Houghton rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr Kydd. I believe you remember Captain Essington?”
Kydd’s astonishment quickly turned to pleasure as he shook the hand of his captain in
Triumph
at the bloody battle of Camperdown, who had commended him to acting lieutenant in
Tenacious.
But for Essington’s intercession at his lieutenant’s examination, Kydd would have been for a certainty back before the mast.
“He is flag-captain of
Princess Royal,
” Houghton added.
Essington’s face creased to a smile. “Lieutenant, if you are at leisure, it would gratify me should we take the air on the quarterdeck for a small while.”
“Sir.”
Kydd fell into step beside the eminent officer. “Your captain speaks highly of you,” Essington said at length. “A source of some satisfaction to me, that the Service has seen some benefit to my actions after Camperdown.”
“You may rely on m’ duty, sir,” Kydd said stiffly.
“I’m sure of it,” Essington returned. “But today I have come on quite a different mission”—he paused while they passed the quartermaster—“which I find delicate enough, in all conscience.”
Kydd tensed. He had been puzzled that Houghton had held back to allow a senior flag-captain to talk directly with him, and now this admission of
delicacy.
Essington stopped pacing and faced Kydd. “The essence of it all is . . .”
“Sir?”
“My nephew, Bowden, has been sent to me in the character of midshipman to place upon the quarterdeck of
Princess
Royal.
However, in short, I do not believe it in his best interest to serve in the same ship as his uncle. Neither do I feel a flagship of the Cadíz blockade a good place to learn the elements of his
3
profession. Captain Houghton has been good enough to agree to exchange him into
Tenacious
where he will join the gunroom and begin his education.”
“Er, yes, sir.” Kydd could see no reason why he should be informed of such an arrangement.
“I tell you this in order that you be under no apprehension that he is to be accorded any privileges whatsoever beyond those extended to his fellow young gentlemen. Notwithstanding his gentle birth—and you may understand he is my sister’s child—I desire that he be treated the same.”
“Sir, with respect, I can’t see how this is a concern f’r me.”
Essington smiled. “This is then the delicacy. It is my wish that young Bowden do learn his nauticals properly, neglecting none, to be a sure foundation for his future. I do not ask you will be the schoolmaster in this, but I would take it very kindly in you should you watch over his learning. That is, his notions of seamanship will then be of prime worth, coming as they will from one whose own such are so unquestioned.”
“Sir, you flatter me,” Kydd said carefully. But nursemaid to a midshipman? And, anyway, as an officer he would not have any direct relationship with a midshipman: that was the province of the master’s mates and petty officers.
Essington frowned. “I do not ask you will interfere, merely that as the occasion presents you do try him in the particulars, sparing neither his feelings nor time as you deem necessary.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Kydd acknowledged formally.
“Very well. Captain Houghton knows of my request and will hear any suggestion you may have, conformable to the requirements of his ship.”
Hesitating, Essington went on quietly, “The boy is, er, eager to please, having latterly formed a pressing desire for the sea life, which will not be denied, but his ideas of life in a midshipman’s berth are somewhat whimsical.”
3
“Sir, I—”
“I have instructed him that under no circumstances should you be approached on matters not pertaining to the sea profession,” Essington said. “He’ll find his place soon enough—or suffer. Either way, this is not a concern of yours.”
He hauled a gold hunter from his waistcoat. “I see it is past eleven—I have to go ashore now. It only remains for me to wish you good fortune, Mr Kydd, and to thank you.”
Kydd watched the gangling midshipman he had seen in the captain’s cabin emerge from the cabin spaces aft. The lad, in brand new blues and a too-large cocked hat, looked bewildered.
Seeing Essington, he went to him, remembering at the last moment to remove his hat. His fingers worked nervously at his dirk as they exchanged murmured words; the boy attempted a last embrace and then Essington went down the side amid the ceremonial shriek of pipes. Kydd caught the glint of tears, the rigidity of barely held control.
“Mr Rawson!” he bellowed, up to the poop-deck, where he knew his signal midshipman had been working at the flag locker.
