Julian Stockwin - Conquest

There was some peculiar name for them – yes, camels. They’d devise their own camels and float the boats over the bar.

Kydd took in the uncomfortable expressions around the table and couldn’t resist a delighted smile. ‘So this is what I’ve decided. We do both – lay the charges and send in carronade-armed boats, which’ll serve to take off the party too.’

‘Sir – boats?’ Gilbey stuttered.

‘Why, yes. With camels!’

It was the breakthrough, and after Kydd had explained the operation, the plan quickly came alive.

A sapper party would approach overland unseen while the launch and pinnace were brought over the bar. When these appeared off the base they would open fire, drawing the attention of the defenders, while the charge was laid. In the confusion after the explosion, the sappers would race down to the jetty to be taken off and all would retire.

It was a neat solution. The number needed for the operation was minimal, the sapper party could be retrieved and, above all, in one stroke it would stop the rising before it began, giving Baird enough time to find a more permanent answer.

There was just one problem: at night it would be impossible to reload. While cannon fire would cause an adequate diversion, the guns would then be useless if called upon to deter swarms of warriors turning on the fleeing sappers. Some other distraction would be needed.

‘Who will lead the boats, sir?’ Gilbey wanted to know.

‘I will,’ Kydd said firmly.

‘Sir! I must protest. Surely the honour is mine as first lieutenant.’

‘No, sir. Did you ever see Lord Nelson hold back when hot work’s to be done? That wasn’t his style and neither is it mine.’ He softened at Gilbey’s expression. ‘There’ll be many more such in this commission, I’m in no doubt. If a plan is your conceiving then most certainly you will lead. And in this action, why, you’ll in course be to the fore – in command of the other boat.’

Then to the other details. The camels: casks lashed upright together in a row with lines connecting them under the boat, fashioned so the cradle could be floated under and then the casks emptied to raise the boat bodily. The charge: this would be two powder barrels brought together and a length of quickmatch leading into one. The timing: this very night, in the darkness before dawn when the tide was at its highest. And finally the volunteers: Gunner’s Mate Stirk would think it an insult to his profession and honour if he were not asked to lead the sappers, and Kydd would allow him to decide his own party.

They set to. The boatswain laid out the lines to form the cradle, the cooper and his mate trundling the barrels into place where they were seized together in a string. It needed some thought to arrive at a means, when the time came, of emptying them quickly, but one was eventually found.

In the magazine the gunner and his mate prepared the quickmatch fuse. This was in the form of three cotton strands, much like candle wicks tightly twisted around each other, which had been steeped with spirits of wine in a mixture of saltpetre and mealed powder. Forty-foot lengths of the deadly cord were connected together and threaded into a linen powder-hose, then coiled into a cartridge box for safety.

From their stowage below were swayed up the eighteen-pounder carronades. These were fitted to slide beds in the bows of the two boats, complete with gun-locks and lanyards, Kydd finally settling on one round shot and two canister each. Although it was not feasible to consider reloading at night this was a precaution in case of delay until after daybreak.

Even the cook was roped in, for the galley funnel needed to be tapped to provide soot to conceal the faces of the sapper party. Stirk knew who he wanted – he and the strongman Wong would lay the charge while Doud and his tie-mate Pinto would see to the diversion. It was a good team, and when the time came to board the boats there were high spirits and confidence.

Once on their way it was another matter. Barely visible out in the blackness, the pinnace was a slight dark shape on their beam with the occasional white swash of wake. Kydd felt it a monstrous tempting of Fate to challenge such odds with just a pair of boats against an army of ten thousand. So much could go wrong – an alarm given as they were halfway across the sand-bar, an overlooked strongpoint – but these were the familiar anxieties of any clandestine operation and he crushed the thoughts.

Their timing was good: they arrived at the ghostly silence of the river mouth some hours before daybreak. There was no lookout posted, but all whispered as they worked.

Kydd’s launch nosed in first, the men leaping out and steadying it as the clumsy cradle was passed under the boat, the big casks, heavy with seawater, thumping shins and balking every inch of the way. Sweating and cursing silently, they succeeded – and then a most remarkable sight followed. Two dozen brawny sailors, each armed with a galley pot, began furiously bailing out the casks.

Even before they had finished it was clear the boat was going to make it over the bar so Kydd ordered it forward, men guiding it around the twisting channel to the deeper water beyond. The other was brought through but it was taking longer than planned – time was ticking by and to be caught in daylight would be utterly disastrous.

Stirk retrieved his gear: gunner’s pouch, a cartridge box with the precious quickmatch sealed inside and a satchel of ‘come-in-handies’ that no self-respecting gunner’s mate would be without. Wong and Pinto were each burdened with a barrel of powder sewn in canvas and strapped to their backs, while Doud carried a carpenter’s bag with a mysterious glint of brass inside.

The two boats were manned again and Kydd looked across at the four burdened figures standing in the shallows. So much depended on their courage and cool-headed devotion to duty. He tried to think of something encouraging to say but words failed him at the enormity of what he was asking them to do and he could only fall back on a hissed ‘Good luck!’ as they hastened away.

From the first, Stirk took the lead. The directions given were easy enough, and the almost luminous white of the sand beneath his feet made choosing a path easy. ‘Shift y’r arse, Pinto!’ he growled, as the Iberian fell back with the weight of his barrel. Concerned, Doud closed with him and, after a while, insisted on changing burdens. Pinto gasped his thanks and the party pressed on.

It was only a matter of twenty minutes or so before they came to the last bend and made out the secret base and the stark height of its palisades, with here and there the red glow of dying fires. Now oriented, Stirk took the little band in a wide circle to where they must lie-up. He dropped his gear and, on hands and knees, went silently forward. Almost immediately he saw the black shape of a warrior with a spear against the sky. Another was standing idly by.

He froze, fixing the position in his mind. Part of him rebelled in horror – he remembered the cannibalism he’d witnessed on a Pacific island – but this was no time to take fright. He backed away slowly to rejoin his friends. ‘There’s African bastards all about, mates. Doud – go out ’n’ give it y’r best, cuffin.’

Hefting his carpenter’s bag, Doud grunted, ‘Let’s go, y’ Portugee shicer.’

Leaning across, Wong whispered hoarsely to them, ‘ Baak nin ho hop, pang yau! ’

‘Thanks, shipmate,’ Doud threw back, with a grin, and they disappeared into the night.

There was one thing that was sure. Either their diversion worked or the entire expedition would fail – and their death would be certain.

It was the end for Renzi and it were better he accepted it. Prisoner and executioner followed the path as it wound around the bend and emerged facing the dark expanse of the wide lower reaches of the river, the starlight laying a pearly opacity on the still waters, so beautiful and infinitely poignant.