The Baltic Prize

Chapter 49

The old Superb lay off Vinga, her lines unmistakable even in the sea fret, and Kydd’s heart beat faster. His first planned and commanded assault on the enemy. In days it would be launched and his would be the controlling voice.

Keats had returned Kydd’s request for an interview with suspicious promptness and now sat four-square behind his well-worn desk in the great cabin, glaring resentfully at Kydd. He picked up a creased paper and waved it angrily. ‘I know why you’re here, sir, and it’s insupportable! Insupportable, I say!’

‘Sir?’ Kydd asked, in astonishment, knowing he must have received a summary direction from Saumarez by a fast dispatch cutter.

‘It’s not to be borne, do you understand me? To go over the heads of captains many times senior to you? To approach the commander-in-chief directly to beg an expeditionary command? Disgraceful behaviour, worthy only of a London dandy, I believe.’

Kydd was taken aback at the hostility but guessed what lay behind Keats’s attitude. Opportunities for independent enterprise of even this magnitude, with the possibility of a line or two in the Gazette, would be a gracious plum to award to a favourite and the admiral had been denied this. For this reason Kydd was prepared to overlook the undeserving jibe about his no doubt well-talked-about Court appearances. That, and his deep respect for the bluff old seaman, loved by his men and a legend in his own time.

‘Sir, I was chosen by Sir James for this expedition and I propose to do my duty.’

‘Very well.’ His ferocious glare did not moderate in the slightest. ‘As under my nominal command you’ll tell me what this is, and know I’ll not feel bound by it.’

It was clear where it was headed: Kydd was inexorably being drawn into a subordinate role under Keats.

‘Sir. I have full authority as an independent commander granted me by the commander-in-chief. I appear here as his assignee in the enterprise and out of courtesy to your command – and, as specified in my orders, to seek your assistance in achieving the object.’

Keats glowered. ‘You’ll be demanding ships of me, men. These you can’t have. I’ve a vital tasking in the Great Belt and they can’t be spared.’

‘The reducing of Bornholt is ordered by their lordships,’ Kydd snapped, ‘as being of the utmost importance to the security of the Baltic trade. Do I understand you will deny me the resources?’

‘Have a care, sir!’ the admiral snarled dangerously. ‘For a mere post-captain your manners are lamentably wanting in respect – or do you believe yourself still among your peacocking friends at Court?’

Kydd’s voice lowered. ‘Sir. We have a great business afoot and cannot afford to quarrel. Do hear my plan, I beg.’

‘Carry on, then, if you must.’

Opening his satchel, Kydd drew out his lists. ‘A perspective of Bornholt would assist,’ he said.

‘Flags!’ Keats roared. The windows shook. ‘A chart. Bornholt and out ten leagues.’

In a few sentences Kydd spelled out the hazards and how he was going to overcome them.

Keats missed nothing. His seaman’s eye darted over the chart, taking in the reefs, steady northerly current, distances off the Danish and Swedish coasts, the primary objective. He looked up suddenly. ‘So?’ he barked.

‘I will have the following dispositions when the assault goes in,’ Kydd said firmly. ‘A sail-o’-the-line to each extremity and …’

As he continued Keats said nothing, wearing a grim expression and, by slow degrees, straightening until by the time Kydd had finished he sat bolt upright.

‘There, sir. So my requirements are-’

He produced the list but Keats did not take it.

‘Sir?’

‘Ha!’

‘What did you say, sir?’

‘I said, ha!’

‘If you’d explain to me, sir,’ Kydd said stiffly.

‘Come.’ He rose and went to the stern windows and gestured sharply. ‘My anchorage. Tell me how many ships-of-the-line you see?’

The grey, rain-spattered anchorage had more than a dozen ships, but apart from Pompee, 64, there were none.

‘Pompee, sir?’

‘Unfit for sea. All others out on station somewhere in the Belt or south o’ Denmark. Frigates?’

‘Neither. But-’

‘You won’t find any. They’re everywhere on the loose, holding down the villains to the mainland, Jutland. So what does that do to your plan, sir?’

Kydd burned. He was being forced into a corner. ‘No change. I wait until the force may be assembled before I move on Bornholt.’

‘Not possible,’ Keats said, with a grim finality. ‘They’re relieved on station one b’ one, else gunboats and privateers will take the chance to spew forth and cut our lines. There’s no sail-o’-the-line available to you. So now?’

‘In this case, sir, if you’re unable to find me the resources it seems I cannot proceed,’ Kydd ground out.

Unexpectedly, Keats smiled. ‘In view of the urgency of this operation I don’t think that advisable. Shall we take a look at it again, together?’

Uncertain at the change in tone, Kydd agreed.

Taking up the chart and studying it for a moment, Keats looked up pleasantly and said, ‘For a dashing young captain, I can only commend you for your mature restraint, your planning for every adverse happenstance. Well done, sir.’

Taken off guard, Kydd mumbled, ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Now, this is well and good, but in war we must leave some things to chance. Here, for example, the Danes will certainly come out of the west, therefore a sail-o’-the-line to the east will not be required. And here …’

In swift, efficient strokes the old admiral sketched out a plan that in the end reduced the number of ships to four – Tyger, another frigate and two sloops.

‘There, now. Should your marines show willing it’ll be all over in a day.’

‘Only a thousand will not-’

‘I was thinking more of five, no, two hundred in aggregate. Your ordinary Dane is not to be accounted a fierce warrior at all. Besides, small numbers mean fewer boats, rations and all that tomfoolery.’ He was now openly beaming. ‘I can find you the frigate – Riposte is due here at any hour and I’m sure would be honoured to be included. And I can take a couple of sloops from the southern Norway patrol. There! You can be on your way before the end of the week. How does that suit you, sir?’

It wasn’t until he was halfway back to Tyger that Kydd realised what had happened.

Very neatly, Keats had avoided being blamed for not assisting but at the same time had blinded Kydd with his authority and reputation into taking on an opposed landing with the absolute minimum of means. And as it was Kydd’s plan, with himself in command, there was little doubt as to who would later be condemned if it failed.

In the couple of days it took to summon his fleet he took a long, hard look at the new plan.

They’d come in from the north-east to afford the minimum of warning to the fort by the lighthouse, but the landing would not be made at the western pier over the reef. Instead it would be made halfway along the southern shore where there was deep water much closer, hoping the coastal dune line would give enough cover once in.

He’d made the decision after talking to Clinton, Tyger’s captain of marines, whom he’d chosen to take charge of the troops ashore. His grand plan to have a colonel command was now laughable: any would think it wholly beneath contempt to be placed above a mere two hundred men – who would be volunteers from any ship within reach and he fervently hoped there would be sufficient.

There was little else he could prepare for – landing craft would be standard ship’s launches borrowed from ships in harbour and Clinton had suggested boat mortars as their artillery, considering the scrubby sand hard going.

It would be the Royal Marines who would perform the arduous advance over the interior sand hills to the open plain before the fort and a division of seamen in reserve, ready to make landing behind the fortifications when the enemy were engaged to their front.