Julian Stockwin - Conquest

Frightened clerks spilled out into the sunlight, blinking and confused. ‘We speak now!’ Hooft threw at Kydd. He took the biggest chair and sat legs outstretched, looking up at Kydd. ‘Well?’

Kydd handed a document to him. ‘The governor prays you will understand the necessity of coming to an early arrangement for—’

‘ Wat een zottenpraat? ’ Hooft shouted, waving the paper. ‘How dare you, sir?’

‘Major Hooft, I don’t understand—’

‘Why, this is signed by an Englishman! Governor? Apekop! ’

Kydd held his temper with difficulty. ‘You may not be aware that after a recent battle there is a capitulation. Here is the proof – signed by Baron von Prophalow himself.’

‘Ha! I have heard of Blaauwberg – a temporary reverse at arms only. Prophalow had no right to sign a capitulation while our forces regrouped. It’s a treachery! The true governor of the colony is at Swellendam at the head of his army, and if you think I betray him while our colour still flies then you insult me, Captain,’ he thundered.

‘I beg you reconsider, sir. Our landings are complete, we—’

Hooft shot to his feet. ‘Go, sir!’ he said in fury. ‘Go before I order my men to deal with you as you deserve.’

Kydd forced himself to remain calm. ‘My ship—’

‘Will be fired on if it’s still there in one hour.’

‘Sir. If you fail to come to terms with me, it must be reported to my commander and unfortunate consequences will in course ensue.’

Lifting his crop, Hooft slowly advanced on Kydd, smacking it into his palm. ‘You threaten me? I’ll remind you, Mynheer, that we are enemies and we are still at war.’

Kydd stood his ground, holding the man’s gaze steadily.

‘So!’ The whip hovered an inch from his nose. ‘I give you five more minutes on Batavian soil – then I come for you, hein ?’

Kydd had no option but to return to his ship and did so. On the face of it the encounter had been absurd. For all the man knew, the frigate in the bay could well have held numbers of troops ready to storm ashore – but then again, he would be aware of how fraught a task that would be for Kydd under the guns of his fort.

There was no way Kydd’s orders included starting a war on his own. He must allow the arrogant prig his triumph, return and admit to General Baird that there was still one significant defensive work manned and active in his rear.

He looked back at the fort on the heights, glowering down, dominating the little harbour. It stood on three-hundred-foot near-vertical cliffs, and any attempt to bring L’Aurore inshore to threaten bombardment was risking too much.

The coast on either side away from the harbour was rock-girt and forbidding and, as far as he could tell, had nowhere suitable to land a boat of any kind. The only conceivable place was the pier.

Quite close by, and firmly under the guns of the fort, a convenient fresh-water rivulet lazily issued over the sand.

A road leading along the foreshore was fringed with houses, then disappeared up into the scrub.

Risking ship or lives in a gesture was not warranted. ‘Get us under way, Mr Gilbey,’ he snapped.

‘Um, where to, sir?’

‘West’d. We return,’ Kydd said, with a look daring the lieutenant to comment.

‘Aye aye, sir.’

They fell away before the brisk wind and soon Cape St Blaize turned to an anonymous dark grey and sank below the horizon as he slumped in his chair moodily. Tysoe came and set his table for dinner.

He accepted a glass of claret and as he sipped a thought came. One that swelled and blossomed until he laughed aloud. ‘Ask the master to attend at convenience,’ he ordered, and sat back in satisfaction.

‘I see, sir,’ Bowden said admiringly, putting down his breakfast coffee. ‘During the night we stood out to sea and completed a triangle that sees us the other side of Mossel Bay, and when we appear, it’s as if we’re another ship!’

‘Not quite.’ Kydd helped himself to another roll and applied the plum jam liberally. ‘It’s not L’Aurore that will appear – but a local coaster as will need watering. It arrives near dusk and can’t begin until sun-up.’

‘With men concealed, sir?’

‘Not only men – but a surprise for our biggety Dutchman.’

‘Sir?’

‘First things first, Mr Bowden. We’ve to catch our vessel or we have no plan. Is the coast in sight at all?’

‘The master thinks we’re some six leagues beyond Mossel Bay, sir.’

‘Good. We’ll keep well in with the land and I desire a sharp lookout for any small vessels. I’m to be called the instant one’s in sight.’

As if catching word of their escapade, not a sail blemished the horizon, just simple native craft, a mussel-dredger, after which the bay was named, and a Moorish vessel with a soaring lateen, an exotic token of the utterly different world that lay around the tip of Africa. But no coaster.

Then a hesitant hail from the maintop. ‘I see a – a barky, lying inshore!’

They had just passed a small but lofty headland and opened a very pretty inlet nestled in green bluffs, with a near perfect triangle of white sand at its head. Moored safely to seaward of the breakers was a high-sided two-master – a lugger or schooner: with her gear struck down, it was difficult to tell.

A few buildings perched on the side of one steep slope – was the owner there and willing to hire his vessel? ‘Away the cutter,’ Kydd ordered, after L’Aurore had hove to. Would the local settlers deal with the English enemy? If not, then they were in trouble – by their own admission they were now at peace, and seizing a coastal trader would be deemed piracy.

The boat surfed in on the backs of eager combers in an exhilarating ride through the shallows, and beached with a hiss. Kydd, in plain dress, moved to the bow. He sprang over the gunwale and up the beach before the next wave. Poulden and Stirk loped to his side.

There was a feeling of placidity in the hot sunshine as if the ancient continent were asleep. On the left were a few huts and shanties and Kydd trudged towards them, the pungency of drying fish reaching out to him.

As they neared, a dog started barking, then another. The animals rushed over, mangy and odd-coloured, disputing their progress. An astonished African woman with a basket of fish on her head came to berate them, but stood open-mouthed.

Stirk kicked at the dogs with an oath and they raced off. The little group trudged on. At the end of the beach one shack, larger than the others, had a wide terrace on stilts with wicker chairs and tables proclaiming its trade.

‘We’ll try the tap-house,’ Kydd said. It looked deserted in the afternoon heat but as they mounted the steps an unshaven and tousle-headed white man emerged, wiping his hands on a rag. He stopped in astonishment. Then, on seeing L’Aurore offshore, his face cleared.

‘Do you speak English?’ Kydd pronounced loudly.

A chuckle emerged. ‘I reckon,’ he grunted, ‘seein’ as I was born in Stepney.’

‘Then you’re the very man to help us. Captain Kydd, two of my crew. Now, we’d like to discuss—’

‘Hold hard, Cap’n! This here is the Red Ox mug-house, what th’ Dutch call a wijnhuis on account you’ll get no beer. Now what’ll you be havin’?’

‘Tell me – is there a fort or soldiers close by? If we’re seen . . .’

‘Never. Closest is Mossel Bay an’ he never stirs his arse unless there’s a profit in it f’r him. No, rest easy, shipmates, ain’t no one going to disturb ye here. I c’n recommend the blackstrap, out o’ Stellenbosch, it is. So that’s three, then?’

Kydd gave a tight smile – as long as they had a result by nightfall . . . and there was, of course, the necessity to obtain local information. Aware of the expectant looks from Stirk and Poulden he offered a shilling. ‘Will you take this?’