The Iberian Flame

Chapter 68

Two days later, an aviso hove into view through a spiteful rain squall. Kydd stood at the ship’s side as the little vessel bucketed in to leeward and brailed up to make hail.

There were no dispatches for Tyger but a verbal requirement was passed to quit his station and with best speed make for Lisbon in the face of a grave and important development that he would learn about on arrival.

The lieutenant was clearly under orders for the utmost haste and respectfully asked Kydd if he knew of the likely locations of the other three frigates. After a hasty farewell the cutter plunged off into the murk while Tyger wore about for Lisbon and the fleet.

Under grey skies and a thin rain they raised the roadstead. To Kydd’s surprise and wonder he saw a major fleet there – not only the legendary Victory but the great 110-gun Ville de Paris, both in the centre of half-a-dozen line-of-battle ships and a crowd of frigates and sloops. What was it all about?

As was usual in harbour, gun salutes to the flag were held over – at least three admirals’ pennants were in plain sight as Kydd picked his way past to the inner anchorage.

Rowley’s pennant in Conqueror was absent: he was therefore not on board and Kydd was relieved from reporting until it reappeared – but at the price of not knowing what the devil was afoot.

To assemble a powerful force like this must have stretched the Admiralty considerably. What was behind it? He paced up and down, hearing the heated discussions among those on deck as they regarded the armada.

‘My barge, Mr Brice. I’m going ashore to sort this out.’

He could step off, but none of Tyger’s ship’s company could until he’d reported and the frigate was released for liberty.

The Captain’s Club was packed with naval officers. ‘Oh, hello, Kydd. They hauled you in too, then.’ Hayward of Vigilant laid down his newspaper and saw Kydd’s wet footprints. ‘Here, old chap. Let me get you an aguardiente. Sovereign cure for the winter’s chill.’

Kydd stood near his friend, all chairs long since occupied, and spared a thought for his boat’s crew, sheltering as best they could from the rain, believing him to be on some kind of important ship’s business. Well, damn it, in a way he was.

‘Hayward, dear fellow, do tell, what in Hades are we all doing here?’

The brandy came and did its duty but Kydd was consumed with the need to find out why the roadstead was packed with so many ships.

‘You’ve been at sea, you’re not to know.’

‘No,’ Kydd said pointedly.

‘Boney has joined the party.’

‘I know that.’

‘What you don’t know is he’s doing right well. Slashing down direct for Madrid which we can’t expect other than it should fall. Another gang to his right is carving up Galicia-’

‘I know that too.’

‘- and in the centre his legions massing for the big coup.’

‘Being?’

‘Bonaparte doesn’t want to beat Spaniards, he wants Englishmen for breakfast.’

‘He wants Moore?’

‘Quite. He’s all the numbers, the resources, the men, and he’s after the general. Kydd, m’ friend, it has to be admitted, however brave and taut a hand at soldiering our man is, he hasn’t a prayer against the tyrant.’

‘And?’ Kydd prompted.

‘Well, it doesn’t take much working out – he has to retreat, get out. And by that I mean to say, be taken off.’

‘Not abandoning Iberia – no!’

‘We’re overborne, old chap. He stays and offers battle, and England loses its only army fit for a serious expeditionary war. That’s a price too far to pay for keeping a foot in the door of the Continent.’

‘We lose all we’ve done in Spain – even Portugal. We can’t just-’

‘We must and we will. This fleet and the hangers-on are all for the purpose of evacuating our army.’

‘Good God!’ Kydd breathed. When he’d last been here the talk was all of the imminent defeat and ejecting of the French. That it had come to this so rapidly?

‘Sadly, it is so.’

‘But the fleet – Victory, Ville, all those-’

‘There only to keep the Crapauds at Brest, and similar off our backs, as we pull them out.’

Kydd struggled to keep up with the implications. ‘Where do we, um, go to take ’em away?’

‘All in good time, dear chap. We’ve yet to have our council o’ war – mainly because we don’t know for sure where our sainted Moore is. Or what he wants to do.’

