Julian Stockwin - Conquest

The sails thus unbalanced had an immediate effect – L’Aurore reeled like a drunken man from side to side as the helmsmen fought to keep her from surging into the side of Africaine . Quick work on the quarterdeck had the driver boom sheet thrown off and the big fore-and-aft sail in brails to correct for it. However, to all intents and purposes, L’Aurore was out of the fight, falling away while the other topsails were doused until she was dead in the water.

Kydd waited for the boatswain’s report, knowing Oakley would not be rushed. ‘Could be worse, Mr Kydd. A clean break t’ larb’d. I’ve a notion t’ fish the spar with stuns’l booms an’ capstan bars. We’ve a chance!’

Kydd trusted him. It would be hard work, laying along the strong bars and tight-lashing them to the wounded yard, while above, the jeer and other large blocks must be overhauled and much of the rigging re-rove. It would take time, and even as he watched, the two duelling frigates moved away, still firing. Honyman in Leda would know that they would rejoin as soon as they could – perhaps two or three hours?

While the work went on, Kydd paced up and down. The strange events leading up to the battle didn’t make sense, and neither did the peculiar action of the frigate in falling on them as if utterly to destroy L’Aurore , to remove her from the world of man. The ships had never met before; whoever the astute and skilful French captain was, he could not have known Kydd was L’Aurore ’s captain and therefore any element of personal vengeance was highly unlikely.

And close to the coast, frigates simply did not hazard themselves like that unless they had duties of watching the shore, which had no meaning in these regions. Was it something to do with the secret army? Was there a connection with the brig? What if the brig contained something of such value to this secret army that it needed an escort of force – so important, in fact, that its very presence in that location had to be a closely guarded secret in itself? The more he thought about it, the more it added up. That was why the Frenchman had tried to crush them – to stop the secret getting out.

Was it guns, gold, a famous general? Whatever it was, it could prove the key to solving the whole riddle of the boastful threat to take Cape Colony.

A growing conviction rose that he should be where the brig lay, unmasking its secrets, and not here, contributing in a minor way to a battle. Impatiently he strode up to where the boatswain had his crew splicing, heaving, stropping and seizing in a frenzy of activity. The L’Aurore ’s were clearly in good heart, laying in with a will and, judging from their banter, relishing a re-match.

‘As quick as you know how, Mr Oakley,’ Kydd urged.

‘Aye aye, sir,’ the boatswain responded, aggrieved.

A mysterious brig? Supposition? In the cold light of reason it didn’t seem much to set against the action he was now contemplating. The easier thing would be to forget about it and rejoin the fray, but he could not.

‘Let’s be having sail on her, then!’ The fore-yard was now in place at the slings and the running rigging led along. Bending on the new topsail would test the repair and he was eager to be under way.

On the footrope of the fished yard as it took the wind, a gleeful Oakley raised his arm in acknowledgement as it eased to the strain, and Kydd gave the orders that saw sail drop from the yards and brought L’Aurore back to life.

‘Cast to larb’d,’ he ordered crisply.

‘Larb’d, sir?’ said Gilbey, puzzled. At best this would have L’Aurore at right angles to the course of the battle. The two ships were far off, hull-down with only their upper rigging barely visible, an occasional mutter of thunder and slowly rising smoke a token of the continuing combat.

‘That’s what I said.’

‘But that’ll take us clear of the fight!’

‘We’re going back to investigate the brig. Are you questioning my orders, sir?’ The deck stilled as men stopped to listen.

Gilbey stepped back as if he’d been struck. ‘You’re – you’re leaving Leda to fight on alone?’

‘She’s perfectly capable of standing up to the Frenchy – we’ve got more important business. To find out what that brig’s about.’ There was now no one who was not agog to hear what was being said.

‘Sir, this is hard to take.’ His face grew pale and set. ‘Am I t’ understand you’re not resuming the engagement?’ he said thickly.

‘We’re not, and that’s an end to it, sir!’

Men took position behind Gilbey as he stubbornly continued, ‘Mr Kydd, there’s those who’d say you’re in a fair way of having to explain y’self before a court-martial should you take such an action.’

If Kydd was wrong, there was, of course, nothing more certain: the Articles of War were as strict and unbending on captains and commanders as they were on the common seaman. After court-martial, Admiral Byng of the Royal Navy had been shot on his own quarterdeck for irresolute conduct in the prosecution of an engagement, and what Kydd was intending was nothing less than the abandonment of the field of battle in the face of the enemy.

‘I said, are you questioning my orders, sir? If you are, you’ll face a court-martial yourself for direct disobedience, Mr Gilbey.’

He stared down his first lieutenant, who looked away, then drew himself up with wounded dignity. ‘Then, sir, I would be very much obliged should you log my objections to this course of action.’

‘Are you sure you wish to go on record?’ If Kydd was right about the brig it would go against Gilbey at the Admiralty, but if he was wrong . . .

‘Sir.’

Kydd nodded at Kendall, who looked uncomfortable but made a note in his notebook, then told him, ‘Clap on all sail, if you please – we’re going back to the brig.’

Curzon moved across beside him. ‘Mr Gilbey has a point, you know, sir,’ he muttered. ‘To quit the scene of action and—’

‘It’s not your decision, Mr Curzon. Obey my orders and your yardarm is clear,’ Kydd said cuttingly. He was conscious that Bowden stood apart, avoiding his eye. Was this because he shared the general opposition to his action, or that he did not want to be seen siding with his captain, trusting that there was a good explanation for his order?

It was essential they make the coast without delay. The brig would wait for the return of its escort to continue on its way, of that there was little doubt, but for how long? And if Africaine got away from Leda would it come back for its charge?

‘Rouse yourselves, y’ lubbardly crew!’ Kydd roared, at the men slowly moving in the tops.

It was the wrong thing to say: these men were keyed up for a fight and were resentful and sullen at the abandoning of their step-ashore mates in Leda . But Kydd could not shrink from what he believed was the right moral course.

He grimaced, his face hardening. That mystery brig had better reveal a world-shaking secret . . .

Chapter 12

‘Over the ridge only, Secretary,’ Stoll said encouragingly.

Renzi grunted testily. That was at least another mile ahead in this heated, iron-hued and barren landscape, and he was tired and saddle-sore after days on the trail.

Quickly moving inland from Stellenbosch, he’d crossed the mountains to descend on remote settlements without warning, then reached Swellendam, a pretty town set among forbidding mountains of the Langeberg range and the last that might be thought civilised. In other circumstances the grand scenery would have been diverting: colossal rock formations, black ramparts of mountains stretching away endlessly, but Renzi was not of a mind to take it in. There were still no tell-tale indications of undeclared movement of provisions hinting at the rapid gathering of a secret army.