Before Kydd could press the matter, the first lieutenant returned. ‘He’ll see you now, Captain – if you’ll be quick,’ he added, with embarrassment.
Dacres was at his desk, his flag-lieutenant by his side and two clerks at work nearby. He looked up, distracted. ‘Kydd. Um, a fine sight, your prizes. Well done. Anything to report?’
‘Sir,’ Kydd began guardedly, ‘I saw fit to employ my first prize as a tender in the getting of more and—’
‘Yes, quite, but we have more pressing concerns at the present time. You’ve been at sea and won’t have heard. Napoleon Bonaparte has made his move, and I cannot deny that it’s a great blow to this nation. The man’s a devil and a genius.’
‘But, sir, what is it that—’
‘You wouldn’t credit it! Conceives of a way to reach out and destroy us here in the Caribbean where all the time we’ve been living in a fool’s paradise thinking he could not.’
‘Sir, if you’d—’
‘No time to explain it now. Here – take this. It’ll tell you everything. We’ll be having a council-of-war shortly to see if we can do anything at all to head off the worst, and until then I’ll bid you good-day, sir.’
Kydd tucked the single sheet he’d been passed into his waistcoat and left. Outside, the first lieutenant was apologetic. ‘It’s not a good time for him right at present. There is a meeting tonight at Spanish Town. Every planter and bigwig in these islands will be there baying for blood – anyone’s!’
Consumed by curiosity, it was all Kydd could do to wait until he was seated in his gig on the way back before he drew out the paper.
It was ill-printed on cheap stock and in French, manifestly produced in mass for wide circulation. ‘From the Imperial Camp at Berlin. Napoleon, Emperor of the French and King of Italy …’
It was a decree. He scanned it quickly. To begin with there were nine clauses: aggrieved reasons why his enemy was in breach of international law and usage:
‘… that England does not admit to the right of nations as universally acknowledged by all civilised people …’ Kydd snorted. The hypocrisy of Bonaparte, whose armies on the march routinely robbed and plundered rather than trouble with a supply train.
And ‘… this conduct in England is worthy of the first ages of barbarism, to benefit her to the detriment of other nations …’ This was only the usual diatribe fawningly reported by the Moniteur – or was it?
The second part was a series of eleven articles to constitute henceforth ‘the law of empire’ for France and her dominions in retaliation.
Riffled by the wind and with the motion of the boat it was difficult to take in all the details from the sheet – maritime law, blockade, prizes and neutral trade. What was it that had caused such consternation? This would need more careful attention than he could give here and he put it away, aware of curious eyes on him.
As soon as he was in his cabin he sent for Renzi.
‘Flag’s in an uproar, Nicholas.’ He slapped down the paper.
Renzi scanned it once, then reread it carefully. ‘A blockade of all of Great Britain? This is unprecedented in history, of course. Blockade is for the purposes of investing a port or ports for a military purpose, not for the strangling of a whole nation.’
Kydd got up abruptly. ‘I’m calling a meeting of all officers. This has to be known. I’d like you to stay.’
They appeared suspiciously promptly, and the paper was passed around.
‘Barbaric,’ Curzon said, with studied cynicism. ‘Here it says every subject of England found anywhere, whatever their rank or condition, is hereby made prisoner of war. So Boney is making war on women and children, then?’
‘Yes, but to the main points,’ Kydd said brusquely. ‘For the benefit of those without French, could I ask Mr Renzi to summarise?’
‘Well, to begin with, the British Isles are declared to be in a state of blockade.’
‘And?’
‘Consequently, all commerce with such in the wider sense is prohibited. This to include such things as correspondence – Bonaparte here is even going to the length of condemning any letter or packet addressed in the English language itself.’
‘Thank you, Nicholas. The main points?’ Kydd prompted.
‘All trade or merchandise exchange with England or its possessions is forbidden. This is defined as any property that is in any way to the interest of a subject of the Crown, anywhere in the world, and is subject to confiscation on the spot. Any vessel on the high seas that contains the property of an Englishman is an accomplice to our iniquity and is therefore declared good prize.’
