Tenacious (4 page)

The stimulating stream of oceanic air impelling them along made it hard to stay below, and when Renzi took over his watch, Kydd felt too restless to retire to his cabin to work on his divisional list, and waited while Renzi satisfied himself as to the ship’s condition.

They fell into step in an easy promenade around the quarterdeck. The messenger midshipman returned to the helm, as did the duty master’s mate, leaving the two officers to their privacy.

They paced in silence, until Renzi said, “Dear fellow, do I see you satisfied with your lot? Is this the visage of him who is at one with the world? Since your elevation to the ranks of the chosen are you content now with your station?”

Kydd paused. “Nicholas, I’ve been a-thinking. Who I am, where I’m headed in life, that sort o’ thing.” He shot his friend a glance. “It’s not long since I was in bilboes waiting f’r the rope.

Now I’m a king’s officer. What does that say t’ you?”

“Well, in between, there was a prodigious battle and some courage as I recall.”

Kydd gestured impatiently. “Nicholas, I’ll tell ye truly. While I
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was afore the mast I was content. I allow that then t’ be a sailing master was all I could see, an’ all I wanted from life. Then with just one turn o’ the screw, my stars change an’ here I am. Makes me think—might be anything can happen, why, anything a-tall.”

He spun round to face Renzi squarely. “Nicholas, m’ life will never be complete until I have my own ship. Walk
my
decks, not a man aboard but tips his hat t’ me, does things
my
way. An’ for me, I get the chance to win my own glory because I make the decisions. Good or bad, they’re mine, and I get the rewards—or the blame. So, how does it sound, Nicholas—Cap’n Thomas Kydd, Royal Navy?”

Renzi raised an eyebrow. “A junior lieutenant with such ardour? Where is the old Tom Kydd that I knew?” He gave a smile, then added, “I admire your fervour and respect your passion for the laurels, but you will have noticed, of course, that Fortune bestows her favours at random. You stand just as much a chance of having your head knocked off as winning glory.”

Less than three weeks later, they passed the distant blue peak of Morro Alto to starboard, marking the island of Flores at the western extremity of the Azores. Their passage in the steady westerlies had been fast and sure and it was becoming a point of honour to win every advantage, gain the last fraction of a knot.

HMS
Tenacious
was answering the call.

Noon. The hallowed time of the grog issue for the hands. A fife at the main hatchway started up with the welcome strains of

“Nancy Dawson,” and Kydd waited for the decks to clear. It was time, too, for the ceremony of the noon sight.

Officers readied their instruments. At local apparent noon, while the men were below, they would fix the line of longitude passing through their position and thus compute the distance remaining to their rendezvous off Cadíz.

A crisp horizon, and the ship’s motion predictably even: it was a good sighting. Most officers retired to their cabins for peace in the concentrated work of applying the necessary corrections and resolving the mathematics resulting in the intersection of latitude and longitude that was the ship’s location at midday.

From first one then another cabin came disbelieving shouts:

“Well, damme—five degrees of longitude noon to noon!”

“Two hundred and fifty miles off the reel in twenty-four hours!”

“She’s a champion!”

That night glasses were raised to
Tenacious
in the wardroom, but as the ship neared the other side of the Atlantic a more sombre mood prevailed. Exercise of gunnery took on new meaning as the ominous rumble of heavy guns was felt through the deck at all hours. Who knew what trial by battle lay ahead?

Landfall on the continent of Europe was the looming heights of Portugal’s Cape St Vincent, which faded into the dusk as they held course through the night. The officers took their breakfast quietly and though the fleet was not expected to be sighted before the afternoon every one went on deck straight after the meal.

“News! For the love of God, let us have news,” groaned Adams, running his hands through his fair hair. They had been cut off from the world for weeks across the width of the Atlantic and anything could have happened.

“For all we know of it,” Bampton said drily, “we may be sailing into an empty anchorage, the Spanish gone to join the French and our grand battle decided five hundred miles away.”

