Kydd returned to his ship in a foul mood. It was not his fault that he and Teazer had been kept out of the fighting and he felt the implied slights keenly. There was one course, however, that would see them both to rights.
Later that afternoon he left Keith's cabin with the promise of active employment until he was required, and within the day had his orders: in view of his acquaintance with the ordnance central to the upcoming assault, HMS Teazer would be the one to carry out the necessary reconnaissance of Boulogne.
He remembered the sight from the sea of the Boulogne hills, stretching away under the sinister blanket of troop encampments, and the crush of craft in the inner harbour. This time there was nothing for it but to crowd in as close as he could, daring everything to bring back vital information for the attack.
The orders as well entailed the embarking of Major Lovett of the 95th Rifles, knowledgeable about Napoleon's military dispositions and requesting an observation of Boulogne.
Two days later, Teazer weighed in the morning, and stood out for France in an easy early-autumn westerly breeze. Before long they were shortening sail off the dunes of Boulogne. Kydd turned to his guest. "You've been here before, Major?"
Lovett—an older man with an air of detachment—lowered his field-glass. "I have, sir, many times."
"And you know the purpose of my reconnaissance?"
"Not altogether, I'm afraid."
"We shall be assaulting the port shortly with experimental weapons, torpedoes we call 'em, which require we close with the enemy before we launch them. I'll be taking an interest in tide states, depth o' water over the Bassure banks, lines of sight into the port, that kind o' thing."
"Quite so." Lovett raised his field-glass again. "Ah. I see that the Corps de Garde have increased their numbers—over to the left by the Tour de Croy." It was raised ground a mile or two north. "Do you know much of Boulogne, sir?"
"I've read the reports," Kydd said briefly, scanning the ridges with his pocket telescope.
"May I give you my appreciation?"
"By all means."
"Well, as you know, the salient feature is the river Liane upon which Boulogne resides, disgorging to the sea between the hills. A contemptible waterway of some fifty yards breadth only, it is nevertheless the main route for the invasion of England."
From seaward it was easy to make out the narrow entrance, as well as to glimpse the forest of masts that was the armada in its specially constructed assembly basins within. What caused Kydd much unease was a quarter-mile-long endless chain of ships moored head to stern across the river mouth, parallel with the shore, guns trained outwards.
"Marshal Soult's headquarters is beyond the fort—Châtillon—on the rise to the right. His troops will be first to embark. Ney's corps is at Montreuil, also to the right, twenty thousand men alone, and Davoût, with his fourteen regiments and Batavians, to the left, embarking at Ambleteuse. That's a total of eighty thousand men within your sight, Mr. Kydd."
"And guns?"
"Marmont calls this 'the coast of iron and bronze,' and with good reason," Lovett continued drily, "for between Fort de l'Heurt there"—he indicated a squat round edifice atop an island to the right—"and La Crèche there to the north the guns are waiting. The Bombardiers' monstrous mortars and howitzers at the water's edge, guarded in depth by the Chasseurs, with the Grenadiers' twenty-four-pounder cannon mounted on special carriages at the foreshore, all in advanced firing positions and any number of field pieces deployed at will by the horse artillery—some several hundreds of significant ordnance within that single league before you."
Kydd said nothing.
"Here, too, we have history," Lovett continued expansively. "The ruined tower of d'Ordre just to the left of the entrance and up was constructed by the sainted Caligula to save the souls of mariners."
He paused. "But getting back to the present, Napoleon, it seems, has found more sinister uses for it. The Batterie de la République is a perfect nest of artillery set to play upon any who will make motions towards the egress of the flotilla or such as dare interfere with it."
"And that is all?"
Lovett ignored Kydd's ironical tone. "Well, we have the Railliement to mock our approach with six- and twelve-pounders, but beyond that there is only the concentrated musketry of those eighty thousand troops . . ."
Kydd's face tightened. It was utter madness. What were Fulton's "curiosities" against this overwhelming strength? Would the men flinch as they were ordered into this inferno of fire? The future of the world depended on the answers.
"We shall attack at night, of course," Kydd said, hoping his voice held conviction. The darkness might help conceal them but it made the task of the torpedo launchers more difficult. By eye, Kydd plotted an approach from the west-south-west—the critical five-fathom line at datum was a mile offshore, according to the chart. Of all possibilities it was the least discouraging: there was the fire of the Fort de l'Heurt to be endured but . . .
"Place us with Le Portel at sou'-east b' east, Mr. Dowse," Kydd ordered. There was one way to find out what they faced and that was to track down this approach and see what came their way.
"Aye aye, sir," Dowse replied tersely.
The first guns opened up on Teazer as they crossed the five-fathom line under cautious sail on a line of bearing for the narrow estuary of the sluggish river. From various points along the sand-hills and beaches a lazy puff and thump announced a battery taking the opportunity of exercising on a live target.
Kydd had Calloway and the master's mate, Moyes, noting the precise position and estimated weight of metal of each, notwithstanding the likelihood that the heavier guns would be reserved for worthier targets.
The plash of strikes appeared in the sea, but Kydd was too experienced to let it worry him; most were close but all around them, and he knew that the only ones to worry about were those in line but short—they revealed a gun laid true and the likelihood that they would be struck on the ricochet.
How close could he go? Only a fraction of the guns were firing: a brig-sloop would be a common enough sight as enterprising young officers tried to steal a quick glimpse at the threats within.
Suddenly there was a sharp slap and a hole appeared in Teazer's foretopsail. Their angling approach had the advantage of reducing fire from the further coast but at the cost of an increasing tempest from the nearer, which now showed in its true numbers. In the continuous rolling thunder, roils of powder-smoke viciously pierced by gun-flashes and the tearing whuup sound of passing shot, it became clear that nothing more would be accomplished by daylight.
At least they could return with their personal report of what faced the attackers. "That will do, Mr. Dowse. Do you now bear away for—"
He never finished the order for, with a sudden thump and an appalling long-drawn-out splintering crash, Teazer came to a sudden stop, slewing drunkenly sideways and throwing everyone to the deck. The foretop- and maintop-gallant masts tumbled down in ruinous confusion, smothering men in canvas and snarls of rope.
There was an instant's terrified incomprehension, then cries and shouts erupted from all parts of the ship. Kydd fought his way from under the mad, flapping folds, knowing what must have happened. A collision. In broad daylight and fair weather.
It was baffling—inconceivable. Kydd did not remember another ship within miles of Teazer. He discarded the last of the torn sail and looked round wildly. Where was the other vessel? Was it sunk?
"Throw off all tacks 'n' sheets," he bellowed, frantic to take the strain off a motionless vessel under full sail. Purchet stormed about the canted deck with a rope's end, bringing back order while others picked themselves up from where they had been thrown.