6-Tenacious

by Julian Stockwin

  The flagship’s quarterdeck was tense and silent. Ahead was the enemy coast, the narrow entrance of Fornells Bay dominated by a fortress with a huge Spanish flag flying defiantly. A single massive peak was visible inland, with a monastery or some such squarely on the summit.

  Duckworth stood with General Stuart, their expressions grim. A gun from the fortress thudded defiance, the sound and gunsmoke telling of a great thirty-six-pounder or more.

  The signal lieutenant of Leviathan clattered down from the poop and saluted. ‘Sir! We have signals established from shore.’

  ‘Thank God,’ said Stuart. ‘What do they say? Quickly, man!’

  ‘Er, at the moment, only that they have correctly authenticated.’

  ‘Then tell me when you receive anything useful.’

  The lieutenant returned to his post but was back just as quickly. ‘Sir, signal received: “enemy troops concentrated at Fornells”.’

  ‘Can we trust this?’ demanded Stuart. ‘It would mean postponing the assault, and that I’m not prepared to do—’

  ‘Another signal, sir: “negative”, and “troops concentrated at Addaya.”.’

  ‘No formations at Addaya? That will do. How far to Addaya from here, Commodore?’

  ‘But four miles. Say, an hour’s sail.’

  ‘We land at Addaya as provided for.’

  It was hard for Kydd, watching a battle unfold yet having such a restricted role of activity.

  ‘They take no notice!’ wailed Isabella. It was true: far from moving away from Fornells the two bigger ships moved closer, followed by others.

  Kydd’s heart sank. Then, in the flat image of his telescope, he saw activity at the rear of the fleet. Ships were hauling their wind to the other tack, moving back out to sea.

  Inland he saw a line of dust arising. He focused on it: it was a column of soldiers marching fast on the road to Fornells. ‘Bella, quick – th’ apron and that small curtain!’ It would read, ‘reinforcements marching on Fornells’.

  He took up his glass – and his heart leaped: they had not misread his signals. the ships at the rear were the transports, the soldiers, and they were heading to Addaya while the warships in the van made a feint against Fornells to draw forces there.

  It was all unfolding to those who had eyes to see it: some ships advanced on the fortress, others disappeared into the haze to reappear suddenly off the rock-strewn entrance to Addaya. Boats hit the water and through his glass Kydd saw them pass between two low islands and head for the shore. One or two scattered guns opened fire but two frigates were in position and, over the heads of the boats, thundered in their broadsides. There was no further firing.

  Kydd pounded his fist with glee and swung his telescope back to Fornells. There was chaos in the town – no doubt news had reached them of the landings in Addaya. It gave him a piquant thrill to think that while the signal station above them was frantically passing the dread news, his own signals beneath were having their contrary effect.

  What was more significant were the soldiers now pouring out of the fort and flooding down the road. Where were they going? Were they reinforcements for Addaya? Whatever, this called for a ‘negative’ and ‘heading for Fornells’ and Kydd briskly plied his red shirt, the bodice again and a woman’s shift.

  When this had been completed he turned his attention back to Addaya. The experienced Highlanders had stormed ashore and he could catch the glint of their bayonets as they spread out in the brush. They were not meeting much resistance and Kydd saw why: the rough road away was streaming with soldiers in disorder – they were falling back, not prepared to be cut off in a heroic last stand. That would be a definite ‘negative’, ‘troops at Addaya’, then.

  Now the road from Fornells was streaming with men moving away – no question that these were reinforcements for Addaya: this was a ‘negative’, then ‘troops at Fornells’, and suddenly Kydd realised his job was done.

  ‘Sir – they’re abandoning Fornells.’

  ‘Or reinforcing Addaya.’ Stuart was not to be stampeded. The landings at Addaya appeared to be well in hand – Duckworth had a repeating frigate relaying news from there – but there was every reason to expect the Spanish to throw everything into a savage counter-attack.

  The signal lieutenant reported once more: ‘Sir, they’re on the retreat from Addaya.’ Stuart harrumphed and stalked up and down, but there was no mistaking his look of triumph.

  Commodore Duckworth, however, was not so easily satisfied. He left the general, moved to the lee side of the quarterdeck and called the signal lieutenant to him. ‘This is damned irregular, sir! I have not seen you refer once to your signal book and all the time you’re advisin’ the general of the conduct of the war. Where is this shore station you say is passin’ the signals?’

