Invasion

'Have we reports of the type of vessel we're likely to find, sir?' said Keane brightly.

'At least thirty, forty gun-vessels—anything from your chaloupe canonniere to a full- rigged prame to be expected, I believe. Your duty is the same in any case. Now, to business. The squadron will sail without delay with the goal of an intercept off the French coast at dawn—'

'We sail in darkness?' Dyer said, in a tone of disbelief. 'The Goodwins are—'

'In these winds we cannot sail north or hazard the Gull passage, therefore we shall go south-about to make our offing. I would have thought it reasonable to stand in that direction for the lights of St. Margaret's Bay and thence haul your wind for France?' Savery said irritably.

Kydd's mind raced. If there were clear night waters rather than some eighty or so ships at anchor through which they must pass . . . If the few lights of Deal showing at three in the morning were as well loyally shining at the small hamlet in the great cliffs . . .

'I shall expect the squadron to make rendezvous to the nor'-east of Dunkirk in the morning,' Savery continued. 'Come, come, gentlemen, there's not a moment to lose.' The other business was dispatched rapidly and Kydd returned to find his ship in a scurry of activity.

Teazer slipped her anchor within the hour, the night breeze taking her at some speed through a world of dimly bobbing lights in the pitch darkness with the occasional bulking mass looming of an unlighted vessel.

It was vital not to put the helm over for the reach to seaward too early, for this would bring them to an unpleasant acquaintance with the deadly sands. If left too long, though, it would take more time to beat back up the French coast. And every seaman knew that the slower and more cautious the progress, the more sluggish would be the response at the helm.

Less than an hour passed but it seemed like a lifetime before Kydd felt able to make the move. Teazer heeled as she took the wind abeam and struck out into the Channel darkness. It would be entirely by dead-reckoning: a larboard tack for long enough to get them past mid-Channel then a stay about to starboard to put them to weather of the rendezvous when dawn broke.

Log-line, careful sail trim and much discussion of current sets and leeway at different points of sailing: seamanship of the first order was demanded. They were comfortably to seaward of Dunkirk when the first tentative shafts of light from the east promised a fine day to come.

One by one sail was sighted and by full day the squadron was in position: Actaeon with the sloops Teazer, Bruiser, Falcon and Gallant, with the gun-brigs Locust, Starling, Plumper and others. It seemed a pitiful number to throw before such odds.

They stayed in deep water with the frigate. Then a cutter came racing downwind with 'enemy in sight' fluttering urgently from her halliards in the morning breeze. From directly in the wind's eye a handful of low sails appeared out of the haze. More and more came into sight, then still more, until it seemed impossible there was room for others.

Kydd was conscious of what the chart had shown about the coast—endless hard sandbanks strung out to parallel the shore as if to ward off marauders, a fearsome threat to any trespasser. There was no point in beating towards. It would be better to let them come, then fall on them somewhere off Dunkirk. He raised his telescope and scanned the oncoming armada. Every kind of rig was there, luggers of all descriptions, brigs, even fully ship-rigged vessels, advancing inexorably in a vast swarm of sail.

Then he saw the invasion craft he had been told about: the long and low peniche under a single lugsail, the Swedish designed shallow-draught crache feu type that carried frigate-sized twenty-four-pounders on slides and the various chaloupes canonnieres, which, while smaller than Teazer, were armed with guns of much larger calibre.

The transports were gathered in the centre, seemingly anything that swam, including many of the Dutch schuyts used in the rivers and shallows of the Netherlands and ideal for close inshore work.

He wondered what the soldiers packing their decks would think of the ships lying in wait for them. They would know them to be the same ships that had cleared the seas of every French battle-fleet sent against them, that had destroyed and captured their ships as they watched impotently from the beach. But now, seeing the crowds of French and Dutch vessels around them and so few English ones ahead, there could only be one answer: contempt, and the conviction that in the face of such numbers the English ships would just step aside.

There was no indication of faltering among the leaders of the armada. As Teazer neared, the throng seemed to take on an order of its own, the larger ships assuming seaward positions to shepherd along the lesser, which were sailing as close to the shore as they could.

Kydd swallowed. Now was the time to manoeuvre round and select where he would direct his charge into the enemy. At this angle of the wind it would have to be somewhere off Dunkirk—but would they simply slip away into the port and wait it out?

The first of the vessels was approaching the port entrance: if he did not make his lunge now it might be too late. Along the decks, long closed up for action, his ship's company looked gravely at him.

'Mr. Kydd, sir?' Dowse said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

'Um—yes?'

'Sir, it's my opinion th' tide's not going t' allow us in, without we know th' ground better.'

'The Frenchy thinks it safe enough.'

'Aye, sir,' the master said patiently. 'He's in a mort deeper water—the Passe de l'Est as goes past th' entrance. A'tween us an' them will be y'r Banc du Snouw, Binnen Ratel, all shiftin' hardpack sand as at this tide-state is shoaling fast.'

Was this why the others in the squadron were still hove to, waiting?

The first enemy vessels reached the harbour's cramped entrance— and passed it. The wily Dutchman in command had known of the inshore passage and taken full advantage of the wind's direction being the same as the ebbing tide; in the protection of the offshore sandbanks he was making fast sailing towards his ultimate destination: Calais and Boulogne.