"Slewed t' the gills, no doubt."
"I weren't, Mr. Kydd!"
"Then pray tell, what tavern-keeper fails t' shake his customers in the morning as will have 'em back on board in time? Or was it—"
"I was—that is, there's this girl I was with and . . ."
"And?"
"Sally an' I, well . . ."
Kydd waited.
"Mr. Kydd!" he burst out. "S' help me, I'm struck on th' girl! She's—she's right dimber an' says I'm the first she's been with, an' she wants t' be spliced to me, and—and . . ."
Biting back a sarcastic retort, Kydd glared at him. "For an affair o' the heart you'd hazard your chances at the quarterdeck, let your shipmates down? And if there's to be an alarm . . ."
"We're not under Sailin' Orders," Calloway said doggedly.
"That's not the point, as well you know, younker."
The young man's eyes dropped, but he went on, in a low voice, "An' I'm remembering, too, that time in th' Caribbean, you an' Miss Sukey, Mr. Kydd . . ."
"How dare you?" Kydd spluttered. "An' that was afore I had m' step as an officer," he added unconvincingly, as though it excused everything.
"Sir, I—"
"Be damned to it! I'll not have m' men out o' the ship at this time. There's a hot war out there, in case y' haven't heard."
The youngster stared obstinately into space and Kydd nearly weakened, but told him, "Any seaman in your division as overstays his liberty will be served the same way. It's t' be stoppage o' leave for you, Mr. Calloway."
The eyes turned on him in misery. "But, Mr. Kydd, she'll—"
"If you're not on deck assisting the boatswain in ten minutes, I'll double it."
After the young man had left, Renzi looked up from his papers with a wry smile. "Miss Sukey? In those piping days of our youth I do not recollect our being introduced . . ."
"I do apologise, old fellow. An unfortunate oversight," Kydd replied sarcastically. "And might I ask how your letters are progressing?"
Before Renzi could reply there was the thump of an alarm gun.
Kydd hesitated, but for only a moment. It did not include them, for he had not declared ready for sea, but who could stand idle while others threw themselves into battle? "We must join 'em," he said forcefully. The larboard carronades were more or less mounted now and the bulwarks—well, they'd rig canvas dodgers or something.
"Hands t' unmoor ship!" he roared up the companionway, having thrown aside his shore clothing for action dress. By the time he reached the deck the ship was in an uproar.
"Mr. Hallum, a muster o' both watches after they're closed up, if y' please." Who knew how many were ashore?
The first of the flying squadron slipped to sea, a game little cutter thrashing out into the overcast for the French coast, followed closely by Actaeon. Others loosed sail and joined them, Teazer bringing up the rear, still tying off on the improvised bulwarks. It might have been worse: with a two-thirds complement they could maintain fire on at least every other gun and, with no real need to mount long sea watches, they had a chance.
In hours Teazer and the others were hove to before Boulogne and telescopes were quickly raised on quarterdecks. At first glance there seemed no threatening movement. Then, from inshore, a small sloop set course under a crowd of sail direct for Actaeon. It would be one of the British inshore squadron that was doggedly watching the huge concentration.
"A baneful sight for English eyes," said Renzi, who generally kept out of sight until the ship was called to quarters.
His station was then on the quarterdeck to record events for the captain.
"Why, t' be sure," Kydd responded off-handedly. "And as long as we don't fall asleep, I dare t' say this is where they must remain."
He grunted and continued to search with his telescope. It was his first encounter with the menacing sights around this premier invasion port. The prospect was awesome. The pale regular shapes of the encampment of the Grande Armée were spread out in an immensity beyond counting, covering the swelling heights of the hills and valleys around the port as far as the eye could see.
This, then, was the reality, the reason for their being: a tidal wave of the finest troops in Europe arrayed in plain sight against them.
The sloop reached Actaeon and passed out of sight around her lee. After half an hour a general signal was hoisted: "All captains repair on board."
Kydd wasted no time in complying and convened with the other captains in the great cabin. "I'll be brief, gentlemen," Savery opened, his features grave. "It does appear that the final act is at last upon us. We have intelligence that the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte himself is at this moment in Boulogne."
There was a stir of apprehension, which was brusquely cut short. "This is not the first time he has been here—he likes to show himself to his army and to inspect preparations. This is not exceptional. What is unique and disturbing is that this time not only the Emperor but his entire military staff has come. Paris is left without a single marshal's baton!"
This was received in utter silence.
"Marshal Ney is here with his corps as are Soult and Davout. The Grande Armée is now complete and I don't have to remind you that tomorrow is a new moon, with spring tides, the winds fair for England and the weather holding. Bonaparte has even sent for his brothers Louis and Joseph, now styled princes, and columns are said to be on the march for Boulogne, to a total of at least twenty cavalry squadrons and sixty regiments." He concluded soberly, "I can see no reason for this sudden descent on Boulogne other than . . ."
"Lord Keith has been informed, sir?" Kydd asked.
"Of course. He is making his dispositions, but I fear it will be a little time before we might see any reinforcements. Meanwhile, our duty remains as it always has. Should the Grande Armée sail, we place ourselves between it and England. Do I make myself clear?"
There was a murmur of assent, and Savery finished, "We have an agent of the first calibre in Boulogne who will attempt to reach me tonight under cover of dark with the final details, which naturally you will share at first light. I wish you well for the rencontre, gentlemen."
It was no longer high strategy or studied tactical manoeuvring that would be needed tomorrow: it would be nothing less than a frenzied fight to the finish, a sacrifice for the very highest stakes. Teazer was as ready she could be and everyone aboard knew their duty. While her company was issued a double tot of rum, Kydd and Renzi took a quiet and reflective dinner together.
Later, in the privacy of his sleeping cabin, Kydd drew out his fighting sword. In the flickering candlelight it gleamed with a fearful lustre, the blued Toledo steel blade at a razor's sharpness and the gold damascening catching the light with a barbaric glitter. His hand caressed the ornamentation, a pair of choughs that he had insisted on to remind him of his uncle in far distant Canada, a noble lion-head pommel chased in gold. Would this blade taste enemy blood tomorrow or must he shamefully surrender it when Teazer was overwhelmed—or worse?
Dawn came: there was no news. Instead there was a sight that caused the whole ship to fall quiet: the Grande Armée was on the move. The martial glitter of bayonets and breastplates showed in the wan morning sun as the dense columns of soldiers marched over the slopes like giant caterpillars. They converged on one vast open area in a sea of plumes, helmets and banners. More and more appeared over the line of hills to join the immense horde.
It was happening.
"Boat approaching, sir," said Tawse, matter-of-factly. The little midshipman was clearly not about to be overawed by anything Frenchy.
It was a pinnace under a press of sail. It rounded to, hooked on by the side steps and a lieutenant bounded breathlessly on board. "Captain, sir?" he said excitedly. "From Cap'n Savery, his compliments and believes you should want to know what is afoot."