Invasion

by Julian Stockwin

  “And we’m Channel Pilots o’ the Cinque Ports—Trinity lot gives best t’ us, any which wants t’ try th’ Goodwins in a fog.”

  “Hovelling—can’t say as I’ve heard of it afore,” Kydd said.

  “Then I guess ye haven’t been t’ sea much. Where ye from?”

  “Um, Guildford, Mr. Tickle. The hovelling . . . ?”

  It turned out to be as colourful and dangerous a sea trade as any he had heard of in his years of voyaging. Thoroughly at home around the treacherous Goodwins, on fine-weather days the hovellers would hoist their distinctive blood-red sails and occupy themselves sweeping the seabed close to the great banks for anchors and ground tackle lost in storms. They would sweat to recover them by art and sea craft and either bring them aboard or sling them beneath and return, storing them in an anchor field close to the King’s Naval Yard.

  On foul-weather days they would keep close watch on the edge of the Goodwins for signs that a ship was dragging her anchors or had lost one and was nervously eyeing the remainder. A stout Deal lugger would then be launched into the violence to take out a complete anchor, weighing tons, along with heavy coils of cable, and offer it to the anxious captain for a handsome fee. It was seldom refused.

  That explained the high-sided construction and generous scant-lings of these hardy boats. Kydd could only imagine the fearful effort required to set the boats to sea with such a load.

  “Why, thank ’ee, Mr. Tickle,” he said, happily back to his old self. “You’ve quite explained it all for me. I’m much obliged.” He doffed his hat politely and required the old seaman to accept a small contribution in token of the time he had spent.

  “How goes it, Mr. Purchet?” Kydd asked, looking doubtfully at the cluttered larboard deck. The King’s Naval Yard had done well to have five shipwrights and their sidesmen out to them within two days and their clunking and chipping had sounded ever since throughout the daylight hours.

  “Main fine, sir.”

  It seemed that their primary concern, the slide on which the carronades recoiled, was simple enough to repair, the design being nothing more than a sliding bed on a longer one and secured by a thick pin. The quarterman shipwright was therefore sanguine that Teazer’s armament would be whole again within the week. The bulwarks were another matter, seasoned timber of such length apparently not in ready supply and . . .

  Kydd promised to take better care of his command in the future and, in the meantime, offered an earnest by which it would appear the timbers would be more expeditiously acquired. It would be a frustrating wait. but in Deal, rooms were to be had for sea officers at the genteel end of Middle Street, and Kydd established a presence ashore, where Renzi’s valuable work on his treatise could be kept in a place of safety.

  “Yes, Mr. Hallum?” Kydd said, about to step ashore one morning.

  “I’m truly sorry to have to report that a midshipman has not returned from leave.”

  Calloway, in the Navy since childhood and as loyal as it was possible to be? Or could it be their first-voyage new reefer Tawse, unable to face another bloody action?

  “Who is it?”

  “Calloway, sir.”

  “He’s to wait on me the instant he returns on board.” Kydd swore under his breath. There was no possibility of going ashore until this had been resolved, and when Calloway did return an hour later his captain was is no mood for trifling.

  The young man stood before him, pale-faced but defiant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kydd. It’s . . . I overslept, is all.”

  “Slewed t’ the gills, no doubt.”

  “I weren’t, Mr. Kydd!”

  “Then pray tell, what tavern-keeper fails t’ shake his customers in the morning as will have ’em back on board in time? Or was it—”

  “I was—that is, there’s this girl I was with and . . .”

  “And?”

  “Sally an’ I, well . . .”

  Kydd waited.

  “Mr. Kydd!” he burst out. “S’ help me, I’m struck on th’ girl! She’s—she’s right dimber an’ says I’m the first she’s been with, an’ she wants t’ be spliced to me, and—and . . .”

  Biting back a sarcastic retort, Kydd glared at him. “For an affair o’ the heart you’d hazard your chances at the quarterdeck, let your shipmates down? And if there’s to be an alarm . . .”

  “We’re not under Sailin’ Orders,” Calloway said doggedly.

  “That’s not the point, as well you know, younker.”

