‘Now, L’Aurore frigate is on her way to dispute with him. We’ve Staunch and Protector but need more sail and I’ve a notion where we’ll find it.’
He had their full attention and as he outlined his plan it turned to a fierce glee. ‘I’ll repeat – no man to raise a weapon unless he gets my personal order. Clear?’
Diadem’s launch was manned, Kydd himself taking the tiller, and they pulled for the schooner.
There were no colours evident – he would have to play this carefully.
‘Schooner, ahoy!’ he hailed. A frightened face appeared above a hatch coaming. ‘I’m coming aboard!’
Her low freeboard allowed him to step directly on to her deck and he wasted no time. ‘What flag?’ he demanded, miming the hoisting of one.
‘Ai-ya, Portuguee!’
Kydd heaved a sigh of relief. The Portuguese were neutral – but this was no Portuguese vessel. In his experience they still continued the old custom of the prominent display of a crucifix on the after-deck to which every officer and seaman made passing obeisance, and here the deck was bare. More tellingly, in his capacity as port captain, he had not heard of any such seeking clearance, their canny merchants keeping well away until the situation was settled. This had to be a local trader seeking to evade port dues.
He addressed the launch: ‘L’tenant Herrick and five, if y’ please.’ From below two more bemused crewmen appeared and then an apprehensive officer. ‘Inform this man of who I am, that I suspect his vessel of illegal entry to Buenos Aires,’ he told his interpreter. ‘And that I’m impounding it forthwith.’
It was unheard of to have the captain of the port himself board a harmless trader at the head of an armed party, but it had the desired effect. The officer babbled nervously, then waited while the interpreter said, ‘He say he forget t’ get his paper sign. Isn’t there some way he can … ?’
‘Possibly,’ Kydd said, stroking his chin. ‘Has he a cabin where we can talk?’
Some minutes later he came back on deck and, with a smile, made a mock bow to Herrick. ‘L’tenant, this is your new command. I wish you to ship guns and make motions before Colonia until relieved. Good luck.’
Now for the larger ship: it would add presence and should, with its row of false gun-ports, give pause to any troop-laden vessel.
It was anchored further out and the launch began shipping water from the still-boisterous seas. Resolutely they pressed on until they made its lee – but Kydd had noticed that this ship was an altogether different matter: its red flag with three vertical crowns proclaimed it a Danziger, which he remembered hazily was nominally under the Grand Duchy but in practical terms a fief of Prussia, disputed by Poland.
There was no other in sight that was as substantial and he had no alternative but to go through with it. As the boathook seized the main-chains he grabbed the man-rope and hauled himself over the gunwale – to be confronted by a bull of man who stood with his arms folded and feet planted on the deck.
‘Kydd, captain of the port of Buenos Aires,’ he said, in crisp tones. ‘You are the captain?’
‘Ja.’
‘Papers,’ Kydd said, making riffling motions.
They were produced in the old-fashioned saloon. As far as Kydd’s experienced eye could tell, they were faultless. And flourished last, like a trump card, were the entry papers to Buenos Aires, signed by Kydd’s own staff.
He snatched one up. ‘This charter party admits you’re trading with Spain, sir.’
Another paper was slapped down. It was a form of release, signed in florid detail by the Danzig authorities and counter-signed with margin notes by the British consul there.
‘Nevertheless, Captain, you have attempted to land cargo out of bond contrary to port regulations and I must therefore-’
‘I haf not broken bulk.’
The bald statement was irrefutable: if the freight had not been broached then the cargo was in the same legal position as that of any ship with part retained for the next port and therefore not subject to duty or exaction.
‘I jus’ wait for th’ Spanische to take back Buenos Aires.’
Kydd had been inclined to let him go, but this remark made him smoulder. A mischievous thought broke in – but if it went wrong there was no going back. ‘Sir – I have reason to believe you have been engaged in commerce with France, a belligerent power, in violation of your status.’
A look of open astonishment was quickly replaced by one of contempt. ‘So! You vill search me?’
