The boat came; he acknowledged Calloway’s greeting genially and took the opportunity of viewing his ship from the outside. With no dockyard worth the name, they were on their own resources and were thus spending their time at anchor performing all the tasks of fitting and fettling that were so necessary in keeping a ship seaworthy.
Topmasts had been sent down for inspection after their encounter with the Ox-eye, giving a stumpy look to the vessel; the larboard shrouds were in the process of being rattled down – the retying of each of the ratlines to parallel the waterline – and the old sailmaker Greer would have much of the upper deck spread with sails a-mending.
A dull thud ashore told him that the castle had deemed that day had broken; it was answered by the flagship Diadem and aboard L’Aurore on the quarterdeck the Royal Marines were performing the solemn ceremonies attendant on a new day. He ordered the boat to lay off until these were completed, then came aboard.
As his breakfast was prepared, he asked Tysoe to shave him while Gilbey recited events since he had gone ashore and clumsily asked when Kydd might be returning there. It was of some interest to him, it seemed, as there was to be racing at the Turf Club at Green Point and, of course, the captain and first lieutenant could not be ashore at the same.
Kydd waved Gilbey away while Tysoe finished his ministrations. The man had a moral right to the liberty but he was eager to see Thérèse again.
The deeper crump of another gun sounded distinctly. Guns were not fired in a naval anchorage without good cause and he snapped to full alert. There was a sudden clatter and the sound of running feet. A breathless messenger burst in. ‘Mr Curzon’s compliments, an’ a gun from Signal Hill wi’ the hoist “enemy in sight”, sir!’
Kydd pushed him aside and made for the upper deck, heart pounding. He snatched Curzon’s glass. Three red flags vertically. As he took it in, there was a silent puff of smoke as the flags were snatched down to be replaced with another, the numeral one, followed by the thud of the discharge arriving seconds later.
This was not making sense: a single ship could conceivably be sighted ahead of the main body but this would be at a distance that made firm identification as an enemy very unlikely.
There was no time for puzzles. Kydd roared the order for quarters, the marine drum in a frantic volleying at the hatchway, and men scrambled to obey in what might be a fight for their lives.
It had come at the worst possible time. Leda and Encounter gun-brig were still returning after a false alarm to their usual scouting station and the only other, L’Espoir brig-sloop, was under repair and therefore there had been no warning.
Caught at anchor: no worse fate could have befallen them. In a reverse of Nelson’s famous battle of the Nile, was it now the French who would sweep in and, one by one, destroy their unmoving victims?
‘Flagship, Blue Peter, sir!’
Kydd nodded. Popham was ordering them to get under way to meet the enemy on the open sea and fight whatever the odds. It would take some time to weigh anchor and get sail on, but with the advantage of height the signal station would have sighted it at a far distance – they probably had time.
Furiously Kydd tried to think. L’Aurore had her topmasts down, not only cluttering the decks but seriously affecting her speed and manoeuvrability. Should he obey and put to sea or stay at moorings until they had been swayed aloft?
Her twelve-pounders would be of little deciding value against ships-of-the-line, and any other frigate-like service would be impossible with topmasts struck down – there was no alternative: he had to stay until they were a-taunt. But failing to sail in the presence of the enemy was a serious court-martial offence, and if the worst happened, an ignorant press would crucify him.
‘Sir! Sir! Look!’ The upper sails of a ship were close in on the other side of the point, the vessel about to put into Table Bay. And flying brazenly out was the tricolour of France.
It was a disaster. Not only had they been caught at anchor but the enemy had come from an unexpected direction, throwing them utterly into confusion. It was masterly timing, and if this was the first of the battle squadron, they had less than an hour to live.
Unexpectedly, a gun from Diadem drew attention to the next signal. The Blue Peter jerked down: Popham wanted the squadron to stay at anchor. Then the Dutch colours rose on the ensign staff and at the same time, along the ship’s side, the rows of bristling guns vanished as they were hauled in and the gun-ports shut.
Kydd quickly caught on: the commodore had reasoned that the ship that had been identified as an enemy had familiarly sailed close to the Cape peninsula because it was expecting Cape Town still to be in the hands of the Dutch. She was probably a stray from one of the battle-groups come to re-victual or repair. They would find out soon enough: if the ship shied away in alarm it would be proof, but then it would be free to draw down the rest of the French squadron. Unless . . . ?
The other British ships followed the flagship’s lead, but there was another gun – the Dutch colours on Diadem dipped, then rose again, a stern reminder to the castle ashore, which was slow in sending up a Dutch standard.
The French ship came into full view, a heavy frigate that made a show of hauling her wind as she swept around and, with a signal hoist flying, headed directly into the anchorage. Assured by the tranquil early-morning scene, with everything in place as it had expected – men-o’-war peacefully at anchor and with the colours of an ally floating lazily out from every vessel – the unsuspecting frigate made for the flagship.
Kydd held his breath: at any moment there could be the panic of recognition, a sheering away – but still it came on. Sailing by the first, a sloop, it pressed on, passing L’Aurore so close that individual sailors and the three officers on the quarterdeck could be seen plainly.
As far as Kydd knew no 64-gun ship was found in the French Navy and therefore Diadem would seem very Dutch to them – and, of course, L’Aurore, recently captured herself, had unimpeachable French lines.
The ship brought to opposite Diadem in a fine show. There was unbearable tension: any false move now and they would take fright. All now depended on Popham’s timing.
Every eye was on the stranger’s fo’c’sle – her bower anchor let go to plunge into the sea at the same time as her sail was taken smartly in. Unbelievably, it had happened.
And in an instant the Dutch colours were struck in Diadem. Watching for the signal, in every ship rows of gun-ports flew open and, with a deadly rumble, guns were run out in an unanswerable challenge.
It was check and mate.
Aboard the hapless ship, after a moment’s hesitation, the tricolour dropped down in short, angry jerks.
As nearest, and with a boat already in the water, L’Aurore was ordered to take possession. Out of consideration for the feelings of the other frigate captain, Kydd himself went, with Saxton and a file of marines.
As they approached he noted the weather-worn appearance of the vessel; this ship had kept the seas for months and therefore was almost certainly part of the feared battle squadrons. The loss of a frigate would be felt keenly.
He was first up the side, punctiliously doffing his hat to the quarterdeck and then to the group of officers standing rigidly awaiting him. ‘Je suis le capitaine de vaisseau Thomas Kydd du navire de sa majesté L’Aurore . . .’