  ‘Er, I think Mr Midshipman Bowden can answer to your satisfaction, sir.’

  Bowden touched his hat respectfully and explained: ‘Mr Kydd found it impractical to rig a mast and halliards ashore, sir, but conceived of a private code. If you’d take the telescope and spy out the top of Mount Toro – yes, sir, more to the top of the outside wall at the end – there you’ll see his last hoist.’

  ‘I see a Spanish signal mast, none else.’

  ‘If you’d look a little lower, you’ll find hanging out the three-flag hoist, “negative”, “at Addaya”.’

  ‘I see nothing of the sort! Only…’

  ‘Yes, sir. A red Minorquin shawl, a black bodice and a blue pair of men’s pantaloons.’

  ‘Explain, damn you, sir!’

  ‘Mr Kydd reasoned that everything the general had to know could be sent by two significations, the first, location, being one of Fornells, Addaya or Mercadal, the other to be the military event, being one of marching towards, or massing at, the location. It requires then only a “negative” prefix to reverse the meaning and the code is complete.’

  ‘And the flags?’

  ‘We could not use our flags. It would have alerted the Spanish. And, as you can see, sir, the distance is too great to make out detail. Therefore he used colours: in this way he could make use of anything, as long as the colour could be distinguished. Red for “negative”, white for “marching towards”, blue for “Addaya”.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I see. Most ingenious. Hmm – I look forward to making further acquaintance of Lieutenant Kydd.’

  From his eyrie Kydd watched marines make their way ashore in Fornells; they would take possession of the forts and the English would be established irrevocably ashore. It was certain to be victory – and he had played a central part in it. With a welling of contentment he raised the spyglass again to watch the consolidation at Addaya.

  ‘We must go,’ Isabella said, distracted.

  Kydd could not tear himself from his grand view, and the thought of another night in a dank cave was not appealing. He remembered that the next planned move was a march on Mercadal close by. If the English forces had reached so far already then it was more than probable they would reach the town and Monte Toro the next day.

  He would sit it out where he was. ‘Isabella – if y’ understands – I’d like t’ see how it ends. Can y’ ask José if I could stay here tonight?’

  She left in tears of emotion and Kydd resumed his vigil at his spyglass. More men landed at Fornells; with a tug of pride, Kydd saw seamen rig lines ashore to land artillery pieces. Once there, they passed drag-lines and began man-hauling the guns along the roads inland. The end could not possibly be in doubt.

  ‘Brindemos por la victoria!’ José’s affable toast came as he handed Kydd a glass of Xoriguer.

  ‘Thank ye – whatever y’ said! Must say, sir, this is a rare drop. Y’ good self, Mr José!’

  ‘Who the devil—?’ stuttered Colonel Paget, in command of the approaching troops. Kydd was wearing his begrimed uniform recovered from the cave, without cocked hat and sword.

  ‘L’tenant Kydd, HMS Tenacious, y’r duty, sir. I make apology f’r my appearance.’

  ‘As
you should, sir,’ the colonel replied, eyeing Kydd askance. ‘And may I know why you are not on your ship?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The Spanish fleet at sea and not you? Hey? Hey?’

  ‘Sir, I’ve spent several days behind th’ Spanish lines an’ have not had news. I’d be obliged if you’d confide th’ progress of the landing.’

  ‘I see. Well, sir, be assured we’re rolling up their rearguard in fine style and have this hour taken Mercadal. The Spanish are retiring on Ciudadela – General Stuart is in pursuit but has required me to take a fast column to lay against Port Mahon. I am at this moment at the business of forming it up.’

  ‘The Spanish fleet, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Paget said testily. ‘It seems they were sighted falling on us from the west and the commodore took all his ships to sea to meet ’em. There’s none still here, Mr Kydd.’

  Kydd ground his teeth and cursed his luck. That morning while he had been cautiously making contact with the advancing soldiers Tenacious was now possibly in a climactic battle that would decide the fate of Minorca. If this was the Cartagena fleet they were in serious trouble.

  ‘Sir, what ships were sighted?’ Kydd asked urgently.

