Caribbee (15 page)

‘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
!’

I
t 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.

Dacres was at his desk, his flag-lieutenant by his side and two clerks at work nearby. He looked up, distracted. ‘Kydd. Um, a fine sight, your prizes. Well done. Anything to report?’

‘Sir,’ Kydd began guardedly, ‘I saw fit to employ my first prize as a tender in the getting of more and—’

‘Yes, quite, but we have more pressing concerns at the present time. You’ve been at sea and won’t have heard. Napoleon Bonaparte has made his move, and I cannot deny that it’s a great blow to this nation. The man’s a devil and a genius.’

‘But, sir, what is it that—’

‘You wouldn’t credit it! Conceives of a way to reach out and destroy us here in the Caribbean where all the time we’ve been living in a fool’s paradise thinking he could not.’

‘Sir, if you’d—’

‘No time to explain it now. Here – take this. It’ll tell you everything. We’ll be having a council-of-war shortly to see if we can do anything at all to head off the worst, and until then I’ll bid you good-day, sir.’

Kydd tucked the single sheet he’d been passed into his waistcoat and left. Outside, the first lieutenant was apologetic. ‘It’s not a good time for him right at present. There is a meeting tonight at Spanish Town. Every planter and bigwig in these islands will be there baying for blood – anyone’s!’

Consumed by curiosity, it was all Kydd could do to wait until he was seated in his gig on the way back before he drew out the paper.

It was ill-printed on cheap stock and in French, manifestly produced in mass for wide circulation. ‘From the Imperial Camp at Berlin. Napoleon, Emperor of the French and King of Italy …’

It was a decree. He scanned it quickly. To begin with there were nine clauses: aggrieved reasons why his enemy was in breach of international law and usage:

‘… that England does not admit to the right of nations as universally acknowledged by all civilised people …’ Kydd snorted. The hypocrisy of Bonaparte, whose armies on the march routinely robbed and plundered rather than trouble with a supply train.

And ‘… this conduct in England is worthy of the first ages of barbarism, to benefit her to the detriment of other nations …’ This was only the usual diatribe fawningly reported by the
Moniteur
– or was it?

The second part was a series of eleven articles to constitute henceforth ‘the law of empire’ for France and her dominions in retaliation.

Riffled by the wind and with the motion of the boat it was difficult to take in all the details from the sheet – maritime law, blockade, prizes and neutral trade. What was it that had caused such consternation? This would need more careful attention than he could give here and he put it away, aware of curious eyes on him.

As soon as he was in his cabin he sent for Renzi.

‘Flag’s in an uproar, Nicholas.’ He slapped down the paper.

Renzi scanned it once, then reread it carefully. ‘A blockade of all of Great Britain? This is unprecedented in history, of course. Blockade is for the purposes of investing a port or ports for a military purpose, not for the strangling of a whole nation.’