The buzz of conversation increased, then fell away quickly as a hush spread over the room. A trio was coming down a staircase that led from the apartments above: the ambassador with Nelson and between them, an arm on each, a cherubic but striking lady whom Kydd had not seen before but who must be Emma, Lady Hamilton.
The hush was broken by a single cry of ‘Viva il conquistatore!’ It was taken up all over the room in a bedlam of joyous shouts. Nelson, in his splendid decorations, responded by beaming and bowing to left and right.
Lady Hamilton struck an imperious pose and cried, ‘Avast, all ye! I present Duke Nelson, Marquis Nile, Baron Alexandria, Viscount Pyramid, Baron Crocodile and the Prince of Victory!’
Laughter and patriotic cries burst out and the three descended into the gathering. Presently the ambassador held up his hands for silence. ‘For those who love Naples, an evening of civilisation. Pray come with me, let the entertainments begin!’
In the drawing room a semicircle of elegant chairs in two rows faced a small ensemble of harpsichord to one side, two violins to the other. The musicians remained in a bowed position while the guests settled.
Kydd found a chair in the second row from which he could see Nelson and the Hamiltons. They were in fine form, Sir William animated and relaxed while his lady seemed to be in full flood of sociability towards her distinguished guest. Nelson appeared equally engaged, his responses to Lady Hamilton’s sallies almost boyish in their artlessness.
Hamilton rose and faced his guests. ‘I know you will be amazed and delighted when I tell you that I have persuaded the famed tenor Romualdo Farrugia to perform for us tonight. He will begin with Pergolesi’s “Lo frate ’nnamorato”, of course in the original Neapolitan dialect…’
Next to Kydd Renzi stirred with interest. ‘Farrugia! What a coup! In opera buffo the finest in all Naples – which is to say the world.’
A short, dark man in an extravagantly rich costume strode out and bowed low, then fixed his audience with a fierce gaze. A cascade of notes on the harpsichord concluded with entry of the violin continuo and the piece began. It was magnificent: the effortless power of his voice infused every note with its full charge of emotion and significance. Kydd had never heard anything like it.
The singer retired to a storm of applause. Hamilton rose and turned to the guests. ‘Equally fortunate is it that the noted soprano Bellina Cossi is delaying her return to Vienna to perform for us tonight. She sings about a shepherdess at the banks of a river who does not feel inclined to waste herself on a lukewarm lover… Of course this is the Scarlatti cantata “Su’l margine d’un rio”.’
The beauty of the crystal clear notes, their passion and tenderness moved Kydd and he felt detached from his hardy sea life. The music, just as it had in Venice, lifted him into an untouchable realm of the spirit. In a warm haze he heard Hamilton announce a duet – a scene from a recent Cimarosa opera, ‘Le Astutzie Femminili’. He let the music wash deliciously over him, and was sincerely sorry when it was over.
‘An intermission,’ Hamilton announced, ‘but do not despair. We shall shortly have our own particular entertainment for you…’
The scraping of chairs and murmured conversations were muted under the lingering spell of the music, but livened as the guests partook of sweetmeats and Lachryma Christi. They returned to stand informally about the front of the room.
‘Are you prepared?’ called Hamilton. ‘Then – Act the first!’
First one, then another black man in turban and baggy trousers came through the door. Naked from the waist up they carried between them a long scarlet curtain on brass rods. Intrigued, the guests watched as the men took position; they bowed and when they rose, so did the rods, suspending the curtain in a creditable imitation of a miniature stage.
‘Ah! I believe I know what is to come,’ said Renzi. Mysterious bumps and scrapes sounded from behind the curtain. Urgent whispers could be heard, and then Hamilton emerged. ‘Ecce!’ he called – and swept aside the curtain.
At first Kydd could not make out what was happening, but then he saw that it was Lady Hamilton in a theatrical pose, standing motionless before a large upright seashell in a flowing classical Greek robe, all composed within an empty picture frame. Candles were held artfully by the ambassador to throw a dramatic light upon her. Kydd was astonished at the diaphanous material of her gown, which left little to the imagination, and a décolleté that would be thought risqué even at the theatre. At the same time he saw that the chubbiness had not extinguished a very real beauty – an expressive and angelic face raised to heaven that was the quintessence of innocence.
