“I so deplore it when our leaders fall out,” Blackwood murmured, over sherry. “I remember not so long ago the elevated spirit in every heart when Lord Nelson was still with us, every captain burning to do his utmost for the man and his country.”
“When orders were hardly necessary, each knowing his duty and the greater plan,” agreed Kydd.
Blackwood nodded sadly. “Just between you and me, Kydd, I have the gravest reservations about this mission. It’s one as is ill conceived by an interfering Admiralty acting under political pressure and not knowing the facts of the matter.”
These were near treasonable sentiments and Kydd knew that only the worst fears would have driven the loyal Blackwood to utter them.
“Here we have Admiral Duckworth arriving afire for action, and in a day backing and filling with caution when he should be boldly standing on. You know what this implies?”
“That Duckworth is not confiding in his subordinates-he’s had weeks to consult Sir Sidney Smith, who knows these waters and could have warned him of conditions?”
“Just so. I rather think we have an ambitious man overreaching himself, who now sees that, far from a glorious opportunity for fame and distinction, this is threatening to descend into failure and ignominy. Hardly a leader to inspire.”
“And his orders are to defer to the ambassador in both strategy and tactics-a divided command, I believe.”
“Yes, indeed. I’m particularly exercised in how he’ll rein in Sir Sidney. Our Swedish knight is not known for either his tact or strict obedience to orders.”
“His courage is undoubted.”
“As will be tested when we attempt the Dardanelles, of course, but this is not the prime requisite in our case. We shall see.”
More sherry was poured. “You’ve done well, indeed, Sir Thomas,” Blackwood said respectfully. “Since first shipping your swab, Trafalgar within a few months in a new frigate command and then … what was it next? The Cape?”
The dinner passed agreeably, the lamb cutlets superbly cooked and accompanied by a very passable claret.
“Do you miss Euryalus?” Kydd asked.
Blackwood’s frigate had played a central role in Trafalgar even after the battle, acting as flagship for Collingwood, towing the Royal Sovereign to safety in the great storm that followed, and under a flag of truce going into Cadiz to parley for prisoners.
“To be frank, I do. She was only a year or two old and I had her set to rights just as I wanted her. But a frigate … Well, they’re a young man’s command and a ship-of-the-line is a next step to one’s flag, so as of last year, here I have Ajax.”
“A fine command, even so,” Kydd said, with sincere admiration. “I saw her in action at Trafalgar.”
“Of course you did. And did you know it was Lieutenant Pinfold, her first lieutenant, who commanded? Lechmere was called away to a court-martial and the young fellow found himself pitched in without warning.”
“And served nobly, as what I witnessed.”
“I heard he was made post directly and given a frigate command.”
The two men sat back reflectively. It was not so long ago but already it seemed another age, a time for heroes, fighting for survival against fearful odds and the end always in doubt. Now it was the slow but sure acquisition of empire and-
There was a muffled crash that seemed to come from under their feet, perhaps in the wardroom or midshipman’s berth.
Blackwood frowned.
Another. Then the thump of running feet.
Blackwood jumped up, lunging to open the door. He was met by the heart-stopping sight of billowing dark smoke and the stink of burning.
A tearing cry of “Fire!” was taken up, urgently spreading forward and an unseen stampede began.
“If I can do anything …”
But Blackwood was off into the roiling murk, fighting to reach his quarterdeck.
Kydd had a primitive fear of fire and his heart pounded as he thrust after him. In seconds he was staggering in the choking darkness, nearly knocked off his feet by running figures. Bellowed orders and cries of panic rang out.
How had the ’tween decks filled with smoke so fast?
Kydd dimly saw it was puffing up the main-hatch out into the gun-deck-which suggested it had taken hold below first.
It was near impossible to see to manoeuvre a fire-engine in the darkness or even get some idea of where the core of the blaze was. And to get water down to the bowels of the vessel in quantity meant a long and near useless bucket chain, or opening the bilge cocks and risking the ship sinking with no guarantee that the water flooding in could be diverted for fire-fighting.
He hesitated-his every fibre screamed at him to get out of the claustrophobia to the open air; this was not his ship, or the men his to command, and he had no reason to get in the way of those who were trying to stem the rampaging advance of the fire. He heard a lieutenant’s hoarse urging-and stumbled guiltily, eyes streaming, to the ladder and the blessedly clear night air.
The smoke was soon thick and billowing on deck as well, streaming up through the gratings of the main-hatch, a choking hindrance to those trying to rig fire appliances. As yet there were no open flames.
Kydd went to the knot of men he could just see on the quarterdeck. Blackwood was in the centre with a lace kerchief over his mouth and nose, the only officer-the others, no doubt, were below rallying the men. Those about him were the master and boatswain; the carpenter was away knocking down bulkheads to get at the fire.
“If there’s any-”
But Blackwood just looked through him at the extremity of distraction.
“I sent my first luff below to discover the fire but he’s not returned,” he said eventually. “I’ve no idea what’s to do down there.”
In a surge of sympathy Kydd’s hand went out, but it fell away in hopelessness at trying to convey his feelings.
It was one thing to have command and responsibility, quite another to have no knowledge at all on which to base decisions and orders.
An inhuman shriek came clear above the pandemonium and then another-things of horror were happening and they could do nothing.
“All boats in the water,” Blackwood ordered, in not much more than a croak.
The boatswain left, bellowing for hands to muster at the boat skids forward. These would have to be hoisted out by block and tackle at the yardarm, a task normally needing hundreds of men and there was not that number on deck. The smoke was getting worse, now with an acrid edge that made it a choking, suffocating trial. An increasingly impenetrable murkiness hid everything: what it must be like between decks for the heroes at the bucket chains and pumps could not be imagined.
A sudden bright orange light flickered through at the main-hatch. The blaze was now flaring up from the bowels of the ship, hopelessly afire below.
Blackwood hesitated for only a moment. “Abandon ship!” he said, breaking off in a paroxysm of coughing. “Get the men out, every one-abandon ship!”
As if to add point to the inevitability the flames shot up in a sudden blaze amid a hellish chorus of shrieks. The end was not far off-but how could word be spread below? Those it reached might make the safety of the upper deck but many, fighting for the life of their ship, would never hear it.
The smoke was near invisible in the dark so it came as a shock to the other ships at anchor to see flames stabbing up. A gun banged out into the night from forward, Ajax’s anguished cry for help. More cracked out, vivid flashes just piercing the sullen smoke clouds rolling about the deck.
It would take time for boats from the ships to be launched and reach them.
Men stumbled up from below, retching and pitiable. Some took a few breaths and fought their way back down to pass the word and help up shipmates blinded by smoke. Kydd’s heart went out to them.
The main-hatch was turning into an inferno, the sails on the lower yards smouldering and taking fire. Such was its ferocity, Kydd realised, with sick dismay, that in a very short time the after end of the ship would be a death-trap.