Rawson appeared at the poop rails in his shirtsleeves, then slid down the ladder to join him. “Sir?”
“Mr Rawson, this is Mr Bowden. Be so good as to convey him t’ the midshipmen’s berth, and settle him in—an’ none of y’r guardo tricks if y’ please.”
Kydd turned away, feigning disinterest, but listened to the exchange that followed.
“So what do we call ye, then?” Rawson teased. “Spit it out, younker!”
“Er, Charles, sir.”
“No, all of it,” Rawson said, with relish. “We’ll find out from the ship’s books anyway.”
“Well, er, it’s—it’s . . . Her-Her—”
40
“Damn it, fellow, we haven’t got all day.”
“Her-Her-Hercules A-A-berdour Charles Ayscough, sir,” said Bowden, in a small voice.
“
Well,
now! What infernal bad luck for you!” Rawson said fruitily. “I’d wager ‘The Honourable’ as well?”
The boy nodded miserably. “Couldn’t be bettered!” Rawson said, with a whoop. “Welcome to th’ Cockpitonians. Where’s your sea-chest, then?”
By later that forenoon
Tenacious
was in tolerable seagoing order, her gear inspected and renewed or turned end for end, spars scraped back and well blacked, guns and gunlocks minutely checked. Every conceivable corner and space was stowed with sea stores: a thousand miles into a hostile Mediterranean was not the place to discover deficiencies.
Sitting with the others scratching away at last letters, Kydd sucked his quill: there would be no mail sent or received as they sailed deeper into the ancient sea. He bent again over his letter to his family but was noisily interrupted by a midshipman hurtling into the wardroom. “All officers!” he shrilled. “On deck instanter—it’s the admiral!”
The admiral’s barge had been seen putting off from
Vanguard,
but it did not shape a course inshore as usual: with Flag pennant a-flutter it headed straight for
Tenacious,
with an unmistakable figure, resplendent in gold lace and decorations, in the sternsheets.
An appalled watch officer sent messengers scurrying while he hastily pulled together a side party. Houghton shot up from below, roaring for the first lieutenant who, when he finally appeared, showed every evidence of hasty dressing.
Kydd took his place with the receiving party of officers on the quarterdeck, nervously tugging his hat and smoothing his
waistcoat. No one was in fit state to greet an admiral; it was the usual custom to alert the ship well in advance, but this was the famed Nelson, who was known to be different from the rest.
The bowman of the barge hooked on with a quite unnecessary flourish. High at the deck edge the boatswain waited with his silver call poised, his mates and sideboys in a line inward to the group of officers.
At the instant the top of a cocked hat appeared, the calls pealed out together and Rear Admiral of the Blue Sir Horatio Nelson came aboard, his flag breaking at the mizzen. Houghton came forward and removed his hat. “Sir, welcome aboard HMS
Tenacious.
Might I have the honour of presenting my officers?”
The deck was absolutely still; not a man moved except around the admiral.
At the junior end of the receiving line Kydd dared a glance at the man who even now was known throughout the navy and increasingly by the general public, one whose reputation must shortly be tested in this daring foray.
Not as tall as Kydd’s, Nelson’s figure was sparse and drawn, in no sense that of a hero, and seemingly dwarfed by the weight of his decorations and gold lace. Kydd tried not to look at the empty sleeve pinned across his chest and the spindly legs, and tensed as the admiral approached.
“And Lieutenant Kydd, sir, fifth and junior.” Houghton’s tone betrayed that he, too, was affected by the presence.
“Do you come from a seagoing family?”
“No, sir,” Kydd answered. “I come fr’m Guildford, in th’
country.” He became uncomfortably aware of prematurely white hair and the odd, milky-blue right eye.
“Then what made you follow the sea?”
“I—I was pressed, sir.”
There was no avoiding the admission, but to his relief a thin
42
smile appeared. “And now you are a king’s officer, come aft the hardest way. To your great credit, sir—that’s so, Captain?”
“It is, sir,” Houghton stuttered.
