Victory Read online

  ‘Um, protection of our trade, cruising against the enemy’s, scouting ahead o’ the fleet at sea, er, carriage of important dispatches and persons as must be trusted to make port, and, er—’

  ‘Which do you conceive to be the most important, sir?’

  ‘In course, intelligence of the enemy, sir.’ He had remembered the hellish tensions before the Nile.

  ‘Exactly, Mr Kydd. To this end you will be bold, ruthless, cunning, and spare nothing to get to your commander-in-chief the intelligence he most fervently desires. Neither vainglory nor considerations of honour must tempt you to stand where a prudent withdrawal will thereby secure me knowledge of the enemy’s motions.’

  ‘I understand, my lord.’

  ‘Then understand also why we are before Toulon.’

  ‘The blockade, sir?’ Kydd said, puzzled.

  ‘Do you term it so? When our sail-o’-the-line are fifty miles to the south and entirely out of their sight and knowledge? My hope and prayer is that Mr Villeneuve will feel emboldened enough to sally, seeing no English battleships in the offing. Toulon is the very devil to blockade, the high ground at their backs giving them sight of our ships for leagues.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I was l’tenant in Tenacious 64 off Toulon before the peace.’

  ‘So now you are in a frigate as will close with the port like a terrier at a rat-hole, letting nothing move except you shall report it.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Lay salt on their tail, entice ’em out for an easy victory!’

  ‘I will, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ He put down his glass, the sherry hardly touched. ‘I shall see you provided with your pennant number for the signal books. My orders are specified in the Public Order Book and the captain of the fleet will acquaint you with our way of maintaining this squadron. Now, L’Aurore – your usual Frenchy frigate does not shine in sea-keeping, her hold space so meagre. Are you in want of any material at all?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Good. A first-rate place for a fleet, Agincourt Sound, do you not think? Malta is not to be countenanced, even if it has the dockyards, it being so ridiculously distant. Gibraltar cannot sustain a fleet of size, all supplies must needs come out from England, and I’ll be damned if I can feel free to move, always under a Spaniard’s eyes. Here we can supply ourselves privily, wood and water when we please, but at a cost.’

  ‘A cost, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Sardinia is neutral, but Vittorio Emanuele – who is King of Piedmont and rules through his brother the Duke of Genoa here in Cagliari – must by all means be flattered and caressed that he allows us our discreet anchoring.’

  ‘Sir,’ Kydd said, daring a comment, ‘if Sardinia is neutral, would not his actions provoke Bonaparte?’

  ‘Quite. However, the French were obliging enough once to threaten an assault on this island. I have undertaken to His Majesty in that event to place my fleet before the invaders, which has concentrated his mind wonderfully on our modest request.’

  Kydd glowed. That he was now at an elevation to share confidences with the commander-in-chief, Admiral Lord Nelson!

  ‘You’ll want to return to your ship, Mr Kydd. Pray do not delay on my account.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  Nelson’s features eased for a moment. ‘And now you are made post – a remarkable elevation for one with so little interest to call upon. Do rejoice, sir, in your fortune while I will know I may always rely on your devotion to duty.’

  ‘Th-thank you, my lord,’ Kydd replied, inwardly exulting at this proof of to whom he owed his advancement.

  ‘Your orders will be sent across presently. Good day to you, sir.’

  ‘Nicholas, it was the damnedest thing to be talking away to my commander-in-chief and he the hero of the hour,’ Kydd declared, recalling the moment with wonder. ‘Spoke to me about how to deal with the King of Piedmont and why he chose La Maddalena and things. I’m to study my orders diligently, I believe.’

  They were concise, strong-worded and very clear. When ready for sea, L’Aurore was to relieve Seahorse off Toulon. Conduct of frigate surveillance operations was detailed. There were to be at least two on station such that if the enemy sailed one would keep with them while the other would bring back word; Kydd would find Active waiting.

  They would keep close with the port, with the dual object of ensuring no movements would be missed and offering themselves as tempting bait. In as wide a region as the Mediterranean there were, of course, other fleet rendezvous specified. Each would be referred to only by a code number but the main alternative to Toulon was at the south tip of Sardinia, perfectly astride the main east–west sea passage from Gibraltar to the Middle East.

