"Aye aye, sir."
"And especially should they sail on their enterprise. Neither ship nor man should be spared in the need to raise the alarm."
"May I know, sir, what's t' be our action here consequent on receiving this?"
"The first intelligence of an invasion fleet at sea is to be conveyed to Deal. There, the shutter telegraph will have the news to the Admiralty in ten minutes. At the same time we have General Craig's flags. These are a chain of posts on church steeples and similar that constantly fly a white flag. Receiving word of an invasion, they will be replaced by a red, which will be the signal to loose the messengers, picked men whose duty it is to set forth on horseback, fly inland and raise the alarm. At night we shall have beacons of furze faggots on hilltops as will instantly call the volunteers to arms and set in motion the evacuation plans—but the details of that we can leave to the military."
"Sir."
"To return to our own operations. You're to maintain at all times sea and ordnance stores conformable to a two-hour notice to sail, and when at alert, a watch of the hands closed up at stations for unmooring, yourself and principal officers on board."
"At alert, sir?"
"Wind and tide favourable for a sortie, an intelligence that Bonaparte is contemplating a descent. The signal tower hangs out a red warning pennant with a gun—you'll see all this in the orders."
"I understand, sir."
"To the squadron instructions. You'll observe that there's little enough on manoeuvres and signals. This is because when we shall be called upon for service it will of a surety be a pell-mell action as will not be of a character to allow the forming of line and so forth."
Savery spoke calmly, but there was no mistaking the icy determination. "As well, of course, we are all of different sailing qualities and in this I will be clear. At an alarm, the duty of every captain is to crowd on sail as best he might to close with the enemy, not an instant's delay. How this is achieved is of secondary consideration."
"Sir."
"We are all of one band and must rely on each other—in this you will see each must trust the other in the prime cause. No signals, no permissions, no hesitation. Lay yourself alongside an enemy and you will have fulfilled your duty, sir."
It was a level of trust in a commander that Kydd had never encountered before: to rely implicitly on a subordinate's tactical judgement, seamanship and brute courage without issuing a direct order, this was what it was to be a sea officer of such a supremely professional navy. "Aye aye, sir," Kydd responded. "You may rely on Teazer and her company."
"Very well. Do complete your stores and, as of noon tomorrow, consider yourself under orders. Er, and it would be my pleasure to see you at our little gathering in the Three Kings at seven tonight. You'll find some of the other captains of the flying squadron there and they'll be pleased to meet you."
In the early afternoon Kydd went ashore with the purser and Renzi. He wanted to inspect the capability of the King's Naval Yard in Deal and also to see something of the town.
He had read the orders. Keith's were straightforward and to the point, with no duty explicit other than the defence of the realm in so far as it meant harrying the enemy by every means possible. The usual commander-in-chief's Fighting Instructions were almost nonexistent, confirming Savery's earlier comments that a grand fleet action was not likely—for the moment.
Savery's orders, too, were sparse, emphasising individual initiative and deprecating caution but with the proviso that the preservation of his ship was a central concern for every captain. Throw himself at the enemy or hold back: it would be Kydd's decision. Kydd realised that Keith's constant fear would be that his forces would be so whittled down by taking the war to the enemy shore that at a sudden invasion breakout they would prove of insufficient numbers.
It was a warm, sunny afternoon and, with the breezy northwesterly a foul wind on the French coast, there was little likelihood of an alert. Kydd walked quietly with the other two to the King's Naval Yard, letting the character of the place seep in.
Deal was a curious place, a town at a seemingly random position along a lengthy stretch of flat shoreline, nestled right up to a shingle beach. It was said to be one of the biggest ports in England—yet it had no harbour.
But there were reasons for its existence there: the lethal Goodwin Sands offshore were also a barrier to Channel storms and the ships that gathered in its embrace, waiting for a fair wind, needed provisions, stores and chandlery. Passengers favoured boarding their ships at Deal, thereby avoiding the tedious river trip to London. With naval forces to support in addition, the town was lively and prosperous.
The King's Naval Yard at one end of the waterfront was impressive, with sawpits, smith's shops, sail lofts and the like. A ship could be victualled for an entire ocean voyage from the brewhouses, compendious storehouses and the bakery producing vast quantities of ship's biscuits. Yet without a harbour—no quays, jetties or wharfs—tons of stores, masts and yards, weighty lengths of new-spun cordage, all had to be taken out to the ships in boats.
This meant that the heavy craft must be manhandled down to the water over the steep shingle, loaded and, after delivery, heaved back up again. At the yard there were eight slipways, oaken balks settled well in with a massive capstan at the top of each. Kydd watched as a three-ton frigate launch was hauled up for repair. Even with thirty men at the capstan and others steadying the boat it was a hard grind.
Their business concluded, the Teazers returned to their ship. Kydd knew he had paperwork to deal with but felt restless. He went to the shrouds and gazed out across the sparkling sea to the hard, clean line of the horizon where the distant sombre headlands of France were stark and clear.
There was now no doubt: the gathering storm that was about to break on England could be stopped by only one agency, the Royal Navy. Teazer was at the cutting edge, the furthest forward she could be on the field of battle. And Kydd was her captain.
"Ah, Mr. Kydd, come meet this merry band of mariners!" Savery said heartily, stepping back from the fireplace. A half-dozen officers looked at him inquisitively. "Commander Kydd is new-joined in Teazer, brig-sloop, from the Channel Islands," he boomed. "Claims he wanted a more interesting station."
There were murmurs of welcome and a shuffling to allow him a sight of the fire.
"This is Commander Dyer, of Falcon, ship-sloop."
A cautious-looking older officer nodded.
"And L'tenant Keane, Locust, gun-brig . . ."
The cheerful, red-faced young man winked at him playfully.
"L'tenant Mills out of Bruiser, gun-brig."
The big man grunted defensively. "Service?"
"Oh, North American station t' begin with," Kydd said amiably. There would apparently be no standing on ceremony in this company. "The Med," he added. "And the Nile," he finished lightly.
There was a general stir. "Doubt we can find anything to top that, Mr. Kydd," said Keane, respectfully.
"I'm not so sure," Mills said forcefully. "Boney's down on 'em hard if they don't put on a brave show defendin' afore their own soldiers on the shore. Why, in that mill we has last month off Calais . . ." The talk ebbed and flowed.
The Three Kings, like so much of Deal, was on the edge of the waterfront, its entrance set at right angles for shelter. The naval officers favoured rooms to seaward that looked out over the Downs and, in the strengthening north-westerly, the windows shook and rattled.
Savery glanced out to sea at the miles of bobbing ships and white caps, then suggested, "Cards, gentlemen? No alarums to be expected in this blow." There was a general move to the table. "I do hope the claret is agreeable to your taste, Mr. Kydd," he said, as the cards were cut. "For our Friday gathering we make it a point that the enemy provides for our wine. Out of a prize, of course."