Julian Stockwin - Victory

He chuckled. ‘I do pity Villeneuve – he’ll wish mightily he’d stayed safe and snug in Toulon.’

‘But—’

Kydd allowed a frown to appear. ‘Have you any doubt of the outcome, sir? When I saw him Lord Nelson was vastly content that the French have at last showed themselves and longs for a conclusion. We couldn’t find them – now we know where they are. Is this not a cause for joy?’

‘Aye, sir,’ Gilbey answered carefully.

It was all Kydd could do: the rumours would fly, he had no control over that, but if the men on watch, overhearing their captain, could take away the observation that to him all was going to plan then it was something they could hold on to.

Gibraltar. Eight hundred miles to the west: less than a week’s sailing with a fair wind – but the veering easterly had gone through south and was now firming from the west. Dead foul for the Rock.

Day after day the Mediterranean Squadron tacked in long boards ever westwards, the staying about at the end of each a mechanical routine, their advance pricked off on the chart a dispiriting procession. And day after day the winds held steady from the west, always in their face, always foul for Gibraltar.

They finally clawed their way into the narrowing passage between Africa and Europe that would end in the Strait of Gibraltar. The winds had fallen to a balmy serenity – and with the notorious current through the strait driving in from the Atlantic the squadron was now threatened with being ‘backstrapped’ – unable to make progress in the light winds and therefore remorselessly carried back whence they had come.

The weary fight ended temporarily almost within sight of their goal when the squadron was diverted to Tetuan to take on fresh water and supplies.

Tetuan was well known to all nations for its good watering and it was not remarkable to see a Portuguese ship-of-the-line laying to its task when the squadron dropped anchor. What was not expected was the hurried departure of a boat containing a senior officer, which made its way to Victory . Even less expected was the result: L’Aurore ’s pennants and the summoning of her captain.

The commander-in-chief was furiously busy, a stream of clerks, captains, officers and others demanding audience, seen and sent on their way with his secretary at the tall side-desk steadily documenting the activity. But when Kydd appeared they were banished and Nelson quickly sat him down at the vast table.

‘News,’ he said, a marked animation in his tired, worn features. ‘I have a service for you this hour, Mr Kydd, but first I will tell you this that you might understand the task.

‘The Portuguee is commanded by an Englishman who knows his duty and he has some startling information. While heading here, he sighted Villeneuve on a bowline north of Cadiz but – mark this – on a course west-nor’-west until out of sight.’

‘The – the West Indies?’ hazarded Kydd.

‘As I could be persuaded,’ Nelson growled, but fiddled with his pencil. ‘Yet he has troops and the Spanish. To me, this seems to speak less of Brazil or the Caribbean and more of a pass north to raise the blockade of Ferrol and then a strike at Ireland.’

‘My lord, if he sailed north, surely he must have encountered Admiral Orde and the Cadiz squadron.’

‘He did.’

‘Sir?’

‘Villeneuve and his squadron sailed through Admiral Orde’s force to enter Cadiz,’ Nelson said bitterly, not hiding his contempt. ‘Not a shot fired, he lets them pass.’

Kydd held a wary silence. It had been talked about that once one of Nelson’s invaluable frigates in passing had been intercepted by the senior Orde and taken into local service out of apparent spite and there was little love lost between them.

‘Not that you’ll sight him – the Portuguee says he immediately retired northward, no doubt falling back on the Channel and not thinking to send a cutter to tell me of his motions or those of the French.’

‘Sir.’

‘I’m sanguine he’ll answer for it later, but it leaves me with a decision. I can’t dismiss that Villeneuve is making for the West Indies as in Bonaparte’s old plan, but on the other hand I can’t take the unsupported word of this officer in foreign service.

‘In the face of all these rumours I’ve so little intelligence and I must remedy it. You’re to sail for Lisbon this hour, Captain, find out what you can about Villeneuve and tell me.’

Bowden was not the only one busy with pen and paper: nearly all the gunroom was so occupied, for the chance here in Gibraltar to get a letter away to England, home and family was too good to miss. Ignoring the crushing weariness – they had been frantically storing ship in Rosia Bay until darkness put an end to it – he tested the quill nib and began.

Dear Uncle

I hardly know how to start this letter to you, for there’s every expectation that by the time you receive it there’ll have been that great clash of arms so devoutly prayed for by our dear commander, the pity of it all being he shall not be part of it.

What am I saying? As I write this, while we stay idle Napoleon’s vile hordes may well be unleashed on you and all England to suffer the final reckoning. We cannot know, and Our Nel is beside himself with vexation, for he dare not move for want of intelligence of the enemy which is scant and full of question – but I shall start from the beginning from what we know at this moment . . .

He sucked the feathered end of the quill distractedly and continued with an account of the sudden irruption of the enemy and their extreme frustrations in following.

Conceive of the scene, Uncle, the fleet watering at Tetuan, a neutral Portuguese advising that the Frenchy fleet was sighted spreading sail for the open Atlantic. Is it to be the West Indies, or is it a ruse to send us off on a wild-goose chase while they double back to join up in the Channel? We cannot know and what is worse is that while these light airs keep in the west we’re prisoners.

Not one to weep over what can’t be helped, our commander-in-chief orders us to water and take on greens and dispatches Superb to round up beef for the fleet. He sends a frigate to Lisbon for news. She’s L’Aurore , a famous sailer in a breeze whom we haven’t heard from yet. Then the wind shifts just enough to the sou’-west and we sail all of a sudden, even leaving Superb ’s bullocks standing on the beach!

And so we make Gibraltar. Uncle, if you could hear the rumours fly, it would stand your hair on end. We’ve stopped every ship, but none with a whisper of where Villeneuve is or has been. It’s as if the devil is concealing his own. The ship thinks to a man, however, that the Frenchies after emptying Cadiz simply carried on north and even now are raising Cain and disputing with Admiral Cornwallis for the Channel.

He paused, reviewing what he knew and ended:

What is certain is that as the Mediterranean Squadron this cannot be our concern but, dear Uncle, how long can a firebrand like Our Nel lie idle while matters are decided by others?

There was little more to say so he carefully creased the paper but paused before the wafer was affixed, thinking that it might be wiser to leave it to the last minute, just in case.

Some five days later his forethought was rewarded. In furious haste he set up on the table and scribbled rapidly in pencil:

Uncle – I write in a rush. There’s a dispatch cutter returning in one hour and I must give you this news, which I’ll wager will set you a-gasp – Lord Nelson has broken out of station!

It was a crime beyond forgiveness for a commander-in-chief to abandon his station without the knowledge of the Admiralty. There, plans were formulated on the premise that on the world chessboard fleets were expected to be in readiness in known areas for the moves and counter-moves that constituted high strategy. It was without doubt that such a one absenting himself and his fleet would answer for it at a court-martial.