  The young man’s eyes dropped, but he went on, in a low voice, “An’ I’m remembering, too, that time in th’ Caribbean, you an’ Miss Sukey, Mr. Kydd . . .”

  “How dare you?” Kydd spluttered. “An’ that was afore I had m’ step as an officer,” he added unconvincingly, as though it excused everything.

  “Sir, I—”

  “Be damned to it! I’ll not have m’ men out o’ the ship at this time. There’s a hot war out there, in case y’ haven’t heard.”

  The youngster stared obstinately into space and Kydd nearly weakened, but told him, “Any seaman in your division as overstays his liberty will be served the same way. It’s t’ be stoppage o’ leave for you, Mr. Calloway.”

  The eyes turned on him in misery. “But, Mr. Kydd, she’ll—”

  “If you’re not on deck assisting the boatswain in ten minutes, I’ll double it.”

  After the young man had left, Renzi looked up from his papers with a wry smile. “Miss Sukey? In those piping days of our youth I do not recollect our being introduced . . .”

  “I do apologise, old fellow. An unfortunate oversight,” Kydd replied sarcastically. “And might I ask how your letters are progressing?”

  Before Renzi could reply there was the thump of an alarm gun.

  Kydd hesitated, but for only a moment. It did not include them, for he had not declared ready for sea, but who could stand idle while others threw themselves into battle? “We must join ’em,” he said forcefully. The larboard carronades were more or less mounted now and the bulwarks—well, they’d rig canvas dodgers or something.

  “Hands t’ unmoor ship!” he roared up the companionway, having thrown aside his shore clothing for action dress. By the time he reached the deck the ship was in an uproar.

  “Mr. Hallum, a muster o’ both watches after they’re closed up, if y’ please.” Who knew how many were ashore?

  The first of the flying squadron slipped to sea, a game little cutter thrashing out into the overcast for the French coast, followed closely by Actaeon . Others loosed sail and joined them, Teazer bringing up the rear, still tying off on the improvised bulwarks. It might have been worse: with a two-thirds complement they could maintain fire on at least every other gun and, with no real need to mount long sea watches, they had a chance.

  In hours Teazer and the others were hove to before Boulogne and telescopes were quickly raised on quarterdecks. At first glance there seemed no threatening movement. Then, from inshore, a small sloop set course under a crowd of sail direct for Actaeon . It would be one of the British inshore squadron that was doggedly watching the huge concentration.

  “A baneful sight for English eyes,” said Renzi, who generally kept out of sight until the ship was called to quarters.

  His station was then on the quarterdeck to record events for the captain.

  “Why, t’ be sure,” Kydd responded off-handedly. “And as long as we don’t fall asleep, I dare t’ say this is where they must remain.”

  He grunted and continued to search with his telescope. It was his first encounter with the menacing sights around this premier invasion port. The prospect was awesome. The pale regular shapes of the encampment of the Grande Armée were spread out in an immensity beyond counting, covering the swelling heights of the hills and valleys around the port as far as the eye could see.

  This, then, was the reality, the reason for their being: a tidal wave of the finest troops in Europe arrayed in plain sight against them.

  The sloop reached Actaeon and passed out
of sight around her lee. After half an hour a general signal was hoisted: “All captains repair on board.”

  Kydd wasted no time in complying and convened with the other captains in the great cabin. “I’ll be brief, gentlemen,” Savery opened, his features grave. “It does appear that the final act is at last upon us. We have intelligence that the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte himself is at this moment in Boulogne.”

  There was a stir of apprehension, which was brusquely cut short. “This is not the first time he has been here—he likes to show himself to his army and to inspect preparations. This is not exceptional. What is unique and disturbing is that this time not only the Emperor but his entire military staff has come. Paris is left without a single marshal’s baton!”

  This was received in utter silence.

  “Marshal Ney is here with his corps as are Soult and Davout. The Grande Armée is now complete and I don’t have to remind you that tomorrow is a new moon, with spring tides, the winds fair for England and the weather holding. Bonaparte has even sent for his brothers Louis and Joseph, now styled princes, and columns are said to be on the march for Boulogne, to a total of at least twenty cavalry squadrons and sixty regiments.” He concluded soberly, “I can see no reason for this sudden descent on Boulogne other than . . .”