  There were extensive sections on signals: to a frigate bearing urgent news it was vital the meaning was clear. To this end not only the familiar signal book was to be employed but the new Popham telegraph code was to be adopted with its near infinite number of messages possible.

  Further orders covered such mundane matters as the manner of victualling ship, observations on the health of seamen and the importance of weekly accounts. Nothing was left to chance and the overriding impression Kydd had was of swelling detail, all of which was a tribute to the care and worry the commander-in-chief was bringing to his task.

  L’Aurore sailed for Toulon the next day in the teeth of yet another hard nor’-wester, her captain under no illusions as to the importance of his tasking. Bucking and plunging by long boards north through misty rain, they raised the darker band of the French coast in the early afternoon and by evening were off the Ȋles d’Hyères at the eastern reaches of the port.

  Standing off and on through the hours of darkness, they sighted Active in the morning, cruising perilously close inshore. The two drew together and through a speaking trumpet Kydd was told that Seahorse would be found to the westward as the two endlessly criss-crossed in the offing, and that it might be prudent to shorten sail in the blow that was coming.

  Then they were on their own: somewhere they would pass Seahorse but for the rest it was eagle-eyed vigilance in the worst weather, and all responsibility for keeping the enemy under watch. What if he suddenly spotted the regular procession of the enemy leaving? Did he go looking for Seahorse or instantly clap on all sail for Nelson – and thereby lose the vital knowledge of where the French were headed? It was a desperate worry, for Kydd knew that it was within his power to lose the battle for Nelson if he decided wrongly.

  L’Aurore gave a sickening wallow to leeward, ending in a teeth-jarring crunch as a wave surged and exploded against her hull, sending sheets of ice-cold spray over the sodden watch.

  A rounded and stern headland loomed darkly out of the driving rain. This must be Cape Bénat, as far east as he need go; beyond, the coast trended north-east, past the old wine port of St Tropez to Cannes, Monaco and the rest to the Italian border.

  ‘Hands to wear ship!’ In this bluster there was no need to stress spars and rigging by staying about and L’Aurore eased around to lie on the starboard tack for the long wet haul west back past Toulon. When they cleared the last of the Ȋles d’Hyères for the open sea, Kydd left the deck. At least this was not a continual, wearing lee shore, as Brest was, where a mishap with a mast or spar carrying away threatened headlong destruction on the bleak granite coast.

  He pulled off his streaming foul-weather gear, grateful that he had ignored Tysoe’s disapproval of his comfortable old grego, wedged himself into his chair and went over his orders once more. His duty was clear and, as far as signals went, he had every confidence in the master’s mate Saxton, who had taken away the Popham to ‘get it by heart’.

  The real problem would be when—

  There was confused shouting above and he snapped alert. Grabbing his grego, he found the companionway and swung up on deck to see Curzon talking urgently to Howlett and pointing off the bow. A hail came from the fore-top lookout and then he spotted a close-packed gaggle of sail emerging from the murk.

  With
a lurch of the heart he saw that these were no trivial coasters, or even frigates, but vessels displaying the ominous bulk of ships-of-the-line. Was this a feint, a sudden excursion to sea to exercise Villeneuve’s fleet? Or the real thing – a mass sailing of the battleships in Toulon to outnumber and overwhelm Nelson?

  L’Aurore heaved to in front of the advancing sail, and waited. Then the stream of ships parted and the larger division formed up in the outer roads in a massive show. Telescopes went up feverishly as yet more crowded out into the bay.

  The time for decision was fast approaching: should Kydd follow or peel off to inform? A sharp-eyed youngster excitedly pointed out an admiral’s pennant flying on a large eighty-gun vessel. There was now little doubt that this was a major eruption of force, which could well be the historic first move in Napoleon’s grand invasion plan – and he must act!

  But then Kydd saw what the smaller division was doing: while the main force was assembling in the Great Roads of Toulon it was continuing on in a wide pincer movement, led by a lone frigate leaning hard into the wind.

