Tenacious (26 page)

A colonel lurched towards 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.

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“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

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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 seaman-like. 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.

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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.”

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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.”

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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 enter-prise of great importance, the nature of which I may not divulge to you until we are ten leagues to seaward.”

“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 im-peril 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.

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“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.”

Bampton stirred. “
If
it becomes so. You’re rather forgetting that it’s been in the hands of the Spanish these sixteen years and they’re not about to present their fortresses to us upon our request. We shall have to fight for them—and this means nothing less than an assault, an amphibious landing. Has anyone here had the joy of going into battle with the army? No?”

Kydd kept quiet, the ill-fated descent on Guadeloupe in the Caribbean he had experienced as a young petty officer would probably not count.

“Then consider yourselves fortunate. An opinionated and ignorant tribe, I fancy we’ll need every mort of patience we can muster on the day.”

“How’s th’ island defended?” Kydd asked Dugdale.

His brow wrinkled. “There are big forts on each side of the entrance to Mahon. The biggest as I remember is Fort St Philip, which would stand next to any in Europe, and many minor forts and batteries around and about.”

Bampton gave a thin smile. “It’s as well, then, that I can tell you this is not our task. We shall not be going ashore,” he announced flatly.

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“Thank God for that,” murmured Adams. “But how do you know this?”

“The captain has seen fit to entrust me with certain confidences,” Bampton said smoothly, “and I’m able to tell you that the main task of our squadron under Commodore Duckworth is to defend the landing against any ships of force that the enemy sees fit to send to oppose the assault. We shall see out the operation at sea.”

Dugdale opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

“What is it, Mr Dugdale?” Bampton said caustically.

“Er, after the late complete destruction of the French at the Nile, surely they have nothing left to throw at us?”

“You are forgetting Cartagena,” Bampton said heavily, “the Spanish battle fleet.”

“And Mallorca,” added Renzi. “It would be strange if the Spanish do not maintain a standing force there for mutual protection—and less than eight leagues to the west from Minorca, half a day’s sail. This could do us a real mischief at the time of our landing even if we have the advantage of surprise. Cartagena is ten times the distance and the issue could be decided before they receive any intelligence and are able to respond.”

“We cannot discount that our intentions against Minorca are known. The Spanish may well be at sea and lying in ambuscade for us,” Bampton said irritably. “In any case, Captain Faulkner has set me a task.”

Renzi raised an eyebrow. “Presumably involving us.”

“As a matter of fact it does. I’m to put before you all that one liaison officer from each ship has been requested by the commodore to attend his councils with the army command.” He paused.

“Any officer interested is asked to put himself forward. Should there be none, the commodore will be under the necessity of detailing one himself. As too vital in the management of the ship I
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