Kydd tried to think of a suitable reply, but Nelson had passed on.
Before they entered the cabin spaces Houghton turned to the officers. “Sir Horatio wishes to address you all. Shall we say my cabin in ten minutes?”
In the great cabin of
Tenacious
a chart of the Mediterranean was already spread out on the table. Nelson wasted no time. “You will have heard from your captain the essence of what faces us.
The enemy is up to mischief—but where?” He looked from face to face. “There’s been no news, no more intelligence forwarded to me than you yourselves know. We’re sailing into the unknown.
But of this I’m sure. The enemy must make his move soon and we shall be ready, gentlemen. We have the finest sea service of the age, and we shall do our duty!” There were murmurs of approval, Bryant’s sounding above them all.
“Now, to strategy. Our course will be to Toulon. We cruise off and on until we discover for a certainty what the French are doing. If they make a move to the west we fall back. I’m prepared to let Gibraltar be taken to make certain that we can hold them at Cadíz and there with the whole fleet we shall try for a conclusion.” There was a shocked silence, which he broke: “We are talking now of the very security of our islands—they will not pass.”
He touched the chart to the east. “If, on the other hand, General Buonaparte is considering an adventure to Constantinople he will find he is trapped. The waters are shoal and there is but the one entrance, the Dardanelles. There he will find us waiting, and he will see that it will bring the Turks into close alliance. And
if they are further east, to the Levant perhaps, the Red Sea, we shall fall on their lines of supply.”
He straightened painfully, his face grim and set. “But all is vaporous posturing until we have met their fleet and disposed of it. While it exists, the Mediterranean is a French lake. All our striving must be to entice it to sea and bring it to battle. That, gentlemen, is our entire strategy. Questions?”
The heightened feeling was almost palpable. Bryant asked boldly, “What will be our force, sir?”
“
Vanguard,
yourselves,
Orion
and
Alexander,
with three frigates. Too big to discourage from looking where we please, too small to think we engage. Big enough to lure ’em out,” Nelson snapped, and waited for another question.
“Signals, sir. We haven’t yet the new instructions,” Kydd found himself saying. The others frowned, but he was concerned that he did not yet have a signal book ready for any major fleet action in prospect.
“Neither will you,” Nelson said briefly. “You are in a detached squadron of Sir John’s fleet off Cadíz. His signals therefore will still apply.” He then turned to Kydd and smiled grimly. “And if any ship of the enemy lie ahead, why, our duty is plain and no signal required.”
There was a stirring among the officers. These were not the highly planned, intricate tactics of a fleet in line-of-battle: service under this admiral promised to be a time each would remember.
After the men had finished their grog and noon meal the officers sat down to dinner. The wardroom was alive with only one topic.
“A proud man, but conceited,” Bampton said firmly. “Vanity does not a leader make, in my opinion.”
“Oh, so you have personal knowledge of our famed commander?” There was an edge to Adams’s voice.
44
“Not directly. But I have heard—”
“Let the man’s actions speak for ’emselves, I say!” boomed Bryant.
Bampton came in instantly: “They have.”
“Oh?”
“Orders. Do you call them orders? ‘If you see an enemy ship, damn the signals and close with him.’ What kind of orders are those? In a fleet action there has to be detail—every circumstance foreseen, all manoeuvres planned in such a manner that every captain will know what is expected of him. As for signals—is this an example to our junior officers? Are
you
satisfied, Mr Kydd?”
Kydd had no experience in a fleet action as an officer. As a master’s mate on the lower deck during the battle of Camperdown he had never been privy to the wider tactical picture on the quarterdeck. Now, as a signal lieutenant, he was expected to act as a crucial link in the chain of command.
“He’s a fighting seaman, that I like,” Kydd said firmly. “A rear admiral, but goes out in th’ boats himself at Cadíz, takes the fight t’ the enemy.”
“Seeking a reputation at the cannon’s mouth.”
Bryant snorted impatiently. “A plain-sailing admiral—
I
’m satisfied, an’
I
surely know what will answer with him.”