Renzi gave a dry smile, adding, ‘And half the proceeds of such confiscation go to merchants who have suffered at the hands of our evil frigates and privateers.’
It didn’t get a response.
‘And, finally, it seems that a vessel of any flag touching first at an English or colonial port is to be treated as if it flew the British flag and is condemned.’
There was silence as the implications became clear. ‘This is nothing less than a complete lock-down of England,’ Curzon said in awe. ‘Nothing can move.’
‘The admiral is in a taking, I’ll confide,’ Kydd said. ‘There’s really nothing he can do. We’re stretched thin and he can’t possibly provide more escorts. I’d think Barbados is in the same way. Weaken the squadron by taking escorts and we lie open to being crushed by a raiding battle-fleet.’
‘In this station we’d be in a similar moil, I’d think,’ Curzon came in, ‘should we be asked to provide escorts. We’ve nowhere near enough, and if that’s what they have to do all the time, then the privateers will take their chance to return in strength, the vermin!’
There was little point in going further in a formal way so Kydd extended an invitation to supper that night where discussion over wine would allow feelings to be expressed.
He turned to Renzi. ‘Nicholas, there’s to be some kind of meeting in Spanish Town, the chief people of the island to muster together to contemplate developments. I dare to say the Navy will not be invited in particular. I’m wondering if you can perhaps lay alongside your brother and let me know which way the wind blows?’
‘It’s ruination! We’re to be pauperised!’ The anguished voice rang out clear above the bedlam in Merchant’s Hall.
‘Sit down, you ninny!’ Renzi’s brother shouted in exasperation. ‘We’ll work something out – but only if we keep our heads.
‘I do apologise, Nicholas. They’re rare exercised and can’t see that this is a time for cool thinking if ever there was.’
Fuming, the chairman threw down his gavel and folded his arms while he waited for order as other despairing shouts echoed about.
‘What about demurrage?’ a hoarse voice near them boomed. ‘Costing me guineas an hour, stap me.’
‘I’ll have y’ know I’m out for two hundred thousands if I can’t get away this season’s yield.’
It was becoming impossible.
The one point of agreement had been that the decree struck at the very heart of their enterprise – and at the moment they could see not a thing they could do about it. Angry and frightened, they were lashing out at anything.
A neatly dressed planter with a spade beard twisted round in his seat and said soberly, ‘You’ll be selling up by year’s end, Richard, mark my words.’
‘Damn Bonaparte’s hide!’ Laughton ground out. ‘Just past a difficult year and now we’re to lose everything. It’s insupportable.’
He stood up suddenly. ‘No point in staying here just to hear all this wailing. Let’s go, Nicholas.’
They shuffled down the row to leave; the bearded planter got up and left with them.
Outside Laughton drew a deep breath. ‘There’s no denying it. We’re in a funk. I can’t see a way out of this.’
He paced ahead in a frenzy of bitterness and frustration. ‘With no warning – out of the blue so we couldn’t prepare. I rather fear …’
Renzi tried to sound enc
ouraging. ‘The Navy can find you escorts, brother. And none can stand against our frigates.’
Laughton turned back abruptly. ‘Spare me your nostrums, Nicholas. It’s far too serious for that. Convoys only start at Barbados. How do you suppose that, with several hundred individual sailings a month from all over the Caribbean, they’re going to find ships enough to stay by each one? It’s nonsense and you know it.’
‘I only wanted to—’
‘I’m sorry I spoke hastily, Nicholas.’ He managed a grin. ‘You’ve a fine mind and deserve to know why it’s so monstrously difficult for us.’
He paced on for a few more steps, then said, ‘You’re concerned for your naval situation, and rightly so. We’re on quite another plane and our worries more direct. Have you seen in Kingston Harbour, brother, the quantities of ships lying in idleness? You put it down to our fear of what Boney has waiting out there on the high seas. For us this is the least of our concerns, believe me, the very least.’