‘Aphrodite rises fr’m the waves!’ Several shouts vied with each other. They were rewarded with a smile from the enchantress and then the curtain closed. It opened again to a different pose: an ardent, lovelorn entwining around the branch of a tree, beseeching an unseen figure, and still in the filmy gown.
‘Glycera frolicking with Alcibiades!’ A slight frown appeared while protracted but jovial disputation took place.
‘Cleopatra and Antony receive the news!’ called Renzi at length, to be thrown a dazzling smile. Kydd looked to see how Nelson was receiving the entertainment and was startled to see the gallant admiral wildly applauding each manifestation, always gracefully acknowledged by Lady Hamilton.
Places were resumed for the second half, Dorabella and Guglielmo from Così Fan Tutte. Kydd had seen Lady Hamilton sit with Nelson again, her arm laid on his and not removed. He glanced about: no one seemed to have noticed except possibly Troubridge, who stared forward stonily.
The plot of the scene was whispered brokenly by Renzi. It seemed to be nothing but unlikely disguises and trifling complications following a wager, but the music carried Kydd along once more.
At the end, Hamilton thanked the performers and added, ‘Our entertainment is concluded for tonight, my friends and honoured guests. The hour is late, but for those who wish to indulge there is a faro table in the next room.’
The guests rose in a babble of excited talk as Hamilton and his lady escorted Nelson to the next room. ‘What do we do now, Nicholas?’ Kydd whispered.
‘At this hour we have the civilised choice: to linger or depart immediately,’ Renzi replied. ‘Nothing will be imputed from our actions.’
‘Would it be at all curious, should we desire t’ see a faro table without we play?’
‘I don’t think so, brother,’ Renzi said. They moved into the next room where already a large card table was set out. Lady Hamilton stood behind Nelson, urging him excitedly. A footman offered iced champagne, which Kydd found most acceptable in the heat of the night.
Feeling happy and expansive, Kydd remarked to Renzi, ‘Y’r foreign cant is all pedlar’s Greek t’ me, Nicholas, but the music! I have t’ say, it leaves me with th’ hot shivers.’
Renzi nodded. ‘Of the first rate. The pity is to escape it in Naples. In the nursery, your tradesman in the street, all are singing from the heart wherever they be. A truly gifted people.’
It seemed there were others who wished to linger, some at the gaming table, others promenading before the inattentive hero of the Nile. Kydd accepted another glass of champagne while he looked about the room. ‘Have ye noticed? We’re the only l’tenants,’ he said proudly, discounting the indeterminate Neapolitan army officers. It was an agreeable observation and he sighed with the sheer joy of the moment.
‘So it seems,’ said Renzi, turning to see the origin of raised voices.
It was Nisbet. The young commander had approached the faro table and confronted his step-father, red-faced, his cravat hanging askew. From their distance it was impossible for Kydd and Renzi to make out the words, but the reaction of bystanders was eloquent enough.
There was a scuffle and more shouting, and in a room suddenly quiet Troubridge and another officer frogmarched Nisbet past them and into the night. The room burst into horrified talk; Lady Hamilton stared after them, her face chalk-like.
A colonel lurched toward
s Kydd, telling everyone he could find of what he had heard. ‘Damme, but his own son near calls him out – dishonouring his mother’s name – tells his own admiral where his duty lies! Who could conceive of it?’ he bellowed gleefully.
Houghton held up his hand for silence. ‘And so it will be hard for me to take my leave of Tenacious, a ship we have all grown to love and respect, but the needs of the Service must rise above all.’
‘Hear him! Hear him!’ The wardroom resounded to the thump of hands on the table, the rattle of glasses.
‘But who can say, gentlemen? We may meet again – at sea.’ Knowing growls indicated that it was not lost on the officers at the table that Houghton was going on to the command of a powerful 74, the mainstay of the line-of-battle, and it would be remarkable if he so much as noticed the humble Tenacious if they did sight one another.
‘Now, before I sit down, there is one concern that is of particular satisfaction to me. And that is in the matter of promotions.’ The table fell instantly silent. ‘As you must be aware, my own removal into a seventy-four might have been expected, but following a successful action it is the custom of the Service to bring forward deserving officers.’
