Once more the two frigates put about and beat upwind outside the harbour. The Spanish flag flew high over the forts that made the harbour impregnable to external threat. The army was going to have a hard time when it came to the siege.
"Boat putting off—flag o' truce, sir."
The captain of HMS Aurora held up his hand to acknowledge. It was a rare sight, as the blockade around Minorca was as tight as could possibly be. Still, the diversion from duty would be welcome. "Heave to, if you please."
Under sail out in the open sea the boat made heavy weather of it but came on stubbornly in sheets of spray. As it neared he could see only a few figures in it. It was one of the straight-stemmed Minorcan llauds that he had seen fishing here. The boat rounded to, the soaring lateen sail brailed up expertly as it came lightly to leeward.
"Aurora, ahoy! Permission t' come aboard!" hailed the deep-tanned figure at the tiller in a quarterdeck bellow, to the great surprise of the frigate's company agreeably passing time in watching the exchange.
"One to come aboard, Bosun."
The boat nuzzled gently against the ship's side and the figure sprang neatly for the side-ropes and pulled himself aboard, correctly doffing his hat first to the quarterdeck and then to the captain.
He was a striking character. Strong in the frame and attractively open in the face, he was nevertheless in a wildly inappropriate mix of English army and navy uniform—a Spanish ruse? "L'tenant Kydd, sir. Late o' the Port Mahon naval detachment t' Colonel Paget." His English was faultless if individual.
"What may we do for you, Lieutenant?" the captain of Aurora said carefully.
"Sir, Colonel Paget desires y' should not fire on th' Spaniards on any account, but that ye proceed into harbour without delay."
"I see. I should sail my frigate under the guns of the fortress yonder, and forget the presence of the boom across to the Lazareto?"
"Oh, pay no mind t' the boom, sir. We've just triced it in this hour."
"Are you not forgetting something, Lieutenant?"
"Sir?"
"That fortress flies the Spanish flag, which I have observed unchanged these three days."
"Ah—I should explain. Colonel Paget came upon the town, which surrendered a little precipitate before they could fin' a military man. Y'r flag flies above Fort San Felipe where the only soldiers are t' be found. The fort is in ruins, havin' been demolished by the Spaniards t' discommode us but the soldiers say they won't surrender until they've found the king's lieutenant and get a proper ceremony.
"Meanwhile, sir, we have the possession and occupation o' the whole port. If ye'd kindly sail upon Mahon directly the colonel will be obliged—he is anxious to make inventory of the ships and stores that have fallen into our hands."
CHAPTER 9
THE ORDERED CALM AND ROUTINE aboard HMS Tenacious was a welcome reassurance of normality and Kydd paced the decks with satisfaction. His ship was now moored inside the deep emerald harbour of Port Mahon with the rest of the fleet; watering parties were ashore in Cala Figuera.
Kydd contemplated the prospect of an agreeable summons from the commodore in the near future. It had been an extraordinary achievement—the entire island was now in English hands, from the time of landing to capitulation no more than a week, on their side without any loss. And he had played what must surely be seen as a central part in the success.
"Sir, if y' please ..." One of the smaller midshipmen tugged at his sleeve.
He turned, frowning at the impropriety, then softening at the boy's anxiety to please. "Aye?"
"Mate o' the watch sends his duty an' the commodore would be obliged should you spare him an hour."
"Thank ye," said Kydd, a little surprised at the informality. He had been expecting something of a rather more public character, but supposed that this was preparatory only. After all, while this was a commodore he did not have the standing and powers of a full admiral. Any form of honours would have to come from the commander-in-chief, Admiral Nelson, still in Naples. His heart beat faster.
After reporting to Captain Faulkner in full dress uniform, as befitting a visit to the flag-officer, he was stroked across to Leviathan in the gig, thinking warmly that life could not be bettered at that moment. The day before, he had come back aboard and spent an uproarious evening in the wardroom telling of his adventure, being heartily toasted in the warmth of deep camaraderie. Now, dare he think it, he had been noticed and therefore was on the golden ladder of preferment and success. His instinct had been right—Nelson was showing the way. Seize the moment when it came!
