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

Several days later a messenger from Plymouth Dock arrived with the expected summons, a terse one-line signal from his first lieutenant. ‘Orders received on board.’

It was time.

The whispered promises, the touch of a hand, a look in the eyes – this was what untold numbers of naval wives had endured over the centuries as the price of Britannia keeping the seas as her own. He must now depart, and while he faced the perils and decisions of war, she would be left to hide her fears and live on for him.

‘My darling, you go with my eternal love,’ she breathed, distractedly adjusting his neckcloth. ‘Promise to write.’ In a shaky voice, she continued, ‘I’ve packed more shirts, you’re sure to need them, and your cravats and … and …’ She bit her lip and turned to Tysoe. ‘You’ll look after him for me, won’t you? Of course you will.’ Her voice softened and she brought out a little package. ‘This is for you.’

The man took it.

‘Classical poetry. You didn’t know, did you, Thomas, that Tysoe in his off-duty hours takes pleasure in a well-turned conceit, the shining phrase?’

Tears sprang: a last embrace and then into the carriage, a final wave and sight of the inexpressibly dear figure standing forlornly – and Kydd was on his way to war.

Chapter 4

The Cabinet Room, 10 Downing Street

‘It’s as bad as that,’ confirmed Lord Bathurst, president of the Board of Trade. A heavy silence descended on the table.

‘Can’t we—’

‘No!’ Canning, the foreign minister, snapped. Perceval was chancellor of the Exchequer but, in his view, by no means possessed of a sound perspective on foreign affairs.

‘I was only going to suggest,’ he responded cattily, ‘that, with these adversities before us, we revisit Fox’s treating for peace. While we still hold a modicum of influence, not to say military force.’

Portland, the ailing prime minister at the centre of the table, looked up wearily and said weakly, ‘Chancellor, we’ve been into this before and—’

Canning cut in impatiently, ‘Bonaparte’s sworn to extirpate these islands, all that stands between him and the world at his feet. Why should he talk peace now?’

‘Surely the question should be, do we abandon the Baltic or no?’

Castlereagh’s languid tone seemed to goad the ambitious Canning. ‘Given the figures we’ve heard,’ he retorted venomously, ‘for those with any backbone at all, the question most certainly is, do we force the issue or roll over and die?’

‘Oh? We’d no doubt be gratified to hear of your proposings …’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ Portland muttered, and broke into a wretched coughing.

Waiting respectfully for the fit to pass, Perceval asked, ‘Are we not making too much of the hazards? I’m no naval sort of fellow, but it seems to me that the Baltic convoys have served us well in the past. Why don’t we simply double the force of their escorts?’

‘A perfectly rational suggestion, Chancellor.’ It was Mulgrave, the first lord of the Admiralty. ‘With but a single flaw.’

‘Oh?’

‘Your convoy is a capital system to defend against gunboats, privateers and even a cruiser. Here we have quite a different foe – the Russians. With a battle fleet in Kronstadt big enough to give pause even to a Nelson, what do you conceive the result to be should it fall in with a convoy? No escort we could mount could possibly contend with such a weight of metal. This is no solution.’

‘We send ’em in anyway!’ Canning’s brutal riposte came immediately.

‘What can you mean?’

‘Safety in numbers. There’s who knows how many thousands of merchants eager to chance their cargoes. Send ’em in like a shoal of fish – some must get through!’

‘I choose not to hear that, Foreign Minister,’ Mulgrave said cuttingly. ‘And might I remark it, did we not at great cost to our honour lay waste to Copenhagen for the sole purpose of preserving our passage into the Baltic? Is this now to be accounted a nullity, a mistake?’

‘Not so, and you, sir, should know it! By it, Denmark is left with no navy worth a spit and cannot bar our entry in any wise. It’s what awaits us once inside – the Russians.’

‘Then what, sir, is the answer?’

Canning paused for effect, then said, ‘A mighty battle-fleet to enter the Baltic and stay there.’

‘Are you seriously suggesting we create a great fleet out of thin air and—’

‘If the Russians desire to contest our presence then we hand them a Trafalgar and all problems solved!’

Mulgrave sat back heavily. ‘Sir, have you any conception of what you ask? To send a fleet of force into a sea where every shore is hostile, dominated by the enemy? How might we sustain it? The Mediterranean Fleet is supplied by a dozen friendly ports, fresh victuals to be found for the asking, water on friendly coasts. And Cádiz, hours sail only from the naval stores of Gibraltar, the beef of Tetuán. There’s no recourse to anything like it in the Baltic.’

‘Damn it, these are footling details. Get the ships in and worry about that kind of thing later.’

Castlereagh gave a lazy smile, then asked Canning innocently, ‘For myself I’m more exercised over just what this large and expensive armada is expected to do. Float about in one part of the whole looking menacing – while in another the Russians savage our helpless merchantmen? Or scatter in all directions in their defence and thus be unable to face the enemy’s might as one?’

‘You have a better plan?’ Canning hissed.

‘I do.’ Castlereagh became suddenly energised. ‘We achieve our goals in quite another way. Show common cause with the only friend left to us, Sweden. In this way, while the southern shores of the Baltic are all in Bonaparte’s hands, the entire northern region remains free. Besides which, one side of the Sound at least is thereby made secure, guaranteeing our passage in and out.’

‘How is this common cause to be evidenced, pray?’

‘We land a strong military force to take position directly opposite Copenhagen. This will have two purposes – to demonstrate our willingness to come to the aid of an ally, and the other, to stand athwart the likely route of the invasion army, now massing around Denmark.’

Canning glowered but said nothing.

‘I have my reservations,’ Mulgrave broke in. ‘Any army on a foreign shore must have the navy at its back at all times. It means I must of necessity find a fleet for it in support, in just the same way as the alternative proposition. Where is the advantage?’

‘And for me,’ Bathurst said, concerned, ‘we’re talking here of an intervention in Europe by our own military, the first long-term engagement of its kind on the Continent, an entanglement that could prove disastrous if things turn out against us. We pay subsidies to other countries to carry the war to the enemy. Why not in this case?’

‘We already do,’ muttered Perceval, ‘and in the sum of some hundreds of thousands a month, no less.’

Through the charged atmosphere came a feeble but determined voice. ‘Gentlemen, I have heard you out,’ the prime minister said. ‘And I’m resolved on any action rather than see the Baltic lost to us.’ He lapsed into silence, staring into nothing, as though in misgiving at what he was about to say.

‘Then which of the two is that to be, my lord?’ prompted Canning, leaning forward.

‘It shall be … both.’

‘Sir?’ It was unusual to the point of incredulity that the wasting figure of Portland was taking a firm and positive grip.

‘My lord Castlereagh, do set before me a military expedition of size, say some ten, fifteen thousand for the purpose adduced. Whom do you suppose we should place in command of our only army outside Great Britain save the West Indies? The Duke of York?’