The gathering was held under armed guard in a customs hall and with minimum ceremony.

It was chaired not by the navy but by the army, in the person of General Wellesley, stiff and formal, taking his place at a table with three admirals and two generals next to them.

Rowley was one, and Kydd felt contempt rising that the man was being given any role at all in what was to follow and hoped that he would not have to take orders directly from him.

Almost a hundred naval and military officers faced them, grave and still.

The preliminaries over, Wellesley got down to the heart of the matter. ‘Events have turned out not necessarily in our favour, gentlemen,’ he said crisply. ‘So much so that we have no alternative than to withdraw our military presence in Spain.’

The underlying assumption was that this had been accepted or even ordered by Whitehall.

‘To evacuate,’ intoned one of the admirals, who, Kydd remembered, had been introduced as De Courcy.

Without a glance at him, Wellesley agreed. ‘The object of this meeting is to establish the point of embarkation and the necessary operations precedent to the uptake of General Moore’s expeditionary force.’

‘This contingent on his expected movements in the next days.’ De Courcy was careful, courteous but firm. ‘Have we word yet, pray?’

‘He’s advanced well into Spain and now must be close to Madrid. He will have heard of Bonaparte’s advance on the capital and must make decision based on the readiness of the Spanish Army to make a stand before it. He will not be in possession of the intelligence we have of the complete picture but we’ve sent several riders with dispatches to this end.’

‘What alternatives has he, in the event he must withdraw?’

‘The first, a retreat back here along the road he took from Lisbon. The second, a rapid march across Estremadura to the Mediterranean. The third, an equally rapid overland march to Spain’s northern ports.’

‘Should we recommend, what do you suggest?’

‘The north. The mountains will impede pursuit and it is nearer,’ Wellesley said instantly. ‘Depending on what the navy says, to Vigo, Ferrol or similar.’

De Courcy came back positively. ‘The navy would like to see it Vigo. Direct sailing, big port, easily defensible. And, if I’m not mistaken, a road direct from the interior.’

Cynically, Kydd heard Rowley harrumphing lofty agreement.

‘Very well. We shall say Vigo. What does this mean for the navy?’

‘We’ve a powerful enough force to keep at bay any interference from the French Brest squadron or other, this I’m convinced of, sir. Transports of a number sufficient have already been taken up by the Board and are as of this hour on the high seas, and now will be directed to Vigo.’

‘Who shall be the commander?’

‘I shall be in overall command, my flag in Tonnant with the strategic defence. Cruisers and sloops in the vicinity of Vigo will be the responsibility of Rear Admiral Rowley, who will appoint an inshore authority responsible for managing the actual embarking.’

‘Admiral Rowley?’

‘A post-captain of repute – Captain Kydd, in whom I have the greatest confidence.’

Kydd tensed. He could almost hear it coming. All responsibility, no honour, for a protracted and thankless task – served with an oily smile and pudgy hands.

‘Quite. For the army there are dispositions to be made that need not trouble this gathering. In essence these are defensive, centred around Lisbon. Well, shall we to other details?’

For the navy there were signals and contingencies, storing for twenty thousand or more, frigate dispositions, escort designations and lengthy details conditional on circumstances.

Refreshments were brought for a midday repast but there was no slackening of pace.

‘Captain Kydd,’ Rowley called across haughtily, at one point. ‘You’ll have a detailed scheme pending my approval for your operation within twenty-four hours. Clear?’

It would take more than wild horses for Rowley to address Kydd with recognition of his knighthood – but his naval rank always took precedence.

Kydd bit off an acknowledgement. It meant a ruined night and early morning, without a doubt with malice intended.

Unexpectedly, at four a halt was called.

‘Gentlemen.’ Wellesley’s air of unbending severity had eased a degree or two. ‘We go our ways shortly. I’d think it not amiss should we this night dine together in amity and good countenance, if only to display to the people of Lisbon our tranquil confidence at the outcome.’