‘Yes,’ Kydd snapped, and got up abruptly. If he was wrong in his estimate of the man, it would be nothing short of disastrous. He went up on deck and motioned to his men to come aboard. He whispered instructions to Bolt, the petty officer in charge, then stood back.
Instead of heading for the monkey-hatch to the hold forward, Bolt went straight to the master’s cabin, closely followed by the Prussian, who was now spluttering with anger. Ignoring him, the men looked for the small hatch let into the deck in which all captains kept private provisions. It was opened, and Bolt dropped into the little store-room – and, to Kydd’s intense relief, passed up three bottles. Of best French cognac, not the usual schnapps.
‘Another three down there, sir,’ Bolt called up helpfully.
Kydd allowed a look of grave displeasure. ‘Sir, I have proof positive that you have been in breach of the law. It is now my duty-’
‘Gott in Himmel - is for my use on voyage!’
‘Half a case? And more elsewhere I dare to say?’ Kydd said darkly. ‘No, sir. This will not do. Cognac is not to be obtained without you trade with the enemy. I think we must talk together, don’t you?’
Well before sunset, standing out beyond the Chico Bank, a small group of odd-looking ships under the flag of King George’s Navy made a brave sight, bound for rendezvous off Punta Pavon.
But for Kydd the feeling of elation had faded.
The cold reality was that there were only two effectives, Staunch and Protector. The schooner was off Colonia and the Danzig merchantman would be there but only as a hired vessel to sail about looking fierce and not to engage directly. Could they stand fast before the unknown number of ships that Liniers had been able to muster? L’Aurore had been summoned, but could she be relied upon to navigate the banks and shoals in time?
In his borrowed hammock in the saloon, sleep evaded Kydd. In the morning much would be decided. Into his mind came images of the unforgettable spectacle that he had witnessed – only the previous year – of Nelson’s fleet at Trafalgar sailing to glory as they defended England against invasion. Here he was, an admiral of his little fleet, in much the same position. Would he fail, succeed or die in the attempt?
At dawn they made landfall down the coast and spent the morning working up towards Punta Pavon. The shoreline was flat, drab-brown and monotonous, and without any sign of settlement. With tension building by the hour, they approached the point until a little before midday they raised the slight foreland – and not a sail in sight.
It was inconceivable that they had failed to make contact with a wide-scattered flotilla heading for Buenos Aires on the direct course they had taken so the ships and boats for the crossing had not yet arrived from Montevideo. They were in time.
But there was no sign of L’Aurore. If the transports and their escorts made their appearance it would go hard for them, but there was nothing he could do about it, other than be prepared to sacrifice them all in an attempt to deter the crossing.
While they waited there was no point in uselessly sailing back and forth and he ordered an anchoring with doubled lookouts.
An hour passed – two. Kydd climbed the stumpy shrouds and scanned the hinterland with his pocket telescope. He saw nothing – the Spanish Army was either on its way, out of sight inland or well concealed.
For now he sent away boats to take soundings all round with the hand lead to give him a picture of their room for manoeuvre, which turned out to be little enough outside their length of deeper water.
/> Evening drew in, and Kydd deployed the two sumacas to the south by turns during the hours of darkness to give warning of the approach of the enemy, then stood his men down. Another endless night began, condemning him to the sleeplessness of tension and worry.
When a wan sun rose the next morning, it revealed a waste of cold grey but nothing else. He sent the men to breakfast but could not face his own greasy offering and remained on deck, gazing resentfully at the shore.
In the middle of the morning the situation changed completely.
‘Sail hooooo!’
Heart bumping, Kydd leaped for the shrouds and trained his glass southwards. Barely visible against the cheerless murk was a sight that he could never mistake: the topsails of L’Aurore frigate.
It was a wonderful, glorious vision that pricked at his eye: she was under triple-reefed sails and moving slowly ahead, on either bow two boats leading. And no one could deny that she was quite inexpressibly, breathtakingly beautiful.
She came to in the Danziger’s lee, correctly recognising Kydd’s flag in the bluff merchantman as the senior. He wasted no time in going to her. Blank-faced, the boatswain piped him aboard with what seemed her entire company watching on.
