Conquest

Chapter 11

It was true that, with impunity, Janssens had held out in the mountains until his army of unreliable militia had melted away, but if now there was a core of Napoleon’s professionals, gathered up from the garrisons in Mauritius and other Indian Ocean islands . . .

Popham had thus been obliged to send his lightest frigate to the east to join Leda, already on station.

Kydd’s orders were brief and open: he was to cruise off the long south coast of Africa to intercept anything that looked like a supply train or to acquire any intelligence that would reveal something of a clandestine force.

With the desolate coastline now under his lee he summoned Gilbey and Kendall to discuss a plan of action.

‘This is a puzzler, gentlemen. Here we have a secret army being landed but no port available to them.’

‘Mossel Bay?’ hazarded Gilbey.

‘The only place possible, I’ll agree, but we’ve since sent in the lobsterbacks to keep order. No – that leaves no docking worth the name on this whole stretch of coast. They’ll have thousands of troops, stores and guns to get ashore, and you’ve seen the beach surf in this part o’ the world.’

‘A river, then?’

Kendall harrumphed. ‘Not as who’s t’ say. Never seen such a continent without it has its river navigations,’ he offered, adding that the south part of Africa had not one river capable of taking sea-going vessels.

‘Up the coast, somewhere uncharted b’ us?’

‘We can say no to that, Mr Gilbey – the French are good at marching but in your case they’d have to sweat along for many hundreds of miles across to reach us. And by our intelligence they’re but a month away from a descent on Cape Town, so must be nearer. And, as well, if they land in unexplored country they’ll be in the middle of savage tribes who’ll resent ’em crossing there.

‘My suspicion is they’re closer, the Boers hiding ’em somewhere among themselves. And if we smoke out how they victual, we’ll find it.’ It was an easy thing to say but the reality was quite another matter. It was a long coast, and if they discovered nothing, did this mean there was no secret army?

‘Sir, may we know how far out the Boers have settled away from Cape Town? This’ll limit the search a mite, I’m thinking.’

‘I have this map from the colonial secretary’s office. They’re saying they’ve spread east as far as this’ – Kydd indicated a point two-thirds along the blunt heel of Africa – ‘as they call it, the frontier. That’s the Sundays River and after this there’s nothing but tribes o’ savages pressing in.’

‘Which a mariner might know as Algoa Bay,’ Kendall murmured.

‘Which Mr Renzi would tell us is as far as Dias got before his men informed him they’d cut his throat if he took ’em further, the land so unfriendly.’

‘Aye, sir – but where’s to go, these nor’-easterlies an’ all?’

Kydd nodded. It made more sense to make a fast board out to sea past the end point, then search the coast on return with a favourable wind all the way.

There was little else that could be profitably discussed and L’Aurore was set to making her offing, an exhilarating swoop in the swell with the steady winds, a regular crash and burst of spray at the bows, the weather shrouds bar-taut.

On the return board, however, the day had lost its shine and the cloud became sulky and low, the deep-sea combers showing a vivid white against the greying waters. It persisted, and when the coast was raised once more, the bearings that placed them in position for their run down the coast were taken through a misty layer of spindrift.

A sea kicked up that had L’Aurore corkscrewing along, now with curtains of driving rain passing that made observations close inshore both uncomfortable and chancy.

‘Let’s find some shelter an’ ride it out, sir,’ Kendall offered. ‘No use in trying to search in this’n.’

Kydd agreed, but it was not until some distance further that an offshore island providentially appeared, not a large one but sufficient. ‘We’ll go to single anchor in its lee.’ This would have the added bonus of facing the shore to keep it under observation.

A cold rain squall blustered while they shaped course to round the end of the island. When it passed by, a simultaneous yell came from the two lookouts. There, as large as life and doing much the same as them, was another frigate, and it was not Leda.

‘Hard a-larboard!’ Kydd snapped. ‘Take us out again, Mr Kendall.’

L’Aurore came round hard up to the wind and started thrashing seaward as Kydd took in the scene. An unknown heavy frigate, no colours but not Dutch, sails still in their gear and men on the fore- deck – almost certainly coming up to the moor – and, curiously, just beyond, there was a large brig of undoubted merchant origin. Ship and escort? Unlikely – a single brig with a frigate escort was not how it was done.

L’Aurore was completely outclassed by the 38-gun stranger who would no doubt be mounting a battery of long eighteen-pounders and therefore it was both prudent and honourable to withdraw. But what the devil was a big frigate doing so close inshore here? Was it something to do with the secret army, or a chance encounter with one of the French frigates set to range the sea-lanes for prey? Kydd could find no answer.

Should he stay and shadow, or tiptoe past and continue his mission? But the choice was taken out of his hands – sail was cast loose on the big ship and it took the wind, curving about the far side of the island to re-emerge on a course directly towards them.

This was insane! The first duty of a commerce-raider was to avoid battle – even if it became the victor, any damage incurred far from a friendly dockyard could end the cruise at that point. Kydd didn’t like so many unanswered questions, and not only that: until he had the measure of his opponent’s sailing qualities there was no certainty that in this blow they could even get away.