‘I don’t understand, Richard. I take it they have full cargoes, ready to sail – then what other reason can there be to keep them back?’
‘Dear fellow, you cannot see it, and can’t be expected to. The sting in Napoleon’s decree lies not in the threat to destroy our ships, which I doubt he can achieve, but in its very different and brutally effective result. Nicholas, he’s closed the continent to us, destroyed our market. Those ships are laden with our sugar well enough but cannot sail – they have no destination. The commercial paper written against their safe arrival is worthless on both sides – we cannot deliver, therefore to sail is useless.’
‘How is it closed, exactly?’
‘Article four: all property of an English subject is declared lawful prize, of any origin and wherever found. What this means is that no neutral will touch an English cargo or be deemed an accomplice, especially since the decree additionally states that any neutral touching at a port of England or its colonies is deemed to be in collusion for the purposes of trade and will automatically be seized.’
‘Do pardon my ignorance on the matter, Richard, but the continent has been for some time under the heel of Napoleon. How, then, until now was it possible for an Englishman to sustain trading links with it?’
‘In course by the usual business practices. We have our own commercial agents in ports all over Europe, issuing notes against banks in England for our cargoes. These were carried in neutral bottoms and, while attracting the usual Customs exactions, were otherwise left alone. It may surprise you to learn that by this means it’s been possible for me to trade with France itself.’
‘It does indeed, dear fellow. Especially so since Mr Pitt’s Traitorous Correspondence Act treats trading with the enemy as a crime of high treason.’
‘As with all things in business, brother, do read the small type with diligence. The Act does not forbid the trading, rather its nature. Matériel of use to the military is of course prohibited but nowhere do I see sugar so proscribed. A little thought will reveal that the draining of French gold to pay for English produce has much to commend it, and there are Midland manufactories who are getting rich supplying to France and its subjects what they crave.’
Renzi came back, ‘It did cross my mind that, in your own case, our assault and taking of the French islands here, together with our diligent hunting down of their shipping, does favour you with a receptive market and high prices.’
‘True, we’ve done well – but now that’s a thing of the past. All British subjects in French territory are made prisoners of war. There go our commercial agents, leaving none to negotiate business. No neutrals will carry our goods – and that includes cargo from other sugar-producing countries around the Caribbean, for if we buy an interest in their crop it renders the whole subject to confiscation and they won’t allow it.’
Renzi gave a grim half-smile. The intricate web of international commercial relations was now shattered, the delicate threads of trust and faith at the core of international trading, which allowed the continuation of life-giving commerce in the midst of global war. It wouldn’t be the sugar industry only, even if it was the biggest wealth producer, but also the goods pouring out of the factories as a result of the revolution of industry in which Britain was leading the world.
‘Then there’s insurance,’ Laughton went on bitterly. ‘When premiums go much above ten per centum, profit on the voyage dwindles to nothing and at present, for fear of what Boney will do next, the rates are beyond reason.’
‘So you are at a stand, Richard.’
His brother gave a bleak smile. ‘Except that it is not to be borne. While our ships lie idle we must pay a per diem demurrage to allow our sugar to rot in the hold, an expense we cannot carry indefinitely. Yet we cannot sail for lack of market and increasing insurance rates. To sail – or not to sail. Nicholas, this is a dilemma for us. It makes trivial a decision such as to go with sugar or is it to be coffee, and is for myself the hardest I’ve ever faced.’
Aboard L’Aurore Kydd listened soberly to Renzi’s account of the meeting in Spanish Town. It seemed his friend’s sense of foreboding had been fulfilled. Napoleon had delivered his devilish counter-stroke and, because it was in the realm of commerce and economics, the Navy were helpless to do anything about it.
‘I can find no comfort to offer Richard other than that we carry on to do our duty,’ he told Renzi. It was a strange and disturbing feeling, being under threat of an enemy that could not be settled by sailing out to meet him in battle.