Bryant glared at him.

“Or peace declared,” said Renzi.

Conversations tailed off at the mention of this possibility and all the officers turned towards him. He continued, “Pitt is sorely pressed, the coalition in ruins, and the threat to our shores
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could not be greater. If he treats with the French now, exchanges colonies for peace, he may secure a settlement far preferable to a long-drawn-out war of attrition.” He paused. “After all, France alone has three times our population, a five times bigger army—”

“What do y’ mean by this kind o’ talk, sir?” Bryant snapped.

“Simply that if a French or Spanish vessel crosses our bows, do we open with broadsides? Is it peace or is it war? It would go hard for any who violate hard-won terms of peace . . .”

At a little after two, the low, anonymous coast of Spain firmed in a bright haze ahead. The mainmast lookout bawled down,

“
Deck hoooo!
Sail-o’-the-line, a dozen or more—at anchor!”

The long wait was over.

“Gunner’s party!” came the order. There would be salutes and ceremony as they joined the fleet of Admiral of the Blue, the Earl St Vincent. Kydd, as
Tenacious
’s signal lieutenant, roused out the signal flag locker and found the largest blue ensign. He smiled wryly at the thought of the hard work he knew would be there for him later: the signal procedures this side of the Atlantic would be different and he would need to prepare his own signal book accordingly.

Ahead, the dark body of the fleet against the backdrop of enemy land slowly resolved into a long crescent of anchored warships spreading the width of the mouth of a majestic harbour.

As they approached Kydd identified the flagship in the centre, the mighty 110-gun
Ville de Paris,
her admiral’s pennant at the main.

To seaward of the crescent a gaggle of smaller ships was coming and going, victuallers and transports, dispatch cutters, hoys.

A sudden crack of salutes rang out, startling him at his telescope.

Answering thuds came from the flagship.

Now opposite
Ville de Paris, Tenacious
backed her main topsail, but an officious half-decked cutter foamed up astern and came into the wind. An officer with a speaking trumpet blared up, “The admiral desires you should moor to the suth’ard of the line.” Obediently
Tenacious
paid off and got under way for her appointed berth.

Kydd marvelled at the extraordinary sight before him: the grandest port in Spain locked and secured by a fleet of ships so close that the great ramparts of the city were in plain view, with a wide sprawl of white houses glaring in the sun, turrets, cathedral domes—and a curious tower arising from the sea.

At the end of the line they rounded to and came to single anchor, the newest member of the fleet. Captain Houghton’s barge was in the water even as the cable was veered. Resplendent in full dress with best sword and decorations, he was swayed into it by yardarm tackle and chair, and departed to report to the commander-in-chief.

Houghton did not return immediately; rumour washed around. “There’s been a fright only,” Bryant huffed. “Just as the Frogs always do, made to put t’ sea an’ when they see us all in a pelt put about and scuttle back. Not like Old Jarvie t’ take a scare so.”

Adams looked disconsolate: the thought of enervating blockade duty was trying on the spirit after the thrill of the headlong race across the Atlantic.

“Still an’ all, you’ll not be wanting entertainment,” Bryant mused. “The old bugger’s a right hard horse. Marks o’ respect evewwn in a blow, captains to be on deck during the night when takin’ in sail and if there’s a sniff o’ mutiny, court-martial on the Saturday, hangs ’em on the Sunday . . .”

The captain arrived back at dusk and disappeared into his cabin. Within the hour word was passed that all officers were
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desired to present themselves in the great cabin forthwith.

“I shall be brief,” Houghton snapped. “The situation in respect to the present threat to England is unclear. France’s Army of England is still massing for invasion and there are fears for Ireland. Now we’ve heard that its commander-in-chief—this General Buonaparte—has abandoned it for the time being and gone to Toulon, God knows why. Now you know as much as I, and the admiral.

