The vertical racks there were filled with mess kit as individual as the men who owned it. Crockery, small japanned boxes of herbs and, at the top corners, carved pieces and dainty pictures set about with miniature ropework. Their ditty-bags hung along with them, canvas with an opening near the top, each lovingly embroidered by its owner.
The seamen were showing that they had made L’Aurore their home. It meant therefore that when they went to battle this, too, was what they were defending. He could have fussed at searching out faults – and he knew where to look – but he was satisfied.
‘Well done, Mr Howlett,’ he pronounced. ‘We’ll rig for church, I believe.’
He affected not to notice the discreet sign given and, seconds later, a drum volleyed and rattled above. The men tumbled down the hatchways, seizing benches and stools in disciplined silence, and by the time Kydd had made the upper deck the bell in its belfry forward had begun its tolling for church.
On the colourfully beflagged quarterdeck a lectern awaited him, and above him the church pennant snapped in the wind for all to see – not that they risked being disturbed in their devotions by friendly vessels this close to the enemy but regulations must be observed.
He paused, looking out over his men. They seemed so many, both watches on deck sitting on their improvised pews, others standing by the rigging, and behind him, the officers on gunroom chairs, all in an expectant hush.
In the absence of a chaplain he could choose to speak himself or, more usually, make use of the bracing strictures of the Articles of War. Today, feeling closer to his ship’s company, he preferred something more personal, uplifting and resonant with the services now being conducted in ancient churches all over England.
He took the Bible from his clerk and opened it at Psalm the Third.
‘Lord, how are they increased that trouble me! Many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, “There is no help for him in God.” But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory and the lifter up of mine head . . .’
Raising his eyes when the ancient words were done, in strong, robust tones he told the L’Aurores that they must do their duty and trust that God would uphold them and give them the victory.
Then he told them sincerely of his satisfaction at the state of the ship and stepped back. ‘Shall we raise our voices? “O for a thousand tongues to sing . . .”’
The words came lusty and strong, and to Kydd was pleasing confirmation of the harmony that now prevailed in L’Aurore. He joined in happily.
Then it was, ‘Down all stools!’ followed by the welcome ‘Up spirits!’ and the sanctity of the occasion dissolved into rest-day jollity.
Kydd accepted the traditional captain’s invitation to a gunroom dinner and went below to join his officers.
March was turning into April; the weather improved but there was no let-up in the watch and ward over Napoleon’s invasion fleet. L’Aurore retired with Nelson’s squadron to the southern rendezvous of Pula Bay to water and replenish. While there, she took her turn with the entertainments.
For weeks beforehand L’Aurore had been abuzz with expectation and planning for the big day aboard Victory when they must perform before the glittering assembly of the commander-in-chief and visiting captains. Doud was tasked for several spots, and a shy, sensitive marine who turned out to be a natural flute-player was discovered. One of the older fo’c’slemen was persuaded to accompany on his violin a pair of startlingly agile topmen in their hornpipe, while Kydd himself was remembered as a fine voice: he would render ‘Spanish Ladies’ and sing in a duet with Curzon.
On the night it was a great success and the musical numbers were enthusiastically applauded, but what had the company in a roar was the theatricals that followed: a rousing interpretation in costume of the Frenchmen meeting the ‘Russians’ on the tekne, with hilarious gobbledegook and misunderstandings deployed to best effect and a grand climax with an extravagantly spoken ‘Renzi’ triumphantly carrying off an enormous treasure box.
Kydd returned to his ship enfolded in the warmth of the evening, reflecting that it would be difficult to recall a time of greater contentment. When the morning came, with a warm sun climbing to a blue heaven, the feeling remained.
Then at ten everything changed. Around the point a frigate under full sail burst into sight. It was Phoebe and she had a signal flying: ‘Enemy fleet at sea’. Villeneuve had sailed.
Within an hour the flagship had summoned all captains and Kydd found himself sitting with other grim-faced officers at the commander-in-chief’s table hearing the news.
