Quarterdeck: A Kydd Sea Adventure

by Julian Stockwin

  ‘Please, God . . .’ breathed Adams. It was by no means a decisive hit, but the complete absence of square sail on the mizzen might be enough to hamper the vessel, allowing them to close and engage.

  Activity died down as every man stared forward, willing the chase to falter, but it was not to be. Sacrificing his wounded topmast, trailing in the water alongside, the French ship ruthlessly cut it loose and continued on as before.

  ‘O’ course, she won’t grieve over the topmast,’ Kydd said, glumly. ‘Going large, she c’n balance by tricing up the clew o’ the mains’l one side. She knows all she has t’ do is carry on and she’ll lose us.’

  ‘That may be so,’ Adams said, ‘but what happens when she wants to go by the wind? Close-hauled she’d be a cripple.’

  ‘And why would she do that?’ Bampton’s acid comment from behind was nearly lost in a general growl of dismay at the sudden crump of gunfire and smoke issuing out from their quarry.

  ‘She has stern-chasers,’ Adams remarked soberly. These guns, which could fire straight aft into a pursuer when there was no opportunity to return fire, would be a sore trial. At the next salvo Kydd heard the crack of the guns and, moments later, felt the slam of the passage of one ball over their heads. Several officers ducked automatically, then rose shamefacedly.

  ‘Marines, go below. Stand the men down into the waist, Mr Bryant,’ Houghton ordered. Although these were only light six-pounders banging away, a hit would kill.

  They kept up the chase for another twenty minutes, falling astern the whole while until the first lieutenant approached the captain. ‘There’s no profit in this, sir – we shall have to give him best, I fear.’

  Houghton glared at him. ‘Damned if I will! Observe – he cannot run to leeward for ever. On this course he stands to meet the Nantucket shoals off Cape Cod before long. He must choose then between hauling his wind and going east about the Cape to slip into the Gulf o’ Maine, or an easier passage west but directly into United States waters.

  ‘I want to box him into the coast. Therefore I shall desire Lynx to lie to his starb’d and persuade him that this is his better course.’ The little sloop would thus stand between the enemy and a refuge in the wider reaches of the Gulf of Maine – but it would be a foolhardy move for the French captain to take on the little ship knowing that just one lucky hit from any of the sloop’s sixteen six-pounders could deliver her straight into the clutches of the waiting bigger ship.

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Houghton smiled for the first time. ‘And when he has to bear away, he’s under our lee and then we’ll have him . . .’

  In the early afternoon, the enemy was far ahead but, with Lynx faithfully to her starboard, the master was satisfied that they were irrevocably within the hook of the shoals, cutting off her escape to the east. ‘Tides o’ five knots or more around ’em. Steep too, so sounding won’t answer and if fog comes, it’s all up with the ship,’ he added, with feeling.

  The wind dropped further until it was a ghosting calm, favouring the smaller vessel, which glided a little further and out of range before ceasing movement. The three ships lay becalmed in the grey dusk.

  Kydd came on watch: the position of the chase the same. In the night hours there was a choice for their quarry – to attempt a repair by the light of bunched lanthorns, or not show any betraying light and hope to steal away in the night.

  She chose the latter: were it not for the quick-witted commander of Lynx she might have succeeded. As darkness closed in, the little sloop rigged a makeshift beacon for Tenacious of a cluster of lanthorns in a box beaming their light secretly in one direction only.

  Through the night Lynx stayed faithfully with the enemy, her beacon trained; Tenacious lay back in the blackness. When the wind came up some time after midnight and the privateer captain made his move, Houghton knew all about it.

  Coming round to the west, the Frenchman clearly wanted to put distance between him and his tormentor before he struck for the open sea, but dawn’s grey light showed her the flat nondescript coast of an outlying island of New England to the north-east and two men-o’-war of the Royal Navy to seaward.