‘Meanwhile our orders are the same. Keep the seas to put down any privateers or such as show their faces – although with none of our shipping abroad I can’t see how they’ll bother.’
Then he handed a letter across. ‘This morning’s mail. From our late and much lamented third lieutenant. As my confidential secretary I think you’re entitled to see it, old chap.’
It was in Bowden’s strong, neat writing but on the front and reverse it had ‘in confidence’ written in capitals across the top.
‘To you. And asking for advice.’
‘Yes – read on.’
… and so I suppose I’m asking you for counsel. I know my duty, that is clear, but the situation aboard has worsened to an alarming degree and I’m vexed to know what is the best course to take in the circumstances for the sake of all concerned …
‘Tyrell. Coming it the tyrant still.’
… the topman came down from aloft as bid, but before he could be seized by the master-at-arms he cast himself into the sea and was lost. The four men on deck who called out in horror were taken and are to be flogged for contumacy. Moreover the entire starboard watch are under stoppage of grog for a week, occasioned by his hearing wry talk at their supper and none to own to it, and are as a consequence mutinous and intractable.
What is most disturbing is what is happening in the wardroom. They are a sullen, moody crew, for all believe the other is carrying stories to Captain Tyrell, for he knows what each is doing and saying and they durst not venture an honest opinion. I keep my counsel if asked, for if pressed it would be difficult not to betray what I think to be the true reason, that is, the captain is constantly prowling and spying on us privily …
Troubled, Renzi looked up from the letter. ‘These are not the actions of a balanced individual, dear fellow. Has he—’
‘Go on.’
… while ashore he drinks himself to oblivion, but at sea he never touches a drop that ever I’ve seen. But for all that, the night watches are much put out of countenance because it is his practice to roam the decks under cover of dark – but curiously, if he encounters any man, he does not notice, looking by him and pacing on. Mr Kydd, I’m concerned that should we fall in with the enemy we shall not make a good accounting …
‘You’ll find some position he should take, will you not?’
‘How can I? Tyrell is captain under God and has done no wrong by the Articles of War. It’s the sea service and he wouldn’t be the first hard-horse captain hated by those un
der him. And on deck at night – does every mortal always command a good sleep?’
‘Still, I take pity on poor Bowden.’
‘If Tyrell had friends by him they’d ease his course but he has none.’
‘Of his own doing,’ Renzi said drily.
‘He has an unfortunate manner, true, but does it make him a lesser commander? As a King’s officer Bowden has a loyalty to his captain that must prevail over all. There is no other course.’
‘So. We sail this afternoon,’ Kydd said, helping himself to another warm roll. ‘I’m to circumnavigate this island of Jamaica, our presence a deterrent and comfort, I’m told. I rather fancy it will be a leisurely voyage, time for once not being of the essence.’
Tysoe noiselessly cleared away the breakfast things and went for more coffee.
‘The only question to be faced is whether this is to be conducted clockwise or the other. What do you think, old trout?’
‘We’ve seen much of the east, would not a west-about route now be in order?’
The coffee arrived and Kydd had an idea. ‘Tysoe – you hail from hereabouts, don’t you?’
‘From this island, yes, sir,’ he said quietly.
‘Which part, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘I was born at Breadnut Island Pen, which is in Westmoreland County, sir,’ he answered softly.
‘Um, and where’s that?’
‘Out to the west, as far as you may go.’
‘Tysoe, how would you like to visit your mother and father? If they should be in good health, that is.’
He held still and then whispered, ‘That would be good, sir, very good.’
‘How long has it been since last you saw them?’
‘Sir, I was eight years old when taken from them.’
‘Eight! How so?’
‘A captain in the Navy thought to take home to England a little black page-boy. It was the fashion then, sir.’
‘But your parents—’
‘Were slaves, sir.’
‘Oh, I see. Er, what happened to you after then, Tysoe?’ Kydd asked. He had acquired him years ago in Canada as a junior lieutenant, when no other would have him as servant, and realised now that he knew little of his previous history.
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