Then – incredibly – the wind started to veer and, with it, its violence. The quirky and unpredictable southern weather had changed the entire equation. With less force L’Aurore could regain her greyhound speed. First, reefed topgallants were cautiously shown, and later the reefs were shaken out just as the sun reclaimed command of the heavens.
Now it was a more even contest. Free to choose her best point of sailing, L’Aurore lay into it and flew. As the wind eased there were the royals to set – and later perhaps stuns’ls.
Kydd had no doubts now, for he knew his ship was a thoroughbred. Slowly they were hauling ahead. Now was the time for the thwarted pursuer to break off the chase for the end was plain to see. Yet it did not! Instead more sail was crowded on as the two frigates sped across the sea.
In the sparkling weather L’Aurore pulled ahead triumphantly but powder-flash and smoke stabbed out of the enemy fore-deck. Chase guns! The seas were still lively, a complex cross-swell making predictions of deck motion problematic and the ball-strike was nowhere to be seen, but it was an unwelcome development. More than one engagement had been settled by a chance hit on a mast or spar.
A hail came from the masthead. ‘Saaail – I see sail ayont th’ Frenchy!’
It could be friend or foe appearing beyond their pursuer. As far as he knew, the next India convoy was not due for some time. Another French frigate? They often hunted in pairs. Kydd was not about to investigate and they plunged on.
Within a short time it was clear that the sail was not accompanied by another. It had sighted them and was falling into the line of chase. And while the French frigate must know of it, there was no sign it was taking any notice. The chase continued, as did the harrying gunfire.
And then a sharp eye recognised a peculiarly discoloured topsail on the distant ship. By chance the gunfire had attracted an English frigate at the end of its patrol line – it was Leda and she wanted to join the encounter.
Exulting, Kydd saw the tables had been turned. Now the hunter was the quarry – between the two of them the French frigate would be at their mercy. It only needed considered teamwork and they would have it. Of course, Honyman in Leda was the senior but Kydd must deliver the Frenchman to him.
If the dogged pursuit continued it would be easy; otherwise Kydd’s duty was to turn and engage to achieve a delay until Leda could come up.
‘Helm down, alter four points to starb’d,’ he ordered. L’Aurore fell off the wind and, with furious work at the braces, they were quickly making off downwind. Unbelievably, the other followed suit almost immediately, the foremost guns on her broadside firing a ragged salvo at an angle, one shot punching a neat hole in L’Aurore’s mizzen topsail.
Leda was now on the beam and on this course the tracks would eventually converge – yet still the Frenchman hung on. It could be that this was a determined attempt to crush them before Leda came up, but Kydd’s course was clear: he must stay ahead until they were two, then turn at last on his pursuer.
The seas were now moderating, the winds steady, the land far off: it was a clear field of battle for an all-frigate action with the odds for once on their side – but would the enemy stay to fight?
As Leda approached there was no sign of a breaking off. Still L’Aurore stretched out ahead, the French frigate stubbornly in her wake and Leda angling in from to leeward.
And then the Frenchman put over his helm and wheeled to starboard. As his broadside bore momentarily he opened up on L’Aurore’s unprotected quarter in a storm of fire. Kydd staggered and fell to his knees with the wind of one ball, which went on to take the quartermaster squarely and send him into a bloody, squirming heap before severing a shroud with a bass twang. Another, blasting and splintering into Kydd’s cabin, brought shrieks of pain from further forward and yet one more ended in a brutal crunch somewhere in the hull.
The sudden eruption of violence was shocking: the malevolence of the nameless French captain had reached out and savaged L’Aurore; it was now a punishing downwind fight against a cunning and tenacious enemy.
Even before he could struggle to his feet there was the sound of a further thunderous broadside – but this was from the frigate’s opposite side and it hammered into Leda’s bows. Kydd gave a grim acknowledgement: to achieve a broadside on two opponents within such a short space of time was the work of a fighting seaman worthy of notice.
Kydd hauled L’Aurore around and now they were following. On an impulse he took out his pocket glass and trained it on the carved stern: Africaine. It now had a name.
They passed Leda beginning her turn, but then the Frenchman swung to larboard, and once again L’Aurore faced that deadly broadside, now to her bows. Time froze: but not a single gun fired. Kydd gave a cynical smile: this great captain had neglected gun drill in favour of manoeuvres, and despite the masterly tactics, he’d been let down by the gun crews and left with no guns ready.
And he would pay for it. Savagely, Kydd gave the orders that brought L’Aurore around parallel. Now the Frenchman must stay on course and endure what was coming – if he turned away he would take a full broadside to his high, scrolled stern. Kydd savoured the moment then roared, ‘Fire! ’
Instantly L’Aurore’s starboard broadside of twelve-pounders crashed out triumphantly, gunsmoke towering up between the two ships to be snatched away by the wind. To his intense satisfaction, Kydd saw the shot strike Africaine in gouts of splinters, the sudden appearance of black holes in the hull and the parting of ropes to trail in the wind. Their twelves would never be the battle-winners that the opposing eighteens, half as big again, could be, but they had hit back.
Something made him suddenly wheel around. He saw that the Frenchman had timed his turn precisely and had manoeuvred to be between L’Aurore and Leda leaving an impotent Honyman to curse Kydd for a fool in masking his guns. Face burning, Kydd was about to give the orders to sheer away when he realised with horror that to do so would be to fall in with the expectation that he would present his stern once again.
In a fury of self-accusation, thoughts flashed through his brain – then he bellowed, ‘Hard a st’b’d!’ It was crazy
