Conquest

Even as he watched, figures were tumbling out of the wreck and crowding on the stone-strewn shore. ‘Ease around, Mr Kendall, and we resume our course,’ he said, in grim satisfaction.

The next and last stage of the reconnaissance was going to be the hardest. An incursion into the very heart of the enemy’s territory: Table Bay itself.

Kydd’s charts were good: they showed how the settlement of Kaapstad – Cape Town – was on the lower slopes of a spectacular mountain within the sweep of a broad bay open to the north-west. Unusually, there was no harbour marked, simply a single jetty out from the long, sandy foreshore.

When he rounded Green Point to open into Table Bay, half of his anxieties would be settled. If there was an enemy battle squadron he would find them at anchor opposite the town, and in this near southerly he was confident L’Aurore would be able to make her escape seaward and sail to the rendezvous to bring the expedition word in time.

However, if there were no waiting battleships this was only the first act. Establishing how the Dutch would defend their possession was crucial. Kydd could think of no easy way to discover the defences to a landing other than to show his colours and flaunt them along the foreshore, provoking the batteries and gun positions to unmask. It would be dangerous but he was relying on the military’s unfamiliarity with gunnery ranges over sea and their probable lack of live practice.

He studied the chart again. There were batteries marked Chavonne, Amsterdam, Fort Knokke and others. And ominously, just below the town at the shoreline, a major fortification in the shape of the Castle of Good Hope. There was nothing for it but to go in.

‘All plain sail, Mr Kendall,’ he said evenly, to the master. ‘After we’ve cleared Green Point, if there’s no French at anchor we’ll follow along the six-fathom line as near as we dare.’ This would place them at a tempting half-mile range but with sufficient water under the keel.

‘Colours at main and mizzen, Mr Gilbey, and I’ll thank you to beat to quarters.’ The die was cast.

As they made the run, to their starboard the grey-brown slopes of the peninsula spine began to rear up massively, near vertical as a great mountain mass loomed, the rearward ramparts of Table Mountain. And the last feature before they turned the corner into Table Bay was the large cone-like peak called the Lion’s Head, the Lion’s Rump its smaller continuation. White-fringed rocks below were marked as North and South Lion’s Paw.

Atop the Rump there was a signal station, and the thin crack of a gun and wisp of smoke drew attention to the rapid flag hoist on the mast. They had been seen and reported. No doubt there was now the furious drumming and tan-tara of trumpets at the batteries and castle, which was what Kydd wanted – but would there also be the sudden appearance of Willaumez’s frigates?

Keyed up to expect anything, L’Aurore rounded the low flat of Green Point until the whole bay opened before them – with no dread sight of a massed squadron.

There were vessels at anchor: a large one close in, several of medium size and a huddle of smaller, all as near as they could get to the shore and its protection. As L’Aurore paused to take in the situation, a series of low thuds sounded from the shoreline, then smoke rose from a small fortified battery at the end of the point and was snatched away by a businesslike breeze.

Standing next to Kydd, Renzi dutifully noted its existence. ‘Twelves, do you think?’ he said matter-of-factly, as the balls slammed past and sent up vicious plumes nearby.

Close-hauled to the southerly as she was, Kydd knew L’Aurore must look a picture from the shore: a beautiful, lethal and utterly graceful man-o’-war arrogantly entering the bay. But he had to show purpose or their real mission would be betrayed. ‘Around and through the anchorage as if we mean to take our pick, Mr Kendall,’ Kydd said, as though it were an everyday affair to penetrate casually into the heart of an enemy port and out again.

Another battery took over, the concussions heavier and with more venom. ‘The Chavonne, I’d believe,’ Renzi said, with interest, counting the embrasures with gun-smoke issuing from them. Kydd spared a glance at the panorama of Cape Town opening up: a curiously neat town on the slopes, regularly spaced streets amid mainly whitewashed houses, dominated by the colossus that was Table Mountain.

He had seen illustrations but the reality was dramatic. Its perfectly flat summit stretched along for several miles. At three thousand feet high, with a near-vertical face, it gave an impression of grandeur only approached by what he’d seen at Gibraltar.

Tearing his gaze away, he took stock. There was the castle at the foreshore. It was unmistakable, with its curious low-built bastions and star-shaped design. It was joined by a wall to a fort further along, both completely dominating the only landing place, the jetty.

Another battery opened up as they approached the inner anchorage; by now there was continuous fire on the presumptuous intruder but so far with little effect. They were going to get away with it.

The wind’s direction meant that the anchored ships streamed to their cables, presenting a bows-on appearance and therefore unable to fire back. It was nonsense to think that it was possible to board and take one – so near to each other there would be reinforcements by boat on the way before they could bend on sail and put to sea.

He had to make an aggressive gesture – but there was a catch. He called over a master’s mate. ‘Mr Saxton, go down and tell Mr Bowden it’s my desire to fire on the largest, ahead there. Now – mark me well. He’s not to hit his target, do you hear? Not one shot to strike him.’

‘Sir?’ spluttered Saxton, in perplexity.

‘Do you not understand plain English, sir? I will give orders to fire and he is to miss. Or shall I have to instruct Lieutenant Bowden myself?’

He hid a smile at the wry thought that on a day of ironies this was possibly the biggest. He could not fire into the enemy because, if Baird’s enterprise was triumphant in the field, all of these would be British.

Plunging through the middle of the anchored vessels, Kydd gave the order. As if in too much of a hurry, L’Aurore fired off her broadside early, the savage gouts of shot-strike rising all about the large three-master. They seethed past the untouched ship and Kydd saw the ensign of the French Republic at the staff. It must be a transport, the French reinforcing the Dutch garrison.

Still more batteries were waiting for L’Aurore beyond, but had as little success. L’Aurore followed the line of the shore. All who could aboard had a telescope up, squinting through the hard midday glare at the alarm ashore.