Betrayal (31 page)

The meaty thump of a ball in flesh and an agonised cry came from nearby as Kydd pressed on. It had been a lucky shot: it would have been impossible to take accurate aim at this distance after a fast run.

The boat was coming quicker. Nearer and nearer, and then within reach. He grabbed at the gunwale and hung there, urging others in, seeing them tumbling over each other and roughly heaving in the wounded seaman. The remaining men hung on where they could and, at his signal, the boat was hauled bodily through the water to the waiting
Staunch
.

‘Well done, L’tenant,’ Kydd gasped, gratefully accepting the stout oilskin pressed on him. ‘A pity about
Dolores
.’ He broke off as Selby bawled orders to get under way.

Then he stopped as a thought came – and stayed to blossom into a beautiful, glorious possibility.

The sloop had stopped to take possession of
Dolores.
It had men away on the island and was otherwise occupied. What if . . .?

‘L’tenant, I desire you to make best speed to the barky. Not ours – the one hove over for careening.’

A broad grin appeared on the officer’s face. The sloop might be grounded but there would be depth of water for a
sumaca
. ‘Er, we’ve only the carronade,’ he said apologetically. It would take hours of bombardment to reduce a warship with it but Kydd had other ideas.

‘No, not that. Fetch me all the combustibles you can find – we set her afire.’

By the time they had reached a line of sight from the first sloop they were well on their way but had minutes only to accomplish their mission. As they approached, it must have become obvious what they were about, but Kydd was leaving nothing to chance. They came in on the immovable vessel’s bow where its guns could not bear, then lay off.

At the first crash from the stumpy carronade the few men left aboard emerged and hastily tumbled into boats for the shore.

‘Go!’ Kydd roared, himself taking position at the blunt prow of
Staunch
with two others. A quick look told him that the other sloop had spotted them and was making to return, but in her square rig she was hard up against the wind – yet it was still only minutes they had.

Skilfully the two ships were brought at an angle nose to nose and Kydd reached out to clutch the martingale, swinging a leg up and then levering himself atop the naked bowsprit to slither into the plain fore-deck. The bare decks were deserted and awkwardly canted over but he knew where to go – passing hand to hand he found the fore-hatchway and went down, casting about in the gloom.

Behind him he heard the footsteps of his men. One made salty comment on the alien smell. All ships were much the same between decks and Kydd quickly found what he was looking for: the carpenter’s store-room and workshop. Inside they set to, feverishly heaping into a pile the wood shavings with the oakum and torn cotton ration bags they had brought.

Flint and steel were nervously produced. Kydd took them and ordered the room cleared before upending glue-pots, jars of spirit and anything else he could find over the mess. He struck some sparks but they went out before they could catch the flammables – he had to get nearer to the dangerous mixture. An eddy of the sharp stink of fumes hung in the air, and when he struck again they caught in a
whoomf
of searing flame. He staggered back, temporarily blinded, but felt the hands of a man behind plucking him out and steering him for the hatchway.

His eyes cleared in the open to see the other sloop plunging vengefully towards them but
Staunch
was there, hauled under the bowsprit, and Kydd thankfully dropped to its deck. Now for the crowning moment – if it came off.

‘Back down our track,’ he snapped, when he reached the wheel. It caused frowns – it was the course home, but would take them past the returning sloop, which would not hesitate to salute them with a broadside.

The two vessels closed. ‘Bear away to leeward, if you please,’ Kydd said tightly, his eyes on the Spanish. This would take them downwind of the bigger ship – which was precisely what he wanted. ‘A trifle more, I think.’ It would not do to appear too brazen.

It was not long before they met: a fleeing mosquito of a craft, trying to make the open sea in time, and a righteous avenger. And the temptation was too much – with no flames from their work yet outwardly visible on the other sloop the Spaniard put over his helm and lunged for them, probably relishing Kydd’s mistake: at this point of sailing it was going to be the square-rigged ship that had the advantage.

Kydd watched the sloop gradually close, and set his trap. ‘A little to larboard – that will do.’

