The Privateer's Revenge(30)

There was a distant spatter of firing ashore. Renzi stiffened: the party must have been discovered, he thought. They could not last long against regular French troops and he gripped the shroud.

Standish appeared next to him. "Seems he's got himself into a pother," he said casually. "To be expected. We'll give him an hour, I think." Renzi could not trust himself to reply.

Another spasm of firing occurred farther along—it grew to a crescendo, musket flashes now atop the dunes all along the beach. Then it lessened and stopped abruptly. It was not possible in the dark to make out what had happened, but Standish let out a theatrical sigh. "It seems to be all over with Mr Kydd, I do believe."

"You'll send another boat," Renzi snapped.

"I will not. There's half the French army there waiting for us to blunder in to the rescue. I'll be taking Teazer to sea and—"

"Boat ahoooyy!" The fo'c'sle lookout's voice cracked with feeling. A distant cry came out of the night. A seaman ran aft and touched his hat to Standish.

"Our boat in sight, sir," he said, with relish.

The tired party came over the bulwark, ashen-faced, the wounded marine handed up tenderly. Kydd went straight aft to Standish. "I'm t' see the admiral. You have th' ship till I return." Without acknowledging Renzi he went over the side and the boat shoved off.

Renzi noted sadly that Kydd had not said a word of praise to the men or ordered a double tot for them, something inconceivable before.

The boat came back quickly; as soon as Kydd was inboard he summoned Standish. "Th' admiral has decided t' resume th' action. We stand to at dawn."



This time it was to be both bomb-vessels, Sulphur and her tenders having arrived during the night, and not only that but a daytime assault for maximum accuracy. The tides allowed for an approach at five in the morning and the two ships would pound away for as long as the tide allowed, probably until ten—or until they were overwhelmed by vessels emboldened by daylight, which the French must surely have in readiness. Much would depend on Kydd's inshore squadron . . .

The two bomb-vessels crabbed in and began the elaborate preparations with three anchors and springs attached in such a way that the vessel could be oriented precisely. It was then a technical matter for the gunners: the charge exactly calculated for range and the fuse cut at the right point to explode the thirteen-inch mortar shell just above the ground for deadly effect.

As the day broke with wistful autumn sunshine the bomb-vessels opened up. Sheets of flame shrouded the small ships in a vast cloud, again the heavy concussion, and this time it was possible to glimpse a black speck hurled high in a parabola, trailing a thin spiral. Seconds later from behind the headland a muffled crash was followed by a lazy column of dirty smoke.

The provocation was extreme and there was every possibility that before long the beleaguered French would burst out of the harbour in a vengeful lunge to crush their tormentors.

The frigate moved in as close as she dared, leadsmen in the chains and kedges streamed, but there was no avoiding the fact that the bomb-vessels could only be defended by the smaller ships with a lesser draught. Teazer and the cutter stayed off the entrance to the harbour.

Suddenly, from the harbour mouth came a succession of gunboats—one by one in an endless stream—a growing array until a full twenty-two of the ugly craft were in view.

"Attend at th' entrance!" roared Kydd aft to the signal crew. All possible forces were needed, even if it stripped bare the bomb-vessel defences. "An' give 'em a gun!" As the red-flag signal whipped up, a gun cracked out forward to lend urgency.

The other two sloops hauled their wind for the entrance, but before they arrived the gunboats were roping themselves together in a double line facing outward. "Be damned t' it!" Standish spluttered. "They're defending the harbour as they think we mean to cut 'em out!"

It was telling evidence of the respect and awe in which the Royal Navy was held by her enemies. Nevertheless, the battering the French were receiving was murderous and unceasing. Surely they would attempt some kind of retaliation.

In the light morning airs, powder smoke hung about the ships in slowly roiling masses as the mortars thudded again and yet again, the dun clouds spreading gradually far and wide. There was little response from the forts, sited to overlook the port; the French were paying dearly for having ignored the possibility of an artillery strike from the sea.

Dowse pointed over the side. "Mr Kydd, ye can see—we're makin' foul water." The tide now fast on the ebb, their keel was stirring up seabed mud.

The bomb-vessels concluded their work and their windlasses heaved in their ground tackle, but it was this moment that held the greatest danger: Would the enemy see the fleet in retreat and throw caution to the winds to seek revenge?