Kydd’s pulse quickened: was his star now ascending to take him onward and upward?
‘It has been difficult to choose which among you, but as of this morning I received word from Sir Horatio that he has graciously acceded to my recommendation.’ He paused, surveying his officers gravely. ‘I therefore selected an officer who to me appears particularly forward, one whose ardent spirit in the face of the enemy has been so often remarked. I know you will all join with me in congratulating… Lieutenant Bryant!’
There was a moment’s pause as the news sank in, then the wardroom broke into good-natured shouts of envy and felicitation.
‘He has been made commander into Dompteur sloop-of-war and late prize, to join Earl St Vincent before Cadíz.’
Kydd was startled by the intensity of his reaction to this news: envy was turning unworthily to jealousy. As a commander, Bryant was now lifted out and above them all to a different and higher plane of existence as captain of his own ship. Kydd forced a smile as he looked across at Bryant, who was red-faced with pleasure, loudly admitting his good fortune. Independence, prize-money, the prospect of leading a ship’s company to honour and glory in his own name… Bryant had it all now.
Then the feeling passed. No doubt Kydd’s turn would come – he couldn’t be the junior for ever, and there was still a chance that there would be further promotions after the Nile. Kydd’s natural generosity of spirit returned and he leaned across to shake Bryant’s hand. ‘Give you joy of y’r step, sir,’ he said, with a broad smile. ‘We shall wet y’ swab afore ye leave!’ On his plain lieutenant’s uniform Bryant would henceforth ship a golden epaulette to larboard for all the world to see and know by it that he was now the captain of a ship.
Captain Houghton left his command in the morning of the following day. As was the custom the officers rowed him ashore in his barge, still leaving unanswered the all-important question of who would succeed.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Adams, reflectively, in the wardroom afterwards. ‘This is all very well, but it’s who they’ll find for premier that I’d be more concerned with. Stranger coming in, doesn’t know our ways, a new first luff can be a deuced awkward party.’
Kydd agreed – the first lieutenant was responsible for so many vital domestic arrangements, from apportioning the watch-and-station bill of the hands to ensuring before the captain that the appearance of the ship was taut and seamanlike. There was plenty of scope for tyranny or slackness, both equally dismaying within the confines of a man-o’-war.
‘Sir?’ It was the duty master’s mate at the door. ‘What do we do wi’ this’n?’ It was a plain message, sealed, and addressed to the first lieutenant, HMS Tenacious. ‘Been waitin’ these several days fer the new first l’tenant, and we don’t rightly know what t’ do with it.’
‘Well, now, and here’s a puzzler,’ said Adams, turning it over and trying to glimpse its contents. Very obviously it was not of the usual flow of administrative trivia for it was of different quality paper and the seal was a private one.
‘Return it,’ Bampton said flatly. ‘There is no first lieutenant.’
‘Open it,’ Pybus and Kydd said together. Renzi frowned: reading a gentleman’s mail was a sad lapse in propriety.
Adams grinned. ‘Since there’s no indication on the outside of who sent this, I propose to open it and discover where to return it.’
He fumbled at the seal, broke it and began reading the short letter. ‘Good God!’ he gasped. ‘It’s the new Owner. He’s asking the first l’tenant to prepare the ship for his arrival – this afternoon!’
In the space of two hours there was little of substance that could be done to the ship’s appearance and when, at precisely four bells, a boat was reported putting off from the shore the officers gathered, expecting the worst.
The boatswain’s calls twittered bravely as a lone figure in the full dress uniform of a post-captain, Royal Navy, mounted the side. The piping ceased as a tall, precise-looking officer doffed his hat to the quarterdeck and again to Bampton at the head of the waiting line of officers.
‘Er, Bampton, second lieutenant,’ he said, removing his hat. ‘I regret to say, there is no first lieutenant at the moment.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bampton,’ said the officer, after a pause.