He was politely received by a flag-lieutenant and conducted to the commodore in his great cabin. "Ah, Kydd. Sit ye down, I won't be long," Duckworth said, waving Kydd to a chair. The commodore was writing, a frown on his open face as he concentrated on the task. He finished with a scrawl and put his pen down with a sigh. "L'tenant Kydd," he said heavily, "I do believe that you should bear much of the credit for the success of this expedition. From what I hear, your initiative and courage did much to secure the safety of the force. Do tell me now what happened."
Kydd began, careful to be exact in his recollections for this would be a matter of record for all time. But as he proceeded he became uneasily aware that he did not have the commodore's full attention. He fiddled with his pen, squared his papers, inspected the back of his hand. Somewhat put out, Kydd completed with a wry account of his boarding of the frigate and told him of the conclusion of hostilities, but the commodore failed to smile.
Duckworth stood. "May I take the hand of a brave man and a fine officer?" he said directly, fixing Kydd in the eye. "I see a bright future for you, sir." Kydd glowed. "Good day to you, Mr Kydd," the commodore said, and took up his papers once more.
Kydd hovered uncertainly. "What is it, Mr Kydd?" the commodore said testily.
"Sir, dare I say it, but should I be mentioned in y'r dispatches, I'd be infinitely obliged if you'd spell m' name with a y—Kydd, sir, not like the pirate Kidd." There had been instances of promotion awarded for valour to the wrong officer entirely, which regrettably it was impossible to undo at the Admiralty.
Duckworth leaned back, eyeing Kydd stonily. "The dispatches for this engagement will be written by another. I haul down my flag tomorrow, Mr Kydd."
At a loss, Kydd excused himself and withdrew.
"I would have thought somethin' a bit more rousin'," Kydd said morosely, not sure at all of what had been transacted in the great cabin.
Adams was sympathetic, and put down his book on the wardroom table. They were alone and Kydd had returned disconsolate from what should have been a memorable interview.
"Luck o' the draw, old trout. You'll understand that Duckworth is out of sorts. His mission complete, he has to strike his flag and revert back to plain old captain now."
"But his dispatches—"
"Dispatches? He's not the expedition commander, Tom, Stuart is. And I've strong reason to know from a friend at Headquarters that he's a man to seize all the credit that can be scraped together. His dispatches will say nothing of the navy—all we did was sally out to meet half a dozen Spanish frigates, which instantly put about and had the legs of us. No creditable battle, no mention for anyone."
"I should've smoked it," Kydd said. Stuart was certainly the kind of man to dim another's candle in order that his become the brighter. "So the general won't want th' world to know that he'd got special intelligence as would give him th' confidence to stretch out an' take Minorca?"
"I fear that must be the case," Adams murmured.
"I was present at th' takin' of Port Mahon!" Kydd continued stubbornly.
"Dear chap, any battle won swiftly, efficiently and with the minimum of bloodshed must be a bad battle by any definition. For your triumph and glory you need a good butcher's bill, one that has you blood-soaked but standing defiant at the end, tho' many at your side do fall. And we had the bad luck to lose not a single man ..."
"You're bein' cynical, I believe."
Adams shr
ugged.
"Besides, m' name must be mentioned once in high places in the navy, must it not?"
Adams gave a small smile. "I should think not. The successful practice of creeping abroad at night is not an accomplishment that necessarily marks out a future admiral."
As he strolled along in the sun with Renzi on the road to Mahon, Kydd brooded; no doubt there would be other opportunities for dash and initiative but unless a similar conspiracy of circumstances came up how was he to be noticed? Duty was not enough: he must show himself of different timbre from the others.
They had landed below George Town, Es Castell as it was now known. From there it had been a precipitous pathway to the top—the harbour of Port Mahon was a great ravine in a high plateau, opening to a capacious sea cove three miles long. The town of Mahon was perched along the top, the skyline an exotic mix of medieval casements, churches, windmills and several inclined roadways to the water's edge.