‘Villeneuve sailed with a fine nor’-easterly on the thirtieth last,’ Nelson said brusquely. ‘Eleven sail-of-the-line, seven frigates and several sloops. It’s reported he’s embarked some three thousand troops – for what purpose we cannot know. His last course was sou’-sou’-westerly but Villeneuve’s invariable practice is to stand out to sea until he loses our frigates and only then bears away on his true heading. I pray Active will stay with them, but with these moonless nights I’m not sanguine she will.’
Murmuring around the table showed the implication was not lost on them. Was this going to be a repetition of the breakout several months before when they had chased rumours and suppositions to the ends of the Mediterranean?
‘I think it right you should understand the elements of the decision I now face.’ He stood and moved to the chart. ‘The enemy is loose in the Mediterranean with a substantial body of soldiers. So where are they going? To the west – to join with the Dons in Cartagena? If this is so, why the troops? The same applies to a general exit past Gibraltar, for in joining with the Spanish at Cadiz or the French at Brest why the soldiers? A singular number, inconsequential for an invasion force and not needed in a conjunction with the other squadrons.’
He gazed at the chart for long moments. ‘To the east? Possibly. Egypt still remains as it always has been, a highway to India, as does Syria, and we can rely on neither the Turks nor the Russians. Our entire interests including Malta therefore lie helpless before a battle-fleet of such force.’
The lines deepened in his face. ‘And once a landing is achieved neither Satan nor all his demons will serve to remove them.’
‘Sir – the Morea?’
‘Thank you, Captain Keats, and your point is well taken. Should the Morea or any of the Ionians be taken we shall be hard put to defend our trade both in the Adriatic and further south. As to a motion towards Constantinople I feel it unlikely but not impossible.’
Kydd felt the tension: there could be no commander in history faced with such a decision and his heart went out to the stooped figure.
‘I conceive there to be one object open to Villeneuve that is consistent with the facts to hand. The gesture east is a feint.’
‘Gibraltar and the Channel!’
The final move to link up the enemy fleets – it was happening . . . or was it?
‘I think not. I believe it to be an attempt to draw my squadron the thousand miles to Egypt – so leaving Naples and Sicily unguarded.’
‘If Sicily is taken, it will cut the Mediterranean in two!’
‘Quite.’
‘And Naples lost – with no other friend in these parts we’ll have to give up Malta!’
‘The mischief is incalculable. Therefore my dispositions are this: the fleet will deploy in the central Mediterranean between Sardinia and Tunis, which will cover the route eastwards yet be available if they be sighted to the west. My precious frigates—’ his twisted smile was at Kydd ‘—will cover the inshore runs to the north of Africa and the south of Sardinia, the final remaining to look into the eastern passage by Italy.’
The decision made, Nelson’s features eased. ‘But, gentlemen, I do account this the greatest news this age. After two years the French are finally out. In a short while I shall have the ineffable happiness of meeting Monsieur Villeneuve on the open sea where we shall put an end to this nonsense.’
Growls of agreement rose pug
naciously about the table.
‘So. Will history later celebrate the battle of Santo Pietro – or is it to be the famous battle of Minorca?’
Chapter 9
‘So kind in you, old chap,’ Colonel Crawford said, easing into the plush leather chair, one of a pair discreetly off to the side in the reception room at Boodles.
‘How are you, Charles?’ Captain Boyd took the other, his expression of concern sincere. His wife’s brother had just returned from India for his health.
‘As to be expected,’ Crawford said. ‘I’m to thank you for seeing me with such alacrity, Edward.’
‘Not at all. Er, how may I be of help? Anything I can do, old fellow . . .’
The colonel gave a tight smile. ‘I’m new come to England, as you know, and I confess myself aghast at what I’m hearing of our friend Boney. Is it at all as dire a situation as it’s painted to be or . . . ?’
‘Pick up a newspaper, old fellow, it’s all there in as much detail as you’d like,’ Boyd said, nodding politely to the club waiter who had brought the sherry.