  He quickly realised what it meant. They were a body of warships designed to brush aside the watchers to ensure that the main fleet made the open ocean and disappeared into it without trace. Without doubt now, this was the act for which Nelson had been yearning – a mighty clash of arms on the high seas that would decide the issue once and for all.

  He forced his mind to a ferocious clarity. No matter the forces sent against him, his duty was to stay with the main fleet and dog their movements until it was known where they were headed.

  The pincer sweep was beginning to reach out to them. Kydd raised his glass to the frigate out on its own ahead of them and saw it was Seahorse. In a trice matters had changed: virtually every post-captain was senior to Kydd, and if decisions were to be made they would be those of the captain of Seahorse.

  Not sure whether to be relieved or sorry, he bore away to split the pursuers between them and shortly afterwards L’Aurore was signalled, ‘Enemy in sight’, followed by ‘Conform to my movements’. Kydd saw that Seahorse was thrashing out along the coast to the eastwards under full sail, leading her pursuers at right angles to the course the main body must take to reach the open sea.

  Realising the intent, he obediently braced in and L’Aurore made off to the westwards, further splitting the pack. The enemy commander must now choose which English frigate to drive after, at the risk of losing the main fleet in the worsening visibility, or return to stay with Villeneuve.

  The distant Seahorse vanished momentarily into a rain squall, reappeared and then was lost completely. The pursuers between widened the separation while the rest of the main fleet streamed out, quickly swallowed up in driving rain-squalls.

  Kydd understood what was being done and when the enemy abandoned their chase L’Aurore shaped course southwards on the long side of a triangle that would see them converging on both Seahorse and the enemy fleet.

  In any other circumstances it would have been exhilarating work, for L’Aurore was probably the fastest ship on the scene, but this was in deadly earnest – and the north-north-westerly that was making the breakout possible meant the wind was astern, and this was not her best point of sailing. In fact, for sea-keeping it had to be her worst.

  The motion was appalling. A vicious barrelling roll had all hands grabbing for support and the wrenching movement, coupled with a harsh pitching into the backs of rollers, was deeply unsettling.

  In just an hour or two’s sailing, however, the rear ships of Villeneuve’s fleet became visible. Kydd smiled in grim satisfaction. They had been right – the French admiral had not risked evasive manoeuvres and had headed straight out to sea, hoping to lose himself before the English frigates found him again.

  And now the biggest question of all was about to be answered. Would Villeneuve head west towards Gibraltar to join up with the Spanish in Cadiz before storming for the Channel to fulfil Bonaparte’s destiny, or would he go east, to fall on Naples or even Alexandria in vengeful answer to the humiliation of the Nile?

  Kydd hung on doggedly as the frigate rolled and bucketed crazily, knowing that the fate of England lay in his hands. There was no variation in Villeneuve’s stubborn southward course, however, and soon Seahorse came up with him, lessening the frightful chance of losing the French.

  The frigate eased up with him and the two pitched and heaved together. The figure of her captain lifted up a speaking trumpet. ‘We – staaay – until we – knooow!’ he blared.

  There was no need for discussion and Kydd acknowledged with a wave. The two frigates parted to take station on either quarter of the fleet; with wind astern they could deploy as they chose.

  Another hour passed with no move to either east or west. Conditions were worsening to a fresh gale, wave-crests torn to spindrift and eyes reddening at the continual spray sheeting across. L’Aurore staggered now, the French barely in sight and Seahorse out on the beam taking punishment.

  Kydd did what he could, rolling tackles to check the strain on plunging spars, preventers rigged – if anything carried away it would cost them more than the ship. The hours passed: no change. Day was turning into evening and then it would be the nightmare of a chase in darkness.

  There was only one thing that they could do: stay closer – whatever it took, stay with them.

  It seemed Seahorse was of the same mind and the two frigates closed in astern just as night lanthorns appeared in the tops of the enemy battleships, their betraying light a penalty for keeping the fleet together in darkness.

  Three horizontal lights flickered and stayed in the main-top of Seahorse. Kydd did the same. The light faded and the storm-ridden night began, the white combers charging out of the blackness adding to the violence of the scene – but this was the critical time, the darkness when Villeneuve would surely douse the lanthorns and slip away on his planned course.