A pleasant two miles of open country lay ahead. Wearing plain clothes in deference to the sensibilities of the inhabitants, they passed through Es Castell, a relic of past English occupation, still with its parade-ground four-square in the centre, and found the road west to Mahon.
"So grateful to the spirit," Renzi mused. At sea there was a constant busyness; even in the most placid of days the flurry of waves, the imperceptible susurrus of breeze around the edge of the sails and the many random sounds of a live ship were a constant backdrop to life aboard. It was only on land, where a different quietude reigned, that its absence was noticed.
Kydd's naturally happy temperament bubbled to the surface. "S' many windmills—you'd think it Norfolk or Kent."
"Yet the soil is poor and difficult of cultivation, I think," said Renzi, as they passed tiny garden-like plots and endless dry-stone walls. A little further on the wafting scent of orange groves filled the air. "But there could be compensations ..."
In front of each white stone farm there was a distinctive gate of charming proportions, an inverted V, probably made from the ubiquitous wild olive wood. The road wound round the end of a deep cleft in the cliffs, a sea cove a quarter of a mile deep with buildings on the flat ground at its head. Kydd recognised it as the chief watering-place, Cala Figuera—English Cove. The English ships, Tenacious among them, were clustered there.
Mahon could be seen ahead, past a racket court in use by two rowdy midshipmen, the houses by degrees turning urban and sophisticated. The two nodded pleasantly to local people in their pretty gardens; Kydd wondered how he would feel if conquering officers passed his front door. Nevertheless there was more than one friendly wave.
Several paths and avenues led from the one they were on and it became clear that they needed directions. "Knock on th' door?" Kydd suggested.
After some minutes they heard, "¿Que quiere?" A short man wearing round spectacles emerged suspiciously.
"Ah, we are English officers, er, inglese," Kydd tried.
Renzi smiled. "Your Italian does you credit, my friend, but what is more needed now—"
"Goodness gracious me!" Both turned in astonishment at the perfect English. "So soon! But—dare I be as bold—your honourable presence is made more welcome by your absence, these sixteen year."
Kydd blinked. "Er, may we ask if this is th' right road f'r Mahon?"
"Ah! So many years have I not heard this word! Only the English call it Marn—the Spanish is Ma-hon, but we Minorquin call it Ma-o, you see."
"Then—"
"You are certainly on the highway to ciudad Mao—forgive me, it has been many years ... Sadly, though, you will now find Mao in the comfortable state we call siesta."
He drew himself up. "But, gentlemen, it would be my particular honour to offer you the refreshments of the road."
"You are too kind, sir," Renzi said elegantly, with a bow.
They were soon seated in an enchanting arbour in a small garden at the front of a Mediterranean white house, all set about with myrtle, jasmine and vines and with a splendid view down into the harbour. The man withdrew and they heard shrill female protests overborne with stern male tones before he reappeared.
"My apologies. I am Don Carlos Pina, a merchant of oil of olive."
The officers bowed and introduced themselves. A lady wreathed in smiles appeared with a tray, murmuring a politeness in what Kydd assumed was Mahon-ese. On the tray he recognised Xoriguer and there were sweetmeats that had him reaching out.
"Ah! Those are the amargos. If they are too bitter, please to try the coquinyales here." Pina spoke to the woman, who coloured with pleasure. "My wife remember what you English like."
The crunchy anisette indeed complemented the gin and lemon cordial but Kydd had to say what was on his mind: "D' ye please tell me, sir, why you are not offended at our bein' here?"
Pina smiled broadly. "Our prosperity is tied to the English— when you left in 'eighty-two our trade suffer so cruel where before we trade with the whole world. Now by chance it will return."
"I'm sure it will," Renzi contributed.
Pina flourished the Xoriguer. "I toast His Majesty King George—King George th' Three! I hope he enjoy good health?" he added anxiously.
"He is still our gracious sovereign," Renzi replied.
"Please! Gentlemen, you may toast to the return of Lady Fortune to Minorca!"
Renzi asked earnestly, "Sir, this is such an ancient island. The Moors, Romans, Phoenicians—surely they have left their mark on the land, perhaps curious structures, singular artefacts?"
