‘Nevertheless, Captain, you have attempted to land cargo out of bond contrary to port regulations and I must therefore-’
‘I haf not broken bulk.’
The bald statement was irrefutable: if the freight had not been broached then the cargo was in the same legal position as that of any ship with part retained for the next port and therefore not subject to duty or exaction.
‘I jus’ wait for th’ Spanische to take back Buenos Aires.’
Kydd had been inclined to let him go, but this remark made him smoulder. A mischievous thought broke in – but if it went wrong there was no going back. ‘Sir – I have reason to believe you have been engaged in commerce with France, a belligerent power, in violation of your status.’
A look of open astonishment was quickly replaced by one of contempt. ‘So! You vill search me?’
‘Yes,’ Kydd snapped, and got up abruptly. If he was wrong in his estimate of the man, it would be nothing short of disastrous. He went up on deck and motioned to his men to come aboard. He whispered instructions to Bolt, the petty officer in charge, then stood back.
Instead of heading for the monkey-hatch to the hold forward, Bolt went straight to the master’s cabin, closely followed by the Prussian, who was now spluttering with anger. Ignoring him, the men looked for the small hatch let into the deck in which all captains kept private provisions. It was opened, and Bolt dropped into the little store-room – and, to Kydd’s intense relief, passed up three bottles. Of best French cognac, not the usual schnapps.
‘Another three down there, sir,’ Bolt called up helpfully.
Kydd allowed a look of grave displeasure. ‘Sir, I have proof positive that you have been in breach of the law. It is now my duty-’
‘Gott in Himmel - is for my use on voyage!’
‘Half a case? And more elsewhere I dare to say?’ Kydd said darkly. ‘No, sir. This will not do. Cognac is not to be obtained without you trade with the enemy. I think we must talk together, don’t you?’
Well before sunset, standing out beyond the Chico Bank, a small group of odd-looking ships under the flag of King George’s Navy made a brave sight, bound for rendezvous off Punta Pavon.
But for Kydd the feeling of elation had faded.
The cold reality was that there were only two effectives, Staunch and Protector. The schooner was off Colonia and the Danzig merchantman would be there but only as a hired vessel to sail about looking fierce and not to engage directly. Could they stand fast before the unknown number of ships that Liniers had been able to muster? L’Aurore had been summoned, but could she be relied upon to navigate the banks and shoals in time?
In his borrowed hammock in the saloon, sleep evaded Kydd. In the morning much would be decided. Into his mind came images of the unforgettable spectacle that he had witnessed – only the previous year – of Nelson’s fleet at Trafalgar sailing to glory as they defended England against invasion. Here he was, an admiral of his little fleet, in much the same position. Would he fail, succeed or die in the attempt?
At dawn they made landfall down the coast and spent the morning working up towards Punta Pavon. The shoreline was flat, drab-brown and monotonous, and without any sign of settlement. With tension building by the hour, they approached the point until a little before midday they raised the slight foreland – and not a sail in sight.
It was inconceivable that they had failed to make contact with a wide-scattered flotilla heading for Buenos Aires on the direct course they had taken so the ships and boats for the crossing had not yet arrived from Montevideo. They were in time.
But there was no sign of L’Aurore. If the transports and their escorts made their appearance it would go hard for them, but there was nothing he could do about it, other than be prepared to sacrifice them all in an attempt to deter the crossing.
While they waited there was no point in uselessly sailing back and forth and he ordered an anchoring with doubled lookouts.
An hour passed – two. Kydd climbed the stumpy shrouds and scanned the hinterland with his pocket telescope. He saw nothing – the Spanish Army was either on its way, out of sight inland or well concealed.
For now he sent away boats to take soundings all round with the hand lead to give him a picture of their room for manoeuvre, which turned out to be little enough outside their length of deeper water.
Evening drew in, and Kydd deployed the two sumacas to the south by turns during the hours of darkness to give warning of the approach of the enemy, then stood his men down. Another endless night began, condemning him to the sleeplessness of tension and worry.
When a wan sun rose the next morning, it revealed a waste of cold grey but nothing else. He sent the men to breakfast but could not face his own greasy offering and remained on deck, gazing resentfully at the shore.
In the middle of the morning the situation changed completely.
‘Sail hooooo!’
Heart bumping, Kydd leaped for the shrouds and trained his glass southwards. Barely visible against the cheerless murk was a sight that he could never mistake: the topsails of L’Aurore frigate.
It was a wonderful, glorious vision that pricked at his eye: she was under triple-reefed sails and moving slowly ahead, on either bow two boats leading. And no one could deny that she was quite inexpressibly, breathtakingly beautiful.
She came to in the Danziger’s lee, correctly recognising Kydd’s flag in the bluff merchantman as the senior. He wasted no time in going to her. Blank-faced, the boatswain piped him aboard with what seemed her entire company watching on.
‘Well done, Mr Gilbey. You’re in time for our little party,’ he said, unable to stop himself shaking hands heartily with his first lieutenant. Behind him was Curzon and beyond him Renzi, watching gravely.
‘We’re glad t’ have you back aboard, sir. It’s been a rare trial.’ Judging from Gilbey’s grey face, it had been a nightmare of responsibility for him.
‘Officers to muster in ten minutes, if you please – in my cabin.’ That longed-for – yearned-for – familiar haven with all its comforts and appointments.
‘Dear brother – if you’ll pardon my remarking it, your appearance gives pause to all who love you.’
‘Oh?’ Kydd said. ‘Well, Nicholas, I have to confess to some difficult times – er, I do have to say, this claret tastes like nectar of the gods,’ he added.
‘Just so. We’ve been hearing rumours concerning conditions in the city that are a mort unsettling. Do you wish to talk, at all?’
‘Not now, old bean. The Spanish are mounting a counter-attack. Here – we’re to stop them joining with their friends the gauchos on the far side.’
‘Then they’re not yet persuaded of the felicities of British administration?’
Kydd put down his glass sharply. ‘I know how you feel about the commodore and his scheme but I’m to tell you we’re seeing this through, b’ God.’
‘I have my reservations, yes, but they don’t prevent me offering my services to you in these . . . entangled times. As you know, I have the Spanish and-’
‘Thank you, Nicholas, that’s well said. I’m bound to tell you, however, we’ve enough Spanish speakers and, er, more mouths to feed would be unwelcome, I believe.’
Kydd, however, saw the sincerity and tried to make amends. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had time to bear more of a fist with your novel, m’ friend, it’s just been so-’
‘Pay no mind to it, brother. It’s done – that is, complete.’
‘Finished! Well, now, and you’re to be truly congratulated, old fellow!’ Kydd said warmly. ‘Um, what happens next as will see you a copper-bottomed author at all?’
Renzi gave a half-smile. ‘To be truthful, I’m not so sure. A pile of papers into which I’ve put my heart and soul means a lot to me, but will it to the world?’