  Houghton was on deck to greet the dawn, sniffing the wind’s direction. ‘We have him!’ he said, with relish. ‘He can’t show much sail forrard with this wind abeam and no square sail aft – we can try for a conclusion before noon, I believe.’ He looked at the group on the quarterdeck with satisfaction. ‘It will be a good day’s work for all today.’

  Tenacious bore down, guns run out. With land to leeward and two English ships to weather, the Frenchman’s only course was west, the wind veering more southerly. To maintain a reasonable westerly course it was necessary to balance fore and aft sail: with no mizzen topsail the logical thing was to reduce sail forward to compensate and accept a loss of speed.

  However, from her cro’jack yard canvas appeared. It was not a sail-bearing spar but the French had lashed a sail along its length, loosed it and secured its clews. They had a drawing square sail aft. Kydd shook his head in admiration; admittedly the ‘sail’ blanketed the poop, silencing the chase guns, but she could keep ahead of her pursuers.

  ‘I’m not concerned,’ said Houghton, in tones that suggested he was. ‘There’s Long Island Sound ahead – he has to go about or he’ll be trapped, so it’s there we’ll have Lynx waiting.’

  Kydd’s first sight of the United States, therefore, was the nondescript sandy scrubland of Block Island ahead, then the low, forested New England coast to the north.

  ‘Sir, I must point out that these are American waters.’ There was no response to Adams’s concern, Houghton keeping his gaze on the fleeing ship ahead. ‘They’re well known to be jealous of their sovereignty, sir—’

  ‘I know that, damn your blood!’ Houghton said. But the Frenchman showed no signs whatsoever of putting down her helm and proceeded to pass Block Island, entering the closed length of Long Island Sound.

  ‘They’re mad! They’ve no way out – what do they—’

  ‘Mr Hambly! Quickly! What’s the distance across the widest entrance to the sound?’

  ‘Er, to nor’ard – that’s betwixt Matunuck and Sandy Point on th’ island – and it’s . . . seven miles.’

  ‘We can do it. North about it is, Mr Hambly. Have a care you stay exactly mid-channel – the Americans claim one league from the low-water mark, which by my reckoning leaves just a mile breadth for our peaceful passage.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Hambly, eyeing the Frenchman, who seemed to have no notion of such niceties.

  Leaving Block Island to larboard, Tenacious entered the capacious arm of the sea; there could be no escape now – with both English ships to windward and able to close with the Frenchman if he turned back, it was only a matter of waiting.

  ‘He’s wasting time,’ snorted Houghton, impatient.

  ‘Sir, recollect: the French have been friends to the Americans since their support for them in the late war.’ Renzi had come up from the gun-deck in curiosity.

  Bryant sneered: ‘Pah! Nonsense! They’ve seen how the French conduct revolutions and want no part of such roguery.’

  ‘Then what is the meaning of his motions now?’ Renzi answered quietly. The privateer had run up a huge tricolour, which streamed out to leeward and barely two miles ahead, and boldly put up his helm to pass through the mile-wide entrance to an inner expanse of water.

  ‘One league, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I had not forgotten.’ Houghton bit his lip as he eyed the scene. ‘Take a cast of the lead. I believe we will anchor. One league off shore precisely.’

  After one last look at the French privateer, just six miles away and, with calm impunity, preparing to berth in a tiny port, Kydd joined the others in the captain’s cabin. Houghton was irascible. ‘Ideas?’

  ‘Cut ’em out!’ Bryant’s growl was instant. ‘And be damned to any consequences. There’s nought hereabouts but fisherfolk an’ farmers – and the Americans have no navy at all that I’ve he
ard about.’

  ‘True,’ said Houghton, thoughtfully, ‘but I’ll remind you that in law this must be construed as a combatant seeking refuge in a neutral port, and it would go ill with any who can be shown to violate it.’

  ‘And who’s to know? Cloth over our name on the stern, boat’s crews at night and you can’t make ’em out—’

  ‘I honour the ardency of your spirit, Mr Bryant, but I fear this would provoke extremely.’

