Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

Everything depended on staying clear of the rocky shoals that lay unseen all around. In the lurid glow of a vast sunset Goliath reached the first ship-of-the-line. The enemy ship's fire slackened and grew uncertain as the British 74 passed the point of intersection, for not only could her guns no longer bear but when Goliath's helm went over to cross her bows she could only wait for the ruin and death that must surely follow.

From only a few yards' range a full broadside slammed into the unprotected bow of the hapless French ship; thirty-two-pound shot smashing and rampaging through the entire length of the vessel in an unrelenting path of destruction. Through the swirling powder-smoke Kydd strained to see Goliath wheel about, but to his astonishment she continued on, her rigging visible be-yond—on the inside of the line!

"Damme! What's he about?" Kydd had not seen Adams arrive—he had made an excuse to leave his post at the guns below to see the excitement before they in turn were engaged. "He stands to take the ground and there, o' course, he'll be helpless!"

"No, I think not," Kydd said, holding the image in his eye. Goliath had passed further along, her guns seeking a fresh target, while Zealous stretched out to reach the same point. "Ye know what I think? He's seen the anchor buoy—these Frenchies are at single anchor, and he knows they've swung to th' wind. Stands t' reason, they have to leave room to swing an' that's where he's going to place his ship." It was daring and intelligent and the move was from individual initiative, not the result of a signal. It deserved to succeed.

Zealous reached the line—again the erupting billows of gun-smoke. In the gathering darkness gun-flash illuminated it eerily from within. The Frenchman's foremast toppled and crashed. The British ship's helm went over and she likewise ran down the inside, slowing after her stern anchor was slipped, which brought her to a stop abreast her helpless target to begin a relentless pounding.

Kydd's fist thumped the rail as he willed Tenacious to join the fight. A shout came from behind, from one of the signal hands. "Sir! Culloden, she's—" Kydd wheeled round and peered into the twilight. Next astern, Culloden lay unmoving, stopped dead and at an unnatural angle of heel.

"She's run aground, God save 'em," said Adams. In her hurry to clear Aboukir Island she had shaved the point too closely. "Can't be helped. Now they'll miss the sport."

A signal hoist jerked up Culloden 's masts, then another. Kydd deciphered them and hurried down to the quarterdeck to Houghton. "Sir, number forty-three— Culloden is aground an' warning us, and does recall Mutine f'r assistance."

Houghton stopped pacing. "The warning is more for Swiftsure and Alexander, I should think," he muttered, looking at the developing battle ahead, then back to the helpless man-o'-war. "More to the point, what possible use to Troubridge is Mutine, a contemptible little brig?"

"There is no other," Bryant said shortly, eyes straying to the noise and gunfire of the battle.

"Mr Bryant, we must assist."

"We, sir?"

"Of all the admiral's ships, which do you think he can most spare? We are the smallest, the most insignificant of his force, but we are a ship-of-the-line and have the size to be of consequence in assisting."

Bryant spluttered, "Sir! They must take their chances! We have a duty—"

"Mr Hambly, haul us out of the line and bring us to, a cable's length off Culloden. Mr Kydd, signal her that we are coming to assist. Mr Bryant, you will go in a boat and speak with Captain Troubridge, requesting his orders in respect of any assistance we might be able to give."

Tenacious would thus be denied the glory of the grandest fight in history in order to stand by a stranded ship. Kydd held his silence as he returned to his station. Lifting his telescope again he could see the thrilling sight of Audacious following Zealous. As he watched, her passing broadside at the luckless enemy sent her mainmast toppling like a felled tree. The main body of the English fleet now reached the head of the line; Theseus and Orion followed the others inside. As close as Kydd could see, the firing was one-sided: the French had not prepared for action on their inshore sides.

Near Aboukir Island Tenacious hove to, well clear of the unfortunate Culloden. Her boat pulled for the motionless 74, watched sourly from the ship by frustrated seamen while the battle raged on without them.

Kydd stared helplessly at the great spectacle: now the flagship was coming down on the French line—she, however, chose the seaward side and the vengeful French gunners smashed out their anger in broadsides. Undeterred, Vanguard selected her prey and, anchoring by the stern, eased to a stop and began her own cannonade. Others followed their admiral, and Kydd's last sight of the battle, before darkness and vast quantities of powder-smoke split by gun-flash hid his view, was the black shapes of the remainder of the English fleet streaming into action down the French line.

Where Tenacious was hove to there were only the sounds, overloud in the dark, of backed sails slapping and fretful, the slop of water against her side and the monotone grumbling of seamen.

Out of the dark Kydd heard a hail, then confused shouting. A telescope was of little use now and he tried to make out the source. He saw a glimmer of light from a lanthorn in their boat, the rowers laying into their oars like lunatics and the first lieutenant standing, ranting, urging. The boat surged alongside. Bryant heaved himself up and bounded on to the quarterdeck. "Sir— Cap'n Troubridge thanks you for your concern, but advises we should lose no time in joining the fleet."

A roar of cheering erupted and, without orders, seamen clapped on to the braces. Houghton said calmly, "We shall pass down their line and the first Frenchman unengaged is ours."

The yards came round and Tenacious resumed her charge. Little could be made out at the distance but as they came closer individual fights resolved, illuminated by furious gunfire. Ships lay together in palls of smoke and it was clear that the first half of the French line was in trouble. The inspired action of Goliath passing down the inshore side had resulted in it being pitilessly battered from both sides.

Men ready at her guns, Tenacious finally reached the head of the line. The totally dismasted wreck of the first ship lay unresisting under the onslaught of Zealous and Audacious. They reached the third, and the easily recognisable form of Vanguard, her opponent laying to her anchor alongside and also suffering from two English ships at work on the opposite side. Then the smoke drifted clear and there, proud and free above the enemy tricolour, flew a large white ensign. It brought savage cheers from the men, redoubled when the second in line fell silent. Her colours lowered, followed shortly by the hopeless wreck of the first.

Tenacious sailed on but even before she reached the fourth, hoarse cheers went up when it could be seen that she, too, had given up the fight. Was it victory that night, so soon? But four ships taken out of the dozen or so left two-thirds of the French fleet ahead. Nelson's plan of concentrating his forces at the head of the line and overwhelming the stationary enemy one by one was a brilliant success so far, but with Tenacious the last to enter battle there was no more strength left that could be brought to bear on the rest.

Downwind of the head of the line Kydd could now smell the battle: acrid powder-smoke, heated gunmetal and ancient wood-dust blasted from old timbers. There was also the pungency of damp burned timber—fires had been recently extinguished.