Caribbee (14 page)

‘Possibly. But even the sight of a frigate heading into the coast will—’

‘She won’t. They’re expecting this
Infanta
to return after a cruise, and she will – bearing a surprise below decks.’

Kydd grinned. Even more effective a blow than capturing one was the elimination of a privateer nest. Energised, he summoned Gilbey immediately and outlined the situation. ‘First, we get rid of the prisoners.’

‘Sir?’ the first lieutenant spluttered.

‘Yes. We land them on Alto Velo, pick ’em up later.’

‘Oh, I see, sir.’

‘Then I’m calling for volunteers for a species of cutting out in the
Infanta.’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ Gilbey said, brightening. ‘May I know who’s to command?’

‘I’m thinking on it,’ Kydd said, but he’d already made up his mind.

A little later Lieutenant Buckle hesitantly appeared. ‘You sent for me?’

‘I did. To say I’m sorry for doubting your sighting earlier.’

‘Oh, er, thank you, sir, that’s good of you.’

‘And by way of amends – to offer you a chance.’

‘Sir?’ he said warily.

‘Your first command.’

When a disgruntled Gilbey reported the lower deck cleared, Kydd appeared on the quarterdeck before his men.

He was satisfied by what he saw. Deeply tanned, fit and as individual as any long-service ship’s company, they returned his gaze with confidence and trust.

‘Mr Gilbey, take the names of the first fifty. Volunteers for a cutting out – step forward!’

To his astonishment there was only an embarrassed shuffling. ‘Volunteers! Step up to Mr Gilbey, lively now!’

After a space there was an apologetic call from the mass of men. ‘Who’s t’ be in command?’

‘Why, Mr Buckle as made the sighting,’ Kydd said sharply.

Something like a sigh went through the crowded deck. The seamen looked down at their feet awkwardly.

Kydd was furious but there was nothing he could do about it: he had called for volunteers and there had been none. He could order Curzon in Buckle’s place but that would destroy what authority the man still had.

Thinking quickly, he folded his arms and said casually, ‘Oh, and I perhaps omitted to say,
Infanta
being quite another vessel to
L’Aurore
, any prize recovered will naturally be to the account of
her
crew only.’

‘You can’t say that!’ Renzi hissed at him.

‘Oh?’ Kydd said quietly. ‘What else can I do?’ He lifted his chin. ‘In any case, I’m sure you’ll not fail to correct me in proper form – after it’s over?’

The first to step forward was a defiant Doud, quickly followed by his long-time messmate Pinto.

Then boatswain’s mate Cumby mumbled, ‘I’ll go if’n Poulden does.’

He was duly joined by the coxswain, who clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’m not leaving th’ cobbs all to you, mate.’ He sniffed.

Others moved forward. Then Clinton took off his hat in a mock bow and declared, ‘Should there be a confrontation ashore it would be singular indeed if the Royal Marines are to be excluded. Would a file of lobsterbacks be welcome?’

Kydd had his fifty.

‘Shove off!’ came Buckle’s somewhat un-naval command.

Stirk held his tongue. He had his misgivings and they were growing; his coming forward had given his shipmates heart to do likewise. He glanced back at
L’Aurore
, seeing Captain Kydd looking down as they cast off. Why weren’t all naval officers like him? Square and true, worth any man’s following.

The schooner swung away from
L’Aurore
and both ships took up close-hauled out to the east, to make an offing before going about and raising Puerto de Barahona,
Infanta
tucking in astern of her senior.

Stirk watched Buckle hovering around the wheel, nervously checking their heading. Nearby was Luke Calloway, master’s mate and second in command, barely in his twenties.

Now, there was one of the right sort. He’d started out as an illiterate ship’s boy and had pulled himself up by his own efforts. Stirk gave a wry grin: that both he and the captain had been old shipmates didn’t trouble him – he was an old sea-dog and knew he could never hoist in all the book learning necessary to go further. Just as long as those like Kydd and Calloway earned respect by their actions he would take their orders happily.

This junior lieutenant was of another stamp. Like a young pup, he was trying too hard to please – and seemed to have had a very patchy naval background. Word had it he had no experience of square rig worth a spit, and all of it within the Caribbean, hardly the nursery for young officers that the blockading squadrons offered.

Stirk took some comfort in that, as boatswain of the craft, he oversaw all manoeuvres and was in a position to intervene if things got into a tangle. Once action started it could be different … and then it might be another story.

The two ships put about at midday, allowing an easy sail while they closed the coast. The intention was to make landfall as dusk was clamping in, allowing enough light for recognising, but hopefully not so much that anything out of place would be spotted. Buckle seemed quite at home with schooner rig, not often to be seen in naval service, and sensibly turned in after they settled on their final board.

At daybreak, some twenty miles off the coast,
L’Aurore
heaved to and called
Infanta
alongside to take aboard the volunteers held back from the small passage. They crowded into the little schooner but it would get worse for them in their final approach when they would be crammed out of sight below.

‘Mr Buckle! Is there anything more you need?’ To Stirk, Kydd’s voice from the quarterdeck sounded tinged with anxiety, which did little to settle his own unease.

‘Er, I can’t think of anything,’ Buckle called back.

‘Then I’ll wish you and
Infanta
good fortune.’

The schooner got under way and passed
L’Aurore
to take position ahead. Any watcher on land would now see a plucky little craft crowding on sail in a desperate attempt to escape capture by making the safety of the harbour.

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.