The Baltic Prize

Chapter 48

‘Splendid work, my dear Kydd. More sherry?’

Saumarez was in the greatest good humour, spreading out Kydd’s report as though it told of a win at the races.

‘Mr Miske was at pains to point out that all will profit by the probity of each.’

‘Quite so, quite so. Well, I’ve had advice in the question of trading with the enemy. It seems that indeed this is so and only an extraordinary measure can overcome it.’

‘Sir?’

‘A special licence, to be granted by the Privy Council, which allows free passage, on application by interested parties whose character is known. Apparently this has been a practice for time out of mind.’

‘I see, sir.’

‘I’m sure you do, Sir Thomas. In one stroke two objects are achieved. Not only is the taint of treason removed – but now we have a means to prevent the enemy imitating us.’

‘Imitating?’

‘Certainly. If a vessel of a foreign flag is sighted by you, its papers are in the French style and it is bound for an enemy port, what will be your response?’

‘To take it as prize?’

‘As you should, as it is indistinguishable from an enemy. But in this instance it dares not carry British papers for fear of discovery and incrimination by an enemy privateer. It is safe from arrest from our cruisers, however, for it can furnish a licence which specifies that, irrespective of the documents it carries, the voyage is approved by His Majesty’s government.’

‘And if it cannot produce a licence, it is an enemy. Why then do they not forge these licences?’

‘Ah. Each licence granted is provided with a cypher they cannot know and is separately advised to our contraband cruisers.’

‘A masterly solution,’ Kydd said, with feeling. ‘And the false papers?’

Saumarez winced. ‘It were more seemly should you refer to them as “simulated papers”, if you please. These are no concern of ours but I’m led to understand that, if our pooled intelligence is conveyed to certain quarters, then these papers will be rapidly produced to order and for a slight fee.’

‘A capital success, sir.’

‘Due in no small measure to your own good self, Sir Thomas.’ There was a trace of embarrassment as he went on, ‘Which will be difficult to acknowledge to their lordships, this endeavour being of a nature not to be noticed.’

Kydd gave a wry smile: it wasn’t something he particularly wished associated with his name but he knew it to be just as much a contribution to the preserving of the vital Baltic trade as a hard-fought battle. ‘I understand, sir.’

Saumarez brightened. ‘It is in my gift, however, to show my appreciation to you in a more direct fashion, Sir Thomas, and I believe I shall in the most handsome manner.’

As Tyger shaped course around the Falsterbo reef and into the Sound her captain had every reason for satisfaction. The commander-in-chief had kept his word and now Kydd was working north with orders that released his ship from the daily round of blockade and seaward deterrence in the southern Baltic for quite another place. He was to bring to execution a project of importance, placed in command of a considerable force of men-o’-war that would invade and hold Bornholt, a strategic Danish island.

In effect he was to act as commodore, placed above all other captains, irrespective of seniority, for the period of the occupation. He knew it wasn’t a major assault, a heroic thrust against a fortress, carried out in the teeth of an army in the field. The island was no more than half a dozen miles across – although wicked reefs at either end made it three times the size. But its situation gave it menace.

Bornholt was almost perfectly situated in the very centre of the Kattegat, the wider passage between Sweden and Denmark above the Sound. The entire Baltic trade progressed down it, and since the Danes had turned on the British they had made it a deadly weapon: they had extinguished its lighthouse.

There was now no comforting beacon to give warning to foreign mariners of the reefs that stretched east and west of the island for miles, squarely across their path. In the last few months there had been wrecks a-plenty, even some warships catching the reef too late to escape its embrace. Since the ice had retreated, parties had been sent to restore the light but the Danes had seen to it that it remained dark, settling on the island permanently, establishing fortifications and mounting a garrison against any British attempt to return.

Even worse, Bornholt was now a favoured rendezvous of privateers, gathering in their numbers for the rich trade-route pickings. Unusually blessed with fresh water, the island couldn’t easily be put under siege. There would have to be a formal descent by a military force of size.

