Conquest

by Julian Stockwin

  The boats began to return, survivors heading for the blessed security that was a King’s ship. Some were hauled aboard, crowding the deck. But L’Aurore was a fighting frigate and Kydd waved off any boat not theirs. With these numbers most would have to be redistributed among the other merchantmen.

  At last Gilbey made his way back and pulled himself aboard wearily. ‘All off, sir, a good day’s work.’ He hesitated then went on, ‘That is, all save one.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The general, I’m grieved t’ say.’

  ‘General Yorke?’ Kydd said, disbelieving what he heard.

  ‘He’s – that is to say, he was an old man an’ not so sprightly, sir. When his soldiers went over the sprits’l yard and the passengers an’ women lowered over the side in a bowline he was begged to go with ’em but wouldn’t hear of it. Said high words about honour an’ being a gentleman and insisted on going out on to the yard like his men.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well, sir, he waits till all his men are off an’ then gets out on the spar. But, sir, he . . . he took fright as some do an’ froze. Wouldn’t hear of we takes a bowline to him, no, sir. He stayed there till a wave took him and he slipped off below . . . into the surf aroun’ the rocks, an’ we . . . we never found him after.’

  ‘I’ll need your report in writing on this, Mr Gilbey,’ Kydd said dully. The old soldier, with distinguished service going back to the American war, to end like this . . .

  His attention returned to Britannia. It looked as if, with her bows in ruin from the collision, she’d had difficulty in getting an anchor away. Although still drifting, she appeared in no immediate danger.

  Then she stopped abruptly. Kydd peered through the glass and saw she had driven into a crag forward. Slewing round under the impetus, she tore off and continued her downwind drift, but within a short time her colours jerked down and were re-hoisted upside-down.

  The level-headed master of Britannia was not given to gestures. ‘Buoy ’n’ slip the cable, Mr Oakley!’ Kydd roared down the deck and turned to order sail set. Every minute counted. There was no time to hoist in the boats and they were towed in a gaggle astern as L’Aurore fell off the wind and turned to make for Britannia.

  ‘Must be bad wounded, them gettin’ their distress flag up s’ quick an’ all,’ muttered someone behind Kydd.

  The frigate spread her wings and was soon up with the hapless Indiaman. ‘Lost our rudder,’ cried a figure on her quarterdeck. ‘Our bows stove – no hope for it.’

  ‘You’ll abandon?’ Kydd hailed back.

  ‘This moment!’

  The upper-deck of this prime vessel of the East India Company was crowded; she was much sought after for comfortable berths and gentle living and had been first choice to freight the expedition’s treasure.

  Kydd saw boats by the dozen putting out again from the rest of the ships. His duty now was to secure the bullion. ‘Poulden,’ Kydd addressed his coxswain standing quietly by the wheel, ‘take away my barge with your trusties and do what you can to lay hold of the pay chests.’

  Confused shouting, muffled screams and female shrieks rising above an excited hubbub drifted across the water.

  ‘Mr Kendall,’ Kydd called to the sailing master, ‘I want to see us lying off no more than a half-pistol-shot, as will give the boats less distance to pull.’

  Poulden returned with twelve heavy chests in the bottom boards. A yardarm whip was quickly rove to sway them out and then he hastily set out again.

  Not long after they had left, it became clear that Britannia’s time was upon her. Down by the head, she had taken a pronounced list towards them and those remaining aboard hastened to find a place in the boats. A dull rumble and agonised cracking came from deep within and the heel increased visibly.

  Where was Poulden? Kydd saw the last few aboard the Indiaman tumble into the boats but there was no sign of the barge.

  Britannia lurched spasmodically, and slowly, grandly, her masts arced down as she lay over for her final moments. Was Poulden below, heroically bringing up the last of the chests? There was no time for delay: L’Aurore had to be manoeuvred clear of the sinking ship.

  The end was abrupt: in a corkscrew motion she plunged and capsized, her huge bare hull glistening obscenely before she vanished in a final paroxysm of vast bubbles and plumes of spray.