  ‘Dammit – five, six big ones, I don’t remember,’ the colonel said, clearly tiring of the exchange.

  For Kydd it was mortifying news – and left him stranded with no way to rejoin his ship. But he could not stand idly by while others went on to face the enemy. ‘Sir, I do offer m’ services to ye. Mahon has a dockyard an’ big harbour and it would be very strange if there weren’t any ships there. I could help ye secure ’em as prizes.’

  Paget raised his eyebrows. ‘And, no doubt, put yourself in the way of some prize-money.’ Kydd bristled but Paget went on genially, ‘But you’re in the right of it, sir – I’ll need someone who knows the ropes to make sure the dons don’t set the dockyard afire or any other foolishness. Right, sir. Your offer is handsomely accepted. Do ask the quartermaster for something a little more fitting for an officer, if you catch my meaning. We move off at dawn.’

  In a startling mix of buff army breeches, a navy lieutenant’s coat and an infantry cocked hat, Kydd went out to meet the seamen just arriving after man-hauling the guns overland. The pieces would soon be finding employment in laying siege to the walled town of Ciudadela.

  ‘Good Lord above! Of what species of warrior are you, sir?’ said the young naval lieutenant in charge of them.

  ‘Why, in th’ uniform t’ be expected of the officer-in-charge o’ the naval detachment in the assault on Port Mahon,’ Kydd said loftily.

  ‘Naval detachment?’ the man said, puzzled.

  ‘Yes. I mean t’ press half a hundred of y’r men, if y’ please.’ A quick glance told him that at fifty men each on the dozen or so guns there were more than five hundred in all, probably contributed evenly by each ship in the squadron including his own: they could spare a tenth of their number.

  ‘Press my men!’ the lieutenant stared in amazement and began to laugh. At Kydd’s glare his mirth tailed away.

  ‘We must secure th’ dockyard, board all ships in harbour and attend t’ any prisoners,’ Kydd said, in a hard voice. ‘I don’t think fifty men overmuch f’r the task, d’ you?’

  He looked past the officer at the weary men coiling down the drag-lines, pulling off encamping kit and flexing tired muscles. He strode over to them, leaving the lieutenant to hurry along behind. ‘I say, this is out of order, sir! You may not—’

  ‘If I have t’ ask th’ colonel he’ll make it a hundred,’ Kydd snapped, without looking back. He had spotted Dobbie from Tenacious.

  The stocky seaman’s face creased with pleasure as Kydd went up to him. ‘Sir! Never thought ter see yez again, goin’ ashore with them dagoes.’

  ‘Dobbie – I want fifty good men f’r particular service in Mahon. Seamen I must have, knows the difference between a buntline and a bobstay an’ can be relied on in a fight.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  ‘Have ’em mustered here for me in an hour.’

  There was one further matter he had to attend to. There was every prospect of his meeting the enemy on the morrow and the quartermaster had offered him the loan of a heavy sabre or a token small-sword, but neither appealed. He went to an arms chest on the limber of one gun and helped himself to a cutlass; this would be of use only in close quarters fighting, but a defensive action was all that he expected for the seamen. It was not the fine sword he had now grown used to, but the heft and balance of the plain black weapon was familiar and pleasing, and he slipped the scabbard into its frog, settling it comfortably on his belt.

  Later that night, after he had seen to his men, Kydd dined with the officers in their mess-tent. It was both strange and comforting. The singular appearance of the red check tartan of a regiment of Highlanders, with their arcane mess rituals and free-flowing whisky, was another world to the ordered uniformity of a naval wardroom. But the loyal toast was sturdily proposed and the same warmth of brotherhood reached out to Kydd. ‘Give ye joy of y’r victory, sir,’ Kydd acknowledged to the army captain sitting to his side.

  The officer raised an eyebrow. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Why, yes! I know nothing of y’r military affairs but t’ land and take a town seems t’ me to be a fine thing for such numbers.’

  The captain examined his whisky, holding it to the light so the glass twinkled prettily. ‘It was fine done the landing, I’ll grant – but the general must have had inside intelligence to change the place of landing at such notice. Quite took the dons on the hop.’

  Kydd glowed, but now was not the time to claim recognition.

  ‘But then I don’t envy Quesada – an impossible task, I’d say.’

  ‘Quesada?’

