On arrival Kydd had been quick to advise Admiral Louis of events. He had orders for the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean in general, but no instructions touching on the situation they found themselves in-that the British had been summarily excluded from Constantinople and its strategic vicinity.
“I’ll send dispatches, of course, but all we can do is resume our cruise north,” Louis decided. “You’ve two days to get your vessel in shape before we sail.”
But then the situation changed completely.
Coming into view around the headland a crowd of sail quickly resolved into a full-scale battle fleet led by a massive three-decker flying the pennant of a senior admiral. As it came to for mooring, sharp eyes noted that the flagship was Royal George, a 100-gun first rate in the same class as Victory. She was followed in line by another three-decker and a host of other battleships.
At the sound of the gun salutes, men tumbled up from below and stared at the apparition. Their lordships at the Admiralty did not send massive assets such as these on jaunts-it must be to some purpose. Officers and men speculated: an invasion of Naples to forestall a French move against Sicily was the favourite, followed by the dark suspicion that the Tsar of Russia had turned again and was now allied with Bonaparte, who had offered Malta to seal the compact.
Rear Admiral Louis was on his way to the great flagship without delay, and while everyone waited for what would come of the visit, there were even wilder conjectures: the Toulon blockade had been broken and a frantic search for the French fleet was under way, or conceivably the Greeks had risen in rebellion and this fleet was sent in support or to suppress it.
When the signal was hung out on Royal George-“All captains”-Kydd wasted no time in making his way there.
He was met at the entry-port and taken down to the great cabin where, along with the other captains, he was introduced to the fleet commander, Vice Admiral of the White Sir John Duckworth, victor of San Domingo and second in command under Collingwood of the Mediterranean fleet. With him was Rear Admiral Sir Sidney Smith.
Kydd knew both men: Duckworth had been a commodore in the taking of Menorca when he had been a junior lieutenant on a signalling mission ashore and he knew him to be bluff, ambitious but cautious. He had missed Trafalgar but gone on to personal glory in the fleet action at San Domingo against the French that had led to their withdrawal from the Caribbean, and was known now to covet Collingwood’s own command.
The other could not have been more different. Kydd had first met Smith in the dramatic defence of Acre, when he had been with a motley band of British seamen and Arab irregulars under Smith’s command that had stood against a siege by Napoleon Bonaparte face to face, to send him back to France in complete defeat, even to the extent of abandoning his army.
Smith was clever, ingenious and restless, but had a knack for irritating his superiors. Yet his courage was undoubted-the Swedish king had knighted him for his role in a titanic battle against the Russians that had cost them sixty-four ships and many thousands of lives. Once he had even been captured as a spy and taken to a Paris fortress but had then escaped in dramatic circumstances.
Kydd had been in his first command, the brig-sloop Teazer, when he had last seen Smith in Alexandria and where he had experienced his jealousy and glory-seeking at first-hand. He wondered what the man was doing in Duckworth’s command, then recalled the rumour that he had been the lover of Princess Caroline of Brunswick, the consort of the Prince of Wales; there had been talk of a child. It was more than likely he had been packed off out of the country.
He knew one other of the dozen commanders seated around the vast polished table-the captain of Ajax, a legendary 74-gun ship-of-the-line. This was Nelson’s Blackwood, the dour frigate captain whom Kydd had served under at Trafalgar and who had first brought the news of the French at Cadiz to Merton. He ventured a smile across the cabin and was rewarded with a slight easing of a frown-but that was Blackwood’s way, and Kydd determined to make a visit when he could, to talk over times still fresh for them both.
“Shall we come to order, gentlemen?” Duckworth’s booming voice cut across the conversations. “There’s much to do, and time presses.”
He was more portly than Kydd remembered, a heavy face and a ready scowl. He wore his full-dress admiral’s uniform, a mass of gold lace, stars and ribbons.
“As of this date, the detached squadron of Rear Admiral Louis is dissolved, its ships to come under my direct command. This is for a particular service for which I have my orders.”
He had their full attention and looked around the table.
“Gentlemen, we are to force the Dardanelles and lie before Constantinople.”
There were gasps of incredulity but Duckworth ignored them. “The government has had word of French intrigue and treachery in the court of the Sultan of Turkey that threatens to gain for Bonaparte what he lost at the Nile and this cannot be tolerated. My task is to reverse that state of affairs in our favour, by force, if necessary.”
“Sir, when you say force, do you mean-”
“My orders are clear. We lie off the city with guns run out. Our demands are simple: the Turk is to eject the chief French troublemaker, one M’sieur Sebastiani, and his crew to us or alternatively yield up their entire navy, ships and stores to prevent their falling into the hands of the French. Failing that, we bombard the city of Constantinople and lay it in ruins.”
“Good God! This is madness!” Smith stuttered, his face reddening. “The work of a lunatic! We can’t just-”
“Admiral Smith!” rapped Duckworth, “Kindly keep yourself under control. These orders are not mine-they’re not even those of the commander-in-chief. They originate in London at the highest-I say, the highest-level. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Smith subsided, his fists bunched.
“I’m further instructed to take advice from the ambassador on this matter. His assessments regarding this grave confrontation are trusted by Whitehall and are, no doubt, the reason why we’re here. Where is the fellow, by the way?”
“He lies indisposed in my ship, Sir John,” Kydd answered quickly.
“Well, see he gets the best treatments. He’s much to be consulted.”
“There seems to be a conundrum at large,” Louis came in.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Are not the Turks our allies? A penetration of the Dardanelles by force must be in breach of our treaty of friendship of 1798, surely.”
“We come in peace,” there was a muffled guffaw from Smith, “so if they open fire, it is the Turk who is in default. Never underestimate the wily Oriental, sir! They know full well what they’re about and it’s up to us to bring them to their senses. That is why we’ve been dispatched on this mission.”
Duckworth sniffed disdainfully, then said, “And, for your information, the Russian Navy in Corfu, under their Admiral Senyavin, has offered to send us ships-of-the-line in the common cause. Naturally I shall not avail myself of this, considering our present armament sufficient against the Navy of the Ottomans.”
There was quiet for a space as the import of what had been said sank in. Then Smith said coldly, “Sir, I have met Sultan Selim, my brother having been the previous ambassador. He’s no fool but has problems with his own people and takes to dithering between two courses of action when pressured. He’s close to the French now but can be swayed back just as easily. In all charity, can we not move forward by diplomacy instead of bludgeoning our way-”
“Your objections are noted, sir. My orders are explicit. I can see no reason to delay. We sail against Constantinople.”