And L’Aurore had already wheeled about in anticipation and now came down to claim her prize.
Kydd could not resist the urge to board the vessel himself: he wanted to meet her captain, who had proved both cool and intelligent and, but for Buckle, would have been able to make good his escape.
As they approached the disconsolate vessel, Kydd felt the first stirrings of unease. Even from this distance, the ship didn’t have the feel of a Frenchman or a Spanish. She had an indefinable alien air about her, the cut of the sails, the lead of the working rigging, and when they came alongside he was sure.
It was an English ship.
As he swung over the bulwarks, there was no mistaking the vessel’s master, who was standing by the main-mast with an expression of disbelief.
‘Captain Kydd, Royal Navy,’ he said, with just a trace of irritation. ‘It was a merry dance you led us, sir, my congratulations.’
‘As did you, old chap! ’Pon my word, a King’s ship strange to these waters and with every appearance of a damned Frenchy!’
‘Which was that, sir?’
‘I thought all the world would have heard. Étoile 32, Captain Sieyès out of La Rochelle, new sent to harass our Caribbean interests and already struck.’
‘No, I hadn’t heard. Now, you’ll oblige me with your papers, if you please …’
The rest of the boarding passed off without comment and ended with a shared Madeira in the saloon.
When Kydd returned to his ship he had much to think on and, first, the existence of a French commerce-raiding frigate in these waters, a serious development, which would be causing a deal of concern to Dacres. That it resembled his own French-built vessel was an inconvenience, frightening the innocent, but it couldn’t be helped.
What was more troubling was that, from what he’d heard, the standing of the bottled-up British merchantmen had changed drastically.
Commercial pressures had risen above fear of the unknown. While the L’Aurores had been disporting at leisure, one ship had plucked up the courage to sail come what may. Others had realised that if it won through to any kind of market it could set its own prices, an intolerable position for those left. They had sailed together, some risking a voyage without insurance, putting out in the desperate hope they wouldn’t be seen in the more than thousand-mile passage to the convoy rendezvous at Barbados.
As the word spread, from every sugar-producing port others would be joining the mass flight – an impossible number to protect. The French frigate and the ever-present privateers would, with great satisfaction, swoop to the kill.
All feelings of diversion and languor fell away. This was the new war and unquestionably L’Aurore was critical to it. It was probably the best course to return as soon as he could to Port Royal for orders – but they were on the north coast of Jamaica on the opposite side. There was little for it but to reach the eastern end by long, tedious boards in the Cuba Passage and call at Port Morant, the naval dispatch station, to see if anything had changed drastically in the meantime.
The atmosphere had altered in L’Aurore: the jollity of the past days had evaporated for it was plain to all that the balance had shifted to the defensive and they were in the front line. And if this French frigate was with another – they often hunted in pairs – they could at any moment be fighting for their lives.
In a near calm they reached Port Morant, at last to be met by an advice-boat with a general order that wherever L’Aurore was to be found she should be sent with all urgency back to Port Royal. The war had caught fire.
Chapter 7
No sooner had L’Aurore rounded Port Royal Point than her pennant number shot up on the flagship – captain to repair on board immediately. Kydd had expected this and, as L’Aurore glided to her anchorage, her gig was already lowering.
‘Where the devil have you been, sir?’ Dacres greeted him, and when he tried to answer brushed him off with, ‘Belay that, we’ve a pretty problem on our hands. Sit down.’
As Kydd had already found out, after one or two had put to sea the rest of the merchantmen had scrambled to follow. ‘Never mind we can’t protect ’em, they have to do it.’ Dacres glared at Kydd as though it was his fault, adding, ‘And now they’re being taken.’
‘Enemy frigate?’
‘You’ve heard? Yes, they’ve sent a pair of raiders – a 32 and a 28 – under a dasher of a captain from La Rochelle, Sieyès. Damn desperate timing for us, I thought.’ His tone hardened. ‘They have to be stopped. Losses at this scale are not to be borne, sir.’
But if the Navy was to be employed in escorting, it could not be on patrol – a dilemma for the admiral that could only be solved by the removal of the threat. Kill the enemy frigates and the Caribbean could revert back quickly to its previous relative peace.