Julian Stockwin - Victory

‘Aye aye, sir,’ he stuttered.

‘Oh, this is Mr Canning, treasurer of the Navy and this Mr Rose, paymaster general. Without gentlemen like these, we would have no sea service.’ He smiled genially. ‘Do stay, sir – that’s Hardy over there and we’ll raise a glass to England together before we board.’

The coach swayed and slowed on the choked roads at the approaches to Portsmouth. The driver swore and snapped his whip over the heads of the mob streaming towards Landport gate but without effect. Cecilia pleaded to the uncaring mass to move. They whooped and shouted in return but did not give an inch.

‘Never in m’ life seen anythin’ like this’n!’ the coachman said in amazement, fending off a tipsy would-be rider while trying to control the frightened horses. ‘Like as not, we’m as far as we c’n get, lady.’

‘Five guineas to get to the high street!’

He looked at her kindly. ‘Can’t see yez getting into Portsea without ye walks, miss. Help y’ down?’

Cecilia began thrusting through the unruly crowd, giving as good as she got as she struggled on, but her despair mounted. Not knowing Portsmouth well, she turned down a side-street and hurried along, panting and desperate. She had no idea where to find her menfolk but instinct drove her on – towards the sea.

‘Well, gentlemen, our destiny awaits. Shall we take boat now?’ Nelson said at last. He went to the window to glance at the sky, provoking an instant roar from the crowd outside.

‘The redcoats have been turned out, my lord,’ his flag-captain said diffidently, ‘but they don’t appear to have it in hand.’

‘Then I’ll leave by the rear,’ Nelson said crisply. ‘I’ll not embark from Sally Port. There’s a bathing beach at Southsea further along the seafront, as I remember.’

‘There is, sir,’ the dockyard commissioner said. ‘If we go by Penny Street and the church, there’s a tunnel let through the wall.’

‘Very well.’ But as soon as Nelson emerged from the back door of the George there were frantic shouts and an instant surge, people pressing towards him to catch a glimpse of his face. A number were in tears or falling prostrate while others gawked or shouted.

As he stepped out into the street the crowd fell back as though mesmerised. Nelson himself was in the greatest good humour, continually raising his hat to the ladies, clasping a hand, acknowledging a knelt prayer. He seemed to move along in a bubble of silent rapture; then after he had passed came redoubled shouts and cheering.

To Kydd, a few paces behind, it was extraordinary, dream-like. He had no idea where Renzi was but the sea of faces pressing in was unnerving. Some reached out to touch him, paw his uniform, all clamouring for his attention.

They slowly crossed a green by high earth ramparts, hundreds pouring on to it as it became obvious where they were headed – a woman fell in a swoon and was overwhelmed by the crush. Then they were at a stone bastion by the sea with a small tunnel beneath.

Ahead of Cecilia there was a swelling roar; nearby people ran to see. She joined them and was carried along on to a greensward rimmed by the grey stone of a low fortification. It could only be Nelson ahead and she knew that nearby must be her brother and the man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life. Then she saw high earthworks and scrambled to the top with the others to look down on history in the making – and there in a small group walking with Lord Nelson was her brother!

She screamed out at him but her voice was lost in the din and she saw them disappear into a tunnel – but with no sign of Nicholas. Then there was a rush over the stone fortification as sentries were jostled aside, helpless to stop the crowd. Cecilia found herself fighting for a place at the top of an outer redoubt that looked seaward and down on to a nearby small beach with bathing machines.

The group emerged from the tunnel on to the beach, Nelson stopping to acknowledge the adoring crowd with waves, his gold lace and four stars glittering in the autumn sunshine. His barge nosed in, and first two important-looking men boarded, with an officer she supposed was Captain Hardy. Nelson turned and took off his hat, waving it at the crowd, which burst into cheering. Then he entered his barge and it shoved off.

The cheering subsided and what sounded like a huge sigh spread out. Nelson twisted around, waved his hat once more and again the cheers went up. Then a breathy silence descended.

Kydd was last to embark. His waiting barge came in and, incredibly, there was Nicholas, standing in the sternsheets, while Kydd took his place. Cecilia froze with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Then, in a rising tide of helplessness and passion, she shrieked, ‘Nicholas! Nicholas! I’ll wait for you! I’ll waaait for you! My darling – I’ll waaait !’

Renzi’s head snapped up, his eyes searching the crowd. She threw her arms about, signalling frantically, but the boat completed its turn and was now pulling strongly away. ‘Nicholas! I’ll waaait !’ she screamed, but by then the boat had disappeared into the throng of small craft.

Chapter 13

There was a distinct touch of autumn about the unruly bluster that met the men-o’-war under full sail down-Channel on their way to confront the enemy. L’Aurore fared worst. Needing to keep with the battleships in the fresh gale she wore canvas that had her sore-pressed and her boatswain worried.

But there was a fierce pride aboard to be part of the most famous battle-fleet of the age. There would be yarns a-plenty on their return, and if there was the historic clash-at-arms everyone expected, then was this not their duty, the reason for their being? There had been no desertions among the men on liberty, the extraordinary scenes at Nelson’s embarkation witnessed by many of them. It was clear that they had been affected, and Kydd felt that the ship’s spirit was now as exalted as his own.

He went below, allowing Tysoe to remove his streaming oilskins and grateful for a hot negus. ‘What’s that you have, Nicholas?’ he asked, seeing Renzi absorbed in a handwritten sheet.

‘Oh, in the mail – from my worthy friend Mr Wordsworth. He’s a poet of a wild and romantical nature, as you’ll agree, but much given to self-reflection. In this he’s asking my opinion on his musing about the present peril. Listen:

‘“ Yea, to this hour I cannot read a Tale

Of two brave vessels matched in deadly fight,

And fighting to the death, but I am pleased

More than a wise man ought to be; I wish,

Fret, burn, and struggle, and in soul am there. ”’

Renzi gave a half-smile. ‘If you knew the fellow and the way he’s changed his turbulent ways you’d find it a singular sentiment, my friend.’

Kydd snorted. ‘Really? I defy anyone o’ true heart to stand mumchance in these times – and wasn’t he all for glorying in the Revolution?’

‘As I indicated, his views have altered,’ Renzi said defensively, and laid down the paper. ‘On quite another subject,’ he went on offhandedly, ‘did you by chance notice your sister in Portsmouth at all?’

‘Cecilia? When I was in Guildford she wasn’t there, somewhere in Ireland, I thought. Er, why do you ask?’

‘I’d swear I saw her on shore when we left, waving and calling out. I couldn’t catch what she shouted in the hullabaloo.’

‘I didn’t see her,’ Kydd said, then added slyly, ‘Are you sure it wasn’t just a wish-child?’

‘I saw her well enough,’ Renzi said abruptly and, for a fleeting moment, wondered if indeed he had dreamed it. Then again she might have just arrived in England and hurriedly come to see them both off. Or was it only for her brother?