They were in no hurry. As visibility was obscured they had shortened to topsails while, in this north-easter, they made an offing away from the reef-strewn northern coast of Jamaica.
When the showers lifted to a thinning sprinkle they were quite unprepared for the sight of a ship some distance away in the eye of the wind.
Kydd, called on deck, snatched the telescope from the officer-of-the-watch and trained it carefully. With all friendly merchant shipping at a standstill in port, this could be only one of three: a French frigate, one of their own patrolling frigates or an enemy privateer.
For reasons of size this was not a privateer and for a certainty no other British frigate had reason to trespass on their patrol line. It had to be the enemy.
His heart beat faster. This was how it always began, out of the blue on a quiet day, a sudden sighting, a swift confrontation, then danger and death.
‘We’re to join action shortly, I believe, Mr Gilbey. Men to quarters as soon as you may, if you please.’
The next few minutes would be revealing. Would their opponent fight or fly? L’Aurore was as close to the wind as she could lie – being directly upwind the situation depended greatly on whether the other decided to turn and bear down on them, in which case they could look to broadsides within no more than an hour, the enemy being in the position of choosing their course of attack. If that happened, there would be no reason to loose courses, the larger driving sails, for almost always combat took place under topsails. For now, they would keep them set as they were.
Then another curtain of misty rain spread across, and when it thinned and cleared they had their answer.
And it was a puzzler. The ship was now considerably to the right of where it had been, under full sail, its course directly for the land.
Kydd raised the telescope. Broadside on, every detail of the other became plain – and he had his explanation. This was no warship: it was a merchantman – a large one and making to flee inshore as fast as it could. A Frenchman desperate to break out to the Atlantic with a cargo of colonial sugar, so much needed in the motherland.
He rubbed his hands in glee as he announced the news to cheers from the quarterdeck.
‘You may stand down the hands, Mr Gilbey.’ This was now merely a chase.
It was odd that the vessel had not tried to lose itself in the open expanse of the Cuba Passage but, then, it probably reasoned that it didn’t stand a chance against a predatory frigate and was heading instinctively for the nearest land, hoping to shake them off in the shallows.
This was probably the better decision, for L’Aurore at that time was stretching out on the starboard tack. To close with their prey, not only had they to put about on the other tack, but as well set their big courses abroad on all masts first.
The ship made the coast and had just disappeared on the far side of Pedro Point by the time they had started closing with it, some hours behind. Impatiently, Kydd waited for the rocky bluffs to pass, opening up the long north coast of Jamaica – and their quarry. But it was nowhere to be seen.
Frustratingly, the twisting coastline was deeply indented, beaches and coves endlessly stretching into the distance. This was what the wily captain was counting on – with local knowledge, a hideaway in one, such that his pursuer would be delayed, looking into them all.
Then Kydd realised he had a trump card. ‘Mr Buckle!’ he hailed down the deck forward.
The young man hurried back from his station at the fore-mast. ‘Sir?’
‘Should you be fleeing a hunter, where would you head?’
‘A’tween us and Montego Bay, why, there’s only two places will take a full-rigged ship. Tom Piper’s Bay the larger, Mosquito Cove the smaller. And my money’s on the last.’
When the frigate opened up the first bay they saw right into its mile or more depth but with no result. They sailed onwards, on Buckle’s advice ignoring the many smaller ones until they came up with Mosquito Cove. It was narrower but just as deep and they could see into it completely – but when they looked, right to the end, there was nothing.
As they prepared to get under way again there was murmuring about the deck and Buckle looked crestfallen, but then he brightened. ‘I remember there’s a small watering place inside past the narrows on the left. If he’s there and warps close in we won’t be able to see him from seaward. Sir – he’s in there!’
It had to be – to go to ground so promptly when there was nowhere else.
Kydd thought quickly. If it was to be a cutting out it could be tricky in the narrow shallows, and if there was a better way …
‘Launch and cutter in the water, both with carronades. Lively, now!’
While they were being hoisted out he had a quiet word with the boats’ crews, who quickly caught on. When L’Aurore shook out sail, the two boats pulled strongly for their positions – out of sight, one either side of the entrance.
Any interested observer would notice that, after a while, L’Aurore had tired of the pursuit of her vanished prey and had put about, returning down the coast whence she’d come.
Two hours after the frigate had disappeared there was movement – and through the narrow entrance emerged a wary merchantman under full sail. Like a bolt slamming shut, the two boats tugged hard on their oars, coming to a stop in the middle of the entrance before slewing around – to face out, each with a loaded carronade and effectively barring the way back.
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. Etoile 32, Captain Sieyes 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.