Julian Stockwin - Invasion

"Er, the Kapitán Krusenstern, he claims service in the Royal Navy?" Kydd asked.

"He has, and others too. Since Tsarina Catherine's day they've had many of their best men serve with us for a spell. First-class training, they believe."

"Any . . . active service?"

"If by that you mean a whiff of powder-smoke, then most definitely. Odd thing, though, this Ivan seems to prefer the company of the foremast hands to the officers when ashore. A hard-drinking cove, you see, your Russian."

As they mounted the stairs to the upper floor of the Admiralty Office Kydd tried to reconcile his excitement at the pomp and glitter of a diplomatic occasion with the nervous, febrile atmosphere of a London trying to make light of the dreadful threat of imminent invasion. The frightful images of the prints, and Renzi's revelations, had stayed with him. "Should we take fear o' those fantastical invasion machines, do you think?" he asked hesitantly.

At first Boyd did not reply. Then he said thoughtfully, "It's as well never to underestimate the Corsican, Kydd. He knows how to sow fear and panic by lie and invention. To believe every word of the Moniteur would be to credit the tyrant with ten times more victories than he has, but we must accept that there are those to which we are compelled to accede."

They reached a discreet door and Boyd found his keys. As he selected the right one he added soberly, "I suppose it is possible that many of these horrors are rumour and deceit, but the French are a logical and inventive people and there may well be substance in them. I really can't say."

The key rattled and the door opened on a darkened room. Boyd crossed to a single shuttered window and threw it open. Daylight through the bars revealed a single bare table and chairs. What resembled a ship's chart locker, with its array of flat drawers, stood along one wall.

Kydd was motioned to the table while Boyd closed and locked the door, then sat opposite. "Mr. Kydd," he said, with chilling gravity, "what I have to tell you this morning is privy information whose disclosure would cause panic and riot if known by the general public, yet it is necessary for you to learn of it should the worst happen. Do you understand?"

"I do, sir."

"Very well. Let me begin by admitting to you that never in the history of this realm has England lain under greater menace of invasion and consequent extinction as a nation. Our country cherishes the liberty of individuals and as such we're ill-placed to maintain great armies. Most of our land continues its daily round much as its forefathers did, with little to tell that a war rages on the continent.

"King and Parliament are amicable but the people will not stand for oppression. On the contrary side, France now is subject to the resolve of one man who is able to focus the entire resources of his nation to one end. An invasion. And he is so pledged to invade this country I do not well see how he can avoid it. Therefore we must stretch every sinew in our defence. There are volunteers, the militia and our army, all of which combined are greatly outnumbered by Napoleon's battle-seasoned legions." Kydd stirred restlessly. "Sir! You discount the Navy as our—" "If," said Boyd, heavily, "by any means, the French get ashore there are plans." He opened a drawer, extracted a large map and spread it out. "Our best intelligence now is that Bonaparte intends to descend on the closest part of England to the coast of France." His finger stabbed down at the shoreline of the Downs. "In fact, just to the south. Dover Castle is an ancient but still formidable fortification, which must be subdued, but see here . . ." Kydd recognised the flat and barely inhabited Romney Marsh a few miles on to the south. "It's wide open to a massed assault on a broad front and I fear it will prove a forlorn hope to expect our militia and volunteers to move up quickly enough to meet a sudden descent."

Kydd frowned. What possible chance did those inexperienced amateurs have against the hardened troops that had stormed over Europe to victory after victory?

Boyd continued remorselessly. "Thus it would seem not impossible to conceive that a landing would be met with a rapid success . . ." Kydd went cold. "Did the—will the King—" "His Majesty is under no doubt of his duty. Glenbervie, of the Household, tells me he sleeps every night with his camp equipage and accoutrements to hand, to the evident anguish of the Queen. In course he will not be suffered to take the field. In the strictest confidence I have to tell you that the Bishop of Gloucester has prepared his palace for the evacuation of the King and the Royal Family across the Severn at Worcester.

"In addition, Sir Brook Watson, the commissary general, has instructions in the event of the imminent loss of the capital to make ready thirty ox-wagons for the transport of the nation's entire gold reserves to be deposited with the King at Worcester under the same guard. "

To speak of such things! To hear and consider the destruction and conquering of his country of birth. It was a thing of horror for Kydd.

Boyd continued, "At Woolwich the arsenal and artillery stores will be taken, as will the Purfleet Ordnance Board powder magazines, to Weedon in Northamptonshire. There is in construction there a vast military complex which will act also as a seat of government in the event of—" "This is hard to bear, sir!" Kydd blurted. "Surely—" "—the fall of the capital. It is by way of being astride the Grand Union canal and well placed for the conduct of a protracted campaign."

Kydd tried to gather his wits. "The—the common people, sir. How will they, er, what might be done to . . . ?"

"They have not been overlooked. Plans have been drawn up for their preservation. Here. These instructions have been lately sent to every town and village in the south." He extracted a leaf and passed it over.

Kydd read. "The Deputy Lieutenants and Justices . . . the following directions . . . in case of an Alarm of the Landing by the Enemy . . . for the removal of women and children, aged and infirm to a place of general Military Rendezvous . . ." It went on to direct how a village was to be sectioned by responsibility, how carts were to be numbered, marked and covered such that those with a ticket of the right form might be conveyed away with provisions following. Males of the village over the age of twelve had duties of driving livestock or firing deadstock, nothing of value to be left for the foraging army.

Clergy and other worthies would act as shepherds and superintendents, and it was trusted that on the receipt of an alarm, regularity, sobriety and seemliness would characterise the comportment of the villagers. More followed in the same vein, calm, ordered and clear, but underlying all was awful reality: that the defences of England had failed and a hostile army was at last to take vengeance for centuries of humiliation.

"Sir. The Navy is ready. We've fleets o' the finest battleships as are poised to fall on the invading—"

"Just so, Mr. Kydd." Boyd sighed, and sat down wearily. "As you shall see later, our squadrons are outnumbered by a margin and are wide scattered. While we have the greatest confidence in them, and recognising Bonaparte faces formidable difficulties, I'm supposing they are overborne and the enemy is able to reach our coasts. In that melancholy eventuality the last service the Navy can do its country is for the small ships to throw themselves before the armada in sacrifice in the hope that the time so dearly bought might—"

He was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. "Sir, the volunteers?" his lieutenant asked.

"Ah, yes. We'll be down presently." He rose briskly, then scrupulously barred and shuttered the room.

"Volunteers?" asked Kydd, as they clattered down the stairs.

"Do you have any objection?" Boyd said cuttingly. "The Loyal London Volunteers. These men may well be hazarding their lives in the very near future. To attend a parade seems little enough in return."