  Beyond, where they had been out of sight behind the big ship, L’Aurore’s barge bobbed disconsolately, waiting while the sea disgorged its wrecked spars and floating debris from the depths before it began pulling back.

  Poulden was at the tiller, but when it hooked on at the chains it was plain there were no more chests. ‘Tried, sir, but . . . but there was this – this madman!’ He trailed off, lost for speech.

  Stirk, one of the boat party, took up the tale with relish: ‘Aye, a right reg’lar-built loon! Stands athwart th’ chests wavin’ a cutlass, his pockets stuffed wi’ Spanish cobbs, swearin’ as how he’d been a poor man all his days but bigod he was going t’ leave this world stinkin’ rich!’

  Salvador was raised within the week without further incident, and L’Aurore thankfully rejoined the expedition fleet at anchor in the majestic sweep of the Bay of All Saints. Popham heard Kydd out courteously, visibly saddened at the news of General Yorke.

  But other matters were pressing. Surprised and gratified by the arrival of so many ships in want of repairs, with thousands of mouths to feed and provision for, the merchants and speculators of the tawdry little town immediately trebled their prices, the goods of contemptible quality. And to a man the merchant community refused to accept paper credit on the British Treasury, the news of Trafalgar not yet current.

  Many of the horses had died at sea and those left were in a sickly condition. Prices for replacements and additions were ridiculous and subalterns were sent up-country with what little cash remained after the loss of Britannia, but this resulted only in a string of a dozen rangy ponies, beasts untrained for war.

  It was not possible to delay further: it was essential to be under way on the last stage before word about their destination slipped out. With as little fuss as possible the fleet put to sea, their destination – the shores of Africa.

  Leda was far out on L’Aurore’s beam, a tiny smudge of white on the deep blue horizon. The two frigates racing across the South Atlantic were on a mission of reconnaissance and their orders were clear: if at any time a French battle squadron was sighted, the fastest – L’Aurore – would return down the expedition’s designated track to warn, while the other stayed to track the French.

  Otherwise it was a matter then of Leda ranging north up the African coast, L’Aurore south around the Cape with the aim of ensuring there were no lurking enemy waiting to fall upon the rear of the assault. On their return they were to seek what intelligence they could concerning defences and military capability before making rendezvous at the landing.

  It was direct evidence of Popham’s anxiety that he had detached his only two frigates for the task, leaving his fleet to sail on blind.

  The stakes could not have been higher.

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  They made landfall on Africa together, just south of the thirty-fourth parallel. This was close to the southern tip of the continent, and after a mutual wishing of good fortune, the two frigates parted as planned.

  ‘A penny for ’em, Nicholas,’ Kydd said, coming up behind his friend, who was gazing dreamily at the placid, slumbering coast ahead – that should, nevertheless, be accounted an outpost of the most stirring and wondrous place on earth.

  ‘I would they were a guinea in the asking, dear fellow,’ Renzi answered absently.

  Kydd was long used to his friend’s occasional scholarly detachment from the world; he had been able to provide Renzi with the time and space aboard to devote to his magnum opus on societal imperatives as informed by his far voyaging. That the London publishers were far from receptive to the work must be so discouraging for him.

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sp; Renzi turned, his wistful expression almost comical. ‘Should ever I desire a perfect zoo of ethnical curiosities then Africa . . . The humble savage, he must learn not only how to secure his daily bread – or should it be taro or similar? – but to lie down in amity with the lion and crocodile that may be contemplating his devouring.’

  They began pacing together companionably. ‘And these savages from the dark interior, what of their pride, their hopes, when encountering strangers from another world? What can they—’

  ‘Easily enough answered by those who know the Caribbean, my friend,’ Kydd interrupted cynically. ‘They’re taken up as slaves and need not fear for their prospects.’

  ‘None the less, I should take joy to see them at their native pleasures,’ Renzi said huffily.

  ‘Excepting for this you must step ashore, old fellow, and that will not be possible unless we first persuade the Dutch to part with their possession, which I’m tolerably certain they’ll resent.’

  Renzi gave a half-smile.