Now it was all down to the cupidity of the Spanish captain, so eager to cap his day by taking both craft. They were passing the end of the island, where the long finger of a point entered the water. And Kydd now remembered the significance of the wind backing northerly: in this vast funnel of sea an easterly blowing in would have a heaping effect on the mass of water, resulting in a greater depth. With this backing to the north, it would be released and—

The effect of several hundred tons of ship striking at speed on the underwater spine of rocks was dramatic. Instantly the ship slewed and the fore-mast, bowed forward under press of sail, fell majestically, quickly followed by the main, transforming a fine creature of the sea to a ruin.

Disbelieving yells of triumph went up and the young captain turned to Kydd with such admiration that he felt a blush rising. ‘Sir – you knew he’d follow.’

‘Then let it be a lesson to you, sir,’ he said modestly.

Flames were now shooting up from the fore-deck of the grounded sloop and the boats coming out from the shore were hanging back – as Kydd had intended: the fore magazine was not far from where they had started the fire.

Selby looked over at the distant figures clambering disconsolately over the wreckage of the other. ‘Sir, shall we . . . ?’

‘No, my friend, we’ll leave ’em to it.’ There was no point in finishing it – both sloops put down was a quite acceptable result. In any case, there was still something he had to do.

When they arrived,
Dolores
was still aground but now quite deserted and ready to be restored to the British flag.

‘Mr Garrick – do you desire to take up your command again?’

There was little damage aboard for it appeared the Spanish had been more concerned with searching for booty and keeping their prize in good condition. All it took was a modicum of skilful seamanship to have her towed off the bank.

Kydd swelled with satisfaction. Even in the face of his little fleet there was no chance Liniers would risk a crossing now. Let the Army strut and parade: it was the Navy that had held the line.

When they arrived back at the mole Kydd could feel an oppressive, uneasy atmosphere. As he reached the waterfront he caught averted glances, lowered voices, the sudden stilling of laughter. Things were changing fast.

He went to his billet. It was the same there, a stiff disinclination in the ladies of the house for conversation, the children running off, and Rodriguez formidably polite but of few words. Kydd left quickly.

At the fort, Beresford was still out on inspection and Kydd wearily made his way to the officers’ mess to take a meal and seek company.

On seeing his Royal Marines lieutenant he called over, ‘Ah – Mr Clinton. Might I sup with you?’

‘I’d be honoured, sir.

‘We’ve just heard of your success on the other shore and we’ll all rest the better for it.’

‘Thank you. A diverting occasion for a clerking warrior, I’m bound to say.’ Kydd turned his attention to the food – a hot breakfast would be a welcome change, but the egg that was placed before him was small and discoloured with an unmistakable reek. ‘Stale and off, damn it. Steward!’

Clinton looked uncomfortable ‘Sir. I beg you – he’s not to be blamed. The situation with victuals is getting insupportable, the city market near deserted, and we dare not go into the country to secure our own. I fancy we’ll be on short canny before long.’

Kydd sat back in dismay. That it had come to this so quickly was a serious development.

Clinton went on, ‘All the transports have been stripped of provisions and been sent up and down the country to try to get more at any price, but in a hostile province I think not.’

‘Has the commodore—’

‘Yes, he’s been informed,’ the lieutenant said matter-of-factly. Naturally it was squarely the senior officer’s problem. He ventured, ‘Sir, should you wish to take the temper of Buenos Aires we could go for a stroll and . . .’

Kydd felt he was being invited for a reason and fell in with the suggestion. They walked out of the fort into the main square. Here again there were few people: a handful of forlorn basket traders, a couple of children running and the familiar grind of the high-wheeled water carts. For the rest there was an uncanny silence.

They passed into a minor street and heard the tramp of boots, the squeal of fife and drums. As they emerged on to a main street they saw a broad column of redcoats with a splendidly ornamented sergeant major to the fore. The few people watching stared dully or turned their backs.

Clinton snapped to attention, Kydd did the same, and they were acknowledged with screamed commands and a salute by the sergeant major. The soldiers marched stolidly along in widely spaced threes, not at all with the crisp professionalism Kydd had come to expect from these veteran troops. As they passed he recognised, to his astonishment,
L’Aurore
’s purser’s steward stepping it out in a corporal’s tunic and, further on, the duty coxswain.