  Another hour. The same southerly course. Hours more. It was inexplicable – why no move? Kydd was wet, chilled to the heart, but nothing would take him from the quarterdeck at that time.

  The watch changed, clawing their way along the life-lines now rigged along the main-deck.

  Midnight and still nothing.

  A short time later there was a perceptible wan lightening of the violent seascape; an invisible moon rising above the storm wrack, which must have been known to Villeneuve. Now it was too late for him: he could no longer disappear into an ink-black night. Why?

  The tempest was reaching its peak and Kydd knew that L’Aurore was now near her limit. They would soon have to take the agonising decision to break off and, in the face of desperate need, abandon the pursuit to carry their vital news to Nelson.

  Another frantic hour went by and then, at about two, a blue flare sputtered on Seahorse. As he watched, the three lights in her main-top moved into line as she swung away to larboard.

  Unbelieving, Kydd saw the frigate haul her wind for the south-east and begin to diverge, clearly intent on leaving, the blue light to draw L’Aurore away too. He flogged his tired and frozen brain to think why this should be so.

  Then he had it. Well south by now, they must have passed to the westward of Corsica and Villeneuve was therefore blocked from a rapid move down Italy. Similarly, on this southward course they had missed the chance of a rapid passage to the west of the Balearics and on to Gibraltar. Whether in fear of constricted waters in this blow or for other reasons, Villeneuve was on his way to the grand cross-ways of the Mediterranean between Sardinia and North Africa and, if told in time, Nelson had a chance.

  L’Aurore’s helm spun over and she sheeted in for the south-east, falling in astern of Seahorse. Now, steadied by her sails and on a quartering reach, she came into her own and in the wild night the two frigates stretched away for Agincourt Sound, the smaller quickly taking the lead and putting distance between her and Seahorse.

  Kydd was in the race of his life to be the one to tell Nelson that the French were out.

  L’Aurore fl
ew into Agincourt Sound, signal guns cracking, and in a thunderous flogging of canvas rounding to at the flagship. Kydd’s boat was in the water instantly, her crew stretching out heroically. He bounded up the side of Victory to be met at the top by the grim-faced commander-in-chief himself.

  ‘The French are at sea, m’ lord!’ Kydd said immediately.

  ‘My cabin,’ Nelson snapped. It took minutes only to impart the gist of what had happened and just seconds for the order ‘All captains’ to be passed, followed instantly by ‘Fleet will unmoor’. A gun crashed out to add urgency to the order.

  One by one captains whose names were known even beyond the Navy arrived without ceremony and were welcomed gravely by Nelson. Keats of Superb, Pellew of Conqueror, Hallowell of Tigre – men whose deeds were the stuff of legend, all fighting captains who would be the edge of the blade Nelson would wield in the cataclysm to come.

  What was known was that the French were out; what was not was where they were bound. Nelson was brief and passionate: ‘It is essential to the nation to find, meet and destroy the Toulon armament before they have chance to join with the Spaniards in an unstoppable force.

  ‘From Captain Kydd’s hard-gotten information we know they’re progressing down the west coast of Sardinia in a fresh blow under shortened sail. We have a chance! I desire that the fleet weighs immediately. Under full sail in the lee of the gale, we stand south on the east side of Sardinia. Gentlemen, the rendezvous is at its south tip, the Gulf of Palma. There the two fleets will converge and by God’s good grace we shall return to England with news of a great victory.’

  There were dutiful murmurs from the hard-faced men around the table who clearly needed no goading to action. ‘Then I do wish you all good fortune in the engagement to come. The frigate captains to remain, I shall not detain you further.’

  When Boyle of Seahorse had breathlessly joined them Nelson issued his orders. The frigates were to range ahead, to instantly fall back on the squadron when the enemy was sighted. Every ship, friendly or neutral, was to be stopped and questioned; all conceivable opportunities for intelligence were to be ruthlessly pursued. At all costs the French would be tracked down and the fleets brought into contact – this was their sole and only duty.