  ‘Swimmers! Under cover o’ dark, they go in with borers, sink the bugger where he lies—’

  ‘Mr Bryant! I will not suffer such language! And, besides, they’ll never pierce a copper-sheathed hull without fuss and noise.’

  The cabin fell quiet until Renzi spoke. ‘Under the assumption that the sympathies of the Americans must lie with the French, I rather feel they would not be over-nice in the laws applicable in cases of neutrality. We may find ourselves lying at anchor, waiting, for some considerable time. Therefore it would seem logical to sail away – with deep regrets, of course.’

  Bryant snorted but could find no riposte.

  ‘And while we dally, the admiral is deprived of a major unit of his fleet, which is nominally under his orders . . .’

  Houghton grunted. ‘Possibly, but consider – this privateer is big. Should we leave her to her foul plundering, she can take her pick of the largest prizes. We would certainly be held to account if we did not a thing.’

  ‘But if you are unable to effect a solution, by reasons of force majeure, your course is chosen for you. We must give up.’

  There was a lengthy pause. Then the captain said, ‘We have stores only for days. An extended voyage was not contemplated. I have no choice.’

  Bryant let out his breath like a punctured balloon. ‘To sail.’

  ‘Yes.’ The captain’s voice was final. But then he added, ‘There is, however, one small chance.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I will send an officer ashore to parley with the Americans. They can’t object to that. Try to get ’em to see where their interests best lie, bit of law, that sort of thing. It’s possible then that they’ll throw the Frenchy out to where we’ll be waiting for him.’

  ‘A long shot, if I may say so, sir.’ Pringle’s languid voice came from the rear of the group of disconsolate officers. ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’

  ‘That is a matter that exercises me. If I send my first lieutenant there will undoubtedly be a confrontation, which is devoutly to be avoided.’ Bryant’s splutter was ignored. ‘Any officer of eminence will confer too much consequence on the affair with the local authorities, whoever they may be in these backwoods.

  ‘I rather feel that the name of Lieutenant Kydd suggests itself.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Mr President, the Minister Plenipotentiary of Great Britain. Sir, the President of the United States.’ The aide ushered Liston into the broad room, then departed.

  ‘Robert, so kind in you,’ said John Adams. He was standing by the tall marble mantelpiece and advanced with outstretched hand. ‘Sit down, man.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr President.’ Liston took an armchair before the fire with a gracious inclination of his head. ‘May I know if Abigail is happy in Trenton? It’s a wise precaution to depart Philadelphia before the sick season.’

  ‘She is indeed, God bless her,’ said Adams. In the absence of any others at this meeting, he poured the sherry himself. ‘Your health, Robert.’

  Liston waited, watching the President over the rim of his glass. Adams, a short, chubby man who looked like a country squire, was not to be underestimated. The two of them had seen much together of this new country’s spirited political struggles and personally he wished it well, but this was not a social call. He had come in response to a diplomatic summons.

  Adams set down his glass and steepled his fingers. ‘This cannot be allowed to continue, this stopping and searching on the high seas. Congress and the people will not tolerate it. Your Navy provokes by its high-handed actions, whatever its rights in the matter. Impressing men from the very decks of United States merchant vessels – it’s insufferable, you must understand, and now the British courts in the Caribbean are condemning United States merchant ships seized by the Royal Navy as prizes.’

  Liston murmured an acknowledgement. It was an old problem, and there were well-rehearsed rejoinders, but he chose another tack. ‘Mr President, this, I can appreciate, is your immediate concern – but you will understand that here we have a clash of belief and therefore law. You will have your country’s position set in law – but we, sir, have had ours since the 1756 Rule of War and it is accepted by the world. Why then should we change it so?’

  Adams picked up his glass and smiled. ‘That is well known, Robert, because it favours the Crown so disproportionate.’

  ‘And the French,’ continued Liston evenly, ‘with their demands of equipage and new decrees—’

  ‘We will firmly abide by our treaty obligations of 1778.’