  “Lord Keith has been informed, sir?” Kydd asked.

  “Of course. He is making his dispositions, but I fear it will be a little time before we might see any reinforcements. Meanwhile, our duty remains as it always has. Should the Grande Armée sail, we place ourselves between it and England. Do I make myself clear?”

  There was a murmur of assent, and Savery finished, “We have an agent of the first calibre in Boulogne who will attempt to reach me tonight under cover of dark with the final details, which naturally you will share at first light. I wish you well for the rencontre, gentlemen.”

  It was no longer high strategy or studied tactical manoeuvring that would be needed tomorrow: it would be nothing less than a frenzied fight to the finish, a sacrifice for the very highest stakes. Teazer was as ready she could be and everyone aboard knew their duty. While her company was issued a double tot of rum, Kydd and Renzi took a quiet and reflective dinner together.

  Later, in the privacy of his sleeping cabin, Kydd drew out his fighting sword. In the flickering candlelight it gleamed with a fearful lustre, the blued Toledo steel blade at a razor’s sharpness and the gold damascening catching the light with a barbaric glitter. His hand caressed the ornamentation, a pair of choughs that he had insisted on to remind him of his uncle in far distant Canada, a noble lion-head pommel chased in gold. Would this blade taste enemy blood tomorrow or must he shamefully surrender it when Teazer was overwhelmed—or worse?

  Dawn came: there was no news. Instead there was a sight that caused the whole ship to fall quiet: the Grande Armée was on the move. The martial glitter of bayonets and breastplates showed in the wan morning sun as the dense columns of soldiers marched over the slopes like giant caterpillars. They converged on one vast open area in a sea of plumes, helmets and banners. More and more appeared over the line of hills to join the immense horde.

  It was happening.

  “Boat approaching, sir,” said Tawse, matter-of-factly. The little midshipman was clearly not about to be overawed by anything Frenchy.

  It was a pinnace under a press of sail. It rounded to, hooked on by the side steps and a lieutenant bounded breathlessly on board. “Captain, sir?” he said excitedly. “From Cap’n Savery, his compliments and believes you should want to know what is afoot.”

  “I do,” Kydd said drily. “My cabin?”

  “No need, sir, I’m hard pressed. Sir, this is the Emperor Napoleon and he’s called the Grande Armée to—”

  “We know this, sir. Get on with it, if you will,” Kydd ordered. Hallum’s apprehension was plain and others came up anxiously to hear.

  “Well . . .” Kydd prompted.

  “Er, sir, our agent was able to get out to us during the night with news of Bonaparte. Sir, he’s called the Grande Armée to a parade only and—”

  “To a parade!” Kydd choked. “You’re telling me he’s mustered those hundreds o’ thousands of soldiers just for—”

  “Yes, sir, I am. This is no ordinary parade. It’s something of an historical day, for Napoleon wants to be sure of the army when he’s finally crowned, the people having had a revolution to get rid of the aristocrats, and he desiring to start a parcel o’ new ones from his own family. More’n that, he’s creating a whole new order o’ chivalry to honour the new French Empire, as will have himself at its heart. This day he’s to award a new medal to the soldiers to replace the Croix de Saint Louis. He calls it the Légion d’Honneur.”

  Kydd’s mouth dropped open.

  The officer became animated. “One hundred thousand men, captured banners, massed salutes and all the glory t’ be wished for! And for his throne—”

  “Hard pressed, you said?” Kydd reminded him.

  “Um, yes, sir. And I’m to say that Cap’n Savery conceives that no action of any kind will take place these three days on account of no Frenchman would dare to risk being bested before the Emperor. He’ll be falling back to the Downs and hopes to see us all in the Three Kings to raise a toast of damnation to the new Emperor.”

  The shipwright had been right: the timbers for Teazer’s wounds were not so easily to be acquired. For days now Kydd had had the galling sight of the stripped-back bulwark with naked top-timbers protruding from the deck where new timberheads had been scarphed into the stumps, awaiting their cladding. As well, the fore-chains still lacked its channel and was unable to take the fore-shrouds.

