The grandeur of the sapphire-misted Blue Mountains inland was little consolation for the fact that the schooner was nowhere to be seen. It must be ahead somewhere – or had it tacked about in the murk and even now was stretching away to Hispaniola? Very unlikely – the risk of the rain clearing to reveal them crossing ahead before the frigate’s guns was too much.
Then it must be beyond the next headland – Booby Point, according to the chart.
There was little to be gained in going to quarters – their size alone could be relied on to subdue any thought of resistance – but pulses quickened as they rounded it. Nothing.
Kydd felt a surge of irritation. ‘Clap on more sail,’ he told the master. ‘We’ll go direct and catch him before Northeast Point, only another hour or two.’ If not, he would have to accept they had made their escape.
In and out of the rain squalls L’Aurore sailed, but when they reached the north-east tip of Jamaica, there was still no sign.
‘Wear ship, if you please, we return,’ Kydd said heavily.
He watched Buckle fumble his duties at the main, saved only by Curzon’s bellowed intervention, and his growing annoyance that his triumphant return was spoiled took focus.
‘Mr Buckle to lay aft,’ he roared, and waited while the hapless lieutenant dithered over whether to abandon his men.
‘Sir, I’m to tell you that you’ll be landed at Kingston. You’ve no place in this ship.’
‘Sir?’
The crestfallen look that replaced his willing air nearly made Kydd weaken. ‘You’ve to learn your profession in a bigger ship first, I believe.’
‘I can get the knack, if you’ll—’
‘No. Get your gear together, Mr Buckle.’
His shoulders drooped as he turned to go. Then he stopped and said humbly, ‘Oh, could I tell you something?’
Kydd frowned.
‘It’s that I’ve heard of your reputation as a fighting captain and, er, I thought …’
If this was going to be an emotional confession …
‘Well?’
‘I, um, you see, I was worried you’d think it an almighty cheek should I tell you …’
‘What, pray?’ Kydd said, dangerously.
‘… where t’ go to hunt the chase.’
‘Oh? Where should I go, then?’
Taking a deep breath, Buckle began, ‘Y’ see, when I was a boy, we came to Jamaica and I went playing in the John Crow Mountains.’
‘And?’ said Kydd, heavily.
‘Going by raft all the way down the river. Rare fun!’ At Kydd’s look he caught himself and hurried on: ‘Right to the sea, we ends in a little harbour, not big at all – but snug in any nor’-easter.’
Buckle waited for a response, and when there wasn’t one he went on lamely, ‘When I was mid in the little Ibis I told Captain Hardison about it, and we always used it in place o’ Port Morant, and never the need to haul back after.’
‘And you think the schooner is there?’ Kydd snorted. ‘We’ve been close in with the land all the way up the coast and saw nothing.’
‘Ah, you wouldn’t. The spit o’ land we shelter behind is thick wi’ trees and you can see naught from seaward.’
Kydd grimaced, but decided it was worth a look. ‘Show me. You can read a chart?’
‘I can, in course,’ Buckle said, with a wounded expression. ‘I passed l’tenant! But I doubts we’ll see it there, it’s so small. Manchioneal Harbour, Mr Hardison calls it.’
‘It’s here,’ Kendall conceded. ‘No mention of holding ground, though.’
‘We’ll give it a call. What depth o’ water can we expect?’
‘Oh, not as would float a frigate,’ Buckle admitted. ‘I just thought, well, the schooner might be lying inside, like.’
Manchioneal Harbour was as he had said: from seaward it looked like an insignificant indentation in the coast, not worth the investigating.
Kydd gave orders that had L’Aurore heaving to well clear of the breakers driving inshore. ‘Take away a boat, Mr Gilbey, land on this side and peek through the trees. Mind you’re not seen, and return immediately with your report.’
The first lieutenant was soon back – the picture of satisfaction. ‘He’s there, sure enough,’ he called up, from the approaching boat. ‘Bung up an’ bilge free.’
‘Well done, Mr Buckle,’ Kydd conceded. ‘We have him now.’
The little harbour was as much a trap as a hideaway and they were the stopper in the bottle.
Yet one thing could bring everything to a halt. Although it was acting suspiciously, there would be no question of prize-taking if the vessel could prove it was neutral. Kydd decided that, as the officer most experienced at boarding, he would take the pinnace in himself. ‘Four marines and boat’s crew,’ he ordered. ‘And Mr Saxton,’ he added. A master’s mate rather than midshipman to take the tiller and add gravitas to the proceedings.