‘How so?’
‘It puts ’em closer to the shipping track, as well provides a lee either side should the weather turn bad.’
‘My thinking too, Mr Gilbey,’ Kydd said, gratified. ‘Now, here’s the lay.’
Underneath was a larger-scale chart. He pointed to the tip of the triangle. ‘Cape Beata – and mark the island offshore. He has his lee and his anchorage both. I’d wager if there’s any of the brethren lurking, it’ll be there we’ll flush ’em out.’
‘Supposing there’s none found?’ Curzon said lightly.
‘Then we continue on to the east and Mona Passage, as if that is what we intended all along,’ grinned Kydd.
‘Purely out of interest only, and being a mort hazy about this part of the world, just what forces do the Spanish have in the island these days?’
‘Well, er, it’s a tricky business to say, Mr Clinton,’ he told his lieutenant of marines, ‘as Hispaniola is in the character of two countries – St Domingue to the west under the French and Santo Domingo to the east under the Spanish. But there’s been a slave revolt and – well, I believe we’ll beg Mr Renzi to tell us the rest.’
After politely summoning him, Kydd asked formally, ‘Mr Renzi, would you be so good as to tell us your appreciation of the situation obtaining in Hispaniola at present?’
His friend paused, marshalling his thoughts. ‘Not an easy task, sir, and one only explicable with a little history. The French colonised the western third of the island a century or more ago, the eastern two-thirds being Spanish since the days of Columbus. In 1795 the Spanish, at war with ourselves, saw it as impossible to continue to govern and yielded up the whole island to the French.’
‘So it’s French.’
‘Not so easily answered. The slaves of the French heard of their revolution with liberte, egalite, fraternite for all, assumed it applied to them and, duly disappointed, rose in rebellion. They had a masterly general, one Toussaint L’Ouverture, who remarkably prevailed and made treaty with the authorities to abolish slavery in return for the former slaves remaining loyal to France. This was granted. When Napoleon Bonaparte came to power he first agreed to this, but then changed his mind and sent General Leclerc to restore slavery. Not Boney’s most intelligent plan, I’m persuaded. L’Ouverture fought Leclerc to a standstill, even with France free to pour in reinforcements while we were at peace between the wars. So the French turned to treachery, offering to parlay, then kidnapped L’Ouverture and took him to France where he died in chains. With their great enemy removed, did they then triumph? Not at all. This betrayal inflamed the slaves beyond reason and under a singularly brutal leader, Dessalines, they flung themselves into as savage a war as any to be seen in Christendom. The burning alive of prisoners in village squares was the least of it, bestial conduct on both sides the rule.
‘The result – stark catastrophe for the French, who in their efforts to bring back slavery lost fifty thousand soldiers and no fewer than eighteen generals, a far worse beating than ever we’ve been able to achieve over them.’
‘That’s all very well, Renzi,’ Gilbey said, with irritation. ‘We’ve heard most of that. What we want t’ know is who rules now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then-’
‘The French were ejected from the whole of Hispaniola. Dessalines has proclaimed himself Emperor Jacques the First, over a new-conjured nation he calls Haiti, and inaugurated his rule with a general slaughter of all white settlers. Bonaparte has vowed not to rest until it’s recovered for his empire, while Spain makes no secret of its desire to take back their eastern realm. Gentlemen, given this clash of claims, I would declare that the sovereignty of this island remains … unclear.’
‘Excepting they’re each and all our enemy,’ Curzon came in smugly, ‘Therefore we can feel free to act as we will.’
‘Not so,’ Renzi replied, ‘as we have since made common cause with Dessalines, whom it would be folly to antagonise.’
Holding up his hand at Gilbey’s exasperated outburst, Kydd asked, ‘Then what should we conclude at all? What are the practicals in the matter?’
Renzi gave a brief smile and replied simply, ‘There is a species of mob rule and most grievous corruption abroad in this benighted island. There will be no Spanish garrison, still less French, for our good emperor detests any and all foreigners, including our own selves. Therefore we may fear no impregnable castle, frigates in harbour, or any sudden threat. I leave the rest to you.’
Kydd nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Renzi. Well put and clear. We sail tomorrow with confidence!’
Heeling to the fine north-easterly trades, L’Aurore made good time to Cape Beata; every man who could be there was on deck, eagerly scanning for prey. It was rumoured that their captain had second sight as regards privateers, and all expectation was that their arrow-straight passage was for a purpose.
‘Get up there, Mr Buckle,’ Kydd said, handing over his own pocket telescope. ‘I want you to report from the masthead any vessels – at anchor or under way. If they flee, don’t you dare lose ’em – keep them under eye. Clear?’
‘Right, sir!’ The enthusiasm of the reply brought a smothered cheer from nearby seamen but the third lieutenant had already swung nimbly into the shrouds.
A morning haze, however, lay along the coast and in its delicate pearl mistiness it was impossible to make out detail, but as they neared it began to lift.
Almost immediately there was a cry from the masthead. Buckle was peering with fierce concentration towards the firming sight of an offshore island, the mainland still lost in mist.
‘What is it?’ Kydd called up, in an impatient bellow.
‘Er, sail, I think, sir. No – I’m sure!’
‘Explain yourself, damn it!’
‘Well, I saw him at first but I can’t now.’ He craned forward, searching frantically in all directions with the telescope.
With a splutter of rage, Kydd hauled himself into the shrouds and mounted up to join him with a speed that had even the topmen looking thoughtful. ‘Now, Mr Buckle, what the devil are you trying to say?’
‘Over there, sir. Next to the big island – he’s gone now.’
Kydd snatched the glass and scanned the coast carefully.
The emerging headland itself was unimpressive, leading down in a tame finish for a forty-odd-mile cape to end in flat, pinkish rocks. Offshore there were two islands. The nearest to the cape, Isla Beata, was a five-mile triangle and was separated from it by a channel. The other, much smaller, was further out still, a single island less than a mile across.
And not a sail in sight.
‘You’re sure you saw something, Mr Buckle?’
‘I did, sir!’
‘Did you?’ Kydd snapped at the posted lookout.
‘No, sir, can’t say as I did.’
Kydd twisted about and shouted to the other mast, ‘Main top lookout, ahoy! Did you sight sail?’
‘None!’
Kydd swung out and down the shrouds. Before he made the deck, his mood had calmed: given the conditions, any sail could well have vanished into the mists closer inshore. ‘He’s between the large island and the cape. Take us in, Mr Kendall.’
They came more by the wind as they changed course and began to open up the channel between. The master pursed his lips – the tell-tale white of sub-sea reefs was becoming visible in the two-mile gap. ‘It’s shoal water in there, an’ a strong current hereabouts, Mr Kydd. I don’t reckon-’
‘I’ve seen enough. Take us south-about then.’ He’d had an unobstructed view of the channel and there was nothing in it. They’d pass by the island to its other side, and if it was innocent of vessels, he’d have to admit he’d been wrong in his intuition.
Renzi stood by him silently as L’Aurore quickly passed the tip of the island.