  Eight bells dinged from the belfry forward signifying the relief of the watch-on-deck. The men of the first dog-watch waited while Curzon went through hand-over with the off-going Bowden. The quartermaster then took his slate and the mate-of-the-watch went with his men to the bitts, ready for the inevitable sail-trimming.

  After things had settled down, Kydd and Renzi resumed their pacing, a broad sunset developing astern while the line of land ahead turned dusky and mysterious.

  ‘Touching on the Dutch, Nicholas, don’t you think it perverse o’ them to fall in with the French? I’d not think Bonaparte a fit bedfellow for any.’

  ‘Faute de mieux, old trout. They are situated much too close to the revolutionary storm to think to remain neutral, while if they ally with Napoleon he will desist from seizing the country. That’s not to say they’re independent – not at all. They must suffer a foreign army of protection and immense interference in their affairs. But this they deem preferable.’

  ‘So as allies o’ the French it puts ’em as enemies to us. They fight like tigers let loose, and I’ll confide to you, Nicholas, I have my qualms about our enterprise.’ To Kydd, the fraught battle with the Dutch at Camperdown in 1797 had been on a par for bloody brutality with Trafalgar.

  ‘Just so. And considering the strategics I’ll not be surprised to hear they’ve reinforced their vital waypoint to the east at the Cape – or the French, distrusting them, have sent their own forces.’

  They paced along, silent for a space. Then Kydd said quietly, ‘They’ve much to be proud on, Nicholas – a century or so ago they had a navy and trade to conjure with before we rudely gathered it all in from them. And now t’ be brought so low . . .’

  ‘It’s not the Dutch people we oppose, only their present government – the Batavian Republic as is controlled by Napoleon. I suspect the ordinary people have their views. Or not – recollect that the country is riven between the republicans, who applauded the French Revolution, and the Orangists, who want nothing more than a restoration of the monarchy. How deep does this go?’

  Any further musing was cut short by the appearance of Midshipman Calloway, who had been dispatched by Lieutenant Gilbey to inform the captain that gun crews were closed up for drill and inspection.

  This was Kydd’s invariable practice: the guns in the forward half of the gun-deck were manned on both sides and practice would then take place, starboard against larboard. The winners would have the satisfaction of looking on lazily while the losers were obliged to go through their motions once more, this time to ribald encouragement.

  Later in the evening Kydd and Renzi relaxed in his cabin, admiring the last of the sunset. ‘A singular continent, Africa,’ Renzi said expansively. ‘Egypt and an ocean of desert in the north, the prehistoric darkness of equatorial forests in the centre and – and whatever we will find in the south. Elephants, giraffes and quantities of snakes, I’ve heard.’

  Kydd grimaced. ‘Did you hear of Mungo Park’s explorations to Timbuktu at all? Sent by Sir Joseph Banks to go up some river and after two years came back with aught but his horse, a compass and a tale as would put any fo’c’sleman t’ the blush.’

  ‘Yes, I did read something of it,’ Renzi murmured, aware that the account of the adventure had been put out by John Murray, the publisher who had turned down his own tome. ‘And he was given another perilous exploration and is now vanished from the ken of civilisation.’

  He put down his glass. ‘But what sights he must have seen! Giant waterfalls, grand mountains – wild beasts unknown to civilised man, tribes of pygmy savages—’

  Kydd chuckled. ‘As if you would wish to get lost with the poor wight among all those cannibals and such.’ The look he received in response made the smile fade from his face.

  As they closed with the coast, tensions increased. These were unknown waters to all aboard – Kydd had rounded the Cape several times but always at a respectful distance; the grand sea route to the Indies was a relatively narrow band of waters some dozen miles offshore to the south. If the French were at large they’d be there. With their numbers and force, they had nothing to fear from the British and everything to gain by straddling the shipping lanes.

  This was where L’Aurore would venture in her sweep eastward, a week’s sail around against the wind and current, then a fast week or less back. They had the advantage that a large squadron would be easier to spot and their own rapid retreat would be put down to reasons other than scouting for an invading force.

  The sailing master knocked softly at the great cabin and entered.

  ‘Ah, Mr Kendall – you’re not so familiar with African waters, I hear,’ Kydd said.

