Betrayal (36 page)

He pretended to exercise, pacing up and down the foreshore in the mud, among the seaweed and debris thrown up, his oilskin ballooning and the cold wind piercing, but of his seven vessels, by mid-morning there was only one further arrival. Unable to keep up the pretence, he returned to the fort but was shortly summoned back.

‘Um, just beyond the point, sir,’ a soldier said, stolidly leading. It was as Kydd had dreaded. Some way out there was the low, untidy black outline of a washed-up wreck with two figures picking at it. With a catch in his throat he started out to it.

‘Oi, sir, don’t you . . .’ began the soldier, but Kydd was not to be stopped and squelched on over the mud, then into the heavily discoloured water until he reached the pathetic remains, shattered and tangled with seaweed-strewn rope.

‘
Stalwart
, sir,’ said a petty officer from the fort.

‘Any . . . ?’

‘Two on ’em only, sir,’ the man said, pointing to the foreshore where tarpaulin-covered bodies lay, which he’d overlooked in his haste. He sloshed back and, with the soldier gravely watching, he carefully pulled back the covering on one.

Dougal. Master’s mate. The pallor of death but a calm face, a trace of wistful sadness that was so touching in one on the threshold of manhood. Kydd tenderly covered it again.

The other was Lieutenant Hellard, utterly determined to succeed in his first command. His features were heavily bruised but not enough to hide the bitter indignation, the rage at Fate that had been his final emotion.

Kydd turned away. This cursed place was touching so many lives. He felt hatred rising as he stalked back, trailing mud and water into the fort.

In his office he heard the reports of the three vessels that had survived, listening with compassion as the officers recounted their ordeal.

The hard truth of the matter was that two might be made fit for sea but the third was little more than a wreck, brought back by sheer bull-headed courage and matchless skill.

Two – to stand before Colonia and the massing Spanish Army. It was impossible, but the imperatives of war dictated he try.

Conscious of their tired and strained faces, Kydd nevertheless spoke firmly: ‘That’s a grim tale, which I’m sure’ll be told in every wardroom in the fleet – but here’s the rub. You’re the only ones left to me. We have to make a showing off Colonia or the Dons will take heart and try a crossing.

‘Gentlemen, I desire you’ll get your craft ready for sea by any means you can contrive. In two hours you’ll put out for Colonia and the blockade where you’ll stay to the last biscuit, drop of water and shot. They must not sail! Do you understand me?’

He did what he could, finding seamen to bear a hand with repairs, soldiers to help with the storing and watering, and any small thing he could think of that might in any way make their lot more bearable.

When he went back to his desk a hovering clerk said apologetically, ‘Sir, a Mr Serrano t’ see you – seems very anxious an’ all.’

‘Show him in,’ Kydd said. That the artist was daring to come to the fort and risk being taken for a spy in the pay of the British must indicate some urgency.

‘Good in you to come, Mr – er, Señor Serrano. A tea, perhaps?’ The young man was rumpled and unshaven but had an intensity about him, an exaltation even.

‘No! Captain Keed – no time. I will tell you, ver’ important. I come as quick as I can. Gen’ral Liniers, he coming! He trick you – while your ships scatter because of the storm he’s to make a crossing over.’

‘When?’ Kydd breathed, his tiredness vanishing in a flash.

‘Is not when, is where. Not from Colonia del Sacramento, there he knows you will see him. No, he march forty mile along to Punta Pavón. At there is deeper, an’ ship can come in close. He can load up his boats wi’ soldiers quickly, you cannot see him.’

Kydd rummaged for his largest-scale chart and found the spot, a third of the way back to Montevideo. Sure enough, there was a tongue of three- or four-fathom water the other side of the Ortiz Bank, coming to within a short distance of the uninhabited coast.

‘Ships – how’s he going to get them, without we see them move from Colonia?’ Kydd snapped, cudgelling his mind to take in the implications of the all-too-possible stratagem.

‘He leave them there, an’ you think he will still cross. He brings boats from Montevideo, many.’

‘Mr Serrano, I need to know – when?’

‘Not more an’ two days. This I hear from the general talking.’

Kydd slumped in despair. Only two to set against a probable armada, and they a good sixty miles off in still rough conditions. And in two days . . .