  ‘Their commander. One can feel pity for the man. His soldiery has rotted from too much garrison duty and they’re near useless. And reinforcements? All he got before you fellows cleared the seas of ’em was a couple of battalions of Swiss.’

  ‘The Swiss?’ Kydd was hazily aware of the tangled complexity of allegiances in Europe but had not heard they were at war with Switzerland.

  ‘Yes, German-Swiss mercenaries. Austrians took ’em prisoner, then sold them to the Spanish for two thaler a head. Not my idea of a bargain. When we landed at Addaya they were opposing us. Then your frigate let fly a broadside or two and in twenty minutes they broke and ran.’

  ‘Still runnin’?’ Kydd chuckled.

  ‘In fact, no. We took a hundred deserters and told ’em that if they could bring in their friends we’d see them right in the matter of employment. Gen’l Stuart is thinking of forming up a foreign corps of some sort, and now we have the lot – a thousand and more.’

  Kydd agreed. With rabble like that Quesada could do nothing to stop the English. Then he remembered, with sudden apprehension: ‘Did ye see the Spanish fleet at all? If we’re beat at sea…’

  ‘The fleet? I’m not sure about that. I did catch a sight of the Spanish, but they weren’t your big fellows, only one line of guns.’ Frigates, realised Kydd, with jubilation.

  ‘And last I saw of ’em was the gallant commodore haring off over the horizon, tally-ho, after them with all flags flying.’

  Kydd grinned. ‘So we c’n sleep tight tonight but y’r Gen’ral Quesada has a mort t’ reflect on.’

  ‘He has. Without command of the sea of any kind he can’t get supplies or reinforcements, nothing. And he’ll never get the Minorcans to fight for him.’

  ‘So ye’d say we’ve won?’ Kydd said cautiously.

  ‘By no means. Quesada is off with the bulk of his troops to Ciudadela – their major town with city walls and fortifications. A siege will be a tedious thing with no certainty at the end of it. And tomorrow we march on Mahon, which is even more heavily fortified. While we hold the country, Quesada will hold the towns – and we can’t wait for ever.’

  It was another kind of war but in the warmth of the evening’s cordiality it seem
ed far removed. Yet here he was, enjoying the regiment’s hospitality not only in the middle of enemy country but presumably on a battlefield with enemy soldiers perhaps creeping through the night.

  ‘What’s out there? I mean, what’s to stop th’ Spanish coming suddenly while we’re enjoyin’ our supper?’ Kydd did not mean it to come out so nervously but he preferred the direct ship-to-ship fighting at sea where the foe was visible rather than the uncertainties of land.

  ‘Well, armies don’t fight at night as a rule,’ the officer said, with only the glimmer of a smile. ‘But if the Spanish see fit to counter-attack in the dark – presuming they have precise knowledge of our position – then first they must find a way to get past our vedettes and outer pickets before our sentinels can take alarm, but even then you may sleep soundly, I believe.’

  The brass baying of trumpets woke Kydd. Before he had struggled into his clothes the stillness was rent by hoarse cries of sergeants and shouts of command from impatient officers as the camp came to life. First light appeared as the soldiers bolted down their breakfast and prepared for the march, buckling on equipment and loosening limbs.

  The damp smoke of breakfast fires still hung about in the greyness of the pre-dawn as Kydd drew up his men to address them. ‘I’m L’tenant Kydd, and this is th’ Port Mahon naval detachment. You’re not going t’ pull the guns any more – but you are going t’ march. This is what th’ lobsterbacks call a “flying column”, which is to say we’re going to move fast. We’re heading f’r Port Mahon, an’ there we’ll find a harbour and dockyard fit f’r the whole o’ Nelson’s fleet. But only if we take it from them – there could be quite a deal o’ fighting before we’re done, but I’ve got no doubts about that with English hearts of oak by m’ side.’

  His hand dropped unconsciously to his cutlass hilt as he continued, ‘We’re not here t’ do the assault. That’ll be the lobsterbacks’ job, an’ they’re good at it. What we’ll be doing is t’ wait until they’ve got a breach and marched into the town. Then we’ll follow and go to the harbour an’ set about any shipping we find – not forgettin’ the dockyard, that the Spanish don’t start fire-raisin’ there.’