  ‘No, sir,’ he replied levelly, ‘but I’ve good enough charts ’n’ rutters. They did a fine piece o’ work afore in the surveying hereabouts.’

  ‘Good. Shall you now tell me your understanding of these parts?’

  Kendall said gravely, ‘Why, sir, I c’n do that in one. This is not y’r northern seas, English Channel an’ similar. This here is all ruled b’ the oceans.’

  He went on to explain. Much simpler than the complex weather patterns of the north, here the continent ended, extending into the Southern Ocean, a globe-encircling mass of water that endlessly marched on eastwards with mighty seas driven up by the virtually constant westerlies.

  Where Europe was dominated by the vast land mass of Asia to the east, here there was only the empty expanse of the Indian Ocean stretching all the way to Australia, but subject to a seasonal wind reversal as regular as clockwork – the monsoons.

  Therefore the Cape could rely on predictable wind patterns – a strong north-westerly with heavy rain in winter, and brisk, dry south-easterlies in summer. And now, of course, here in the southern hemisphere it was high summer. There was notorious variability at times, but the ruling pattern was there.

  For the sailor there were further points of interest. To the east of the Cape a warm current swept down from the tropical north, the Agulhas, narrow and strong, which, with the powerful north-east monsoon, sped rich Indiamen rapidly homeward. Down the east coast it also kept the luxuriant rain-forests suitably wet and humid.

  To the west of the Cape it was the opposite: from the south polar regions the cold Benguela current pressed northward along the coast. And once the Mediterranean pleasantness of the Cape had been passed, some of the most arid and desolate desert regions on earth resulted.

  ‘What of the ports – harbours o’ refuge and such?’ Kydd wanted to know.

  ‘Aye, well, it’s a God-forsaken place, no need for ’em, just a few settlements as can trade wi’ the natives.’

  ‘So there’s nowhere our French battle squadrons may lie to refit and store?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Kendall said positively. ‘We meet ’em at sea or not at all.’

  They made rapid progress along southern Africa as it trended around and up the east coast. The days were balmy, a long, languorous swell doing nothing to slow them, the distant land always t
o larboard, blue-grey and mysterious.

  Then their course began shaping north as they rounded Cape Agulhas. Kydd was now satisfied that there was no enemy fleet abroad and the two innocent neutrals he had stopped had confirmed this. It was time to return.

  On this leg they would keep with the land, lookouts alert for betraying clusters of masts inshore.

  Kydd consulted the charts once more. The notes in the pilot were insistent that mariners be not trapped into error: vessels from Europe sailing from the other direction should never feel tempted to put over the helm after rounding the Cape of Good Hope for the run up the east of Africa; if they did, they would find themselves in a vast cul-de-sac, False Bay, which, if the wind was in the south, they would never get out of.

  Yet it seemed this directly south-facing bay had its uses as a welcome haven during the winter months when the north-westerlies hammered in on the open roadstead of Cape Town. The Dutch apparently maintained a small maritime establishment in the most sheltered part, Simon’s Town, to supply the ships waiting out the gales there. Kydd could see that such facilities would be attractive indeed to any commander with large ships and far from home. He decided to look in on it.

  The chart showed False Bay as being in the shape of a lobster claw, the unattractively named Cape Hangklip on the east tip and the Cape of Good Hope to the west. On the open sea the wind was steadily in the south-south-east but he was too much the seaman to think that it would necessarily prevail within the bay.

  They were coming up with Cape Hangklip: it was sometimes confused with the real Cape, out of sight on the other side, and unwary westbound ships thinking to turn up for the final run north would similarly find themselves embayed, hence the name – False Bay. Kydd, though, was noticing its steep, rearing form: there would be useful winds curling around in its lee, and prudence suggested they made use of this feature for a rapid exit should there be an enemy within.

  The broad bay, enticing in the sunshine with its emerald-green sea, was near twenty miles deep and fifteen across. So close at last to the shores of Africa, L’Aurore’s decks were filled with interested spectators, but the brown and hard-green mountainous landscape kept its secrets.