‘This is hard news, Mr Serrano. Are you very sure of what you heard?’

‘Is so, sir.’

‘And . . . you’re telling me the truth, that is to say, no twisters? Do you swear to it?’

‘I say it true,’ the young man said, set and pale.

‘Oh, I’m not saying your flamming me,’ Kydd said hastily. ‘It’s just as how I must now change plans at the gallop.’

‘They come, I swear it.’

Kydd looked into the burning eyes, then eased into a smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Serrano, I believe you. Can we find you some refreshment? You must be—’

‘I go now,’ he whispered, and slipped away.

Kydd tried to marshal his thoughts. He should go immediately to Beresford with the news and the grave admission that the Navy was powerless to stop Liniers; the general would have to improvise his own defences, but if only he could report to him with –

Something stirred at the back of his mind. He peered again at the chart. The tongue of deeper water was indeed an extension of the indented sea passage that gave Montevideo its ocean access – the sparse soundings were probably unreliable but it was worth a try. Animated, he snatched up the dividers and stepped it out. Forty-eight miles. Possible.

He shouted for the master’s mate. ‘Rouse out our fastest dispatch boat – I’ve orders for
L’Aurore
frigate as will need it to fly.’

It would be a close-run thing but if the frigate met Liniers’s invasion at sea it would be a massacre. Grinning savagely, he dashed off the order that would have the frigate rendezvous off Punta Pavón with his remaining two
sumaca
s,
Staunch
and
Protector
. Sobering, he took another sheet and carefully outlined the situation for Popham, setting out his reasoning for working the frigate up to the embarkation point even if it meant stranding the vessel, helpless on the mud between tides.

It would exercise Gilbey considerably to lighten the ship to the extreme as well as the tricky task of feeling his way through the shoals and banks.

Was there anything else? Yes – he should make some showing off Colonia to assure the Spanish that he was still there and blockading, for if they suspected he knew of the real embarkation point they would revert back and no frigate could make it up that far. There was just one snag – he didn’t have a ship for the task.

In frustration he stood up and looked out over the open roadstead before the city. There was a huddle of small fry and one or two larger craft – like the fine-lined schooner close in and the European-looking ship-rigged merchantman. Circumstances demanded a desperate remedy – but what he was contemplating was little more than piracy.

When the master’s mate returned, Kydd was ready. ‘I want a party of twenty good seamen. Arm them and let me know when they’re mustered.’

‘Aye aye, sir!’

It was done. Now, with his orders safely on their way across the storm-torn waters, it was time to let Beresford know what he had in mind.

The general smiled thinly. ‘I can only suppose you are aware of the legal niceties, Captain. If there is a disinclination to assist and you have a confrontation then there’s nothing I can do to intervene or, indeed, shield you from the rigours of the law should they press suit.’

Kydd bit his tongue. That Beresford was honourable and upright was well known; that his high principles would prevent him giving his support to an action that would save his situation was taking it to absurdity.

‘I understand, sir,’ he replied evenly. ‘You have my word there’ll be no contravention of the law.’

He had until those ships were boarded to think of something . . .

The men were waiting when he returned. ‘Ask the duty lieutenant to join us with our usual interpreter cove,’ he ordered, surveying his party. These were good men, volunteers out of the big ships and reliable.

The lieutenant appeared, out of breath. ‘L’tenant Herrick. Sorry, sir, I—’

‘Stand easy, sir. I’ve something to say.’

He turned to the little group and stood in an uncompromising quarterdeck brace. ‘If you men are the kind of prime hands I think you are, looking for a frolic at the expense of the Dons, then today you’ll get your fill. I’ve word General Liniers thinks to cross secretly from another place. Only we can stop him and it may turn out to be a first-rate dusting.

‘Now,
L’Aurore
frigate is on her way to dispute with him. We’ve
Staunch
and
Protector
but need more sail and I’ve a notion where we’ll find it.’

He had their full attention and as he outlined his plan it turned to a fierce glee. ‘I’ll repeat – no man to raise a weapon unless he gets my personal order. Clear?’

Diadem
’s launch was manned, Kydd himself taking the tiller, and they pulled for the schooner.

There were no colours evident – he would have to play this carefully.