  Unfit for sea duties, Teazer could only lie to her moorings until she was made whole and was nominally transferred to the Downs defensive inshore division. It was now a matter of controlling frustration and preparing for the time when she would return to the offensive.

  Meanwhile it was not good that seamen, keyed up for any sacrifice, were spending their days in idleness. Kydd was too wise in their ways to contemplate more harbour tasks of endless prettifying and pointless restowing, and allowed them relaxed discipline, with liberty from midday. However, it bore heavily on his spirit to lie stagnating while others sailed to face the odds.

  There was a marked coolness about Calloway, but it was an ideal time for both the midshipmen to exercise their craft and Kydd saw to it that they were duly occupied.

  On the fifth morning dawn broke on a falling barometer and a veering wind. The sea stretched hard and dark, like gunmetal, out to a luminous band on the horizon under a greying sky. There was no mistaking the onset of uncomfortable weather, but equally there did not appear to be any ominous swells heaving in massively to warn of the approach of a gale.

  Kydd, not yet fully confident of his knowledge of sea conditions in the English Channel, crossed to Dowse. “Foul weather, I think?”

  “Aye. Out o’ the east.”

  This meant it would be one of the unaccountable continental blasts that could reach gale proportions within hours but because it had passed entirely over land would be given no chance to establish a fetch, the long, powerful seas induced by the same wind over hundreds or thousands of miles that were common in the Atlantic. It would be unpleasant but not deadly.

  The sailing master sniffed the wind and stared upwards as he estimated its speed by clouds passing a fixed point in the rigging. “A sharp drop in th’ glass. It could be a pauler or it might pass. I’d say it t’ be the first, sir.”

  “Mr. Purchet, we’ll turn up the hands to secure the ship for a blow, I believe.” They were safely within the Downs, largely protected from anything in the east by the Goodwins, but Kydd was too respectful of the sea to leave anything to chance. They would lay out another bower, veer away cable on both and have the sheet anchor on a slip stopper along with the usual precautions.

  “An’ strike topmasts, sir?”

  “If you please.” Even if it did turn out that it was a pass
ing blow it would do no harm to perform the exercise. “Oh, and let the first lieutenant know if we have any stragglers ashore, would you, Pipes?” Apart from needing a full crew on hand for any eventuality there was the requirement to have a tally of men aboard, such that any missing after the blow would not be assumed swept overboard.

  By mid-morning the wind had hardened and steadied from the east-north-east and the first white-caps appeared. Snugged down, though, there was little to fear, only the endurance of Teazer’s endless jibbing and bobbing to her anchors as she lay bows to the seas.

  “An easterly,” Renzi said, looking up from his writing in the great cabin.

  “It is,” Kydd grunted. “A fair wind for the French, but I have m’ doubts that even for His Knobbs, Napoleon the Grand, they’ll put to sea in this.”

  His tea was now slopping into its saucer, a wet cloth on the side-table necessary to prevent it sliding off. It would be his last for a while, but with a bit of luck they should be over the worst by the next morning and could then get the galley fire going again.

  Kydd wedged himself more tightly into his chair, which had been secured to its ringbolts, and reflected ruefully on sea life in a small ship.

  After a tentative knock, Purchet looked in at the door. “Er, a word wi’ ye, sir.”

  Kydd stood. This did not seem to be an official visit. “Thought ye’d like to know of it first. See, Mr. Calloway ain’t aboard.”

  “Does the first lieutenant know?”

  “Um, not yet, sir.”

  “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Purchet.”

  The boatswain waited.

  “Er, I’ll take the matter in hand m’self—no need t’ trouble Mr. Hallum.”

  “Aye, sir. An’ if ye wants . . .”

  “Well, yes. On quite another matter, tell Mr. Moyes and Mr. Tawse to step aft, would you?”

  The boatswain nodded and left. If it ever became official, Calloway was in deep trouble: breaking ship after a direct order from her captain was at the least desertion and would most certainly end in a court-martial with the destruction of his career.