Invasion (12 page)

Kydd would never forget the ferocious scenes of combat that day—the British had been victorious, but the Dutch had fought like demons showing the old spirit that had seen them lay waste in the Medway the century before.

“They are even now at sea, proceeding down the coast towards Dunkirk, Ambleteuse—who knows? It seems to be an attempt to overwhelm us with numbers and I expect a stiff fight. There will be no help from Sir Sidney as he is heavily engaged, but he offers to break off and come to our aid if requested.” His demeanour gave little doubt as to the likelihood of this.

“Have we reports of the type of vessel we're likely to find, sir?” said Keane brightly.

“At least thirty, forty gun-vessels—anything from your
chaloupe canonnière
to a full-rigged
prame
to be expected, I believe. Your duty is the same in any case. Now, to business. The squadron will sail without delay with the goal of an intercept off the French coast at dawn—”

“We sail in darkness?” Dyer said, in a tone of disbelief. “The Goodwins are—”

“In these winds we cannot sail north or hazard the Gull passage, therefore we shall go south-about to make our offing. I would have thought it reasonable to stand in that direction for the lights of St. Margaret's Bay and thence haul your wind for France?” Savery said irritably.

Kydd's mind raced. If there were clear night waters rather than some eighty or so ships at anchor through which they must pass . . . If the few lights of Deal showing at three in the morning were as well loyally shining at the small hamlet in the great cliffs . . .

“I shall expect the squadron to make rendezvous to the nor'-east of Dunkirk in the morning,” Savery continued. “Come, come, gentlemen, there's not a moment to lose.” The other business was dispatched rapidly and Kydd returned to find his ship in a scurry of activity.

Teazer
slipped her anchor within the hour, the night breeze taking her at some speed through a world of dimly bobbing lights in the pitch darkness with the occasional bulking mass looming of an unlighted vessel.

It was vital not to put the helm over for the reach to seaward too early, for this would bring them to an unpleasant acquaintance with the deadly sands. If left too long, though, it would take more time to beat back up the French coast. And every seaman knew that the slower and more cautious the progress, the more sluggish would be the response at the helm.

Less than an hour passed but it seemed like a lifetime before Kydd felt able to make the move.
Teazer
heeled as she took the wind abeam and struck out into the Channel darkness. It would be entirely by dead-reckoning: a larboard tack for long enough to get them past mid-Channel then a stay about to starboard to put them to weather of the rendezvous when dawn broke.

Log-line, careful sail trim and much discussion of current sets and leeway at different points of sailing: seamanship of the first order was demanded. They were comfortably to seaward of Dunkirk when the first tentative shafts of light from the east promised a fine day to come.

One by one sail was sighted and by full day the squadron was in position:
Actaeon
with the sloops
Teazer,
Bruiser,
Falcon
and
Gallant,
with the gun-brigs
Locust,
Starling, Plumper
and others. It seemed a pitiful number to throw before such odds.

They stayed in deep water with the frigate. Then a cutter came racing downwind with “enemy in sight” fluttering urgently from her halliards in the morning breeze. From directly in the wind's eye a handful of low sails appeared out of the haze. More and more came into sight, then still more, until it seemed impossible there was room for others.

Kydd was conscious of what the chart had shown about the coast—endless hard sandbanks strung out to parallel the shore as if to ward off marauders, a fearsome threat to any trespasser. There was no point in beating towards. It would be better to let them come, then fall on them somewhere off Dunkirk. He raised his telescope and scanned the oncoming armada. Every kind of rig was there, luggers of all descriptions, brigs, even fully ship-rigged vessels, advancing inexorably in a vast swarm of sail.

Then he saw the invasion craft he had been told about: the long and low
péniche
under a single lugsail, the Swedish designed shallow-draught
crache feu
type that carried frigate-sized twenty-four-pounders on slides and the various
chaloupes canonnières,
which, while smaller than
Teazer,
were armed with guns of much larger calibre.

The transports were gathered in the centre, seemingly anything that swam, including many of the Dutch
schuyts
used in the rivers and shallows of the Netherlands and ideal for close inshore work.

He wondered what the soldiers packing their decks would think of the ships lying in wait for them. They would know them to be the same ships that had cleared the seas of every French battle-fleet sent against them, that had destroyed and captured their ships as they watched impotently from the beach. But now, seeing the crowds of French and Dutch vessels around them and so few English ones ahead, there could only be one answer: contempt, and the conviction that in the face of such numbers the English ships would just step aside.

There was no indication of faltering among the leaders of the armada. As
Teazer
neared, the throng seemed to take on an order of its own, the larger ships assuming seaward positions to shepherd along the lesser, which were sailing as close to the shore as they could.

Kydd swallowed. Now was the time to manoeuvre round and select where he would direct his charge into the enemy. At this angle of the wind it would have to be somewhere off Dunkirk—but would they simply slip away into the port and wait it out?

The first of the vessels was approaching the port entrance: if he did not make his lunge now it might be too late. Along the decks, long closed up for action, his ship's company looked gravely at him.

“Mr. Kydd, sir?” Dowse said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

“Um—yes?”

“Sir, it's my opinion th' tide's not going t' allow us in, without we know th' ground better.”

“The Frenchy thinks it safe enough.”

“Aye, sir,” the master said patiently. “He's in a mort deeper water—the Passe de l'Est as goes past th' entrance. A'tween us an' them will be y'r Banc du Snouw, Binnen Ratel, all shiftin' hardpack sand as at this tide-state is shoaling fast.”

