Tenacious

Kydd felt better: there was no doubt that Nelson's fleet would conduct itself in the best traditions of the Royal Navy. And, therefore, so would he. His anxiety ebbed. Professionally he felt confidence: seamanship and courage were what were required now. And besides, a small voice offered, it might well be that the French were not in Alexandria, having vanished again ...

The morning dawned hazy as the sun rose on sparkling deep blue seas. The north-westerly was picking up, the fleet perfectly on course: they would raise Alexandria later in the morning. Nelson had signalled to Alexander and Swiftsure to sail on ahead to report and all eyes were on the pale horizon, impatient for news.

Land was sighted: again the unmistakable flat, dun-coloured dunes and lofty palms of Egypt. And far ahead the sprawl of a city—Alexandria. Alexander was standing off the port; everyone aboard Tenacious turned to her signal lieutenant. What was the news?

As they drew nearer, the Pharos Tower resolved distantly out of the morning haze, and there were tantalising glimpses of the masts and rigging of what could only be a vast amount of shipping. Still there was no signal. Kydd waited for the simple two-flag hoist, number eleven, "enemy in sight," followed by a compass bearing. The details that came after would be the most interesting: the number of ships-of-the-line and frigates; lesser vessels would not concern the admiral.

He kept his glass trained. All along the deck not a word was spoken. His arms began to ache—but then it came. Feverishly Kydd deciphered the signal, bellowing down to the tight group waiting on the quarterdeck: "From Alexander, sir, 'two ships-o'-the-line an' six frigates, French colours.'"

This could be at best only a trivial remnant of the great armada for which they were so desperately searching. A roar of dismay echoed about the ship, along with shouts of anger as word spread below.

Kydd slumped. It was too much. They had been fooled again. The French had disappeared with the devilish fortune they seemed to command and there would be no mighty battle that day. He caught sight of Houghton's expression of devastation— for him there was now no prospect of promotion or prize-money. Beside him Bryant stood disconsolate; the seamen at the upper-deck twelve-pounders were outraged and voluble.

The fleet began to string out as ships no longer under the urgency of the line-of-battle quested forlornly for the missing enemy. A hard-run chase of many weeks, spirits high, keyed up with tension and now this ...

"Sir!" Rawson pointed to one of the two 74s that had reached furthest to the east. There was colour at her signal halliards. Kydd brought up his glass. It was number eleven. "Enemy in sight!" he bellowed.

A storm of cheering broke out. Trembling with excitement Kydd tried to steady the telescope. "Sixteen sail-o'-the-line—at anchor—bearing east b'south—four frigates." Twenty miles from Alexandria, snugly at anchor within Aboukir Bay near the mouth of the Nile, they had found their quarry—at last.