‘Sir,’ Stirk said stolidly. Asking him what to do? At least he could see no signs of fear or panic in the man.
‘What-’ Calloway was looking astern in consternation. Not more than twenty yards behind was another, larger, schooner – in their eagerness they had not checked the other arm of the harbour to the left and they were now cut off. Trapped.
From its rakish lines and the number of men, it was definitely another privateer and it was after them, coming up fast. A swarthy figure stood on the bowsprit holding on to a stay and bellowing something aggressively. Other men began bunching behind him.
Stirk felt his gut knotting as he saw that Buckle’s choices had narrowed to two: fight or surrender. But then he did an utterly unexpected thing: he waved and yelled back a lengthy reply in the same heathen tongue.
‘Stirk – go below and, on your life, keep those men out of sight!’ he hissed urgently.
‘Sir!’ He wasted no time in obeying, then returned, expecting anything.
But Buckle was hailing again. This time it produced a flurry of shouting and activity and then the schooner sheered widely around, and made off at speed for the reef gap.
‘Wha’?’ Stirk said in amazement. ‘Sir, can y’ tell me, what was all that?’
‘Why, nothing much. It was a Captain Romana, he was asking in Creole how we fared on our cruise. I told him we had all our men away in prizes, but if he was quick there’s still a couple for him to take.’
In frank admiration, Stirk touched his forelock to the man. Quick thinking like that made up for a lot in his estimation.
It had been close, but they were now free to move on the brig, and all attention turned forward.
‘Stand by, below!’
The evening was drawing in with its usual velvet feel – but an edge of tension grew as the brig drew near.
There was a lanthorn in the rigging aft, but apart from that, it lay in peaceful stillness, lapped by tiny waves in a picture of tranquillity. Stirk noted in satisfaction that Buckle ordered sail reduced as they approached: they would have aroused suspicion had they careered into the anchorage.
The schooner eased its progress, ghosting the last few hundred yards as if to pass the anchored vessel. At the last minute course was altered to come alongside – still nobody was visible on deck, the glimmer of light through a side-scuttle aft the only sign of habitation.
‘Now, sir?’ Stirk wanted to know. If they were to storm the brig they needed men up on deck ready, sufficient to overwhelm any the other could muster.
‘No!’ Buckle said firmly. ‘We’ll do it quietly. Take only three and go below to persuade ’em that resistance is folly. Understand?’
The two vessels nudged together and Stirk stepped across, cutlass drawn. With a fierce grin he led his men down the after hatch.
The only crew aboard were playing cards at a table in the diminutive saloon. They looked up in astonishment at the invasion.
It was short work to secure the ship. No shots fired, no sudden assault to waken the little town, and now they had a prize: it was a master-stroke. How it would be got to sea was another matter, of course.
When Infanta poled off to return to L’Aurore there were still no signs of alarm along the dusky shore and Buckle paused. ‘Do you think we should stir them up a bit? Let them know the L’Aurores have visited?’
Poulden looked at Stirk in mock resignation. ‘Aye, a good idea, sir.’
The far end of the harbour was the loading wharf; it had a sugar lighter tied up to it. ‘That’s depth o’ water enough for us!’ crowed Doud.
The schooner got under way and as they crossed the last hundred yards people began crowding along the shore.
‘Come to see what we’ve got for ’em after our cruise.’ Poulden chuckled.
Infanta doused sail and glided in under the gaze of the curious spectators. Buckle hailed the crowd – one bent to take the line thrown ashore and others helped to haul in the schooner. In the twilight they had not seen anything amiss.
Suddenly a blue rocket whooshed up from the schooner, soaring high across the sky. L’Aurore now knew they were storming ashore and would have boats in the water to take them off if things went against them.
The people fell back in dismay – then a crowd of English seamen boiled up from the hatch brandishing cutlasses and shrieking war cries.
Most onlookers broke and ran; others hid as two armed parties made for their objectives.
One, under Calloway, raced for the shipyard, the marines beside them, with muskets a-port. The yard had closed for the day but the lock at the gates was no match for Wong’s crowbar. Inside were two ships building on slips – nearby, pitch pots and teased oakum for caulking, perfect fire starters. Soon flames leaped and flared dramatically in the darkness.
The other party under Buckle made for the town, hurrying through the few mean streets and searching for opportunities for mayhem. Townsfolk scattered, screaming.
At the end of the road they were surprised to be met by shouts and desperate yelling. It was coming from men inside a stockade, English sailors held prisoners. ‘Turn ’em loose,’ Buckle said. ‘They’re crew of the brig as will take it to sea for us.’
One wild-eyed seaman held back. ‘I wants t’ get evens on the Spanish. If ye’ll follow me, I’ll show y’ where Don Espada lives, the bastard.’
It was a mansion set out from the hill on the slope. As they approached there was the flash of muskets from the mock turrets, but in the bad light the shots went wide, and soon the men were crashing through the ornamental garden and battering down the door.
Muffled shouts came from within and Buckle ordered them all to fall back while he negotiated. The door was opened by a haughty Spaniard, who stood sullenly.
‘Secure him and we’d better be on our way back,’ Buckle ordered briefly.
From the waterfront, they heard scattered musket fire. If they were prevented from getting back aboard, there could be only one ending to their adventure. A ball zinged from the road and another slapped through a marine’s jacket.
‘Take cover!’ Buckle yelled. It was only another intersection before they arrived at the wharf – but they were under fire from an unknown direction.
‘A flying column to secure the wharf?’ Clinton suggested. Casualties would be severe, and worse, if they then held their positions until inevitably enemy reinforcements arrived.
‘Waste of men. No, I’ll-’
Suddenly, like a thunderclap in the still night air, a carronade smashed out. It could mean only one thing – L’Aurore’s boats come in support. The launch and cutter, under oars and stretching out fiercely, had opened fire when well out of range but it was effective: the unknown snipers had run for their lives.
‘Go!’ yelled Buckle, and pelted towards the seafront.
Calloway and his party were waiting for them in Infanta and they lost no time in putting out to join the L’Aurores, the schooner abuzz with jubilation.
‘A right good mill!’ Doud cackled, looking back at the leaping flames.
‘You really think so?’ Buckle replied, with obvious pleasure.
‘Sir, I protest! It should’ve been my landing,’ Gilbey said, aggrieved, as the victors boarded L’Aurore.
‘And lose my first lieutenant?’ Kydd said mildly, looking down benignly on his capering men. ‘I’ll have you know it was a close-run thing and events could have turned out in quite another way.’
Gilbey did not appear mollified, but for Kydd it had been a resounding success: a prize won even if its cargo had been brought ashore. As a prize recovered it would count as salvage only but then again, with the release of the brig’s men, there had been no need to provide crew.
The shipyard set afire would render the port useless as a privateer base and, in any case, the townsfolk would know that, its secret out, it would be under eye from the British fleet from now on. And to cap it all, they had in custody one Don Espada, a Spaniard who’d been secretly running things there, to prove the situation.