Inferno

Chapter 61

At sea, southern Baltic between Denmark and Pomerania

It was not long before Tyger and Lapwing sloop received orders for further duty.

Just weeks ago, the last piece of the old Swedish empire had fallen, the island of Rugen sheltering the medieval town of Stralsund in Pomerania. The Swedes had put up a desperate resistance but had now pulled out, leaving the large port in the hands of the French.

This was now a direct threat. Less than fifty miles from Denmark, Marshal Bernadotte with his vast army was in a position to menace the landing and Kydd’s duty was plain: to discourage any adventuring or, if necessary, to bring Keats’s squadron down on them.

Kydd studied his charts, which for once were recent and well produced, obviously of Swedish origin. The task would not be difficult: Stralsund was tucked away in the channel between the large island of Rugen and the mainland, well protected from the outside world. It was approached only by either of two entrances through shoals and wicked reefs, which, of course, meant that any ships leaving must necessarily emerge from them.

Kydd sent Lapwing to patrol the northern entrance while Tyger would take the south or, more accurately, the south-east, between the craggy tip of Rugen and the bleak marshes of Peenemunde. Given the seaways threading for those miles through shallows and mud-banks, there would be no fear of a night sailing so they could take their ease lying off during the hours of darkness.

Tyger took up her station and began patrolling under small sail along the five-fathom line, which curved across the six-mile entrance. Sailing around Rugen, there had been a prospect of cliffs and rumpled coastline with not a sign of humanity. No fortifications or vessels disputed their presence.

At dusk they put out to sea and settled for the night. After supper Dillon brought in the backgammon board while the faint strains of the practising foremast choir lay on the air as they set to. Kydd told Tysoe to open a promising brandy he’d been recommended and had the stern windows set ajar to allow in the gentle airs of the evening.

There were worse fates for a man, he had to acknowledge, and the time passed agreeably until he retired to his cot and fell asleep immediately.

‘Sir! Captain, sir!’

He levered himself up muzzily. ‘Yes?’

‘Sir, two o’ the clock and Mr Brice would be happy t’ see you on deck.’

The messenger held a lanthorn and waited. The time-honoured wording indicated that a situation was developing that the officer-of-the-watch felt was getting beyond his powers. Kydd came quickly to full alert – Brice was an experienced officer and would not have called him on deck without a good reason.

It was a pitch-black night and it was difficult to make out the little group about the helm in the dim light from the binnacle.

‘Mr Brice?’

‘Sir. A light was sighted and I conceived it my duty to investigate. Sir, it’s a boat and there’s one who desires most urgently to come aboard.’