Gaping, they watched him hurry off.
Kydd was warned by the fog-horn and, knowing attention was away from the river, positioned his boats in the outer darkness. The thunderous explosion shattered the stillness like the end of the world.
‘Give way, y’ swabs!’ he roared. The launch shot forward, towards the shore – and the general pandemonium. Warriors running aimlessly, shrieking their fear, small fires breaking out on all sides where burning fragments had landed. The jetty could just be made out but no anxious figures waiting.
‘Hold water!’ he ordered. They lay to fifty yards offshore, fearful that once they were seen, the panic could easily turn into a killing vengeance. In a frenzy they searched the riverbanks for their shipmates. Nothing.
Gilbey’s orders were to stay out and cover their approach with his carronade. Ashore, the disorder seemed to be subsiding – at any moment the horde could turn on them. Kydd left the sternsheets and scrambled forward to stand in the bows at the gun, peering to see.
‘Sir!’ one of the oarsmen said urgently. ‘Over t’ larb’d!’
It was clearly Stirk, and the others with him, struggling along towards the jetty and dragging another – but from the opposite side came a roar of anger. They’d been seen – and it was clear they were not going to make it to the jetty before they were overwhelmed. After all their immense bravery, to be slaughtered in sight of their salvation.
‘Ready the carronade,’ Kydd said steadily. In the dark, without the possibility of a reload, there were two shots and two only available between both boats.
‘Fire!’
The crash of the eighteen-pounder from out in the night with its heightened gun-flash was shocking as a heavy round-shot was sent skipping and slamming over the water to end smashing and rampaging through the undergrowth – a very visible blast of terror that renewed the panic.
‘Go for your lives!’ The oarsmen needed no urging and the big launch flew in towards the jetty.
‘Move!’ bellowed Kydd, frantically beckoning to the waiting figures.
Stirk roughly pushed in the stranger, who fell protesting into Kydd’s outstretched hands. ‘Who the devil—?’
‘Y’r ringleader, if y’ please, sir,’ Stirk said laconically, urging in his men before clambering in himself.
‘Be damned!’ Kydd spluttered, and hastily turning to the bowman roared, ‘Bear off, there – let’s away!’
Stirk grasped his arm. ‘I’d be waitin’ a mort longer, sir, as beggin’ y’r pardon,’ he said firmly.
Something about his old mess-mate’s manner made him pause but the warriors could now see what was happening and started to storm forward once more – then out of the blackness came another thunderclap: Gilbey had seen what was happening and fired his own carronade.
They were now defenceless – but Stirk had seen something and muttered, ‘They’s coming now, sir.’
To Kydd’s utter stupefaction, the unmistakable figure of Renzi loomed. Then, to his even greater astonishment, his friend theatrically produced Thérèse, sullen and tattered.
‘Might I present to you the Baron de Caradeuc, whose daughter I believe you’re already acquainted with?’
Kydd could only stare.
‘Er, we gets under way, y’ said, sir?’ the anxious bowman pleaded.
‘Aye – let’s be back aboard, by all means.’
Tired but elated, Kydd and his victorious men stepped aboard L’Aurore to a roar of welcome. ‘Get these two below under guard,’ he told Bowden, briskly, indicating the prisoners. ‘I don’t want to see ’em again before Cape Town.’
When he’d finally disengaged Renzi from the throng they went to the sanctuary of Kydd’s cabin. ‘Tysoe! Mr Renzi is near gut-foundered and craves a restorative.’
‘I understand, sir.’
The officers’ cook came personally and busied himself with supervising several tempting dishes, and Tysoe murmured, ‘We have still one of the ’ninety-two Margaux, which I recollect Mr Renzi particularly favours.’
‘Make it so, you rogue, and be damned to the hour!’ Kydd said happily, and fussed about a protesting Renzi in his old chair.
Soon glasses were raised and limbs eased. ‘Now, Nicholas, you’ll tell me what the Hades you were doing in such a place – or should I not ask?’
Between wolfed mouthfuls of mutton cutlets, Renzi told his tale, ending with ‘So when that fearful fog-horn let go, how could I not remember those times off the Grand Banks in Tenacious when the damned thing was going morn to night? And here’s to that old barky, dear fellow!’
‘And here’s to Toby Stirk, the cunning dog, who thought of it!’
‘Which I’ll second – I understand we owe our rapid withdrawal afterwards to the disinclination of our Xhosa friends to venture after us in the darkness where such dreadful spirits must lurk.’
After finishing his food Renzi laid down his knife and fork with a shuddering sigh, and closed his eyes. ‘There were times, my friend . . .’
‘Quite,’ Kydd murmured, in sympathy. He knew better than to go further – Renzi would talk more in his own good time. He toyed with his glass for a moment, then said, with a trace of defiance, ‘You must think me a sad looby to be gulled by Thérèse. I’m to say I never suspected for a moment, even while she dunned me with all those questions.’
‘Of course not, old trout. There’s others who’ve been deceived by her beauty and mystery, the chief of which must be my own self. And I’m here to tell you that her scheming to prise intelligence from you she considered a waste of effort, but as a man you proved to be . . . diverting.’
‘She said that?’
‘Indeed. Er, might it be hoped that this unholy experience has not soured you on the female race?’
‘Not at all,’ Kydd reassured him, with a wicked grin, ‘although perhaps I shall take a little more care where I set my cap in future . . .’
Two days later, L’Aurore, her prize astern of her, rounded the point into Table Bay. Surprisingly, it was considerably crowded, with more than two score weather-beaten ships moored all along the wide anchorage.
‘A convoy from England, Nicholas!’ Kydd beamed. ‘Our reinforcements have arrived at last, thank God.’ Baird’s dispatches must have done their work, for now not only had Whitehall received tidings of the action at Blaauwberg but had responded with all that was needed to make their presence permanent.
There were transports for garrison soldiers, store-ships with military supplies, merchantmen, no doubt laden with necessaries and luxuries, and stately Indiamen with notables on their way to India, who were now freely touching at their new port-of-call – Cape Town.
‘Well, m’ friend, I think we can say that Cape Colony now exists on the books in London. You’ll no doubt have such a scurrying about, quantities of forms to return, new regulations and laws – not to mention the accounting of it all. I almost feel sorry for you!’
‘Yes, it will be a challenge,’ Renzi said gravely, his eyes on the massive grandeur of the African country before him.
After hearing Kydd’s report Popham not only ordered him to inform the governor directly but insisted on accompanying him, along with the colonial secretary. ‘Good God, Renzi!’ Baird spluttered, aghast as the three were brought into his presence. ‘You’re – you’re alive! We thought you were taken by a leopard!’
Renzi set out the plot and its foiling briefly and succinctly, taking pains to give due recognition to Kydd and his intelligent reasoning, followed by his decision to go forward with the attack in the face of such odds.
When he finished, Baird shook his head. ‘The greatest stroke I’ve come across this age,’ he managed at last. ‘Have you ever heard the like, Dasher?’
‘Never,’ said Popham, warmly. ‘In the best traditions of the Service, Sir David. In particular I’d like to commend Captain Kydd on the moral courage he showed in breaking off the action with Leda to pursue the higher purpose. Captain Honyman was much annoyed as the Frenchy frigate slipped him by, but I shall speak with him on the matter and I’m certain he’ll hear no more of it.’