‘Daily we rope in every idler we can find – servant, boat-boy, shore party – dress ’em up in uniforms and ask them to march about for a period. Notice how they’re spaced apart. We hope it gives the locals the impression we’ve numbers beyond what we really have,’ Clinton explained.

‘I see.’

‘I must allow it’s a powder-keg, sir. Forty thousand kept at bay by one and a half. If they take it into their heads . . .’

Kydd nodded gravely, then asked, ‘Er, by now you know Buenos Aires well enough?’

‘Why, there’s continuous streets and buildings all of two miles long and a half wide, and it spreads out far into the country. You’ll be wondering how we keep watch and ward, I fancy. Well, as to that, the general desires that we make a presence everywhere we can, so we’ve posts on the roads regulating entry into here, and roving patrols and sentries at important locations. I’ve stood sentry-go as a private myself, just to see the lie of the land, but our biggest problem is men. Even in two watches we can’t really secure a city this large.’

‘Are the men in good heart?’

‘They’re doing their duty, sir,’ Clinton said firmly.

‘Do sit and take a taste of wine, Mr Kydd,’ Beresford mumbled, through his food. ‘I’ve not yet eaten today, and I’m clemmed.’

He finished his modest meal quickly and turned to Kydd. ‘A capital action against the ship-sloops, sir. We’re safe – for now. You’ve heard of our difficulties with provisioning?’

‘Sir.’

‘The commodore has sent the victuallers
Elizabeth
and
Mary
on a cruise to chase up supplies but I’m not sanguine we’ll find any in the province. I’m persuaded they’ll need to go to Rio, possibly as far as Cape Town.’

Kydd had his doubts about the Cape. There would probably be little enough to be found even at that distance, so soon after it had been taken: there hadn’t been a harvest and the Capetonians were still on thin times. But what else could the defenders do?

‘Rations are vital, of course, but what worries me is that we’ve no line to other military stores. We’re quite on our own with what we’ve brought with us. For instance, I’ve taken the precaution of buying up all the gunpowder I can lay hands on among the merchantmen lying here. What I’ll do for the other I cannot say.’

‘Sir, we’ve only to hold on for the reinforcements.’

‘Ah, the reinforcements. And when do you conceive they’ll be here? If I knew, we could make our dispositions – as it is, we’re forced to plan for months. If you’ve any ideas, I’d be glad to hear them.’

Kydd said ruefully, ‘St Helena?’

‘We’ve sent
Jane
there but they’re East India Company, not set up for Crown supply. No, it has to be comprehended that we’re in a devilish pickle.’

‘The slaves – are they to be added to our colours?’

‘No. The local merchantry plead their economy will be overset should they lose their services. I’ve had to let them keep their slaves. A good thing, too,’ he said absently. ‘I couldn’t feed ’em.’

Topping up the general’s wine, Kydd commented, ‘A sullen enough crew about town, I’ve noticed. I’m puzzled to know just what it is that’s made them set their faces against us.’

Beresford sighed. ‘Hard to say. At a guess, I’d presume it’s something to do with the Dons’ pride, that we’ve taken the place with so few. And what we’re offering of prosperity and freedom does not weigh that much with them.’

‘They’ve the chance to rid themselves of Spanish rule and they refuse it?’

‘Ah, yes. This they would value above all things, but they are asking too much of me.’

‘Sir?’

‘There are many who would accept us, possibly the majority of the better class, but first they desire a guarantee of protection against reprisal from the Spanish, should they return. This I cannot on my honour sign up to, as it is not within my power to defend against everything unforeseeable.’ He sighed. ‘Therefore that puts paid to any hope of a harmonious future. So, none will be seen to collaborate with us for fear of retribution later.’

Kydd knew what he was saying. ‘Like Guadeloupe when the French returned. The streets ran red for weeks I’ve heard.’ He had been a young seaman on the island when . . .

Beresford sniffed and added sourly, ‘And those priests are a pestilential lot. They’re making open offer of a place in the country and a new wife if a soldier deserts his post and takes off his hat to the pope. I’m sorry to say there’s been more than one Irishman think it the better bargain, the
señoritas
being so obliging.’