‘Captain Kydd!’ came Mowlam’s blaring hail from the speaking trumpet.
‘Aye aye, sir!’ Kydd responded.
‘I’ve news for you, old fellow.’
‘Shall I come aboard?’
‘No. I’ve to find the rest of my brood and tell ’em. It’s this, and stand by to be well flummoxed.’
Mowlam’s tone was charged with a curious excitement, or was that nervousness? Kydd’s interest quickened. ‘Sir?’
‘Things ashore have changed very suddenly arsy-versy, as it were. We’ve word that the French have stopped running. They’re now readying a strike back into Spain.’
The light breeze and small slop of waters allowed every word to cross very clearly and Mowlam went on quickly, ‘Not your ordinary sortie but a vast one.’
‘Sir?’
‘At the Ebro – a quarter-million in arms against us.’
Kydd could hardly believe his ears. Where at this stage of the war were the French finding the men?
‘Led by Boney himself.’
Napoleon Bonaparte, who, the previous year on the battlefield of Eylau, had looked upon some twenty thousand corpses in the bloodstained snow where he’d beaten the combined armies of Prussia and Russia. Now he’d come to wreak the same in Spain.
It was the worst news conceivable.
‘Um, what about General Moore?’
‘Somewhere well into the centre of Spain – no one has any idea. Well, now you know, old chap.’
‘Ah, yes. So what do you believe we can do?’
‘Carry on until we receive orders to the contrary,’ Mowlam said decisively. ‘And if the Dons want help, give ’em all you have. By God, they’ll need it.’
The speaking trumpet fell and, with a dismissive wave from Mowlam, Menander got under way.
There was no need to tell Tyger’s company: they’d all heard the exchange and, for most, the ship had been off Prussia while that terrible carnage was taking place and needed no explanation.
Among all the grave and drawn expressions about the deck, there was one that had brightened considerably. ‘Be damned to ye all as a parcel o’ useless pickerooning lubbers! Get that fore tack inboard this instant or I’ll ask the bo’sun to tickle your backs until you do!’
Bray’s happy roaring was the best possible medicine for the long faces and Kydd went below. He realised there was nothing he could do, not without knowledge of what was happening in the interior, or without the real means to make a difference. It added up to continuing until, as Mowlam had suggested, he received further orders from one who was in a position to know.
When he emerged on deck, all eyes were on him. Without a word he paced over to the conn, peered approvingly at the binnacle and looked up. ‘Very good, Mr Brice. Carry on.’ There would be lively talk in the gunroom that evening but, without proven intelligence, there was no point in supposition and he wouldn’t be drawn into it.
Tyger lay over to the mild north-westerly with the swell on her quarter and sailed on serenely into the night.
Chapter 66
Eight days later, as the skies were darkening for yet another autumn storm, a lookout spotted one of the fisher-craft often seen close inshore, sheeted hard and straining seawards, obviously in a despairing reach to the frigate.
‘Heave to,’ Kydd ordered, his pulse quickening.
Coming alongside, the boat hooked on. A piratical-looking crew peered up, their red bandannas and colourful sashes not the attire of fishermen.
A figure, sitting apart from the others, cupped his hands and yelled, ‘L’tenant Wishart of the Ninety-third o’ Foot. My purpose is urgent, I do declare, so beg to come aboard, sir!’
Below, after sipping appreciatively at a toddy, the young man asked Kydd, ‘Have you knowledge of what’s happening on the land, sir?’ He was unshaven in an ill-matched garb of military uniform and peasant’s clothing but spoke an easy English with an undoubted north-country accent.
‘Not as who can say,’ Kydd said guardedly. ‘We know Boney’s on the march with a sizeable horde, but where he is and so forth we’ve no news to give you.’
‘Sir, it’s not information I’m asking. In fact, I can tell you more, even if I’ve only a tolerably cloudy idea of where things stand. Bonaparte is moving with great speed, punching through the Spanish as though they’re not there, for he’s Madrid in his sights. He’s leaving his marshals to broaden the advance, some over to his left and the Med, and others in a wide hook on his right, which concerns me.’
‘Ah, would it be impertinent of me to ask who you are to be so concerned, sir?’ Kydd asked drily.
‘I’m liaison officer to the Spanish Army. In fine, I’m an English officer sent to put backbone into our new allies – and find them something to fight with.’
Kydd ignored the last for now. ‘So they’re not reluctant to accept British soldiery on their soil?’
‘Captain, you must know that until lately we were their sworn enemies from the time of Francis Drake. How can you ask them to trust us at the first shot?’
‘You said “something to fight with”, Lieutenant. Does this mean …’
The young man put down his cup and leaned forward earnestly. ‘Let me tell you a little of what it is to be in Asturias. If any country can claim an excess of mountains then it is Spain, and of its lands the northern region is the most infested. A very puckled and crumpled land it is too, sir. And greatly unsuited to the movement of armies, you may believe. The only roads worth the name run through the interior, to Madrid. The coastal and peripheral tracts are left with craggy tracks that oblige an armed company to proceed forward often in the file singular, a most hazardous formation, while the transit of field guns is not to be contemplated.
‘Sir, Bonaparte stays with the Royal Roads and punches through at a pace but the unfortunate generals on his flank are not so well served. It is here that my rag-tag band has a chance. Strike and run, sir! Hammer the ungodly and retire at discretion! My men are courageous to a fault. They know their mountains and have a score to settle with the defiler of their homeland.
‘Captain, I have a plan, one as will embarrass the enemy, give cause for much rejoicing in our ranks – and, not least, strengthen my position against certain parties desirous of casting out the English infidel. Do you care to hear it, sir?’
‘Tell me and I shall be the judge of it.’
He gave a boyish grin. ‘The French are advancing as fast as they may from Bilbao along the coast road. Not so far from here it skirts the fearfully precipitous Cantabrian mountains along not much more than a track. Sir, if the road is exploded behind them, it will leave ’em exposed to much sport from your ship guns. They will break and run ahead, where we will lie in wait. I can promise them a warm welcome.’
Kydd rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was simple enough and promised an easy success. ‘How many French do you expect?’
‘A cohort or so, dragoons, infantry, some light field guns. Less than half a thousand men.’
‘And how many of you, pray?’
‘As many as I can find arms for, is the short of it, sir.’
‘Meaning if I can supply you with such, this will be sufficient?’
‘I can promise that. The French so far have not encountered any resistance worth the name and will not be prepared for any.’
‘Very well. You shall have your muskets. Anything other?’
‘To destroy the road with gunpowder. There are none skilled in this – have you one of that kind with the necessaries?’
Kydd nodded. ‘Captain Clinton of the Royal Marines, as will be going ashore to command the blast and to regulate the distribution of your muskets. Shall we now look to the details, Lieutenant?’
The unkempt youngster had clearly given it some thought and a plan was soon agreed.
‘So, Captain Clinton to prepare ashore, lying concealed until they have passed, then destroy the road. Tyger plays its great guns on the enemy, who will flee ahead into your ambuscade. On completion of the engagement, boats will be sent ashore to relieve you of the prisoners. Yes?’