Caribbee(40)

The other party under Buckle made for the town, hurrying through the few mean streets and searching for opportunities for mayhem. Townsfolk scattered, screaming.

At the end of the road they were surprised to be met by shouts and desperate yelling. It was coming from men inside a stockade, English sailors held prisoners. ‘Turn ’em loose,’ Buckle said. ‘They’re crew of the brig as will take it to sea for us.’

One wild-eyed seaman held back. ‘I wants t’ get evens on the Spanish. If ye’ll follow me, I’ll show y’ where Don Espada lives, the bastard.’

It was a mansion set out from the hill on the slope. As they approached there was the flash of muskets from the mock turrets, but in the bad light the shots went wide, and soon the men were crashing through the ornamental garden and battering down the door.

Muffled shouts came from within and Buckle ordered them all to fall back while he negotiated. The door was opened by a haughty Spaniard, who stood sullenly.

‘Secure him and we’d better be on our way back,’ Buckle ordered briefly.

From the waterfront, they heard scattered musket fire. If they were prevented from getting back aboard, there could be only one ending to their adventure. A ball zinged from the road and another slapped through a marine’s jacket.

‘Take cover!’ Buckle yelled. It was only another intersection before they arrived at the wharf – but they were under fire from an unknown direction.

‘A flying column to secure the wharf?’ Clinton suggested. Casualties would be severe, and worse, if they then held their positions until inevitably enemy reinforcements arrived.

‘Waste of men. No, I’ll—’

Suddenly, like a thunderclap in the still night air, a carronade smashed out. It could mean only one thing – L’Aurore’s boats come in support. The launch and cutter, under oars and stretching out fiercely, had opened fire when well out of range but it was effective: the unknown snipers had run for their lives.

‘Go!’ yelled Buckle, and pelted towards the seafront.

Calloway and his party were waiting for them in Infanta and they lost no time in putting out to join the L’Aurores, the schooner abuzz with jubilation.

‘A right good mill!’ Doud cackled, looking back at the leaping flames.

‘You really think so?’ Buckle replied, with obvious pleasure.

‘Sir, I protest! It should’ve been my landing,’ Gilbey said, aggrieved, as the victors boarded L’Aurore.

‘And lose my first lieutenant?’ Kydd said mildly, looking down benignly on his capering men. ‘I’ll have you know it was a close-run thing and events could have turned out in quite another way.’

Gilbey did not appear mollified, but for Kydd it had been a resounding success: a prize won even if its cargo had been brought ashore. As a prize recovered it would count as salvage only but then again, with the release of the brig’s men, there had been no need to provide crew.

The shipyard set afire would render the port useless as a privateer base and, in any case, the townsfolk would know that, its secret out, it would be under eye from the British fleet from now on. And to cap it all, they had in custody one Don Espada, a Spaniard who’d been secretly running things there, to prove the situation.

That night while the seamen were enjoying an extended suppertime with a double tot, Kydd invited his officers to dinner, braving Tysoe’s frowns to broach his private cabin stores. The wine was the best he possessed and the officers’ cook excelled himself. This was going to be a night to remember.

‘Wine with you, sir!’ said Curzon to Gilbey, who was rapidly thawing in the happy atmosphere. Further down, Buckle was glowing in new-found respect.

‘To Lady Fortune, who’s done so handsomely for the Billy Roarers,’ Gilbey returned. He was never going to allow that Buckle was anything but the child of luck for his achievement. He then turned to Kydd. ‘In course, what you said about prize accounts is so much catblash.’

Kydd smiled thinly. ‘I’ve asked Mr Renzi to look into the matter and his appreciation is that if we grant that it is another vessel entirely, then those who were aboard her must be in the nature of deserters, they still being on the muster-roll of L’Aurore. Unhappily, therefore, it would seem that each must choose between a flogging or allowing their shipmates to share in the prize.’

Renzi blinked, then offered with solemnity, ‘Or L’Aurore’s captain is court-martialled for misappropration of a prize before it be condemned.’

It was a good point: prize rules were strict, and a charge of piracy could be brought against the captain of any King’s ship who took possession of a vessel before it had been examined in a vice-admiralty court and declared subject to forfeiture, and therefore made good prize, no matter what the circumstances.