"There is no end of them," Pina said brightly, "but there are also the navete of the Talaiot—before even the Roman, they build boats of stone! No man know what they are. We never go near." He crossed himself fervently, bobbing his head.
"Excellent!" said Renzi.
"And if you are interested in Minorca, good sir, I recommend to your attention the town of Migjorn Gran, in which you will find many learned in the ancient ways of our island."
Kydd put down his glass. "And Mao is not far ahead?"
"I'm delaying you!" Pina said, in consternation. "Before you leave, the abrazo!" To Kydd's embarrassment he was seized in an embrace. "So! Now you are for us the hermanito, our ver' good friend!"
Mahon bustled with excitement. It seemed a declaration of open trade was to be gazetted immediately by the English, and merchants scurried to prepare for prosperous times. The dignified but sleepy town was waking up and the purposeful hurry of the population was in marked contrast to Kydd and Renzi's leisured pace.
Noble churches stood among a maze of busy streets; an ancient archway glowered at the top of one, and there were shops of every sort between lofty residence with balconies. Kydd was charmed by the little town, which had in parts an almost English reserve. On impulse, he stopped as they were passing a handicrafts shop. "Nicholas, I'd like t' take something o' Minorca back to m' mother as a remembrance. A piece o' lace?"
They entered the quiet interior of the shop. It took a few seconds for Kydd's eyes to adjust to the gloom after the glare of the sun but then he saw the girl behind the counter. "Er, can I see y' lace—for m' mother ..." He tailed off, seeing her grave attention.
But she gave a delighted squeal. "You are Engliss? Que suerte haberte conocido! I always want to meet an Engliss gentleman, my mother she say—"
"If we are to make the cloisters by angelus we must step out," said Renzi, sharply.
"Cloisters?" said Kydd, distracted.
"We have much yet to admire, brother."
Tenacious was first to be warped across the harbour to the dockyard for survey: she had suffered at the Nile with her lighter framing, and a worrying increase in bilge pumping was possibly the result of a shot taken between wind and water.
It did not take long to find the cause: two balls landing not far apart below the waterline had damaged a run of several strakes.
They would have to be replaced. With the ship canted to one side by capstans to expose her lower hull she was barely inhabitable and, with the prospect of pos
sibly months at the dockyard, her officers quickly realised that lodgings ashore would be much more agreeable. The best location was evident: Carrer San Roc in the centre of Mahon, where fine town-houses in the English style were to be readily engaged.
A small but comfortable establishment with quaint furniture from the reign of one of the previous Georges met the bill, and Kydd and Renzi moved in without delay. It was a capital headquarters for further exploration of the island.
Renzi laid down his Reflections on the Culture and Antiquity of Iberia. "It is said that the western Ciudadela is of quite another character," he mused, nursing his brandy. "Suffered cruelly from the Turks but still retains splendid edifices—but the people are of the Castilian Spanish and have no love for an Englishman."
Kydd picked up a dog-eared newspaper and settled into his high-backed chair. "An' I heard fr'm one o' the midshipmen that t' take away a boat and sail around the island would be prime— there's snug coves an' beaches all up the coast."
"Where, then, is your warlike ardour, your lofty aspirations to laurels?"
"With our ship in dock? Little chance t' find such ... but there are compensations," Kydd said, with a private smile and raised his paper again.
"Oh?" Renzi said.
"Nicholas, I saw Love's Labour's Lost is t' be staged tonight. Do ye fancy t' attend at all?"
"Well, if we—"
"Unfortunately the captain wants t' sight m' journals, I must complete 'em. But do go y'self, I beg!"
"Actually, this volume is an engrossing account of your Hispanic in all his glory. I rather fancy I shall spend a quiet evening here."
"Nicholas, m' friend, you will do y'r eyes a grievous injury with all this readin'. In th' big church they're presentin' a concert o' music especially t' welcome the English. Why not go an' enjoy this? There's all y'r favourite composers, er, Pergylasy and—"
"I see I must," Renzi said flatly, and Kydd coloured. Later, leaving for the concert, he nearly collided with someone walking in haste. He had last seen her at the lace counter.
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