Julian Stockwin - 19 The Baltic Prize (Thomas Kydd #19)

Down on the mess-deck of Tyger , there would be similar thoughts but expressed more pithily, and as well some would be weighing their chances against such odds.

As the cloth was drawn Upton, with an appreciative sip at Kydd’s fine brandy, murmured, ‘Should be interesting times come daybreak.’

‘Will he wait for full light before he makes his move, do you think?’ Saunders wondered, idly twiddling his glass.

‘It’s what happens when he does that’s my curiosity,’ Upton said, with a sideways glance at Kydd. ‘Three on one, should be a stout milling match, b’ God.’

Kydd came back, ‘I’d not take it as a holiday, any number of frigates facing a sail-o’-the-line. Why do you think we’re kept out of the line in a general engagement? If they get in a single broadside from those great guns it’ll finish us.’

Upton put down his glass and glowered. ‘The three of us? One raking by turns while the others are entertaining with manoeuvres or some such. That’s what’ll give us our famous victory!’

Saunders gave a twisted smile. ‘No signals, we just go at him – like Nelson.’

The talk went on, bold and aggressive.

Kydd needed to take the air. Excusing himself, he reached the upper deck with its anonymity in the darkness and cool night breeze. He was senior – all decisions were his and his alone. In the morning men would go to their deaths because of them. His fellow captains were obviously mystified as to why he hadn’t been more bloodthirsty or loud in an urging to battle. Was he becoming soft now that he was married?

He gazed out at the larger blackness in the night, knowing that as first light began to steal in, he had to be ready with a plan and orders.

An image came to him of Persephone, that unbearably tender special look that was for him alone, but extraordinarily, in the same moment, came resolution.

If he wavered, for any reason stepping back from the field of trial, as daughter of an admiral she would think less of him, be disillusioned, disappointed in him as the man she had thought him. He would have failed her and therefore be undeserving of her.

She expected him to do his duty – and that was what he would do.

In a wash of relief he saw that he could continue his dedication to the sea service and make decisions that were based solely on the martial elements before him. The only difference now was that after the fires of combat he would be cherishing the vision of returning to her, head held high, the conquering hero.

If the fortunes of war dictated otherwise, so be it. That had always been the warrior’s lot and always would be, and that, too, she would understand.

He drew a deep breath. Whatever he decided, she was giving him the strength and will to see it through.

Almost immediately his mind began to work. The presenting problem: there was no possible end but piecemeal destruction if they took on a ship-of-the-line in these restricted waters. Should they refuse battle, retreat? In England it would be seen by the public as cowardly, given they outnumbered the enemy three to one. This was not an argument: men’s lives were more important. Only the objective was sacred.

A glimmering of something started to coalesce, triggered by his mulling over what Jessen would likely do next. And that depended on what the Dane’s objectives were. A veteran captain, widely experienced, he would be reaching for his own higher purpose.

What were his orders? If these included the preservation of the Danes’ only major warship whatever the provocation – a reasonable assumption – they were in no danger. But if that was so, why had he anchored? The only possible reason would be to open hostilities at daybreak.

Just why had the big ship been sent at such hazard in the first place?

The bigger picture: the Swedish as the only British ally. If they were knocked out of the war there would be incalculable consequences, but if this were to be brought about, it had to be before the Baltic Fleet of Saumarez came on the scene. Yes! Something was most certainly afoot for the Danes to risk this, their most valuable asset.

Was it coincidence that Prinds was taking the Great Belt route rather than the more direct Sound? But, if so, it would know it had to deal with the frigates on watch so why … That was it! His head cleared. He knew the purpose now – and it threw everything into a different perspective.

Keats’s frigates were there for a very good and effective reason: to stop the movement of troops and munitions to the main island of Sjælland, which until now they’d handsomely achieved. But if Bernadotte could flood the island with his army, they would then be looking directly across at Sweden’s flat coastline no more than ten miles distant. Victory would be theirs in an hour’s sail.

Prinds had been sent on a mission – not to disrupt trade but with the far higher aim of luring the frigates away while the tide of war quickly crossed from Fyn to Sjælland.

Kydd knew in his bones he was right. And now the stakes had immeasurably increased: well before any of the Baltic Fleet could arrive to intervene, it would all be over. Only he could stop it happening.

He returned to the great cabin. ‘Well, gentlemen, what do you think of my brandy?’ He chuckled, resuming his chair.

They looked at him, bewildered.

‘As I wish you to raise your glass to our success of tomorrow.’ Kydd leaned back expansively. ‘I’ve made my dispositions, and I will brook no argument.’

He waited until they had given a troubled acknowledgement.

‘My orders are simple, and they are this: that tomorrow you will both return to your usual patrol. That is all.’

There was an incredulous gasp, and both broke into loud protestation. Kydd held up his hands. ‘No, this will not do. I’m issuing written orders to that effect, which you will disobey at your peril.’

‘We’re entitled to an explanation, I believe,’ came Upton’s surly response.

His seniority was junior to Kydd’s by months only – and probably he had the notion that Kydd wanted the battle all to himself. This was a flattering perception of his powers but he would tell them the full story.

He outlined his reasoning: that it would need a bait as potent as a ship-of-the-line to draw away all the frigates and the Danes had provided it.

‘Sir, have you any proof of this plan o’ theirs? I say we’ve sighted a Danish sail-o’-the-line and it’s our bounden duty to settle with him before he gets in among our trade.’

‘I have proof,’ Kydd said mildly.

‘Being?’

‘At dawn you will see Prinds win its anchor – and then it’ll sail north, back into the Kattegat.’

Chapter 17

In the cold pre-dawn dark Kydd stood watching as preparations were made for unmooring and fighting. The men worked silently, their movements concentrated and deliberate. He knew the signs and could tell that they realised what was being asked of them but there was no hanging back. For himself there was an additional tension: was he right in his assumption?

By imperceptible degrees a tentative light stole over the scene, the distant dark bulk of the battleship taking on clarity, colour. It was definitely making ready for sea.

Kydd sniffed the wind. A gentle north-easterly. Fine for a quick passage south – but chancy for any return north and too light for his liking. If he’d guessed correctly Captain Jessen’s intent would be to lure the three frigates north and out into the open water of the Kattegat – but only one would follow: Tyger must trail the menace closely to see where it was headed and, if necessary, bring it to a delaying action.