‘Come, come, Edward, that won’t do – it won’t do at all! You’ll grant I’m an officer of some distinction yet I find myself without any clear idea of the present danger. In Calcutta it’s quite a different story we’re hearing, so, dear fellow, from your eminence do tell me truly what we’re facing – no flam, the unvarnished truth, and I’d be much obliged to you.’
‘The truth?’ Boyd was flag-captain to the first lord of the Admiralty and as such privy to confidential strategy at the highest level. Yet his sister’s husband could not be denied and it were better he heard it from him at the first hand than rumours at Horse Guards.
‘Very well. Please forgive if I labour the point in regard to some matters – I find the Army has a whimsical notion at times of a sea battlefield.’
‘Please do. Fire a broadside of ’em, should you wish.’
Boyd leaned forward. ‘And this for your ears alone, my friend.’
‘I understand.’
‘Then this is your situation. Napoleon Bonaparte does not really desire to invade England.’
‘Oh?’ said Crawford, in surprise.
‘His eyes are set much higher than these few islands. His ambitions are for a world empire, the seizing of far territories, the planting of colonies and so forth. It so happens that we stand in his way in this, barring the seas which are the highway to empire.
‘He’s impatient to be done with us, sweep us aside and, with the power of an emperor, he’s devoted the nation’s resources to the invasion of England, which he’s determined upon. The Austrians have concluded a species of peace with him – there’ll be no hostilities on the Rhine to distract him from his purpose, and while the Third Coalition drags its feet he need not fear Russia or Sweden either. Now is the time. Depend upon it, Charles, he cannot maintain his troops and equipment at readiness for ever – he must invade in this season or not at all.’
‘So why does he not do so?’ Crawford asked.
‘Because if he tried, his horde would be massacred by our battleships.’
‘And if they protect their invasion flotilla with their own in sufficient numbers?’
‘Ah. There you have it. Our instinct has always been to blockade – to lay siege to their ports. Bonaparte’s strategy must be to raise it so that all his ships-of-the-line may combine together in numbers over which we cannot prevail. And with the Spanish come in on his side he may count on no less than a hundred sail-of-the-line to this end,’ he added.
‘This is successful?’
‘We are sore pressed, that’s the very real truth, Charles. Our ships keep the seas constantly and wear out yet we have not only this blockade but must protect our interests in all the rest of the world.’
‘Can you tell me something of the odds at all?’
‘In a general sense only. The number of ships available to the commander of a squadron does vary with their readiness, for there will always be numbers away watering, victualling and repairing. I will tell you the gist of it.
‘Around France, in their best ports, lie their battle-fleets. The main ones are at Brest under Admiral Ganteaume and in Rochefort under Missiessy, with now Ferrol and Cadiz to be added and, of course, the biggest being Toulon with Villeneuve. There are others lying in Cherbourg, Cartagena and so forth.
‘Now if you consider the hostile coastline that we must blockade, then it is from Toulon in the Mediterranean in an unbroken line of some three thousand miles around Spain, France and then in the Channel to the Netherlands. At the moment we’re containing them – Nelson off Toulon for the entire Mediterranean, Orde at Cadiz, Calder at Ferrol and Cornwallis at Brest, each with about a dozen of-the-line and, of course, Keith with the Downs Squadron to watch the invasion flotilla itself.
‘If Villeneuve sorties, joins with the Spaniards at Cadiz and Ferrol, then the French at Rochefort, and finally combines with the Brest squadron, we are quite overwhelmed. We know this, which is why we place our battle squadrons outside these ports in blockade to stop them.
‘But this is too simple. Napoleon is always to be trusted . . . to surprise and terrify. He knows we will crush his battle-fleet before it has time to come together. He will want therefore to deceive us, send us after a false scent and thereby split our forces.’
‘Do we – have we intelligence as will reveal Bonaparte’s intentions?’
‘Yes. In fact we do.’
‘May I be allowed—’
‘Our good fortune has been to intercept the very orders Napoleon dispatched to Ganteaume in Brest, detailing his strategic intent and plans for the invasion itself.’
‘Good God!’
