"Captain Nelson, do you have any notion where the Cockerel frigate may be? We've been detached ashore since mid-September, with no communications with her. Under the circumstances, we should be…"
"Standing-off and -on, without Cape Sepet, the last I saw of her, Lieutenant Lewrie," Nelson informed him. "But that was days ago. You mean to tell me, your captain, in all that time, has not communicated with you? But I've seen her lying at anchor in the Great Road, quite nearby! Oh, she was off with Admiral Gell to Vado Bay, with the Royalist French Squadron, but she returned days ago, after the Austrians… well. The Austrians." Nelson sighed petulantly, pulling at his long, fair nose.
"Dear as I'd wish to return to her, sir, well, there're the Royalists I have with me," Lewrie explained, summarising his recent duties with de Crillart and his gunners, the families now assembling, dependent upon him, their crying need for evacuation.
"Ah, word at last, perhaps," Nelson broke off as the doors to a large salon opened, and the senior officers were summoned inside. "Do come with me, Lieutenant. It is sure to be informative."
"Gentlemen, it is unanimously resolved," Admiral Lord Hood began to speak-tall, beaky, hunched and weary-looking, wearing a floured periwig with elaborate horizontal side curls tumbling past his ears, a famous nose, riper and fuller than even Il Vecchio Nasone-"by all the allied representatives, and by the Committee for War which represents the native Toulonese, that our enterprise here is doomed to failure."
He went on to encapsulate the present situation, the command the Republicans now held over the forts, the harbour and the roadsteads.
"A few months ago I wrote London that, had I but five or six thousand men, Toulon could not only be held, but could serve as base of operations for an invasion of the entire Midi, the south of France. The Republicans, however, have… according to the intelligence which we have gleaned from various deserters or prisoners… over 45,000 men opposing us. And sadly, even should we, through force of arms, claim back those redoubts which were lost last evening, well… the situation in which we find ourselves would be no less parlous, anent another assault upon us from the French of even greater strength. So… we must evacuate Toulon. Orders are being drafted now for military units. Pray, allow me to refer to the map… the redoubt and lunette of Pharon, below the French positions, will be abandoned. Troops there are to retire to the forts of Artigues and St. Catherine, and will hold them as long as is humanly possible, to deny the Republicans entry to the town. The major redoubts of both the Great and Little Antoines on the nor'west mountain shall also evacuate. As will the St. Andre", the Pomet… Fort Millaud and the powder mills. And once the guns are toppled or spiked, all troops at Forts L'Eguil-lette and Balaguer will cross the Gullet to Fort La Malgue and St. Louis, at its foot.
"At present, Fort Malbousquet and Fort Missicy still daunt Republican troops from entering the city from the west. They shall be held," Admiral Hood insisted with a stern glower at the clutch of senior Army officers to his right. "All outlying posts to the east will be abandoned. We intend to begin evacuating the wounded from the Infirmarie and the Hopital de la Charite at once. First to Fort La Malgue, thence down to the water fort, St. Louis, and embark in cutters and barges to such vessels of the Fleet as have space for them and the means to care for them. We may have a day or two as a grace period." Hood spoke with faint hope, even so. "The Republican assaults resulted in many wounded among their troops. The weather is abominable, and the trails and goat tracks are slick and wet, everywhere they met with success. It may be some time before they are able to shift heavy guns in numbers sufficient to threaten our ships. Or mount another assault, so soon after the first, upon the city itself."
Whistlin' in the wind, Lewrie thought: if they're smart, they'll be at us tonight! And I doubt we cost 'em tuppence.
"This should give us at least one full day and night… to prepare the basin, the arsenals and the magazines for destruction. Accordingly, every French ship which is in any forward condition, armed or able to go to sea, shall be taken from the basin at once, and anchored in the Great Road, there to receive troops as they come off shore. And those French Royalists who may wish transportation away from Toulon."
Right, Lewrie sneered; as if any of 'em'd stay!
"Admiral Don Juan de Langara will be in overall command of firing the Inner Basin and the French fleet," Hood announced. "All the powder remaining will be concentrated in two prize-vessels and sunk, at the last. The destruction of the fleet will not be undertaken until we have safely extricated troops and innocent civilians under cover of darkness."
Nelson's hand shot up at once, and Lewrie could see him quivering with eagerness to participate. Instinctively, he slid a half-step away from him. He'd seen Captain Horatio Nelson at work before, at Turk's Island, and didn't wish to take part in another of his harum-scarums, neck-or-nothing damn-all adventures. He'd had quite enough lately, thank you very much.
"Ahum," Hood frowned, pulling at his florid nose as he gazed in Nelson's direction, shaking his head sorrowfully. "To command the British party from the Royal Navy, which will assist Admiral Langara in his endeavour… I have selected Captain Sir William Sidney Smith."
"Dear Lord," Nelson whispered sotto voce, absolutely crushed he could not take part. He sounded truly, deeply disappointed. "How did he come by that? That…swashbuckler."
"Who's this Captain Smith when he's up and dressed, sir?" Alan whispered.
"The showy one," Nelson sighed, tilting his head towards a man in almost a parody of naval uniform. He was big, bluff me-hearty, Smith was, the sort who wore a perpetual "piss-me-in-the-eye" belligerence, an exuberant sort who positively swaggered, bold as a dog-in-a-doublet. The sort with abounding self-confidence, who knew no fear whatsoever.
"Came in a fortnight ago from Smyrna, on the Turkish Levant," Nelson muttered from the side of his mouth. "Purchased a little lateen rigged boat, called it Swallow. Hired on a crew of Englishmen who had been languishing, out of work, there. Hoisted his own commission pendant, wrote his own Admiralty orders, in essence. And has been perfectly thrusting himself forward since, sir."
Ahead of you, has he? Lewrie deigned to think, with a dart at his putative "host," to see the envy burning in Captain Nelson's eyes. Sir William Sidney Smith wasn't the only enterprising and aspiring captain in the salon.
Hood made some dismissing statements; to gird their loins, stick fast, stout hearts and stalwart will… that sort of thing, just before they went their separate ways. Lewrie tagged along as Nelson approached the admiral.
"I'm sorry, Nelson," Admiral Lord Hood said, giving him a faint grin and taking his elbow protectively. "But I so prize your sterling qualities that I cannot find it in my heart to wager your future contributions upon a rather weak hand. And you have accomplished so much for me already. Tunis, Naples… though I would desire to reward you with a larger ship, a more important command. A 74, perhaps…"
"Milord, I am so completely in your debt, for all your many kindnesses, your espousal of my cause, with the finest, most gracious… and most indulgent patronage," Nelson sighed. "I would have liked to command the party, if only to, in the slightest wise, be able to reward all your goodness towards me with measure for measure, no matter the risk. I am, as always, at your instant command, of course."
"I know you're disappointed, but, after all…" Hood beamed.
"As for a larger ship, milord, I am so very happy with Agamemnon. For a 64, she's the fastest two-decker in the Fleet," Nelson rejoined proudly. "And as I have stated before, milord… no officer has ever been so blessed with such a talented, chearly wardroom as I. Offered Victory herself, milord… I would be forced to demur. I cannot give up my officers!"