Tenacious

Troubridge of Culloden to speak with the Turkish authorities. The big 74 sailed into the wide bay towards Koroni castle. When he returned, he finally brought news that the French had been positively sighted—steering south-eastward. They had been seen some weeks before but it was a mystery as to why they had gone so far to the north instead of making a straight run of it to Alexandria. It was the master who grasped the significance: 'Cabotage, sir,' he told Houghton. 'They're a lubberly crew hereabouts an' navigate by following the coast along, point b' point, and never a notion of workin' a deep-sea reckoning. We sailed direct, got there before 'em.'

Culloden was followed by a humble two-master, astern. This was a French wine-brig that the same obliging governor who had given them their vital news had also graciously allowed to be carried off as prize from under the guns of the castle. Later the wine would be transhipped to the fleet as rations.

'Please take a chair, Mr Kydd.' Houghton's manner as he greeted Kydd in his cabin was odd—tense, perhaps, Kydd thought. But that could be because he had only recently returned from conclave with Nelson. During their long chase the admiral had made it his practice to see his captains in twos and threes in the great cabin of Vanguard. There, together, they would share his fighting vision and intentions, playing out the possible settings for combat.

'I'll not mince words. We are about to be joined in battle with an enemy of great force. It will be a hard-fought contest, which is vital to our country. But I have the utmost confidence in Admiral Nelson and his battle plans, which we have discussed thoroughly. It only requires we follow where he leads and I've no doubt whatsoever of the outcome.'

He paused and looked at Kydd intently. 'As I recollect, this will be your first experience of the quarterdeck in an action of significance, in the line-of-battle.'

'Sir.' Camperdown, his only fleet action, did not count—he had been below with the guns and at no time had really understood what was happening outside his ship. And, besides, he reminded himself, it was before he had been raised to be an officer.

'It is the custom of the Service for the duty of signal lieutenant to be devolved on the junior. You have discharged this duty to my satisfaction so far, sir, but you will forgive my concern when you reflect that at this time of supreme crisis, when it is crucial the intentions of the commander be known—and only by signal—I am obliged to place the safety and honour of my ship in one who has had no officer-like experience of a fleet action and who is the most junior aboard.'

Kydd flushed. 'Am I then t' be superseded, sir?'

'What is the signal 'division designated, to harass the enemy rear'?'

'Why, blue burgee signific an' number twenty-nine, both at mizzen peak, sir,' Kydd said instantly.

'The night signal to haul to the wind, and sail with starb'd tacks on board?'

'One light at th' ensign staff, one in the mizzen shrouds, an' fire one gun.'

'And to larb'd?'

'Two lights in the fore-shrouds—that is t' say, one above the other—and two guns.'

Houghton nodded, and Kydd saw that behind the hard expression his captain needed reassurance before a great battle.

Houghton got up and stared out from the stern windows. 'That is well, Mr Kydd. I can see that you have applied yourself to your profession.' He paused, then continued softly, 'Sir Horatio is a fine leader—a great man, I believe. There we may see a ruthless determination to achieve victory that spares neither himself nor his officers: I've seen it in no other man. I would not have Tenacious fail him, Mr Kydd.'

'Aye, sir.'

Houghton swung round. 'Remember always that the best plans and dispositions are as nothing if they cannot be communicated. We have no repeating frigates, therefore a great deal depends on your vigilance and attention to duty.' He hesitated. 'I would wish you well, Mr Kydd.'

At midnight, Kydd handed over the watch to Renzi and went below to the darkened wardroom to turn in. From the chart, he had seen that they would make landfall on Alexandria the following morning, and as he slipped into his gently swaying cot unsettling thoughts came to trouble him.

There could be no mistaking the gravity of the situation. The enemy would fight to the limits to repulse any attempt to overthrow their position as lords of the Mediterranean—at stake was their chance at a break-out into the outer world and an unstoppable path to complete domination. Two great fleets would meet in mortal combat tomorrow to determine who would be future masters of the sea and, therefore, the course of history.

He tossed restlessly, eyes open in the hot darkness. It might well be his last night on earth. Into his mind came the horrors of mortal wounding, the dark hell of the cockpit and the surgeon's saw—or would it be quick? A heavy shot tearing him in two? He shied from the possibility of personal extinction and tried to focus on half-remembered religious shibboleths, but they had small enough meaning now. Should he perhaps ask Mr Peake to spend some time with him tomorrow, to seek strength in the sturdy faith of his fathers?

He rolled over restlessly and forced his thoughts to the commander, the illustrious Nelson, he of Calvi, Tenerife, the 'patent bridge' at St Vincent, the savage boat fighting at Cadiz. Now there was one who would not suffer night terrors to trouble him. His written orders were full of words like 'victory,' 'destruction,' 'duty,' 'honour.' There was even a clause directing that a single lieutenant and midshipman should take possession of defeated enemy ships, however big, the better to allow their ship to move on and engage another.

Kydd felt better: there was no doubt that Nelson's fleet would conduct itself in the best traditions of the Royal Navy. And, therefore, so would he. His anxiety ebbed. Professionally he felt confidence: seamanship and courage were what were required now. And besides, a small voice offered, it might well be that the French were not in Alexandria, having vanished again ...

The morning dawned hazy as the sun rose on sparkling deep blue seas. The north-westerly was picking up, the fleet perfectly on course: they would raise Alexandria later in the morning. Nelson had signalled to Alexander and Swiftsure to sail on ahead to report and all eyes were on the pale horizon, impatient for news.

Land was sighted: again the unmistakable flat, dun-coloured dunes and lofty palms of Egypt. And far ahead the sprawl of a city—Alexandria. Alexander was standing off the port; everyone aboard Tenacious turned to her signal lieutenant. What was the news?

As they drew nearer, the Pharos Tower resolved distantly out of the morning haze, and there were tantalising glimpses of the masts and rigging of what could only be a vast amount of shipping. Still there was no signal. Kydd waited for the simple two-flag hoist, number eleven, 'enemy in sight,' followed by a compass bearing. The details