The Iberian Flame

Chapter 16

It was odd that Rowley, as squadron admiral, did not send for Kydd in the usual way to make face-to-face familiarity, ease the formality of remote command and set a tone, as had been the case with every other fleet commander Kydd had served under. Was he deliberately shunning Kydd? Peeved that a reminder of his past had again crossed his path?

Instead, the signal ‘send a lieutenant’ was thrown out and Brice returned with a signed-for order book containing the squadron’s new Fighting Instructions and signal variants that would govern the conduct of the Inshore Squadron under Admiral Rowley.

There were few surprises: it was little more than a repetition of Collingwood’s sparing prose and additions of detail that, no doubt, were intended to add a degree of individuality. Kydd passed it to Brice for the signals, commended it to his other officers and waited for some form of activity to be signalled.

Not until the third day was there movement, and that turned out to be the issuing of an order pack. Kydd allowed that Rowley and Collingwood had probably been in deep colloquy over operations and opened the oilskin package with anticipation, expecting an initial order of battle, a deploying against the tasks and challenges, but instead he saw that Admiral Rowley was taking the squadron to sea – for exercises. Flag in Conqueror, with his only other sail-of-the-line, Thunder and Spartiate, with his nine frigates. Sloops and unrated to remain on station.

Unbelieving, Kydd leafed through the orders.

The Inshore Squadron largely comprised lighter, shallower draught vessels, speedy and capable of deep reconnaissance – frigates, with captains of daring, initiative and individual reliability, who could be left to their own resources to achieve their objectives. Never to act together as a fleet!

Yet it was Kydd’s duty to obey. As an admiral, Rowley had every latitude to handle his fleet in whatever way he wished and if this was to take it to sea to detect strengths and weaknesses or for any other reason then Kydd and Tyger must do their part.

On the day following, the squadron stood out for the Atlantic, in order of sailing as specified, the three sail-o’-the-line in the centre, three frigates in the van, four in the rear and repeating frigates, one each to leeward and windward.

It looked an imposing show but to what purpose? Frigates would never be placed in the line of battle.

‘Sir. Our pennant and “Assume the van”.’

Accordingly Tyger fell out of the line to leeward and began the long process of overhauling, from her station in the rear element, the entire line of ships ahead to reach the foremost, a senseless manoeuvre in Kydd’s eyes.

The line stood on close-hauled, speed undiminished, as Tyger spread as much canvas as she could to obey the order, but as she came into the wind-shadow of each vessel she sagged away more and more to leeward until she was half a mile downwind before she picked up a steady breeze.

It took over an hour to get up with the first and Kydd to begin the evolution of taking the lead, but before he could do so there was another signal.

‘Sir – our pennant, negative and “Assume the van”.’

What the devil? Presumably this was countermanding the first and, if this was so, he had to find his old place in the line and ease back in, a dangerous procedure at the best of times. Fuming, he gave the order to spill wind and slacken speed but close with the line again. Was this an attempt to show him up before the others?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the repeating frigate busy again and saw that another ship was being ordered to assume the van, the light frigate Jason, also from the rear element. He could only imagine the conversation taking place on her quarterdeck at the foolishness.

The line made whole again it was the old but taxing order of tack into line.

This required the line-ahead formation to go about onto the other tack all together to assume a new heading. It was a woundingly difficult manoeuvre for ships-of-the-line, each taking their time from the next ahead when every ship had different sailing characteristics from the others.

With frigates included in the mix, it was a sailing master’s nightmare. How to slow the reactions of a fast frigate to keep with the ponderous turns of a battleship? It was near impossible, and the inevitable happened: kept in irons to wait for the bigger ships to come around, they gathered a sternboard and swung in reverse of the last helm order, others missed stays altogether and fell away in confusion and still more paid off to leeward to avoid a collision.

Thunder and Spartiate wisely kept time on the flagship and the three ships-of-the-line were able to take up on the new heading, leaving the frigates in sad disarray.

A tumble of flags appeared at Conqueror’s mizzen halliards, with another hoist. At the same time a gun cracked out, peevishly drawing attention to them.

‘Sir, “squadron heave to” and “all captains”,’ Maynard said heavily.

Admiral Rowley stood in his great cabin before his captains, all sitting with varying expressions of truculence or sullen resentment.

‘A shameful and disgusting exhibition, which I will not tolerate in any fleet that His Majesty sees fit to give me to command.’ He took a lace kerchief from his sleeve and sniffed delicately, the arrogant eyes roving among them as if seeking out fault. ‘For the rest of this day you will exercise agreeable to my orders, and if there is not a marked improvement, the squadron will repeat the manoeuvres tomorrow.’

Kydd took in the pompous, self-important manner, the lift of chin to stare down his inferiors. This was nothing more than a posing fop playing at admiral, enjoying the power and circumstance with none of the intelligence and insights necessary for the job.

Rowley’s gaze flicked to Kydd and, despite himself, he tensed.

‘It’s clear to the basest fool where the fault lies. Not the sail-of-the-line – but the frigates. My order to Tyger was simple and direct, but what did I see? Sir Thomas Kydd of popular fame floundering in an attempt to obey, thereby imperilling the whole squadron.’

Kydd burned but did not give the satisfaction of an objection.

‘Likewise Jason, which at one time I suspected was falling asleep.’

There was no amusement on the assembled faces.

‘The less said concerning the staying about into line the better – a monstrosity that can only lead the unprejudiced observer to believe my frigates are inept and ill-conducted to a surprising degree.’

This time there were low growls of protest about the table.

‘I send you back to your ships with my warmest recommendation for improvement. Carry on, please.’

On Conqueror’s quarterdeck, while waiting for their boats, the captains stood stiffly, barely able to contain their resentment but not daring a critical comment while in the flagship.