“Sir Thomas?”
As usual he stood loosely, features composed and respectful.
“Ah, Dillon. A word with you,” Kydd harrumphed.
“Sir?”
“I think it time for you to earn your keep. I desire that you assume duties of a more confidential nature.”
“Of course, sir. I’d be delighted.” There was an animation that seemed to show he had been waiting for just this moment-a release from the mundane?
“Then you’ll be instructed in ciphering, for you will be transcribing my dispatches from this point forward.”
“I understand, Sir Thomas. About the grave nature of being privy to such secrets, I mean.”
“Good. I shall, of course, require you swear that you will keep them and so forth. Have you any objection?”
“None, Sir Thomas.”
“Very well. And, further, you are to undertake the care and upkeep of my personal correspondence and papers.”
“I’m honoured by your trust, sir.”
“Yes. Well, that’s decided, then. How are you settling in-the gun-room mess, that is?”
“Happily, thank you, Sir Thomas. In large part I’m obliged to Lieutenant Bowden for his amiable manners and patience, which have enabled me to take my place in such august and hearty company.”
It appeared the young man was succeeding well in fitting in and finding fulfilment in their fellowship.
Kydd continued, “I see you are keeping the young gentlemen to their studies. Are they progressing well?”
“Both in their way, sir. But, you see, there is …”
“Yes?”
“My grasp of mathematicals is slender, I do confess, and their navigation studies require that …”
“Well. Perhaps we shall leave that side to the sailing master.” It was oddly gratifying that he’d discovered a weakness in the young man.
“Thank you, Sir Thomas.”
“I should mention that your confidential work will be carried out in this cabin. You may use the escritoire, for which I have the key, and … and should you have need of good daylight, do feel free to use … that chair.” Renzi’s accustomed seat.
“Right. Well, we’ll begin this afternoon at three bells. Good day to you, Dillon.”
But the next day the winds relented, veering to a playful southerly. Almost as soon as it was light enough to see, Royal George ran up a signaclass="underline" “Prepare to weigh.”
Kydd felt a lurch of unreality. Against all reason it was going ahead: the British fleet was on its way to force the Dardanelles and level Constantinople to the ground.
CHAPTER 9
FROM THE DARDANELLES SHORE it was a grim sight: a long line of battleship after battleship, with their rows of guns, frigates, others, all under full sail-and flying from each the feared ensign of Admiral Nelson. Now there could be no longer any doubt of British intentions.
Smith held his squadron at the rear in a tight line; his orders to them were simple-clap eyes on his flag and no other, obey signals on the instant, and be prepared for anything. From the sudden appearance of the Ottoman Navy to the rescue of a stricken firstrate hammered to destruction by the forts, mused Kydd.
Each ship towed its boats astern for if the worst happened-a hopeless tangle of trapped vessels under fire-there would be no time to launch them.
It was eerily quiet as they entered the strait.
The first side to fire would break the treaty between Turkey and Great Britain and be responsible for whatever followed. Yet what they were doing was an act of war in itself, an intolerable provocation in sending a battle fleet against the capital.
The fortifications across the entrance remained silent as the ships passed, their colours flapping lazily in the light breeze.
They must have been seen-were they going to get away with it?
The British fleet were all at quarters, guns loaded, but not run out. The gun-ports remained firmly closed. If the Turks opened fire it would be on warships ostensibly about their peaceful occasions.
The sides of the passage began closing in. Kydd knew that not so far ahead were more fortresses, the “outer castles,” and these were massive-at a particularly constricted point.
Still the deathly quiet.
He looked ahead to the van of the line. Canopus was leading Repulse and the two three-deckers into the narrows, the wind fair but light. They seemed to be favouring the north bank-deeper water and away from the bigger fortress.
Nearer and nearer … Then both citadels erupted in smoke and gun-flash. These were shotted and Canopus was quickly straddled, Repulse next. But there was no return fire-Duckworth was going to play it out as the injured party.
There was no holding back from the shore. Each ship was targeted as they passed … still with no reply. And these were heavy-calibre weapons, sending up plumes to the main-yards-sixty-pounders was the best guess, vastly out-gunning anything the fleet mounted.
The line moved on agonisingly slowly as the guns played on them. The three-deckers were clearly the focus of anger but still their gun-ports remained obstinately shut.
Kydd’s face set hard. The point had been made: the Turks had definitely opened fire first. Why didn’t the admiral unleash the combined broadsides of the fleet?
The leading ships passed beyond range and into a bend to the left, the following ships now coming under fire. Harvey’s Standard lost a spar and then it was L’Aurore’s turn to face the fortresses’ spite. With shot so big coming in, it was useless to take cover. Kydd slowly paced his quarterdeck as the tension grew.
But it seemed the Turkish gunners were growing fatigued, manhandling the huge guns: only a few shots came their way-and then they were through.
Unexpectedly, behind them the little bomb-ketches suddenly fired their thirteen-inch mortars-just two rounds in reply to all the punishment the fleet had taken.
Now the inner castles had to be penetrated. These were double the size and fully alerted-Duckworth must surely respond!
There wasn’t long to wait. His signal was made: gun-ports flew open at the rush and the fleet showed its teeth.
The channel was getting perilously narrow: if any of the line-of-battle took a crippling hit it would cause a disastrous obstruction. Sailing before the wind there was no chance for the rest to turn and retreat.
The fortifications opened up with a deep thunder of heavy guns. Instantly Canopus got off her broadside in a mighty roar of stabbing flame and towering gun-smoke. It was well-aimed, the shot-strike around the redoubt leaping and battering and throwing up dark, whirling chunks. Its fire petered out rapidly-the Turks manning it could never have experienced such a holocaust before.
The fort opposite was quickly battered by another broadside but a weakness showed: in the interval of reloading in the ships the gun-smoke receded, the forts recovered and the firing resumed. Repulse and the following battleships took the lesson and kept up a rippling fire that dismayed the shore gunners, and in a continuous roar of cannonading the ships slipped past, one by one.
The most dangerous part lay ahead: they could not retreat against the wind so their only course was to continue. Kydd remembered only too well the succession of redoubts, forts and strongholds of the legendary Dardanelles defences he had seen along the strait.
Looming over all was the dread prospect of the Ottoman fleet descending on them and a pitched fleet action in the impossible confines of these waters. It would be a slaughterhouse fight of ship laid alongside ship until the issue was decided.
Kydd raised his glass. The head of the line was coming up to a point that stood out from the Asiatic shore, hiding the strait, which led on around it in a bend to the right. On its tip was a fortification, Point Pesquies, which had to be passed to reach the relative safety of the slightly broadening strait further on.
Canopus fired early and the fort was nearly hidden in flying debris and its own powder smoke, the duel continuing as the big sail-of-the-line moved slowly on.