Caribbee (22 page)

Kydd watched with an icy calm: timing alone would determine whether his men lived or died.

It was the forefoot of the oncoming warship that was his mark – the angle between that and—

‘Now!’ he roared.

In a blur of motion the carpenter swung his razor-sharp broad-axe. It thudded into the bar-taut cable of the kedge, near severing it in one. Under the strain the rest parted and fell away. Released from her position athwart the wind,
L’Aurore
immediately began swinging back to face into the gale streaming in, held as before by her bower anchors. And it brought her broadside around to bear – the tables had been turned.

So close, the enemy frigate was committed but had not reached the point where its own guns could bear – the timing had been perfect. With great satisfaction Kydd saw consternation on the opposing quarterdeck as he blared, ‘Fire!’

The guns thundered and blasted in a deliberate broadside – but upwards, producing instant and visible ruin in the Frenchman’s rigging. Canvas ripped and tore as if by a magic hand, severed lines streamed away and the fore main-yard folded gracefully in two, bringing down with it the fore topsail above.

Sieyès had been overconfident: he had not reckoned on Kydd throwing away his only defensive posture and, more importantly, to abandon the British preference for hammering round-shot into the hull for the French practice of shots into the rigging. Now he was about to pay the price.

And it wasn’t long coming. Fighting desperately to come around in time, with their damage and in the prevailing conditions, they didn’t stand a chance and, slowly but surely, like the inevitable climax of a Greek tragedy, the frigate struck.

Immediately it slewed and heeled, the seas surging and smashing against the bare, glistening hull like a half-tide rock, beginning a merciless battering and assailing of the doomed ship. By morning there would be nothing but wreckage.

It had been only minutes from start to finish.

A
t his book by the stern windows in the great cabin Renzi heard movement on the deck above, then stillness. A few minutes later the silvery shriek of the boatswain’s call was on the air – the captain had returned from the admiral. Oakley liked to make a performance of it, ornamenting the upper notes with clever trills and tailing off in a perfectly contrived falling cadence.

Renzi knew Kydd set great store on the ceremony of piping aboard, not for the honour and personal satisfaction it gave but for it being a token of the discipline and order that arose naturally in the practice of the ancient customs of the Royal Navy.

A little time later his friend emerged into the cabin, Tysoe magically appearing to strip him of his finery.

‘Not as if you seem gratified at your reception, brother.’ Kydd certainly did not much resemble a frigate captain returning after reporting the destruction of an enemy to his commander.

‘Oh, he gives me joy of my victory, Nicholas, and mentioned that Lydiard went on to place a prize crew on the other Frenchy after he lost spars in the storm and hauled down his flag.’

‘Then?’

Kydd broke off to order sherry from Tysoe and continued, ‘As he’s much vexed and distracted by dispatches from
Lapwing
sloop. It turns out that while we were putting an end to the frigate pair, in quite another area we’re taking losses still, proving it can’t be them.’

‘So the conundrum remains,’ Renzi reflected. ‘Widely separated actions, which can’t be by privateers because we have most under eye in Guadeloupe and Martinique, and there’s no other port in the Caribbean that can sustain same.’

‘It’s more puzzling even than that. What no one can reckon is where they’re sending their captures to be condemned and sold – or any word at all about what happens to their crews. As if they’ve vanished entirely.’

‘So, an unknown enemy performing unknown evil acts, the result of which is not known.’

‘Don’t jest, Nicholas. The planters are in a right taking, saying it’s the work of the devil. Some believe this is Bonaparte with a secret weapon and you can be sure I’m not going to tell ’em of Mr Fulton’s submarine boat.’ His brow suddenly furrowed. ‘You don’t think …’

‘Well, I did say there would be a serious retaliation by Mr Bonaparte, but I’m not sure it’s to be that, not unless he’s improved his torpedoes greatly.’

Kydd settled into his chair. ‘Are we then to suppose that they’re taking their captures somewhere right away, with a view to mounting a convoy to sail ’em to Europe all together?’

‘We cannot dismiss the notion, dear fellow, but this does not address the first cause. How are they able to strike without our patrols see them? Where is their base that can sustain whatever they are at in so many different parts of the Caribbean? What is our defence against it? We beg to know.’

‘These are questions that we can’t answer, not at anchor here in Port Royal. Dacres is insistent on it: we’re driven to sea until we find the rogues and put a stop to it.
L’Aurore
sets out as soon as we’ve stored and fettled, but to where, no one has any notion.’

Renzi murmured his sympathy, but could find little of value to contribute. It was a perplexity in the extreme, for if this was the grand revenge he had always feared Bonaparte would inflict, it was succeeding only too well.

While Kydd got on with his paperwork he bent his mind to the problem with all the logic he could muster. His instincts told him that it had to be accepted it must be a species of secret operation that was being conducted, since their regular naval forces had never encountered any of its participants at any time. And they were suspiciously successful, implying some form of intelligence being gained and exploited.

He himself was no stranger to clandestine activity, at one time having been at the centre of a plot to kidnap Napoleon, and he knew the excruciating level of detail required to carry it off. He sombrely recalled Commodore d’Auvergne and his crushing burden of control, the string of agents stretching from Normandy to Paris itself – and their useless bravery.

So what, then, if the French had set up such a network? The British could claim no monopoly on covert operations. What if there was a web of agents across the Caribbean, being controlled by a gifted French naval officer much like d’Auvergne? Someone with an equal grasp of detail, who was pulling the strings of a commerce-raiding operation quite unlike the usual.

