The water shallowed further and Kydd kept the frigate well offshore as they made the final low headland and the bay opened up. Instantly telescopes trained and searched – and there was no fleet at anchor.
They were still five miles or more off so Kydd swung into the shrouds and mounted to the tops, taking out his pocket telescope. He could see deep within the bay, nothing hidden from this vantage-point.
On the right he saw the untidy low sprawl of a large town, which must be Montevideo, and on the left of the bay a conical hill about four hundred feet high, no doubt the ‘mountain’ that could be seen from across the bay and gave the city its name. There were vessels within but not one that answered the description of a man-o’-war.
In a rush of relief Kydd descended. ‘Nothing,’ he told the group on the quarterdeck.
‘Where now, sir?’ Kendall enquired anxiously.
They had news that would gladden Popham – but would he be satisfied with just that? There had to be deeper channels, perhaps dredged, that would allow large vessels to enter, but these would be known only to pilots and local captains. At the same time this would imply that other channels were available that led deeper into the River Plate. It was his duty therefore to attempt further penetration.
‘We stand on.’
With the boats still leading they hardened in and, close-hauled, stood away. Before they had made more than a few miles the wind failed. Kydd was too much the seaman not to know that this was usually the precursor of a shift in direction and there was only one action that could be contemplated.
‘Get the boats in. We’re going back.’
But in the time it took to heave to, hoist aboard their boats and put about, everything had changed.
In these strange climes, it seemed, it was not to be a simple change of wind direction: from the south-west spread a wide, glistening white fluffiness, a sea-fog. It reached and enveloped them in a clammy embrace until they were swallowed in its soundless immensity.
L’Aurore glided on in the eerie whiteness, the only thing to be heard the subdued chuckle of water at her forefoot and the mournful chant of the leadsmen. If this were an English Channel pea-souper they would be surrounded by a bedlam of horns, gongs and drumbeats, Kydd remembered.
It would be reasonably safe to return to the open sea simply by reversing the plot of compass courses, the wind conveniently on the beam, but he wouldn’t feel secure until-
From the tops came an agitated, breathy haiclass="underline" ‘Deck hoooo!’
Kydd looked up.
‘Sail – jus’ a pistol shot t’ loo’ard! I see tops’ls of a schooner!’
‘Silence fore ’n’ aft!’ Kydd ordered savagely, in a low voice. This could only be the enemy – at that size never a threat but if they could question the crew . . .
‘Where headed?’ he threw to the lookout.
‘’Cross our bows.’
Their priceless advantage was that in a fore-and-aft-rigged vessel like a schooner there could be no lookout positions aloft, but their own, high up, had been able to see the betraying upper sails of the ship above the fog-bank.
‘Get men below. On my order, just open all gun-ports to larboard,’ Kydd hissed at Curzon.
Gently rippling along, there was ample time to prepare. ‘M’ compliments to Mr Renzi and would he step up here.’
Judging his moment well, precisely as the grey shape of the other craft materialised out of the fog, he swung L’Aurore parallel and roared out the order for the gun-ports to open while trumpets blared and marine drummers beat out a terrifying tattoo.
In the schooner it must have been the stuff of nightmares, a towering enemy frigate appearing like magic out of the mists, apparently about to blast them to splinters. The hapless vessel was grappled and boarded before even her colours had been jerked down in terrified surrender.
‘Nicholas,’ Kydd said, gratified that Renzi’s coming on deck had coincided with the sudden commotion of the appearance and taking of an enemy, ‘would you kindly accompany Mr Gilbey aboard and invite the captain to join us?’
When Renzi returned it was not merely with a Spanish captain but a distinctly unamused gentleman of imperious manner and fine dress. ‘Sir, I have the honour to present His Excellency the Governor of Truxillo.’ Bows were exchanged but the smouldering dark eyes barely concealed thunder and the desire for vengeance.
Kydd nodded to Renzi. It was impressive, the suavity his friend was managing with his new-found Spanish. ‘I shall look forward to entertaining His Excellency in my cabin shortly. As soon as we have concluded our business here.’
The schooner was a fine one, trim-lined and well appointed, her crew standing disconsolately along the deck. An aviso? If so, this was an official vessel and quite likely to be charged with dispatches. The speed of her capture meant almost certainly that these were still aboard. Gilbey could be trusted to intercept any attempt to get rid of them.
The governor was surly and abrupt, and nothing could be learned from courtly questioning except that their presence had been utterly unexpected. No matter: the commodore would follow through with his own interrogation.
The small crew was another matter. When under way once more, the schooner under prize crew and demurely in the frigate’s wake, he had her company examined one by one.
Renzi came up to see Kydd in his cabin. ‘I think you’ll find one man an interesting fellow,’ he said mysteriously. ‘I’ve had Serrano concealed nearby and he swears he’s an Englishman.’
The man was under guard in the gunroom, a large, somewhat florid individual in the plain dress of a warrant officer of sorts.
‘This is Crujido, sir.’
‘And what is his rank?’
‘?Cual es su rango, senor?’ There was a flow of mumbled Spanish in reply.
‘He’s being evasive about it, sir.’
‘Tell him that unless he’s more truthful, he’ll be sent back to Cape Town in irons as a suspected deserter.’
The nervous start he gave before it was translated was all the evidence Kydd needed. ‘So we understand each other?’
‘Aye, Captain. Jed Russell it is, an’ I been here since before the Frenchies started. Emigrated, a new life I has now.’
‘Then you’ve sworn allegiance to the Spanish Crown?’
‘Had to, o’ course.’
‘And now we’re at war with the Spanish – with you,’ Kydd said mildly. ‘What do you say to that?’
There was a reluctant silence. Then, ‘What do ye here, if I c’n ask it?’
Kydd gave the man a shrewd look.
‘I’m thinking ye’re here to do a mischief agin the Spaniards in Montevideo. Are ye a fleet?’
Kydd said nothing, letting Russell make the running.
‘Aye, well, if ye are, then there’s many o’ these here who’ll relish ’em being humbled. What say I give help? What’ll ye do for me?’
‘Give help? What’s your situation, sir?’
A satisfied smile emerged. ‘Why, an’ I’m a senior pilot for the Rio de la Plata under the viceroyalty, is all.’
Kydd couldn’t suppress an answering grin. ‘Then, Mr Russell, you shall be satisfied in all particulars should you choose service with us. Is there anything else you’d be wanting?’
‘There is.’
‘And what is that, pray?’
‘It’s been all o’ these fifteen years an’ I’ve never tasted a right true drop. If ye can see y’r way clear . . .’
‘What do you mean, the man’s indisposed?’ Popham snapped. ‘I want him here. It’s imperative I get answers, and this instant!’
Kydd sighed. ‘That is to say, he’s been taken with barrel fever, it being the first grog he’s faced this age. I thought it necessary if we have to use him.’
‘For God’s sake, are the Spanish going to-’
‘Dasher, the substance of what he told me is this, and it’s the first direct intelligence we’ve had, damn it. He says the people would look kindly on being made free, as we know, and as of this moment it’s a prime time to attack. They’ve no idea we’re here or why. There are no Spanish men-o’-war as they’re all in the north still, engaged with Miranda. In Montevideo the fortress is manned but by a smallish number of regulars and a sad parcel o’ militia who won’t stand against real troops such as ours. In particular, in a few days it’ll be the feast of Corpus Christi in which all will join in drunken riot for a week, a fine time to move against ’em.’