The Baltic Prize

Chapter 7

Tugging his bicorne tighter against the brisk wind, Kydd mounted the side-steps of Victory to the ornamented entry port, his boat-cloak billowing.

‘A pleasure to have you aboard, Sir Thomas,’ murmured Dumaresq, the flagship’s captain. An awed midshipman took his cloak. ‘The others are on the quarterdeck.’

For the first time since the tense days with Nelson in pursuit of the French, Kydd had come aboard the legendary ship to confer with the commander-in-chief. He hugged the memory to himself.

On the spacious quarterdeck, knots of officers conversed amiably, in the spring sunshine an impressive study in blue and gold. His heart lifted at the sight: these were his peers, his comrades-in-arms, his friends. Not the louche and raffish society he’d been so recently involved with – stand fast Prinker and a few others.

He looked around: there were none he knew. Then he spotted a tall, aristocratic figure in languid conversation with another. This was Byam Martin of Fisgard. In the earlier Revolutionary war, as a junior lieutenant, Kydd had admired him from afar.

Attaching himself to the pair, Kydd heard that iron water tanks were being trialled and had been a success. In time the fleet would be fitted with them. This was interesting: no more massive water casks to fill and stow in tiers at the lowest level of the ship above the bilges, at risk of cracking and spoilage.

He introduced himself. ‘Saw you in Tamar off Hispaniola in the last war with a string of privateers at your tail.’

‘Ah, yes. I don’t think we’ve met, sir,’ Martin said distantly, offering a limp hand.

Kydd took it, noting the significant look exchanged with his companion, a sharp-featured captain with powder burns on one side of his face who didn’t offer to introduce himself. Taken aback, he was saved from further embarrassment by the appearance of the flag-captain who announced that Admiral Saumarez looked forward to the pleasure of their company in his day cabin.

They sat about the deeply polished mahogany table in order of seniority at either side of a large central chair. Kydd found himself between Barrett of Africa 64 and the powder-burned captain, who it turned out was Mason, Riposte 32, a frigate.

Neither seemed inclined to conversation but very soon the unmistakable figure of Saumarez entered with two others. All stood until the commander-in-chief took his seat in the centre with the two who had accompanied him at either end of the table. Both were admirals – one was Keats, whom Kydd recognised as the commodore of the Great Belt Squadron the previous year, at Copenhagen, to which he’d been attached.

‘Good afternoon to you all, gentlemen,’ opened Saumarez, courteously. ‘I hope I find you in good fettle for we have much to do in the near future.’

Kydd saw that of them all, apart from Saumarez, only the other admiral wore the star and sash of a knighthood. Not for the first time he regretted that, while honour dictated he should not spurn the decoration, it had the unintended effect of singling him out as one wanting to be seen as a cut above the rest.

‘I wish to make introduction of Rear Admiral Sir Samuel Hood as my second-in-command and Rear Admiral Richard Keats, whose role will become clear later.’

He looked about the others. ‘With captains of the calibre of Byam Martin, William Lukin, Peter Puget, Thomas Kydd and, in fact, all of you here seated, it gives me great confidence to face the task set before me by their lordships.

‘Whatever you may have heard, we are not part of the Northern Expedition. That is a military force, as is a motion to come to the assistance of His Swedish Majesty in these troublous times.’ He lifted a paper significantly. ‘While we will assist in providing naval escort and other services to this endeavour, ours is a greater object. In fine, to make entry into the Baltic Sea and maintain a fleet there indefinitely for the security of our trade in those waters.’

A rustle of anticipation went around the table.

‘This is constituted as the Baltic Fleet and its objects are many and varied. Its primary purpose is to keep the Sound open, whatever the cost. The second is to afford the Swedes whatever support we can in their disagreement with Russia. The third is to sever all communications the Danish may still have with their possessions in Norway.’

It was a large enough task for any squadron, implying a division of force that could considerably weaken their main fleet.

‘In addition there are other objectives. The Baltic supplies nearly all our naval stores by necessity. It comes as no surprise to know that the French have an equal reliance on this region. Therefore we shall deny it to them by any means. Added to which we are ordered to place a strict blockade on the southern Baltic that does counter both any enemy imports and exports whatsoever.’

There was quiet while the purpose of the mission was digested. Kydd found himself asking, ‘It’s to be expected the Russian fleet will dispute it, Sir James. Do you anticipate a major fleet action at all?’

Saumarez looked at him. ‘It might so transpire, and in due course I shall be issuing my fighting instructions accordingly. I’m sanguine that we shall prevail, Sir Thomas.’

This sparked a lively interest in the younger officers – if there were to be a Trafalgar-class action against the Russian Kronstadt battle-fleet it would be a glorious opportunity for valour and distinction – and who knew what honours and promotion to follow? Saumarez had the most experience by far of them all in any sizeable engagement, his first as admiral as far back as 1801 – the spectacular and successful action at Algeciras. Whatever faced them ahead they had a commander well able to take them through to victory.

Details followed. Accession to a squadron was always a complicated business. ‘Different ships, different long-splices,’ sailors said to new hands aboard, and it was the same at higher levels. It had to be discovered to what degree of diligence weekly accounts should be rendered, how punctilious gun salutes should be, what pet enthusiasms were to be pandered to – gunnery, sail handling, station keeping.