‘Well done, Mr Gilbey. You’re in time for our little party,’ he said, unable to stop himself shaking hands heartily with his first lieutenant. Behind him was Curzon and beyond him Renzi, watching gravely.
‘We’re glad t’ have you back aboard, sir. It’s been a rare trial.’ Judging from Gilbey’s grey face, it had been a nightmare of responsibility for him.
‘Officers to muster in ten minutes, if you please – in my cabin.’ That longed-for – yearned-for – familiar haven with all its comforts and appointments.
‘Dear brother – if you’ll pardon my remarking it, your appearance gives pause to all who love you.’
‘Oh?’ Kydd said. ‘Well, Nicholas, I have to confess to some difficult times – er, I do have to say, this claret tastes like nectar of the gods,’ he added.
‘Just so. We’ve been hearing rumours concerning conditions in the city that are a mort unsettling. Do you wish to talk, at all?’
‘Not now, old bean. The Spanish are mounting a counter-attack. Here – we’re to stop them joining with their friends the gauchos on the far side.’
‘Then they’re not yet persuaded of the felicities of British administration?’
Kydd put down his glass sharply. ‘I know how you feel about the commodore and his scheme but I’m to tell you we’re seeing this through, b’ God.’
‘I have my reservations, yes, but they don’t prevent me offering my services to you in these … entangled times. As you know, I have the Spanish and-’
‘Thank you, Nicholas, that’s well said. I’m bound to tell you, however, we’ve enough Spanish speakers and, er, more mouths to feed would be unwelcome, I believe.’
Kydd, however, saw the sincerity and tried to make amends. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had time to bear more of a fist with your novel, m’ friend, it’s just been so-’
‘Pay no mind to it, brother. It’s done – that is, complete.’
‘Finished! Well, now, and you’re to be truly congratulated, old fellow!’ Kydd said warmly. ‘Um, what happens next as will see you a copper-bottomed author at all?’
Renzi gave a half-smile. ‘To be truthful, I’m not so sure. A pile of papers into which I’ve put my heart and soul means a lot to me, but will it to the world?’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Kydd said firmly.
‘I know. That’s why I took the opportunity to send it off in a mail with Narcissus and the bullion.’
‘What? Without you have some lawyer cove draw you up a legal thing as will save you from plaguey copyists and so forth?’
‘I’ll have you know the business is too complex by half. It has to be entered at Stationer’s Hall and, um, other things, which I’m not to be expected to know, and so I’ve placed it all in the hands of Mr John Murray with instructions that he may do with it as he will in my interests.’
Kydd sat back, appalled. ‘So if he prints it, he may set his own price on the book and give you naught but a pauper’s bauble. I’m bound to say it seems to me a wry way to proceed, Nicholas.’
Renzi drew himself up. ‘Mr Murray is a gentleman. It’s done,’ he said defensively, ‘and nothing more to be said.’
There was an awkward pause, so he went on, in a different tone, ‘Then you are receiving satisfaction from Mr Serrano? A young man of some ardour it would seem.’
‘We are.’ Kydd chuckled. ‘In fact, it was his timely warning that told us of this Spanish trickery. Now, time presses, my friend, and I have to see my officers before the battle.’
Almost light-hearted, he brought them together and explained the situation. The more he spoke the better he felt; even with a warship of comparable strength present to oppose them, L’Aurore would put paid to any sally by Liniers.
‘Any questions?’
‘Sir, when will-’
Curzon never finished the sentence as clear above their talking came the urgent hail of the masthead lookout.
Sail! Kydd leaped to his feet and pounded up to the quarterdeck, fumbling for his glass, which he had up as soon as he could see the southern horizon. At first he couldn’t spot anything and began searching more carefully – until the master pointed out that the sail was actually to the north.
Puzzled, he swivelled round and focused in the other direction. In a few minutes he made out that it was a lone sail and schooner-rigged. It couldn’t be – but it was. Herrick had abandoned his place off Colonia and was heading towards them at a great clip.