Tightly integrated, centrally managed and intelligently deployed. In essence, a fleet. After Trafalgar, there being no foreseeable prospect of an invasion of Britain, the forces gathered for its execution had been idle. There would therefore be a large number available of those
chaloupes
or
prames
, escorts for the invasion barges, small but powerful enough to stand against anything less than a frigate. An ‘admiral’ in command of a sizeable detachment could, with information supplied, send them dodging about the Caribbean, like assassins, quickly extracting them from the scene of the crime before detection and sending them on to the next. Yes. It made sense.

‘My dear fellow, it does cross my mind that there is an explanation for what we are seeing. Consider this.’

Kydd looked up from his writing and, point by point, Renzi laid out his reasoning.

‘Why, that’s not impossible, I’d say. We had a tidy fight of it against some off Calais in dear old
Teazer
, if you remember.’ Kydd looked thoughtful. ‘It would need an organising brain of the first rank, and reliable captains who know their duty and can navigate. But if your idea’s right, there’s one thing you need to show.’

‘Their central base.’

‘Just so. Your admiral needs somewhere to maintain his fleet, victual and water, all the usual, as well as have a port to hold all his captures. Which to be legal have to be condemned as good prize in a French court sitting wherever that may be. To be honest with you, I can’t think of such a one.’

It was the weakest part of the idea – but who was to say it was impossible, if no one had yet undertaken a search for such a secret base?

‘Nicholas, you’ve a right noble headpiece and this is what I’m going to do. We’re going to Dacres together and you shall put it to him yourself.’

The commander-in-chief of the Jamaica Squadron heard him out politely and sat back to consider. ‘A pretty theory, Renzi. Much to commend it.’ He pondered further. ‘I like the bit about Bonaparte employing his surplus invasion escorts. And the French have some very able officers, very able. The whole thing’s not impossible.’

He fiddled with a paperknife, then carefully placed it down and said abruptly, ‘But I can’t move on it.’

‘Sir?’

‘No evidence. No evidence at all. Surely we’d have heard something. A sighting of a
chaloupe
or similar. Very distinctive in the Caribbean, I’d have thought.’

Renzi waited.

‘And always we come back to this question of his base. He’s not only to supply his ships but has to keep up communications. We’d certainly look to have intercepted at least one dispatch cutter but we haven’t. We’d then find where it was headed and therefore the base.’

‘Sir, if we ferreted about in earnest, made good search of—’ Kydd began.

‘No. Not possible. Every ship we have must keep to the sea-lanes, if only to discourage the beggars.’

With sudden weariness, he added, ‘I’ve no idea what’s out there doing this damage to our interests but it’s causing me much grief. If you come across the slightest piece of evidence in support, do let me know – or if you can construe where your secret base is, I’ll get the nearest ship to look in on it. Otherwise there’s not much more I can do.’

‘Sir,’ Renzi asked quietly, ‘with your permission, may I consult the patrol briefs and casualty reports? To see if there’s some kind of pattern?’

‘Very well. See Wilikins, my confidential clerk. He’ll dig ’em out for you. Now, Mr Kydd, when did you say you’d be ready to sail?’

‘Mr Renzi, is it? Then how can I be of service to you, sir?’

He was a dry individual but had a warmth and willingness that reached out to Renzi. ‘Why, Mr Wilikins, that’s so kind in you. Would you be so good as to lay out for me the fleet’s patrol reports of this last month and a Caribbean chart? I have a need to consult the one in relation to the other.’

‘Of course. Er, may I know what it is that you’re investigating? I have knowledge of the archives we hold to some detail,’ he added modestly.

‘Thank you, no. It’s a conjecture only, not worthy of interrupting your day, sir.’

‘Why, that’s no imposition, Mr Renzi. Just between you and me, in our usual round there’s little to divert an active mind. I’d be glad to help.’

It was tempting: this was a man who knew the station intimately and could no doubt contribute detail that would otherwise take him weeks to unearth. And as the admiral’s confidential secretary he would surely be reliable.

‘Then I accept, with thanks. Now, Mr Wilikins, what I’m about to tell you must be in the nature of a confidence. Pray do not speak of this to others.’ If rumours of a French fleet of predators got abroad, they would terrify Jamaica.

There was a pained look, but the man agreed.

‘Very well. You’re no doubt aware that we’ve suffered losses among our trade much above the usual.’

‘I am – Admiral Dacres speaks of little else,’ he said, with feeling.

‘In this matter I have a notion, a possibility only, of how such might have been achieved.’

‘Therefore it must of a surety be pursued, sir.’

‘Then do hear what I say now, Mr Wilikins. Your views will be valued.’

Renzi laid out his arguments for a secret fleet controlled by a master hand, an organisational genius able to provide supply and havens for his assets and a port of size able to contain his captures, until now undiscovered.

The clerk suddenly sat down, pale behind his neat spectacles. ‘Why, sir, that is quite an idea, some might say a flight of fancy.’

‘Nevertheless, it is one answer in logic to our dilemma.’

‘Yet a hard thing to prove, sir. What, may I ask, do you plan to do, should you take it further?’

‘Which I shall certainly do, Mr Wilikins. The admiral does not intend to move on this without he has evidence. If I can deduce the whereabouts of this base and it is shown to him, the theory turns to fact. He will then be able to strike at the heart of the operation and bring it to a close.’

‘I see. This will take some pains, I’m sure. How will you proceed?’

‘The time and place of each capture to be plotted, then related in terms of distance to each conceivable candidate locality in turn. You see, to achieve his successes he must have a network of information concerning the sailing of each victim. If we calculate the time necessary to alert and get response, and place it next to this, it will disqualify some and push others to prominence. We will find it on the basis of mathematical elimination, never fear.’

‘A daunting task,’ Wilikins murmured.

‘The stakes are great, sir.’

‘Most certainly, Mr Renzi! The idea is novel but has its features. Let us begin.’

‘Very good. Now, where to start – Haiti?’