Chapter 37
La Vina
Renzi pondered. Morla had spurned the British offer of assistance. It was to be expected, for with a state of war still existing it would have to be an exceptional circumstance that could bring the proud Spaniards to accept. Their reduction of the French squadron would change things, certainly, but could they do it? Against three, four hundred pieces of artillery in the ships, three or four thousand men aboard them – these were fierce odds.
And time was against them. Who knew when the French would reach Cadiz? Unless they moved fast it would be too late to achieve their victory and claim British aid. Just like Madrid, the old city would fall into Bonaparte’s hands and he would then have the finest harbour in Atlantic Iberia to mass his battleships to burst forth on the over-stretched British.
A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts and the maid entered, bobbing and proffering a jar of English marmalade. Taken aback Renzi accepted it, then looked it over with suspicion. To his great surprise, he recognised the unbroken seal.
It was incomprehensible that Kydd should think he needed such a gift at this time. He broke the seal, and under the lid was a folded piece of paper.
The message brought the worst conceivable news. There was going to be a move by the Inshore Squadron on the French ships in an attempt to neutralise them before the French troops reached Cadiz, to be led by Kydd himself.
Renzi screwed up the paper in despair and hurried to the door, heart pounding. It was a beautiful evening, but one imperative blotted out all else: Kydd must not be allowed to go through with it.
Apart from the hideous danger, such an act would comprehensively put paid to any chance of bringing the Spanish over. He had to get to him to stop the assault, whatever it took.
Couples stared at him curiously as he ran down to the beach. Where was the vegetable-seller? Not seeing him, he asked one of the idle boatmen, who said, as if to an idiot, ‘They’re all gone home, as any Christian gent does after they’ve sold up their fresh stock.’
Indeed no boats were plying out to the fleet, now darkening shadows against the sunset.
Catastrophe lay only small hours away – unless he could get credible word out to Kydd that would have him suspending a complex operation in its last stages before execution. He tried to think of something but, there being no communication with an ‘enemy’ fleet, there could be no pleading in the little time left. He must just watch helplessly as the drama played out to its end.
It was only as he reached the Los Carros alley that cold logic intervened. There was a way to prevent it happening – a sure and certain way.
He stopped and thought about it, but only for a moment. The stakes were too high.
Turning on his heel, he started to walk, quickly and purposefully.
Chapter 38
Darkness lay in every direction in the moonless night as the flotilla set off from their assembly point to seaward of the Inshore Squadron. Sail was shaken out in the light breeze – cutters and launches, barges and yawls all towing low rafts loaded with combustibles and men ready for the worst that the enemy could do.
The lights of the old town area were a fine seamark and, with the distant twinkle from Rota several miles on the other side of the bay, there was no mistaking their position. Almost invisible in the gloom they passed the outer San Sebastian fort without incident and shaped course for the next danger: the waters between Trocadero and the Cadiz peninsula, guarded by the Puntales and Matagorda fortresses.
Once past them, they were in the inner harbour and could make directly for their objective.
The blackness of the night was almost absolute, and it was difficult even to make out the nearer craft. They were maintaining fair speed, so transit between the two fortresses should be rapid; the half-mile or so in twenty minutes.
They were coming up to the narrowing, only just visible as a deeper blackness. If they could-
Then to larboard the unthinkable happened. A signal rocket soared skyward, exploding with a thud and spray of twinkling stars, followed almost immediately on the other side by another.
Suspended against the walls of both forts flares burst into flame, casting a deadly illumination over the scene, reflected in the calm night seas and bathing them in an unearthly light.
Then cannon opened up, heavy and concussive, gun-flash leaping from the casemates of the fortresses, sending shot slamming past in giant plumes all around them.
Ahead Kydd saw a line of fighting lanthorns. Gunboats.
With a sickening realisation he knew they’d been betrayed. Signal rockets had gone off as if waiting for a sign; the fortress guns had been loaded and primed; and the gunboats were already in the water, deployed in the right position. Hardly able to speak he gave the order to turn back, to give up. If ever he laid hands on the traitor he would choke the life out of him with his bare hands.
Chapter 39
From the shore Renzi had watched it all with a heavy expression. He knew what would be in his friend’s thoughts and he was wrung with remorse. How could he look him in the face when next they met? And there was still the possibility that Morla would fail and the ships would fall to the French, their only chance to deal with them snatched away.
His explanation to Morla for his betrayal of his countrymen had been only half believed: that it was to prevent useless bloodshed, given that he knew Morla was man enough for the job but the British didn’t, and there wasn’t time to do other than warn of the attempt. Renzi wouldn’t be pressed as to how he had come by this information.
He was now a ‘guest’ at the Spanish headquarters, watched all the time but free to follow Morla as he went about readying for the attack. He knew why. Confident of victory, the general wanted witnesses and, above all, someone who could take him to the English admiral afterwards to speak of his valour when he made his demands.
The general was energetic, imaginative and unforgiving. The royal governor’s residence was now his headquarters and a constant stream of military men hastened in and out. Horsed messengers, crashing to a stop outside, wasted no time in reporting to him.
The inner harbour, it seemed, was nothing much more than a depression in a marshy expanse of shallow islands, the naval base at its furthest interior. The French admiral had moored his ships not far from this, deliberately distant from the defending batteries and forts.
In the short term there was only one way to proceed.
The next day, without ceremony, the Cadiz junta showed its teeth. Across the bay a division of gunboats and mortar chaloupes set out in a broad phalanx, heading directly for the moored battleships. The French opened fire immediately, the light winds doing little to clear the mountainous roils of gun-smoke from the hundreds of guns at their command.
In a forest of splashes the courageous gunboats did their best, their single heavy guns thudding out as they closed to bring down the range but at the same time making themselves a bolder target. Within hours, pitiful floating wreckage marked the end of ten, then fifteen craft, with no visible effect on the French.
By nightfall it was clear that it was a hopeless cause and Morla called them off.
Renzi could see no way forward. The marshy shallows that the early defenders of Cadiz had taken advantage of to safeguard the naval base were working against Morla.
No ship of size could venture there, unless along the single deep channel that was now occupied by the French ships. More significant, the same treacherous tidal mud flats made any offensive by enemy artillery inconceivable. With no roads or tracks firm enough to support wheeled guns the area was safe from hostile operations. Morla was prevented from bringing up guns of anything like the same weight of metal as the French ships carried.
That night the crowds came out again, restless and dangerous. They knew they’d shown their hand and taken up arms against the French, who would now have every reason to exact swift and terrible vengeance. Only if General Morla could snatch a victory would they be in a position to make any kind of demands when it came to treating for terms.