Through his glass Kydd saw that the schooner’s sails were ragged with holes, and pockmarks of shot-strike showed dark against the hull. With a growing sense of dread, he waited.
‘Captain Kydd, sir?’ Herrick’s voice floated across the water, its edge of urgency clutching at Kydd’s heart.
‘Yes?’
The schooner rounded to, brailing up.
‘Sir, I’ve news! The Dons have sortied from Colonia! I did my best but so many …’
‘Say again!’ Kydd shouted down at the powder-stained and bandaged figure, more for time to think.
‘I have it from a prisoner that they sailed together for Las Conchas. I brought ’em to action but only winged a few. I thought it my duty to acquaint you without delay.’
Shocked to the core, Kydd felt desolation and fury. There could be only one possible explanation for what had happened: he had been utterly and comprehensively deceived. Cynically betrayed by Serrano, decoyed away from the true crossing point – and now the fate of Buenos Aires was sealed.
Chapter 13
‘You’ve just missed him, sir,’ Clinton said. ‘He’s marched out to meet the Spanish advance.’
Keyed up to explain himself to the general, Kydd searched the marine officer’s face but saw no condemnation, pity or contempt. ‘Did he leave any orders for me?’ he asked.
‘None, sir.’
Apparently when Liniers had made his crossing he had joined very quickly with Pueyrredon’s gauchos, the blandengues and others, and was now advancing on Buenos Aires.
Beresford had wanted to deal with the threat as soon as possible, and had stripped the city of most of its troops and left for the north at a rapid pace. With the number of his field guns much increased by earlier captures, with the discipline and experience of the Highlanders on the battlefield, there was every hope that, even heavily outnumbered, he could at least cause a halt in the advance and gain time for the reinforcements to arrive.
Kydd looked around. The fort was near deserted, the only men those on guard duty. ‘Then who is the garrison commander?’
Clinton grinned awkwardly. ‘I do confess it’s me, and if it’s orders you seek, then they are that I desire you tell me what happened.’
Kydd took a seat. ‘I did what I thought right at the time,’ he said defiantly, lifting his chin. ‘And I vow
I’d do it again, should I have the same information as then.’
He had no need to justify himself to his junior lieutenant of marines – but he wanted to get it off his chest, and he suspected Clinton had realised this.
‘Whoever gave Serrano his false-hearted lay knew what he was about, and no time for me to send reconnaissance to verify – and it had to be a strike with all my ships. So they came up with a convincing enough tale and a likely place on the chart, and I was gulled.’
He glowered for a moment and added, with heat, ‘And that bloody dog did swear on his honour to the truth of it, may his soul roast in hell.’
‘Just so, sir,’ Clinton said, leaning forward in sympathy.
‘It’s done, and there’s nothing more to be said about it,’ Kydd concluded bitterly. ‘And who’s to say – with a bare handful of sail left to me, would we have prevailed?’
Consumed by restlessness and frustration, he stood and paced about the room. ‘There has to be something the Navy can do.’
‘There’s the Royal Blues, sir. They’re with the general now and he’s openly declared they’re worth a battalion in the field.’
Kydd didn’t answer. This was not the best use of a navy – he could think of countless devastating exploits that had changed the course of many a campaign, from bombardment with the equivalent of a regiment of artillery to daring raids by marines.
There was nothing for it – he couldn’t just sit around waiting.
‘I’m to go to the general, I believe.’
He found Beresford at the edge of the city, with his troops at rest but drenched after yet another heavy rain squall. He looked up dully, his eyes tired and bloodshot. ‘Yes, Captain?’
‘General, I came to offer my most earnest apologies for-’
‘For Liniers’s crossing? Don’t be. Do you really think you’re the first commander to be betrayed by false intelligence? No, sir. I’ve always thought it to be the mark of a leader that he makes his determination on the best evidence, acts on it and, if it goes against him, does not repine.’
Kydd felt a surge of both anguish and warmth that the man who must take the consequences of his decision had not held it against him.
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