed.’

  ‘Oh? And what’s that?’ Renzi said defensively.

  ‘Damn it – a firm hand on the tiller o’ life!’ Kydd exploded. ‘A pox on it! Now, mark well what I have to say, Nicholas, for believe that I mean it! As God is my witness, do I mean what I say!’

  Renzi was ashen-faced at his outburst.

  ‘You shall have your position back in L’Aurore but on one stipulation – which is the strictest possible condition for the post, which you refusing will see you put ashore directly, to languish in this destitution you seem to crave.’

  At Renzi’s mute stupefaction, he continued more calmly: ‘We’re near to finishing our business at the Cape and must return to England soon. The condition is that the very instant we touch at Portsmouth you do post to Guildford and that very hour – not a minute longer, do you hear? – you do go down on your knees and beg Cecilia to marry you.’

  ‘What?’ Renzi gasped. ‘I can’t – she—’

  ‘She’ll be the one to say whether you’ll be wed or not – and never your poxy logical backing and filling until we’re all dizzy!’

  ‘But – but I haven’t the means,’ he said piteously.

  ‘Then find some! Take your courage in both hands and ask the woman!’

  ‘I – I . . .’

  Kydd sighed heavily. ‘Good God! Do I have to make my meaning plainer? You shall never set foot in L’Aurore again without you swear this thing – that is my last word, damnit!’

  In great emotion, Renzi finally nodded agreement.

  ‘What do you swear? Say it!’

  ‘That when our ship touches English soil . . . I . . . I will beg Cecilia’s hand. I’ll ask her . . . to marry me.’

  Kydd helped himself to a stiff brandy. ‘She may turn you down as not worth the wait, o’ course.’

  At the look on Renzi’s face, he hurried on, ‘As to means – I know you’d forswear charity from me but, Nicholas, there must be a way, damnit!’

  He began pacing the cabin, then stopped.

  ‘Have you considered, well, that your publisher friend might be on the right tack? Should you not give the public what they crave, then later indulge yourself in your noble work? If it’s a novel they want, give ’em one. I’m persuaded you’ve one or two adventures to draw on as will set hearts to beating, keep feminine eyes to the page and even rouse out a hill o’ coin from the booksellers.’

  Renzi was taken aback. ‘A novel?’

  ‘Yes!’

  There was a long pause before he responded. ‘Well, um, I suppose I can see that there’s been one or two, er, instances in my life that may be of interest to others.’

  The idea seemed to take hold and he brightened visibly. ‘But, in course, Cecilia must not hear of it – I will write under a pseudonym and you will vow never to tell anyone.’

  ‘I so promise.’

  Renzi poured another brandy each and pondered for a space. ‘Hmm, how does – Portrait of an Adventurer by Il Giramondo sound to you?’

  Kydd beamed – and the two friends roared with laughter and raised their glasses.

  Author’s Note

  * * *

  The triumph of Trafalgar may be seen in two ways: it lifted the fear of invasion for England on the one hand, and on the other it gave command of the seas to the Royal Navy, which they immediately put to good use. One by one Britannia relieved the French of their possessions and added to her own, so by the end of the war in 1815, there was an empire that was truly global, and which, even in my own lifetime, accounted for a quarter of the world’s population. Kydd’s adventures in Conquest therefore mark the start of an exciting new episode in his naval life: the race to empire.

  Kathy and I had the great pleasure of visiting Cape Town on location research for this book in November 2009. Much of what Kydd knew there remains to this day. The Castle of Good Hope is in immaculate order, astonishing in a fortification nearly four centuries old. Government House still stands regally in the very pleasant Company Gardens where Kydd promenaded with Thérèse. And the Chavonne Battery, which fired on L’Aurore during her daring reconnaissance, has been preserved for posterity.

  But, of course, there have been changes, most notably around the seafront of Table Bay. In the early nineteenth century it boasted just a single rickety jetty; today it has been extensively reclaimed to produce a world-class harbour. The battlefield at Blaauwberg is now near a pleasant beach town with a stunning view of Table Mountain. Simon’s Town was much developed for the Navy and later became famous during the Second World War convoy battles.

  As always in my books, I follow the historical record and take pains neither to distort nor exaggerate history. For instance, some readers may be sceptical about the French frigate I have sailing in unsuspectingly into Cape Town harbour to be taken by the British without a single gun fired, but this did actually happen, as did the bizarre scenes at the sinking of Britannia when the madman vowed he would die rich at last.

  South Africa today is a vibrant multi-cultural society. Soon after the period in which I set this book, the Xhosa increased their warlike activity on the Eastern Frontier and later fought several wars bef
ore they in turn were pressed from the east, this time by the Zulus. The Xhosa eventually displaced the Khoikhoi to become the most prominent population group in Cape Colony, Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu among them. At the entrance to the Cape Town public library I was delighted to come across a poster in isiXhosa: Ngabafundi abafundayo abaziikokeli – ‘Leaders are always readers’!

  This book is dedicated to the Lady Anne Barnard, whose warm and delightful letters, journals and drawings informed much of my research on colonial Cape Town. I feel some degree of guilt in not being able to acknowledge everyone I consulted in the process of writing this book but they all have my deep thanks. Special mention, however, must be made of the assistance provided by the staff of the National Library of South Africa, the Cape Town Archives, the Simon’s Town Museum and the South African Maritime Museum. And, of course, I would be remiss in not expressing heartfelt appreciation to my wife and literary partner, Kathy, my agent Carole Blake, and my editor Anne Clarke.

  Glossary

  * * *

  ahoo awry

  assegai light spear designed for throwing

  ayont beyond

  belfry protective canopy over a ship’s bell

  bicorne two-cornered officer’s hat; originally worn across until Napoleon adopted the style, then worn fore ’n’ aft

  Billy Roarer sailors’ nickname for L’Aurore

  bobotie baked spicy minced-meat dish, topped with a savoury custard

  bredie spicy slow-cooked stew, usually containing mutton

  British East India Company English chartered company formed for trade with East and South East Asia and India; ‘John Company’

  broadsides opening fire with the battery of guns on each deck the entire length of one side of the ship

  calesa small horse-driven carriage

  carronade short-barrelled, large-calibre gun for use at close range