The Privateer's Revenge(31)

Cerberus lingered until the last possible moment to cover the withdrawal before bracing round for the run out to sea, her admiral's flag proudly aloft. Still the enemy remained out of sight. But it was time to leave: Teazer jockeyed round to take position astern of the flagship, the last to leave the field of battle.

Then, suddenly, the frigate slewed sharply to starboard and slowed to a crawl before stopping altogether. Her sails were let fly, then doused, the big man-o'-war now motionless. "She's gone aground," hissed Kydd. "We close an' take th' admiral off."

Things had changed catastrophically: the powerful ship was now helpless. Hard and fast with the ebb far from spent, without the means to manoeuvre, she lay easy prey.

"Sir, we stand ready t' take you off," bellowed Kydd, through the speaking trumpet to Cerberus's quarterdeck. Saumarez could be seen in serious consultation with Selby. Hard decisions must be made: to abandon ship now, in good order and no loss of life, or be forced later to a humiliating scramble over the side in the face of hostile gunfire.

Disdaining an offered hailer, Saumarez cupped his hands and roared back, "I shall stand by the ship, Mr Kydd. Do as you see fit for the defending of the bombs—their preservation is of great importance."

"Aye aye, sir," Kydd acknowledged.

The bomb-vessels even now were making a slow but steady retreat to the north-west—but if any of the small squadron was detached, would the remainder be enough to discourage a determined attack on the stranded frigate? On the other hand all could be retained and deployed to prevent the enemy leaving Granville, the only threat of any consequence. But if, once out of sight, the bombs were set upon . . .

"Tell Harpy t' come within hail," Kydd called. It was a moot point whether his temporary command of a squadron defending the bombs could be said still to exist in their absence but he had his orders from the admiral. Harpy was dispatched with the schooner Eling to chase after and stay with the bombs.

Scorpion t' come within hail." The bigger ship-sloop affected not to notice the signal but, at "Teazer's gun, went about and came up, pointedly rounding to windward off her quarter. Kydd ignored the calculated slight: the custom of service was for the senior to lie-to while the junior went round her stern to leeward and Carthew, no doubt, was making a point.

"I'd be obliged should you stay wi' the frigate," Kydd hailed. "Teazer an' Carteret will lie off th' harbour." There was an unintelligible acknowledgement from Carthew and the three-master curved away, leaving just one brig-sloop and one tiny cutter to meet whatever challenge would emerge from between those stone piers.

The day wore on; it was clear that Cerberus had lost the race against the tide—she was now visibly at an angle and unnaturally still. And the significance would not be lost on the French. With such a prize within reach, there for the taking, it could now be only a matter of time.

Another hour. Now the frigate lay heeled over at a crazy angle, her guns either in the water or impotently skyward, her green-streaked copper bulking indecently, her men moving hand over hand along the decks, the ship a picture of helplessness.

When the attack did come it was cunningly mounted and rapidly carried out. Without warning a stream of other gunboats under oars issued out, one after another. In the light winds Teazer and Carteret were too late in closing with them, and with their car-ronades' short range could only blaze away in futile desperation as the shallow-draught gunboats swiftly made away against the wind for the north of the Videcocq rocks, where no British ship could follow.

It was a master-stroke. The gunboats were positioned such that their weapons could bear on the helpless frigate—only one long gun each, but these were full-size eighteen-or twenty-four-pounders. Together they would have the same weight of metal as the broadside of a frigate of equal size. And Cerberus could do nothing but endure until the inevitable capitulation.

The guns opened with slow and deliberate fire. The first shot sent up a plume of water just short, others joining to surround the frigate with a forest of splashes—and then, aim improving, dark holes appeared in the naked hull.

Renzi watched in alarm; Kydd's squadron had failed. In just a short while the admiral's flag must be lowered in abject surrender. Then, suddenly, his friend seemed to lose his reason. He wheeled his sloop about and sent her pell-mell at the harbour itself.

In the smoke and confusion of combat a miracle happened. The gunboats abandoned their prey and retreated inside the walls of the harbour, and when the tide returned Cerberus was duly refloated and was able to make off to safety.

But Kydd was not of a mind to communicate his motives to anyone . . .