‘Which a mariner might know as Algoa Bay,’ Kendall murmured.
‘Which Mr Renzi would tell us is as far as Dias got before his men informed him they’d cut his throat if he took ’em further, the land so unfriendly.’
‘Aye, sir – but where’s to go, these nor’-easterlies an’ all?’
Kydd nodded. It made more sense to make a fast board out to sea past the end point, then search the coast on return with a favourable wind all the way.
There was little else that could be profitably discussed and L’Aurore was set to making her offing, an exhilarating swoop in the swell with the steady winds, a regular crash and burst of spray at the bows, the weather shrouds bar-taut.
On the return board, however, the day had lost its shine and the cloud became sulky and low, the deep-sea combers showing a vivid white against the greying waters. It persisted, and when the coast was raised once more, the bearings that placed them in position for their run down the coast were taken through a misty layer of spindrift.
A sea kicked up that had L’Aurore corkscrewing along, now with curtains of driving rain passing that made observations close inshore both uncomfortable and chancy.
‘Let’s find some shelter an’ ride it out, sir,’ Kendall offered. ‘No use in trying to search in this’n.’
Kydd agreed, but it was not until some distance further that an offshore island providentially appeared, not a large one but sufficient. ‘We’ll go to single anchor in its lee.’ This would have the added bonus of facing the shore to keep it under observation.
A cold rain squall blustered while they shaped course to round the end of the island. When it passed by, a simultaneous yell came from the two lookouts. There, as large as life and doing much the same as them, was another frigate, and it was not Leda.
‘Hard a-larboard!’ Kydd snapped. ‘Take us out again, Mr Kendall.’
L’Aurore came round hard up to the wind and started thrashing seaward as Kydd took in the scene. An unknown heavy frigate, no colours but not Dutch, sails still in their gear and men on the fore-deck – almost certainly coming up to the moor – and, curiously, just beyond, there was a large brig of undoubted merchant origin. Ship and escort? Unlikely – a single brig with a frigate escort was not how it was done.
L’Aurore was completely outclassed by the 38-gun stranger who would no doubt be mounting a battery of long eighteen-pounders and therefore it was both prudent and honourable to withdraw. But what the devil was a big frigate doing so close inshore here? Was it something to do with the secret army, or a chance encounter with one of the French frigates set to range the sea-lanes for prey? Kydd could find no answer.
Should he stay and shadow, or tiptoe past and continue his mission? But the choice was taken out of his hands – sail was cast loose on the big ship and it took the wind, curving about the far side of the island to re-emerge on a course directly towards them.
This was insane! The first duty of a commerce-raider was to avoid battle – even if it became the victor, any damage incurred far from a friendly dockyard could end the cruise at that point. Kydd didn’t like so many unanswered questions, and not only that: until he had the measure of his opponent’s sailing qualities there was no certainty that in this blow they could even get away.
He glanced up: after her long voyage from England, L’Aurore’s rigging was no longer new and her sails were stretched and sea-darkened. If there was to be a chase, it would be prudent not to put too much strain on the gear aloft. They had a heavier suit in the sail locker but it would be suicide to stop now and bend them on.
‘Ease her, if you please. We’ll wait and see what that one’s made of.’ The frigate was a mile or more astern and there was no need for heroic measures yet but Kydd watched it keenly.
Its sails visibly hardened as they were sheeted in, a topgallant briefly appearing and then disappearing as it was trialled, and a bone in the teeth grew larger as the frigate leaned into it. L’Aurore was under topsails and courses – Kydd dismissed the idea to spread reefed topgallants because any risky venture aloft that did not come off could end in dismasting and ruin.
Patience and safe seamanship were what was necessary at this point, holding on until the hunter tired of the chase. Cold spray dashed him in the face; they were having a hard time of it in the strengthening wind, which was at cross-purposes to the swell, resulting in abruptly mounting triangular wave-forms that L’Aurore struck heavily as she fled.
Within the hour it became clear that there would be no early abandoning of the chase and, worse, the gap was closing. It was now getting serious – as the weather deteriorated it would favour the larger vessel, and any advantage L’Aurore had in manoeuvrability would be nullified.
They’d go about now. Kydd had the utmost confidence in his ship’s company: they’d been well tried and had settled into a fine body of seamen. ‘Hands t’ station for staying!’
In this fresh weather it would require the utmost concentration. ‘Ease down the helm,’ Kendall ordered, allowing L’Aurore to quarter the wind to her best speed.
‘Lay aloft.’ Men scrambled up the shrouds to clear away the rigging, while along the deck, braces were thrown off their pins and laid out for running.
There would be no second chance: if they missed stays it could be disastrous.
‘Helm’s a-lee!’
They were committed. With the stakes all too apparent, the men threw themselves at the tacks and braces as the orders cracked out, one after another.
‘Rise tacks ’n’ sheets!’
‘Mainsail haul!’
‘Haaaul of all!’
Responding nobly, L’Aurore swept about, sail taking up on the other tack with a thunderous slatting and banging, the seas now meeting her weather bow with explosions of white.
Kydd watched the other frigate intently. The unknown captain was not to be hurried – given that L’Aurore had the initiative, he nevertheless held on until he was ready, then made a faultless stay about, falling in astern with little ground lost, an indication of a competent and well-tested crew.
The seas were resulting in an uncomfortable bucking and stiff roll, and still the Frenchman came on – and still no reason as to why he would risk taking on even a smaller ship, especially in these increasingly brisk conditions.
Kydd had to think of a way out. Standard tricks in a chase, such as lightening ship, would be of little use in these seas and smacked of desperation, but any attempt to set more sail would be risky – better to leave it as a last resort.
To wait it out in the hope that the other would abandon the chase was the only option, that and attend scrupulously to sail trim to wring the last knot from the ship. But it was as though there was a malignity in the other captain, a hostility that was hateful and personal, driving him to extremes in wishing Kydd and his ship destroyed.
They raced together over the southern ocean as if tied with an invisible rope. What looked like a goosewinged topgallant appeared briefly on the fore of the other vessel, but almost immediately blew out into ribbons streaming away. Now the deadly intensity of their adversary was palpable.
Kydd took stock. L’Aurore was fitted with chase-ports in her stern but these were intended only for the carronades used in defending against gunboat attack. Forward there were two nine-pounders and proper ports used as classic frigate chase guns against quarry – could these be brought aft to bear on their tormentor?
It would mean traversing the entire rearing and jerking length of the ship with near a ton of cold iron on the loose. But anything was better than a meek surrendering to Fate.