Was this why the others in the squadron were still hove to, waiting?

The first enemy vessels reached the harbour's cramped entrance— and passed it. The wily Dutchman in command had known of the inshore passage and taken full advantage of the wind's direction being the same as the ebbing tide; in the protection of the offshore sandbanks he was making fast sailing towards his ultimate destination: Calais and Boulogne.

Now there was a chance: once past, they had to leave the protection of the sandbanks, which did not extend any further. And the little haven of Gravelines on the way was near useless on an ebbing tide, so somewhere off the low, endless sand dunes between Dunkirk and Calais, action must be joined.

The sun was high and warm to the skin when the time came. Careful bearings of the tall, four-square tower in the centre of the town told Kydd and the other members of the squadron when the armada was finally clear of the protecting shoals. First away was
Locust,
her red cockerel brazenly at the mainmast head, with
Bruiser
and
Falcon
close behind then
Teazer
joining the rush in an exhilarating charge straight into the heart of the enemy.

Kydd willed his mind to icy coolness.

The swarm resolved to individuals: the
schuyt
s or the
prame?
The first guns opened up but
Teazer
would hold her fire to make every shot count. The enemy sloops came round to meet them but, surprisingly, showed no inclination to close. Kydd looked back:
Actaeon
was astern—the biggest threat, she must be their target. He grinned savagely: All the better to allow
Teazer
to get among the flotilla.

Locust
disappeared in a haze of gunsmoke into the very centre and Kydd made up his mind. “We take the
schuyt
s and draw the big 'uns towards us. Lets the cutters and gun-brigs have a chance.”

Teazer
made for a gaggle of four ahead. White splashes kicked up around her. It was small-calibre: the bigger guns they carried must be on crude slides and could not bear on them. Then a vicious whip of bullets all around him showed that they were making up for it with musketry.

Kydd tested the wind once more—fair and brisk on the larboard beam. “Bring us astern o' the last,” he ordered calmly. The
schuyt
s maintained course, unsure of his intentions, and he was quickly able to reach his position. Swinging round before the wind he tucked in astern of the last, then surged forward to overtake the craft on its shoreward side.

“Fire!” he barked. The forward half of the starboard guns smashed into it. Screams and hoarse shouts came from beyond the choking mass of powder-smoke and then they were up with the second, and the after half of the guns opened up.

The next in line jibbed in fear at what was bearing down on it.
Teazer
's helm went over and she plunged between the opening gap to the seaward side and, with a furious spin of the wheel, straightened and passed the next
schuyt
. The same trick again—but this time it was the unused guns of the larboard side that did the execution, taking the next with the forward guns and the last of the four with the rest.

Beside Kydd, Purchet pounded his fist into his palm. Then, in the hellish noise, Hallum snatched at Kydd's sleeve and pointed. Looming out of the roiling smoke and appallingly close, a powerful
prame
as big as a frigate was lunging towards them.

As
Teazer
passed beyond the
schuyts,
the
prame
slewed about parallel to bring its full broadside of twenty-four-pounders to bear—at near point-blank range it would be slaughter, and with
Teazer
's guns not yet reloaded they could not fire back.

Kydd agonised as he waited for the eruption—his skin crawled as the moment hung—then suddenly he swung round to look in the other direction. As he suspected, a lumbering transport was to leeward; the
prame
dared not open up on
Teazer
while it was in the line of fire.

Light-headed with relief, Kydd tried to think of a way out. They couldn't stay with the transport for ever. It was hard to concentrate as a chaotic swirl of noise and smoke battered in on his senses but the matter was shortly taken out of his hands. With an avalanche of muffled thuds and a sudden rearing of gunsmoke on the other side of the
prame,
the ship-sloop
Falcon
had taken her chance to attack while its attention was on
Teazer
.

The
prame
wheeled about on its tormentor and
Teazer
pulled into the clouds of powder-smoke rolling downwind from the two. Suddenly, with a hideous splintering crash, they were careering along the side of a ship—timbers smashing to wreckage, sails snatched and torn away, ropes parting with a vicious twang in a long agony of collision.

They stopped, two ships locked together in a hideous tangle and, for a moment, a shocked quiet descended. “It's a Frenchy!” someone screamed, and broke the spell. Kydd fought to keep cool: this was an enemy and it was bigger than
Teazer
. “Teazers t' board!” he yelled. “T' me, the boarders!” He whipped out his precious fighting sword and leaped on to the enemy deck where
Teazer
's bulwarks had been beaten flat.

The French gun crews gaped at him, caught off-balance and dazed by the sudden turn of events. The first to recover was a dark-featured officer with a red sash who snarled in anger and rushed at him, swinging a massive sword. Kydd dropped to one knee with his own blade above his head. The weapons met in a clash, the shock numbing his arm, but his fine Toledo steel held and deflected the blow to one side.

He let the stroke spend itself and, with a dextrous twist, got inside it and thrust out savagely, taking the man in the lower body. With a howl of anguish he dropped his sword and clutched at the skewering blade, then crumpled, knocking Kydd sprawling and tearing it from his grasp.

The
Teazer
gun crews had snatched up rammers, tomahawks, anything to hand and were racing toward the unarmed Kydd. With an urgent thump on the deck, Renzi arrived first, taking position over Kydd with a boarding pike out-thrust, its lethal point questing for the first to dare an assault.