Kydd had the advantage: he’d served under Saumarez in the Channel Islands and knew him to be strict but fair. There would be no futile squaring of yards at anchor or row-guards at island anchorages. Above all, he knew the admiral to be decent and honourable in all his dealings.

‘I’ve heard tell that ice is well to be feared in the Baltic,’ offered one of the captains.

‘Quite,’ Keats said, with feeling. ‘I’ve had a hard winter in the Skagerrak looking into the Great Belt and do not desire to see any more. Be satisfied that, spring now upon us, the ice has retreated beyond Memel, and Reval stands ready to be released. I would not, however, account this our greatest weather foe …’

‘Easterlies from the depths of Tartary, I’d wager,’ prompted Barrett of Africa. ‘Hard, biting cold and as like to kick up the devil of a short sea in those waters.’

It was gratifying to hear this professional talk about the table, and Kydd put forward the sprawl of tiny islands that seemed to infest every port offshore to the peril of night navigation, but was cut short by Keats. ‘Not to be considered against the greatest menace of all.’

The table waited, curious to know of any worse.

‘It is your sudden calm.’

‘Sir?’ Barrett enquired politely.

‘Your quiet calm, stark calm, dead calm – any name you care to give it. In the Baltic they can fall without warning, leaving the best sailer adrift in a glassy sea for a damned long time. Should the gunboats hear of it they’re out in a swarm, and even a frigate might find itself embarrassed by their attentions.’

There was more talk: the unreliability of charts and the need for survey of the trickier parts as had been done with the Great Belt, not to mention the prospects for watering when every southern shore was hostile.

No doubt there would be many more of these social gatherings: Kydd remembered Saumarez liked to keep a fine table and used his hospitality to be close to his captains. And later, what better forum to exchange experiences, wrinkles discovered and warnings of enemy activity? Apart from providing convoy escorts into the first part of the Baltic, the navy had not penetrated deeply, had never had a persisting presence within it. There would be much to discover and learn.

With the news that they would be under weigh for Gothenburg in three days, they gathered in the admiral’s great cabin for dinner. It was a magnificent affair, the napery, silverware and crystal quite up to any Kydd had seen in London, table decorations a-plenty and, with the stirring atmosphere of the legendary ship, it promised to be a memorable occasion.

He was seated next to Puget, a lieutenant in the Vancouver expedition with the felicity of a sound named after him, now in command of Goliath, who showed interest in Kydd’s explorations in Australia. He was an agreeable dining companion and Kydd nearly overlooked the young frigate captain on his other side, tongue-tied in the presence of a popular sea hero.

The dinner proceeded well, a talented hidden violinist adding to the mood – he must later offer Saumarez the services of Doud, Tyger’s gifted singer, Kydd thought.

‘Wine with you, sir,’ he proposed to Mason, who was sitting opposite and giving slavish ear to Graves of Brunswick on his right.

To his surprise he was ignored. Louder this time: ‘I said, wine with you, Mr Mason.’

Graves broke off his description of a Leeward Islands fever epidemic and glanced enquiringly at Mason, who grudgingly picked up his glass and half-heartedly saluted Kydd before returning to hear more of the fever.

At a loss, Kydd could only frown at the discourtesy, then brought to mind that Keats, seated not far to his left, had never once acknowledged his presence. Neither had Byam Martin, sitting next to him. Were they jealous of his successes at sea or was it that they had been put out to see one of their number hobnobbing in high society, cutting a dash above his station?

There was nothing he could do about this and he didn’t intend to let it affect him. The real question was whether Saumarez took the same view; the admiral had been until now in the same station where he’d known him before, the tranquil Channel Islands that Kydd had left to enter the greater war and eventual fame.

He had his chance as the evening drew to a close and a small number of officers remained with a convivial brandy before taking boat for their ship.

‘A fine evening, sir,’ Kydd ventured, edging into Saumarez’s view. The eyes regarded him steadily. ‘Lady Saumarez is well, I trust? I have the most lively recollections of her kindness to me.’

‘She is well, thank you,’ Saumarez answered evenly.

The other officers drifted away, leaving them alone together.

‘Then you’d oblige me, sir, should you convey my sincere regards and inform her that I am recently married, to a woman who commands all my love.’

Saumarez softened. ‘I’m delighted to hear it. The marriage state is the richest blessing we might attain under Heaven and I’m persuaded is to be commended even to the most stiff-necked bachelor.’

This was the decency in the man responding – but it said nothing about his view of Kydd professionally.

‘A hard field to plough, their lordships have presented you with, I fancy,’ he dared.

Saumarez gave a polite smile. ‘As we must strive to achieve, of course. All hands to the traces, as it were, in the common cause.’ He paused significantly. ‘Even the most ardent of our band must needs rein in his steed to stay with the labourers, I believe.’

So Kydd’s reputation as a thrusting frigate captain had reached him. Was he seeing this as the last thing he needed in a delicate, complex theatre of operations? ‘I understand, sir. You will have my wholehearted support in your mission.’

‘Thank you, Sir Thomas,’ Saumarez replied, with a slight bow of acknowledgement. ‘We will meet again in Gothenburg.’