‘Schooner, ahoy!’ he hailed. A frightened face appeared above a hatch coaming. ‘I’m coming aboard!’

Her low freeboard allowed him to step directly on to her deck and he wasted no time. ‘What flag?’ he demanded, miming the hoisting of one.

‘Ai-ya, Portuguee!’

Kydd heaved a sigh of relief. The Portuguese were neutral – but this was no Portuguese vessel. In his experience they still continued the old custom of the prominent display of a crucifix on the after-deck to which every officer and seaman made passing obeisance, and here the deck was bare. More tellingly, in his capacity as port captain, he had not heard of any such seeking clearance, their canny merchants keeping well away until the situation was settled. This had to be a local trader seeking to evade port dues.

He addressed the launch: ‘L’tenant Herrick and five, if y’ please.’ From below two more bemused crewmen appeared and then an apprehensive officer. ‘Inform this man of who I am, that I suspect his vessel of illegal entry to Buenos Aires,’ he told his interpreter. ‘And that I’m impounding it forthwith.’

It was unheard of to have the captain of the port himself board a harmless trader at the head of an armed party, but it had the desired effect. The officer babbled nervously, then waited while the interpreter said, ‘He say he forget t’ get his paper sign. Isn’t there some way he can . . . ?’

‘Possibly,’ Kydd said, stroking his chin. ‘Has he a cabin where we can talk?’

Some minutes later he came back on deck and, with a smile, made a mock bow to Herrick. ‘L’tenant, this is your new command. I wish you to ship guns and make motions before Colonia until relieved. Good luck.’

Now for the larger ship: it would add presence and should, with its row of false gun-ports, give pause to any troop-laden vessel.

It was anchored further out and the launch began shipping water from the still-boisterous seas. Resolutely they pressed on until they made its lee – but Kydd had noticed that this ship was an altogether different matter: its red flag with three vertical crowns proclaimed it a Danziger, which he remembered hazily was nominally under the Grand Duchy but in practical terms a fief of Prussia, disputed by Poland.

There was no other in sight that was as substantial and he had no alternative but to go through with it. As the boathook seized the main-chains he grabbed the man-rope and hauled himself over the gunwale – to be confronted by a bull of man who stood with his arms folded and feet planted on the deck.

‘Kydd, captain of the port of Buenos Aires,’ he said, in crisp tones. ‘You are the captain?’

‘
Ja
.’

‘Papers,’ Kydd said, making riffling motions.

They were produced in the old-fashioned saloon. As far as Kydd’s experienced eye could tell, they were faultless. And flourished last, like a trump card, were the entry papers to Buenos Aires, signed by Kydd’s own staff.

He snatched one up. ‘This charter party admits you’re trading with Spain, sir.’

Another paper was slapped down. It was a form of release, signed in florid detail by the Danzig authorities and counter-signed with margin notes by the British consul there.

‘Nevertheless, Captain, you have attempted to land cargo out of bond contrary to port regulations and I must therefore—’

‘I haf not broken bulk.’

The bald statement was irrefutable: if the freight had not been broached then the cargo was in the same legal position as that of any ship with part retained for the next port and therefore not subject to duty or exaction.

‘I jus’ wait for th’ Spanische to take back Buenos Aires.’

Kydd had been inclined to let him go, but this remark made him smoulder. A mischievous thought broke in – but if it went wrong there was no going back. ‘Sir – I have reason to believe you have been engaged in commerce with France, a belligerent power, in violation of your status.’

A look of open astonishment was quickly replaced by one of contempt. ‘So! You vill search me?’

‘Yes,’ Kydd snapped, and got up abruptly. If he was wrong in his estimate of the man, it would be nothing short of disastrous. He went up on deck and motioned to his men to come aboard. He whispered instructions to Bolt, the petty officer in charge, then stood back.

Instead of heading for the monkey-hatch to the hold forward, Bolt went straight to the master’s cabin, closely followed by the Prussian, who was now spluttering with anger. Ignoring him, the men looked for the small hatch let into the deck in which all captains kept private provisions. It was opened, and Bolt dropped into the little store-room – and, to Kydd’s intense relief, passed up three bottles. Of best French cognac, not the usual schnapps.

‘Another three down there, sir,’ Bolt called up helpfully.