Bowden appeared out of the cabin spaces, looking tired and bewildered. ‘Mr Stirk, what are you … What do all these men want?’
‘Theys askin’ f’r a steer, like,’ he said to the young lieutenant, realising it must look like rank mutiny.
‘Er, what do you mean?’
It was the work of brief minutes to explain.
Bowden looked incredulous for a moment, then found his tongue. ‘You did right, you men. And I’m to do my part.’
To the master’s mate, he snapped an order: ‘Away all boats!’
‘B-but, sir, I can’t-’
‘Damn your eyes! I’m off to see the admiral. Do you question my order, sir?’ As senior officer on board HMS Hannibal he had every right, of course.
Hundreds of sailors swarmed down the side and tumbled into the boats, shipping oars and setting out for the shore. They passed ship after ship of the squadron, dark and lifeless as they settled down for the night, then too late coming to their senses as the boats pulled by, fully loaded with excited men.
At the stone steps the seamen disembarked and immediately hoisted Haywood on to their shoulders, setting off with Bowden proud and determined at their head through a late-night St John’s rudely awakened by the excitement.
It was exhilarating and fearful, shocking and exotic to be caught up in events that had changed things so fast and so completely. As they turned into the avenue leading to the admiral’s residence, the enormity of what they were about to do must have penetrated, for the excited shouts died away until there was now nothing but a silent body of hundreds of men tramping up to the torch-lit entrance of the Admiral’s Pen.
From the lights within, Bowden guessed that a card party was in progress – Cochrane was known to be partial to his bridge. Bowden held up his hand, and when the men had shuffled to a stop, he went up to the door and knocked.
A footman answered and was shocked by what he saw out in the darkness silently waiting. ‘S-sir?’
‘Admiral Cochrane. On a matter of extreme urgency,’ Bowden demanded.
‘Er, yes, sir. Immediately, sir!’
There was a slight delay before an irritated Cochrane appeared.
‘What the devil?’ he spluttered, seeing the hundreds of men quietly before him.
‘Sir,’ Bowden said quickly, ‘these men have come in support of their shipmate, who begs he might be allowed to admit to the death of Captain Tyrell.’
‘Am I hearing you right, Mr Bowden? He knows what he’s about in so doing, I trust.’
‘He does, sir. And he’s firm in his mind that it’s the right thing to do in the circumstances.’
Cochrane hesitated only for a moment, then threw to the footman inside, ‘Blue drawing room!
‘Well, Mr Bowden, do come in, and your men too.’
The room was soon crowded beyond belief. The admiral stood before them, bemused but in firm charge.
‘Now what’s this about, Lieutenant?’
Bowden brought Haywood to the front and said, ‘This is the man, sir – Jeremiah Haywood, main topman.’
The admiral brought his fierce gaze on to Haywood. ‘So you wish to admit to slaying Captain Tyrell.’
‘Yes, sir. It weren’t Mr Kydd, no, sir.’ His voice quavered but he returned the gaze steadily.
‘Then you’d better tell me about it – and be aware, it may well be put up as evidence later.’
‘Aye, sir. Well, it were like this. We was advancing up t’ this ridge, like, an’ because the Frogs was firin’ at us we took cover under all this green stuff. I looks up an’ sees Cap’n Tyrell flop down under the ridge, right ahead o’ me. And, well, ’cos I’d taken two dozen in two days from him just afore, I saw red an’ fired at him when-’
Quick as a flash, Cochrane intervened: ‘Ah, now I see what happened. Very clear, now I know.’
He looked benignly at the topman. ‘It was very courageous of you, Haywood, to bring this to my attention and you have my heartiest approbation of your act.’
He turned to Bowden. ‘Well, that clears that up. For the sake of Mr Kydd, just as well.’
‘Sir?’ the lieutenant said uncertainly.
‘Can’t you see it, man? It was an accident, is all! Any fool can see that. Your man taking hasty cover in all those sticks and leaves, accidents with a loaded musket will happen, a twig caught in the trigger, that kind of thing …’
‘No, sir, I did it, an’ I own to it.’
‘Nonsense! You had an accident and didn’t want to admit to it to your officer until you saw Captain Kydd unjustly accused. Quite understandable.’
‘Wha’? No, sir, I really-’
‘Let’s leave it at that, shall we? You men will want to get back to your ship before you’re, er, missed.’
Bowden, his mind in a flood of relief, could only stammer, ‘Th-thank you, sir. And on behalf of-’
But Cochrane had already returned to his guests. He smiled at his wife. ‘Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten. My dear, do see if Captain Kydd is free to join us.’
Kydd stood on his quarterdeck once more, pink with pleasure at the honour the wardroom had done him in laying on this reception and dinner in L’Aurore.
‘Welcome aboard, madam,’ he said, to yet another lady of station, delighted to be personally greeted by the captain. As his unjust detention had been quickly dismissed at the highest level, it would never do for it to be noticed by lesser mortals.
The deck was quickly filling with notables and friends but this was the reception – only special guests would move on to the dinner afterwards. One in particular, Louise Vernou, was received with the utmost warmth by L’Aurore’s captain as she approached on Renzi’s arm.
Yet in the midst of all his happiness Kydd had to accept that the fortunate turn of events had not extended to remedy one recent adversity. He could not get out of his mind the shock – the horror – on the faces of the dinner guests when Tyrell had done his worst and he had been revealed as a base-born common sailor.
His happiness faded when he realised that while his naval colleagues’ sentiments were genuine and deeply felt, those of society were not. They were here for one reason and one only – to be seen with the victor of Marie-Galante. After this occasion, when the memory dimmed, he could not expect to be welcomed at events where the high-born disported.
‘Why, Captain, you’re thinking on other things?’
Kydd turned in surprise. It was Wrexham – and next to him Miss Amelia.
‘Oh, er, just checking the lay of the downhaul,’ he managed.
‘After such a stroke, you should be proud of yourself, sir!’ the planter said warmly. ‘I’ve above a dozen ships that can now sail without fear, my credit restored and, dare I say it, my competition removed. The whole of the Leeward Islands owes you much, sir, now the vermin are put down and trade is resumed.’
‘I thank you for your kind words, sir, but do make notice that I’m one only of many who achieved this victory.’
‘None the less, I’d be honoured to shake your hand, sir.’
Shyly coming forwards, Amelia dropped him a curtsy and confided, ‘And I should offer you my sincerest congratulations on your recent conquest, sir.’
‘Accepted with pleasure,’ Kydd said, his spirits returning. ‘Shall I be seeing you below at dinner?’
A fife and fiddle started by the main-mast and people began to drift across to witness the singular display of a barefoot sailor executing a hornpipe.
One more boat was on its way – and it had the duty mate-of-the-watch hurrying to Kydd in consternation. ‘Sir! Admiral Cochrane to board!’
The side-party was hastily mustered and Cochrane mounted the side with all due gravity.
But as the ceremonials concluded the admiral took Kydd aside. ‘I’m sorry to take this occasion to break it to you, Mr Kydd, but I have grave news.’
He looked around, then continued sadly, ‘There are duties of an admiral that may never be termed pleasant, and this is one of them.’