  ‘Sir, the point I wish to make is that unless these three systems of law are brought to an expression of harmony, your country’s trade is in continued jeopardy. It would seem therefore but natural that, if only to restore a balance in world affairs, a measure of amity be enacted between our two nations prohibiting these excesses – here I do not exclude the possibility of an alliance.’

  ‘Against France? I think not. The country would never countenance it.’

  ‘Sir, consider, the French have been all but swept from the seas. What more practical way to safeguard your ships than have them watched over by the most powerful nation at sea, under flags in amity?’

  ‘Minister, we shall look after our own. We have no need of a foreign power’s intervention.’

  ‘Without a navy?’ said Liston gently.

  ‘Sir, this discussion is concluded.’ The President stood up. ‘Have you any other matter you wish to lay before me?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr President. While we are in an understanding, may I be so bold as to refer you to the intolerable actions of French agents in arming bands of Indians on the Canadian border?’

  That night the minister made his excuses to his wife and retired to the little room where he was accustomed to gathering his thoughts and rendering them lucidly for his master. Another hand would cipher the despatches.

  He tested the nib of his quill, his mind ordering events into neat aggregations, then analysis to their natural heads. It was the least that was expected by Lord Grenville, King George’s noble and demanding minister for foreign affairs.

  Liston considered carefully: he had been ambassador to the United States for Britain in all but name during many of those turbulent years following the revolution and had acquired a respect for the colonials that bordered on liking. They had followed up their revolution with a constructive, well-considered constitution, which had humanity at its core; the French, even with the American example, had resorted to blood and chaos in an age-old lust for world domination.

  There would be no elaborate salutations: Lord Grenville wanted meat in his despatches, personal observations and opinions unfettered by the delicacies of diplomatic language.

  The first subject? The likelihood of intervention by America in the titanic world struggle that was reaching its peak. In Europe there was not a single nation of significance, save England, that still stood against France. America remained outside the fight, and as a neutral she could afford to; she was profiting immensely by trading across the interests of the belligerents – there would be little to gain in taking sides.

  Yet the French were growing confident, arrogant even, in their dealings. New decrees had been issued by a victorious Directory in Paris that required all merchant ships to carry papers covering their cargo signed by a French consul if they were to escape being taken as a prize of war. There was even talk of an out-of-hand condemnation if British goods of any kind were found aboard.

  If the French had the means to enforce this at sea it would have a devastating impact
on the Americans. Without a navy, they would have no choice but to bow to French demands. In the end, though, Paris would find it never paid to bully the United States.

  But would the Americans see this as cause for war? Some were still sentimentally attached to the British, and others saw French power as a threat that needed balancing. But there were those who remembered France as an ally closely involved in the birth of their nation and would never sanction an aggressive act against her.

  Liston sighed. In the end, as always, it came back to politics and personalities in this most democratic of nations. He respected the bluff President, standing four-square for his country, plain-spoken and direct, even with his resolute opposition to British influences, but making no secret of his loathing of the French regime.

  But he was increasingly isolated: his party, the Federalists, were the patricians, old landowners staunchly in favour of central government – and generally took the British view. His opponents were the Republicans under Thomas Jefferson, who had no love for England and were mainly new money, naturalised immigrants and strongly pro-French.

  The two parties were locked in bitter political strife, which Liston could perceive Adams was badly placed to handle. In this odd system his own Vice President, Jefferson, was leader of the opposing party and privy to who knew what murky political secrets. And he was gravely handicapped by the extremist Hamilton at his elbow, splitting his party and draining confidence from his administration.

  It was a fevered time: mobs were marching at night, shattering windows; newspapers were full of wild rumour and acid attack. He wondered briefly what Adams would say if he told him that such was his concern, the great George Washington himself was in secret communication with London. From Pennsylvania a deputation had even demanded clarity on the matter of Mr Adams, son of the President, who was said to be betrothed to a daughter of the King of Great Britain and thereby for the same General Washington to hold the United States in trust for the King.