Kydd brightened. This would mean that Rowley couldn’t demand his papers for another day.

In the event it promised to be a jolly, defiant occasion, well suited to show that, in the febrile atmosphere, the British were showing no sign of panic or even nervousness.

As Kydd processed with the others, a splendid vision of a crack frigate captain in his star and sash, he saw that the seating was promiscuous, the few ladies well spread out and no attention paid to rank or standing. He was ushered to a seat at the extravagantly ornamented table, between a colonel and a post-captain he didn’t recognise, and opposite a plainly dressed, stern-faced and venerable man displaying the riband and star of the rare and prestigious Order of the Garter, in precedent well above Kydd’s knightly place … and then Rowley, with his flag-lieutenant alongside.

Frowning, Rowley gave the barest of nods to Kydd and turned to the plain-dressed man, engaging him in deep conversation.

It couldn’t have suited Kydd better and, after discovering his naval companion was Ambrose, captain of Implacable 74 and a genial fellow, he then did his duty by the army officer, a distracted and morose staff colonel.

The dinner progressed agreeably, Kydd learning that the distinguished gentleman of the Garter opposite was Lord Haig, an Admiralty secretary of long standing, who clearly preferred listening to talking.

Ambrose had a fine line in dits, and the flag-lieutenant joined in the gusts of laughter at the right places, bringing a savage glare from Rowley to return him to his duty.

‘Mind you, Kydd, there’s one saucy frigate I can bring to remembrance as can put your Tyger to the blush.’

‘I’d be entertained to hear it, old fellow,’ Kydd said, with feeling.

‘Ah. Going back a mite, before the last war. Wonderful creature, I was first luff in her for a year or so, sorry indeed to leave. You probably heard of her – Artemis, the flying Artemis as was. In the time just before Black Jack Powlett was owner and took her around the world.’

Kydd froze, his fork stopped in mid-air. And, opposite, Rowley stared, then looked away quickly.

‘Yes. Lovely thing, would beat anything afloat on a bowline. Heard that she came to a sad end on a reef somewhere Godforsaken. Crying shame – a ship to love, bless her. Bahamas, was it?’

‘Azores,’ Kydd answered quietly, watching Rowley.

‘Oh? Could have sworn it was the Bahamas.’ Puzzled, he saw who Kydd was looking at and added his own polite glance of interrogation.

Rowley gave a start. ‘What? Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he stuttered.

‘Sir, you did have service in Artemis, did you not?’ the flag-lieutenant said silkily. ‘And wasn’t that when she took the rocks?’

Giving him a venomous look, Rowley muttered, ‘Oh, yes. I do recall now.’

Haig trailed off his conversation abruptly while he listened keenly, leaving his brigadier dinner companion mystified.

‘Wouldn’t you say, then, a barky of the finest sort?’ prompted Ambrose.

‘Perhaps, but a scurvy crew of the worst kind,’ Rowley threw back. ‘Could do nothing with ’em, the scrubs. Their fault, of course. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

Kydd felt a dull burn but tried to clamp a fierce hold on the volcano of feeling building. ‘Many would take issue with that,’ he said thickly. ‘The fault doesn’t lie there, does it?’

Haig sat absolutely still, his eyes unblinking.

‘You wouldn’t know, Kydd, you were just a miserable foremast jack then!’

Kydd choked back his anger but under the tablecloth bunched his fists.

Rowley spat, ‘How can press-gang meat have a clue of what’s going on, in a filthy night when-’

‘I saw everything. Everything! Quartermaster-o’-the-watch – your watch!’ Kydd’s face was pale, rigid and accusing.

Rowley didn’t say a word but gave Kydd a look of such appalling hatred that it had others at the table falter and stare back.

With a curious look Haig glanced from one to the other. ‘Interesting, indeed. Nothing of this was mentioned at the inquiry. I remember it well – I sat on it. Artemis frigate lost in mysterious circumstances in the Atlantic, no on-deck witnesses surviving – perhaps we should look into it a whit further.’