Saumarez had shared all the intelligence he had available and Kydd had the three days’ sail to Vinga Sands to plan his operation.

A garrison was housed in small fortifications at the eastern sharp end of the pear-shaped island, gathered about the lighthouse and well dug in. Amounting to some hundreds and including an unknown number of artillery pieces, the forces the Danish governor had at his disposal were more than adequate to defend against any simple boat landing. In addition, at less than a night’s sail from the mainland, he could readily call upon reinforcements.

The rest of the island was sparsely inhabited. Not much more than a five-mile-long flat sandy islet patchily covered with low scrub and marram grass, the only heights were lofty sand-hills to the western end and fringing dunes on the north and south shoreline of no more than twenty-five feet or so. The only landing place, and a few fisher cottages, was to the west of the island.

The chart was acceptable, scaled well and with all the usual soundings, current indications and hazards. Almost immediately Kydd saw his first major hurdle. The eastern lighthouse end had a hidden threat. Stretching away like a spear, as long again as the whole island, was a narrow but deadly reef. Off the sandy isle, it consisted of miles of a chain of undersea boulders and what the chart labelled ‘cobbles’, a fearful trap. And at the other end of Bornholt a sprawling reef covered the entire sea approaches to the landing for seven miles to seaward, shallow and treacherous. Only small craft could dare approach the landing pier. Anything as big as a frigate could only stand off helplessly out of range as the boats went in.

So how was the capture of Bornholt to be achieved?

There had to be a sufficiently strong force of Royal Marines landed, to assemble and consolidate with field guns, then advance on the fort standing before the lighthouse. This should be fairly straightforward – if the boats heading the miles inshore to the pier were suitably protected from gunboats, which could swarm in from nowhere, scornful of the shallows, able to pull into the wind without trouble and armed with boat-killing cannon. They would be coming out of the west, from Denmark, and Kydd knew they would take a lot of stopping.

But he had full powers from Saumarez to demand what he needed. And this would be a 64- or 74-gun ship-of-the-line that would station itself to westward and, with its overwhelming might, set the vermin to flight.

Kydd reasoned that he could secure the entire operation by positioning a frigate to both the north side and the south, with himself near the objective, the lighthouse, to give close-in gunfire support. One or two smaller sloops or brigs would be all that was needed to deal with attempts to infiltrate reserves or further support.

In view of their vulnerability he would need to go in with double the defender’s numbers, so perhaps a thousand marines gathered from the fleet, commanded ashore by a senior officer of rank, although not above a colonel or he would be outranked. He could give full rein to Bray to lead in the boats, which he would relish, retaining Bowden in Tyger for when he himself landed at the lighthouse to take possession.

Then he realised he’d committed the sin of forgetting the wind. If it came from the eastern quadrant, it was an easy enough downwind approach to the lighthouse and further vessels were free to choose their track either side and come to at the right place. If from the west, with the inconvenience of a reef, a descent from the east would mean tacking and tacking again into the teeth of the wind, and with every ship being an individual, there was no guarantee they could act together.

It seemed military planning on any scale was no easy matter – and he hadn’t even begun to look at the follow-up supply requirements to feed and provide ammunition for his new garrison, or what would happen if the Danes chose to make a stand, the weather turned against him, or an enemy relieving force arrived at an awkward time. Or the question of signals between sea and shore once landed, subsequent defence planning, the need for …

So much to consider. Should he have brought in others, asked opinions, delegated?

It was late evening before he had his full plan, but to counter every conceivable eventuality it now required two sail-of-the-line, one at each end on distant guard and three frigates, two on either side and himself on inshore support with one further sloop at the western end.

With a sigh he shuffled the papers and began a respectful demand for the listed military resources. This would go to the station admiral, which for the Kattegat was Admiral Keats and the Great Belt squadron. Kydd gave a tight smile: Keats of Superb was a famous fighter and seaman and would quickly see the need for what he was asking. He’d been a little frosty since Kydd’s return to sea, following his parading to the public, but Kydd had served under him during the Copenhagen bombardment and found the admiral dour but fair.