“To more important matters. Those who have served before with Sir John Jervis, now the Earl St Vincent, know well what to expect in the article of discipline and order. We are now a part of his fleet and his opinions on an officer’s duty are robust and unambiguous. You will each consult the
Fleet Order Book
until its contents are known intimately. Any officer who through ignorance of his duty brings disrepute upon my ship will incur my most severe displeasure.”

“Sir, might we know our purpose? Are we to remain while the seventy-fours—”

“Our purpose is very clear, Mr Adams. In case it has escaped your notice, let me inform you that in this port there are twenty-six of-the-line under Almirante Mazzeredo. Should we fail in our duty and let this armada get to sea . . .” His face tightened. “We lie before Cadíz on blockade, sir, and here we shall stay until the Spanish see fit to sail. Do you understand me?”

The sound of firing transfixed the wardroom at their breakfast. After just three days on blockade, any variation to routine was welcome and there was a rush to the hatchway as saluting guns announced the approach of a smart 74 from the north.

Houghton appeared on deck, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Sir,” called Bampton, who was officer-of-the-watch. “Pennants of HMS
Vanguard,
seventy-four, flag of Rear Admiral Nelson.”

“Aha!
Now
we’ll see some action,” growled Bryant, snatching the telescope from Bampton and training it on
Vanguard
’s quarterdeck. “Ye-e-e-s, that must be him. Always was the popinjay.”

He handed the glass back. “Didn’t think to see him back at sea—

only last year at Tenerife he lost an arm to a musket-shot, had it sawn off. Right arm it was, too.”

Bampton took a brief sight, then lowered the telescope. “Yes, but a vain man, very vain,” he muttered.

The ship passed close by; gold lace glinted on her quarterdeck, seamen stood rigid at their stations. In
Tenacious,
boatswain’s calls piped attention to the new rear admiral joining and all hands tried to catch a glimpse of the renowned victor of the great battle of St Vincent, he of the “Patent Bridge for Boarding First-rates,”

where he had taken one enemy ship, then used it as a stepping-stone to lead an attack on his next victim.

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Vanguard
rounded the line to join the half-dozen or so vessels close inshore, and the officers of
Tenacious
returned to their breakfast.

“Sir,
Vanguard
is signalling,” Rawson reported to Kydd.

“Well?” growled Kydd, in mock exasperation at his signals midshipman.

“Er, sir—union at the mizzen topmast-head, distinguishing pennants, er, that’s ‘Captains repair on board Flag.’ An’ they are

. . . let me see . . .
Orion, Alexander, Emerald,
others—and us!”

“So?”

“Er, yes, sir—acknowledge.”

“My duty t’ the captain, an’ acquaint him of the signal, if y’

please.”

Houghton wasted no time: his barge disappeared quickly into a throng of small craft, but he was back just as rapidly and summoned all officers to his cabin. He motioned them to sit at the polished table, but remained standing and leaned forward, animated. “Gentlemen, I have to tell you that intelligence of the gravest kind has been received from overland concerning the French intentions.” Every eye was on him. “It seems that they are at this moment massing in Toulon and are about to make a sally.”

He spread out a small-scale chart of the Mediterranean. “This is far more serious than a simple adventure. It has the attention and presence of their highest general, Napoleon Buonaparte, and could mean either a mass break-out from the Mediterranean to join up with their forces in Brest, or some descent to the east in a move towards the Ottomans or India.

“They have had the Mediterranean as their private sea for too long—it has made them ambitious, and the danger this poses to our country is incalculable. Therefore I have to tell you

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that Sir John has determined that at last we shall re-enter the Mediterranean. There shall be an immediate reconnaissance in force towards Toulon to discover the French intentions. It will be led by Rear Admiral Nelson—and we shall be a part!”

In this major fleet off Cadíz, in addition to a full admiral as commander-in-chief, there was a vice admiral for the van of the line-of-battle and a rear admiral for the rear. Exceptionally, there was also a separate squadron whose task was to rove close inshore, harrying the enemy at every opportunity and this was the particular command of Rear Admiral Nelson.

There was a stunned silence, then excited babble broke out.