‘Do you wish to know what was contained in them?’
‘Of course!’
‘Then I will tell you. This is how England is to be invaded. Villeneuve sails from Toulon with a powerful force including soldiers. He leaves the Mediterranean, brushing aside Orde’s squadron outside Cadiz and collects the battleships waiting there.
‘Instead of making a dash for Brest and the Channel, Napoleon seeks to outfox us. He tells Villeneuve to sail right across the Atlantic – to Surinam. There he lands his troops and joins with Missiessy, who has come from Rochefort with his own potent forces, which are then used to cause mayhem in the Caribbean.
‘A smaller force sails from Toulon, this time to strike south after Gibraltar, taking St Helena and reinforcing Senegal before attacking our young settlements on the African coast and grievously distracting us. That’s not all – when Villeneuve and Missiessy return they release the Brest fleet and together they converge on Boulogne to protect the invasion flotilla as it finally sails – three thousand vessels conveying several hundred thousand first-class troops, horses and guns.’
‘And our own forces? What do they—’
‘Again, Bonaparte is far from lacking in imagination. You see, before this deadly scene is acted out, Ganteaume in Brest has already sailed – he begins to put ashore eighteen thousand men in Lough Swilly in the north of Ireland, to be reinforced by twenty-five thousand Dutch and French from the Netherlands. These are ordered to march directly on Dublin, an intolerable strategic situation for us that demands we send our fleets to prevent it – but we are too late. Having landed his men Ganteaume is even now sailing to join Villeneuve and Missiessy in the grand finale, a total of nearly fifty battleships. And when you reflect that even Admiral Nelson at this moment commands no more than eleven of-the-line and then only if all are present . . .’
Crawford remained silent.
‘This then is Napoleon’s plan. Will it succeed? I have my doubts. He’s treating his naval forces as though they were a regiment of cavalry, no understanding of what problems the sea can throw at his commanders that can send his best-laid plans awry. Possibly his next plan will be more reasonable.’
‘Next plan?’
‘He knows we’ve captured his orders, he needs must make others. And this is our dilemma. I put it to you,
Charles, how in heaven’s name will we know if a sudden move in this chess game is the opening of a grand strategy that ends with the enemy in triumph at our gates, or if it is in fact merely a derisory side-show? Only time will tell, and then it’ll be too late.’
‘A vexing conundrum.’
‘Quite so. And I’ll confide to you this hour that it has already begun. Missiessy has sortied from Rochefort. Our best information is that this is a voyage to the Caribbean, as provided for in the previous plan. He has a powerful fleet and our islands are probably under assault as we talk here together.
‘We must consider carefully. Is this an attempt to draw us away from our blockade so he may make his move on England? Or is it a full-scale onslaught on our colonies? Could it be that this serves as well to be a point of concentration for all his squadrons, which then descend together on the Channel? Or even . . . is this all a bluff of colossal proportions, that it is never the intention to go there, keeping a powerful fleet hidden in the ocean wastes ready to fall on us unaware?’
Crawford shifted uncomfortably. ‘We must be prepared for all eventualities.’
‘So we should. But know that our lines of communication at sea are long – very long. To send orders to Lord Nelson in the Mediterranean and receive his acknowledgement is a matter of six weeks and more. How, then, should we in the Admiralty respond when we have urgent news of the enemy’s motions? Immediately send details and orders to the admiral concerned? I rather think not, for by the time he receives them our event is history, and the orders an impertinence.’
‘But – but how then can you . . . ?’
‘We must trust our admirals, is the only course. Provide them with the best means to make a decision and step back to allow them to act entirely as they see fit at the time. No other will answer.’
‘This I perceive, Edward. Knowing the grand situation you will dispatch intelligence pertaining and principles of action and hope mightily that your man plays his cards well, that he is not trumped by the enemy.’ He remained thoughtful. ‘If you’ll allow me to say it, old fellow, it does strike me as a frightful burden on your Admiralty. All responsibility for the defence of the realm and, blindfolded, they must turn over the means of action to others.’
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