‘Sir, might I now introduce Mr Adams—’
‘Later, Mr Bampton.’ Stepping to the centre of the quarterdeck the officer withdrew a parchment, which he unfolded. Clearing his throat he began to read. ‘By the Commissioners for executing the Office of Lord High Admiral… Captain Christopher Main Faulkner… hereby appointed to the command of His Majesty’s Ship Tenacious . . .’ The man had a high, penetrating voice, which to Kydd came oddly from such a tall figure. ‘. . . whereof you shall answer at your peril…’ Faulkner concluded, folded his commission and returned it inside his coat – and HMS Tenacious had a new captain.
‘There will be a meeting of all officers in the great cabin in one hour. Thank you, gentlemen.’
It allowed just enough time to hoist aboard the new captain’s furniture and other baggage before the officers assembled as instructed.
‘Please be seated,’ Faulkner began. Rather older than the captains Kydd had known, the man’s manner was careful and fastidious. ‘I am happy to make your several acquaintances,’ he said evenly. ‘In the matter of the first lieutenant we have a difficulty. Only this morning was I told that Mr Protheroe, designated for the post, has unfortunately been struck down with a fever, a most vexing circumstance. Clearly this vessel requires a first lieutenant but in the time available I have been unsuccessful in finding an officer of sufficient seniority. Therefore I am going to ask Mr Bampton to accept the post.’
Bampton started with surprise, then gave a barely suppressed smile of triumph.
‘Mr Adams will advance to second lieutenant, but concerning the remaining two gentlemen I have my reservations – their slight length of service in this vessel does not warrant my confidence that they are ready for service at a more senior level.’
Kydd coloured. After the Nile and service on the North American station he knew he was more experienced than most at his age.
Faulkner steepled his fingers. ‘Sir Horatio has been kind enough to find me an officer prepared for immediate employment, and he will be joining Tenacious tomorrow.’ He paused, his brow furrowing in annoyance. ‘However, there is a difficulty. That officer is a passed midshipman only, newly promoted to acting lieutenant. Thus I am obliged to appoint him as fifth lieutenant and therefore signal lieutenant, and trust that Mr Renzi as third and Mr Kydd as fourth lieutenant will find they are able to discharge their responsibilities in a correct and timely manner, as befits their new station.’
He looked soberly round the room. ‘It is particularly regrettable that there are so few officers of seniority
available in this part of the Mediterranean, but haste is necessary in this instance. I refer, in fact, to the sailing orders that I have just received.
‘Gentlemen, Tenacious being in all respects ready for sea, she will be proceeding to a secret rendezvous to assist in an enterprise of great importance, the nature of which I may not divulge to you until we are ten leagues to seaward.’
Chapter 8
‘Minorca! Of course…’
‘It has t’ be,’ agreed Kydd, offering the remaining whitebait to Renzi. It did not take much deliberation to understand why an invasion of the easternmost of the three main islands of the Balearics was thought so necessary. Britain had re-entered the Mediterranean, but her victorious fleet was alone in a hostile sea; it was urgent that a forward base be established to maintain it. In Port Mahon there was a compendious harbour and a fine dockyard – and Minorca was an island, therefore defensible once taken. And, unlike Gibraltar, with reliable winds.
Kydd glanced up the table. It was odd to see Bampton at the head, president of the mess. He looked to the other end where their new junior mess member sat quietly. ‘Mr Dugdale, did y’ ever visit Minorca at all?’
‘Why, yes, Mr Kydd,’ the man said warily, reluctant to imperil his position with any ill-considered move. He was older than almost all of the other officers, far from the green newly promoted midshipman they had expected. He had found a place as a midshipman in the last war, then been left without a ship at its end, and had eked out a penurious existence ashore until the outbreak of the present war. Only now had he the good fortune to secure an acting lieutenancy.
‘Well, spit it out, man!’ Kydd said, helping himself to the last of the haunch of rabbit.
‘It was only a brief visit, sir. As you’ll know, it had been British for twenty years before. The people were used to our ways and, dare I say it, contented with their lot, for the Spanish rule was not always welcome to your average Minorcan. There are two main towns – Ciudadela to the west and Port Mahon to the east. The Spanish kept mainly behind the city walls of Ciudadela while we were happy with Mahon. A first-class harbour, it is, splendid careening and repair, fine quarters ashore in English style and guarded by great forts. Should this be our base in the future, why, I cannot think of a finer.’
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