CHAPTER 11
FULTON HUNG HIS HEAD in dejection. "It's over," he said, in a low voice. "I'll never see Nautilus swim in my lifetime."
Kydd moved his chair closer. "How can you say that, Toot? The committee haven't given it enough thought, is all."
"So who will bring 'em to their senses? Gresham isn't alone, damn his soul, for it's in the nature of the mariner to distrust new things. No, I'm one man against a whole tribe of Noahs. Pity me, Tom."
Kydd grimaced at the street noises outside Fulton's small rooms, loud and unceasing. They were a sad distraction for any thinking man. Fulton deserved better but obviously could not afford it. Then a thought came: could he himself fund the development? Fulton was proud and independent, and would allow it only under contract as a form of investment, shares in his company, perhaps. But as a venture the yield would be considerable, even as much as— What was he thinking? To profit by the murder of sailors, however logically necessary? His mind shied away in horror.
However, he now knew that he believed in Fulton's ability to bring to reality a war-changing weapon of historic significance. And if this were so, then standing outside the situation was not an option. If Britain were to possess it, and if he had any influence or power to bring it about, his duty was clear.
"Toot, we're going t' see this through. The first thing we'll do is find what made 'em cautious. I'm to see Captain Popham, I believe."
"Wait!" Fulton stood up and went to the window. "I—I don't think it'll fadge."
"Pray why not?"
"My purse is now uncommon light—at low water, as you sailors will say. If I'm to—"
"Toot, you'll honour me by accepting a small . . . accommodation as will see you secure for now."
"You'll have my note of hand directly, Mr. Kydd," Fulton said woodenly, and looked away.
Kydd was ushered into a small, tastefully ornamented drawing room. "Why, Mr. Kydd, a very good morning to you," Popham said pleasantly. "Do be seated."
"Thank you, sir." After the usual pleasantries had been exchanged, Kydd came straight to the point. "Er, you'd oblige me much by gratifying my curiosity in respect of Mr. Fulton—or should I say Mr. Francis?"
"Oh? A very fascinating cove indeed. Challenging ideas. Not your common projector, if that's what you mean."
"Would it be impertinent of me to ask what the committee found objectionable in his plans?"
Popham hesitated, then looked at Kydd quizzically. "Do I take it you have an interest of sorts in the fellow?"
"As a serving officer it would be quite improper of me to take advantage of—"
"Quite so."
If Popham was the one to have objected on moral or other grounds Kydd knew he was sailing close to the wind, but the man continued, "Yet one might take a professional interest, don't you think?"
Did this mean . . . ?
Kydd pressed his case. "It appears t' me, sir, that if there is anything of substance in the design then we're duty-bound to discover its limits."
"It will set our notions of sea warfare on its head, should he be successful."
"Yes, sir, but if this is going to be the future, do we have the right to turn our backs on it without we know of it at the first hand?" There was no going back now.
"Ah, do I see an enterprising and forward-looking officer not affrighted by the original, the radical? Then we are quite of a mind, sir."
Relieved, Kydd went on, "Then may I know who objected to the submarine?"
Popham gave a lopsided grin. "There were several who did, but one who quite swayed the meeting and discouraged all further discussion."
"And he was?"
"Myself. I had to, of course."
"I—I don't understand you, sir."
"Reflect, if you will. Mr. Pitt is asking for a steer in the matter of saving the country from the invasion fleet of Mr. Bonaparte. That, at this time, is his first duty." He paused, then said, "Do you know much of the design of this submarine boat?"
"Not a great deal," Kydd admitted stiffly.
"In warfare the devil's always in the detail," Popham said.
"The general consensus among us was that the design may be technically feasible, if not brilliant. No, Mr. Kydd, the problem does not in fact lie with our friend's plan, which might well end in a formidable and deadly craft. It is, in short, workable. But the target is the flotilla in Boulogne. And, as you should know, the sea depths to be found there are scant and with much tide scour. Yet the design calls for the submersible to pass under the victim. I would suggest that even if this were possible, in such cramped conditions it would be to the grievous hazard of the craft, and I cannot find it in me to condemn its crew to such a horrible end."
"I see, sir," Kydd said. "Yet it has to be admitted that such a weapon would give complete mastery of the sea to whoever is able to employ it."
Popham eased into a smile. "Which, at present, we already enjoy. No, sir, the remit of the committee was the destruction of the Boulogne invasion flotilla and none else. This Nautilus cannot achieve this. Therefore I cannot, in all conscience, recommend to the government that there be an expenditure on a device without specific utility to His Majesty's arms. That was and is my duty to say, sir."
"Then . . ."
"I'm afraid so."
"But in the future—"
"The future may take care of itself."
Kydd stood. "Then I can only thank you for your time, sir, and—"
"My dear fellow, I might appear to you unsympathetic, but this would be far from the case. I am a friend to any who can carry the war to the enemy, and if Mr. Francis had come to us with anything but a submarine boat he might have been more fortunate. Perhaps we shall look at it with interest, but later.
"If you see him again, do extend to him my every expression of admiration for his achievement, will you, old fellow?"
"So, as you can see it, Toot, there's little can be done. Without it does for the invasion flotilla, Nautilus is not to be set a-swim by us—and that's the last word, I fear."
Fulton slumped in dejection. "All these years . . ."
"Are not t' be wasted," Kydd said forcefully. "There's still a chance." "No! I'm not spending what remains of my days wheedling dullards who—"
"So you're to have done with submarines? Cast all the work aside?"
"I'm going back to America."
"Where there's a great need of such," Kydd said tartly. "Listen to me, Toot. You can have your Nautilus if first you can show 'em something as will stir their interest, give 'em confidence in your inventions. That will set 'em talking."
"What," said Fulton bitterly, "can be more amazing than a submarine boat?"
"Your torpedo machines? Did you not impress Napoleon himself with 'em?"
"At Brest, with his admirals looking on," Fulton conceded.
"Then I can't conceive of anything more prime to launch against their invasion craft."
"But without a submarine . . ."
"Toot, you contemplate your torpedoes and I'll see what we can do to deliver 'em for you. But might I know why you call them 'torpedo'?"
"After the electric fish that strikes invisibly. That's your Atlantic torpedo of the Torpedo nobiliana family."
"Well, putting the name aside, let's clap on all sail. The Admiralty will smile on any who can show a way to deal with the menace at Boulogne. Your course is set. Work up plans for a superior species o' torpedo and I'll see it gets attention. No time t' be lost, Toot."
The promise of a means to deal with the crouching menace at Boulogne was vital to securing the attention and interest Fulton needed—but the original arrangement had run out and the committee had disbanded. How were they to get a fair hearing on another invention?
Popham would be the key, Kydd thought. If he could capture the man's imagination, persuade him to take an interest, lead him on, perhaps, to a personal involvement, then he most surely could take it to the higher levels. Fulton had sketches of the device he had used at Brest. With a few modifications it would bring attention.