Julian Stockwin - Conquest

‘Ease her, if you please. We’ll wait and see what that one’s made of.’ The frigate was a mile or more astern and there was no need for heroic measures yet but Kydd watched it keenly.

Its sails visibly hardened as they were sheeted in, a topgallant briefly appearing and then disappearing as it was trialled, and a bone in the teeth grew larger as the frigate leaned into it. L’Aurore was under topsails and courses – Kydd dismissed the idea to spread reefed topgallants because any risky venture aloft that did not come off could end in dismasting and ruin.

Patience and safe seamanship were what was necessary at this point, holding on until the hunter tired of the chase. Cold spray dashed him in the face; they were having a hard time of it in the strengthening wind, which was at cross-purposes to the swell, resulting in abruptly mounting triangular wave-forms that L’Aurore struck heavily as she fled.

Within the hour it became clear that there would be no early abandoning of the chase and, worse, the gap was closing. It was now getting serious – as the weather deteriorated it would favour the larger vessel, and any advantage L’Aurore had in manoeuvrability would be nullified.

They’d go about now. Kydd had the utmost confidence in his ship’s company: they’d been well tried and had settled into a fine body of seamen. ‘Hands t’ station for staying!’

In this fresh weather it would require the utmost concentration. ‘Ease down the helm,’ Kendall ordered, allowing L’Aurore to quarter the wind to her best speed.

‘Lay aloft.’ Men scrambled up the shrouds to clear away the rigging, while along the deck, braces were thrown off their pins and laid out for running.

There would be no second chance: if they missed stays it could be disastrous.

‘Helm’s a-lee!’

They were committed. With the stakes all too apparent, the men threw themselves at the tacks and braces as the orders cracked out, one after another.

‘Rise tacks ’n’ sheets!’

‘Mainsail haul!’

‘ Haaaul of all!’

Responding nobly, L’Aurore swept about, sail taking up on the other tack with a thunderous slatting and banging, the seas now meeting her weather bow with explosions of white.

Kydd watched the other frigate intently. The unknown captain was not to be hurried – given that L’Aurore had the initiative, he nevertheless held on until he was ready, then made a faultless stay about, falling in astern with little ground lost, an indication of a competent and well-tested crew.

The seas were resulting in an uncomfortable bucking and stiff roll, and still the Frenchman came on – and still no reason as to why he would risk taking on even a smaller ship, especially in these increasingly brisk conditions.

Kydd had to think of a way out. Standard tricks in a chase, such as lightening ship, would be of little use in these seas and smacked of desperation, but any attempt to set more sail would be risky – better to leave it as a last resort.

To wait it out in the hope that the other would abandon the chase was the only option, that and attend scrupulously to sail trim to wring the last knot from the ship. But it was as though there was a malignity in the other captain, a hostility that was hateful and personal, driving him to extremes in wishing Kydd and his ship destroyed.

They raced together over the southern ocean as if tied with an invisible rope. What looked like a goosewinged topgallant appeared briefly on the fore of the other vessel, but almost immediately blew out into ribbons streaming away. Now the deadly intensity of their adversary was palpable.

Kydd took stock. L’Aurore was fitted with chase-ports in her stern but these were intended only for the carronades used in defending against gunboat attack. Forward there were two nine-pounders and proper ports used as classic frigate chase guns against quarry – could these be brought aft to bear on their tormentor?

It would mean traversing the entire rearing and jerking length of the ship with near a ton of cold iron on the loose. But anything was better than a meek surrendering to Fate.

It took more than an hour of fighting the beast aft with handspikes, tackles and wearisome tying off by stages but then it was on the quarterdeck and aft to the taffrail. The port, designed by a long-ago Frenchman who had known nothing of carronades, was more than adequate and the gun was wrestled into place. Now they had teeth – even if they were only half the calibre of the other’s.

Another hour saw their big pursuer gradually close until they came into range. Kydd didn’t expect miracles, particularly with a single gun, but it might give the enemy pause in its relentless pursuit and there was always the remote possibility of a disabling strike.

Stirk chose his own gun-crew and set to work, but it quickly became plain that his task was impossible. The motion at the stern was a dizzying rise and plunge much faster than the gun could be laid. It bravely crashed out, the powder-smoke carried instantly away, but there was no sign of the flight of the ball.

L’Aurore suffered her first casualty, a gun-tackle number carried below, whose nimble avoidance of the weapon’s leaping recoil had ended in his near-braining on the driver boom above.

Doggedly Stirk continued until a shame-faced gunner found that there was no more of the seldom-used nine-pounder chase-shot in the locker and their pathetic defiance ceased. He wearily shook his fist at the looming nemesis seething along in their wake.

The French had contemptuously ignored the firing; they had forward chase guns of their own but no doubt thought it a waste of ammunition in the circumstances. Why were they so bloody-minded in their chase?

Then – incredibly – the wind started to veer and, with it, its violence. The quirky and unpredictable southern weather had changed the entire equation. With less force L’Aurore could regain her greyhound speed. First, reefed topgallants were cautiously shown, and later the reefs were shaken out just as the sun reclaimed command of the heavens.

Now it was a more even contest. Free to choose her best point of sailing, L’Aurore lay into it and flew. As the wind eased there were the royals to set – and later perhaps stuns’ls.

Kydd had no doubts now, for he knew his ship was a thoroughbred. Slowly they were hauling ahead. Now was the time for the thwarted pursuer to break off the chase for the end was plain to see. Yet it did not! Instead more sail was crowded on as the two frigates sped across the sea.

In the sparkling weather L’Aurore pulled ahead triumphantly but powder-flash and smoke stabbed out of the enemy fore-deck. Chase guns! The seas were still lively, a complex cross-swell making predictions of deck motion problematic and the ball-strike was nowhere to be seen, but it was an unwelcome development. More than one engagement had been settled by a chance hit on a mast or spar.

A hail came from the masthead. ‘ Saaail – I see sail ayont th’ Frenchy!’

It could be friend or foe appearing beyond their pursuer. As far as he knew, the next India convoy was not due for some time. Another French frigate? They often hunted in pairs. Kydd was not about to investigate and they plunged on.

Within a short time it was clear that the sail was not accompanied by another. It had sighted them and was falling into the line of chase. And while the French frigate must know of it, there was no sign it was taking any notice. The chase continued, as did the harrying gunfire.

And then a sharp eye recognised a peculiarly discoloured topsail on the distant ship. By chance the gunfire had attracted an English frigate at the end of its patrol line – it was Leda and she wanted to join the encounter.