It was a melancholy but irrefutable fact: the genie was now out of the bottle and could not be put back. What was invented could not be uninvented. The future of war at sea, therefore, would now be one of submarines and sudden death of the defenceless.
There was, however, one question that, to Kydd, put all others aside: was this going to be the means to get at the invasion flotilla skulking in harbour and put to an end the mortal threat that hung over England, once and for all?
If it was then, damn it, he would give it all he had.
CHAPTER 9
KYDD FILED IN and sat next to Fulton. Others took position around them and all rose when the chairman, George Hammond, undersecretary of state for the Foreign Office entered and took the head of the table.
"Thank you, gentleman, and especially you, er, Mr. Francis, for affording us your valuable time." He shuffled some papers, then looked up sharply. "The purpose of this meeting—this informal meeting—I should remind you, is to discover how the committee for the examination of the submarine boat be most effectively constituted so as to give a true and fair view of its prospects in service." A large man next to him gave an ill-tempered harrumph, which was ignored.
"I shall introduce you all. This is Mr. Jackson, an engineer of some repute; Major Wardle, for the Ordnance Board; Captain Gresham, for the Royal Navy," the large man nodded and glared around the table, "and, of course, Mr. Francis himself."
Hammond looked enquiringly at Kydd, but before he could say anything Fulton said firmly, "Mr. Kydd, of the Navy, who's my keeper and liaison man. If needs be, he'll be advising me—that's so, isn't it, Commander?" "Er, yes. In accordance with Mr. Francis's conditions in coming to England I'm to assist in any way I can to facilitate his work by way of explaining our operational practices and arranging procedural matters on his request."
"Very well," Hammond said crisply. "To business. Mr. Pitt strongly believes that the importance of this project demands that only men of the highest eminence need be asked to sit on this committee. Therefore I ask that you do consider deeply your separate professions as to who might best be approached." He paused. "For instance, the name of Sir Joseph Banks has been mentioned as chairman."
Kydd was impressed: the well-born naturalist who had sailed with Cook to the South Seas, president of the Royal Society and adviser to governments and kings—this was eminence indeed.
Hammond continued, "Mr. Jackson. Might we start with yourself? Who in the practice of engineering would you consider in this regard?"
The pleasant-faced man appeared perplexed. "As I'm not well acquainted with what Mr. Francis proposes to do, I'm at a stand, sir. If it's shipbuilding—"
"No, sir, it is not," Fulton said energetically. "This is a new departure in the marine arts. As such it—"
"Damn it all for a lunatic charade!"
"Captain Gresham?"
"Will someone please explain to me why on earth we're contemplating creeping about under the sea in these contraptions, like some verminous highwayman in the woods, when we've got the mightiest and best navy the world's ever seen?"
"Because the prime minister desires we shall," Hammond retorted. "Mr. Jackson, please continue."
"Oh, yes. I would think that—"
"Let me answer our salty son of the briny," Fulton broke in abruptly. "We're contemplating a submarine because not even all your king's horses and all your king's men can defend a battleship against even one of these. If ever you stopped to think—"
"Mr. Francis, I have to rule you out of order, I'm afraid," Hammond came in. "You're here in an advisory capacity and may only address the meeting when called upon to answer a particular technical question. Mr. Jackson?"
"As I was saying, you'd be well served by a dockyard engineer— they're a canny breed, quite at home with curious sea machines. I'm thinking of Mr. Bentham—that's Samuel, not his brother. And, in course, Mr. Rennie . . ."
"Thank you, sir. Major Wardle, who in the view of the Ordnance Board would be suitable?"
"Who has not heard of Thomas Blomefield? Or the younger William Congreve? There is a gratifying superfluity of persons of an ordnance persuasion, sir, ready to do their duty."
"Indeed. I should perhaps at this stage make mention that Mr. Henry Cavendish has indicated his willingness to allow us the benefit of his observations in the scientifical line."
"Cavendish?" Gresham asked his neighbour.
"Rum cove—factitious airs, the electric fluid, Mr. Lavoisier's hydrogen . . ." the man replied.
Fulton leaned back restlessly. "These philosophical gents are all very well, Mr. Chair, but your most significant man will be your seaman who knows the sea. A whole navy to choose from, sir—who will it be?"
"Hear, hear," rumbled Gresham. "Our American friend and I are at last in agreement. We need one of weighty experience, knows the crackpot from the plain lunatic—"
"Quite so."
"Not an admiral as is set in his ways, been at sea more'n a dogwatch, smelled a mort of powder-smoke—"
"Rather similar, in fact, to yourself, sir?"
"If you insist, Mr. Chairman," Gresham said, with oily satisfaction.
"It will be considered in due course," Hammond said, and turned to Fulton. "Mr. Francis, this committee is convened upon your request. Do you have any objection to the names mentioned as having the competence to adjudge your work?"
"Only one," Fulton said, looking pointedly at Gresham.
"That is noted. The names, sir, will be put forward to the prime minister's office and selection made. You will be informed, of course. Thank you, gentlemen."
With a shuffling of feet the meeting adjourned. In the hubbub following, Jackson crossed to speak to Fulton but Gresham stopped Kydd. "A junior commander is it, then, Mr. Kydd? I do hope you've wits enough to see through this crafty rogue. The Navy doesn't want his kind about when we've got more pressing engagements, if you see what I mean."
"I have m' duty, sir, and that's to give Mr. Francis a clear hawse in the matter of designing a submarine boat," Kydd said pointedly.
"Don't take that tone with me, sir. You have your duty, and it's to the Service, not to some jumped-up Yankee projector who's got ideas as will bring about the ruination of the profession! The Navy expects you to stand by its traditions with courage and right-thinking, not go chasing after hare-brained schemes that—"
"Mr. Kydd!" Fulton called loudly across the room. "I find I'm hard-pressed and must leave—if you're ready at all?" In the street outside he pulled on his gloves savagely and jammed on his hat. "God save you from all his tribe," he said bitterly, "else you'll be a-seeing Mr. Bonaparte marching down this very street before long."
"The committee's not yet selected, Mr. Fulton. It might be he's not on it."
"He will be."
"Let's wait and see."
"No, we won't—I don't like waiting. I must get to work."
A few days later Kydd returned to the casemate, this time taking in more of the details. Halfway up a sheer cliff, its slatted wooden decking was probably to guard against the damp and mould of the vast chalk cavern. The only entry apart from the one he had used, which was through an army barracks, was a small exit to the open air, barred with a grille. It was perfectly chosen for the purpose of securing Fulton and his plans from the outside world—or acting as his prison.
Fulton beckoned him in. He was trying to heave round his desk and Kydd hastened to take the other end, manhandling it into place as close as possible to the light and air streaming through the grille. "It will serve," Fulton panted. "I've worked in far worse and time's not on my side."
It was beginning to shape up: the drawing desk across the mouth of the casemate, shelves down each side and stowages resembling ship's sea-chests in strategic locations. This was where the war at sea was going to be changed utterly.