Word came that they were assembled. As soon as he emerged on deck the excited murmuring died, making superfluous Oakley’s furious pipe of “still.”
Curzon touched his hat. “Ship’s company mustered as ordered, Sir Thomas.”
“Very good,” Kydd replied, and stepped up to the little deck space left to him, by the wheel.
“L’Aurores,” he began impressively, but at the last moment hesitated at the enormity of what he was asking of them. And what could he do if they held back?
“Ahem. I’ll have you know I had a letter a little while ago. It was from an Englishman in a desperate plight in chains in some fortress in Constantinople.
“It pleads with the nearest British man-o’-war to find an authority to negotiate for his release. I have to tell you that at this stage in our political fortunes there is none.”
He let it sink in.
“This means that if we sail away, his last hope will be extinguished and he must lie there, abandoned by all.”
He raised his voice aggressively. “I can’t let that happen! While I have my honour, and an English heart that beats, I will not cease from an attempt at his liberty!”
There was a roar of tigerish approval so he went on, “I have a plan. It will not be easy, in fact it’ll be damned dangerous, but I know you’ll want to be with me.”
The noise fell away-it was replaced by a muttering.
“A racing passage through the Dardanelles-at night, and under full sail. Something you’ll tell your grandchildren, the day when L’Aurore caught the Turk on the hop and rescued a countryman, like heroes.”
There was now an unmistakable hush, then low murmuring. They were not fools and could work out the fearful dangers lying in wait.
“It’s only a day’s run, if our stout frigate cracks on sail, and I’ve got the timings as will allow us to do it before they wake up. What say you, L’Aurores? Are you with me?”
All the officers stared at him as if he was mad.
“For the sake of our people-boat’s crew and the midshipmen, they’ll be with him, no doubt on it.” He couldn’t know, of course, whether they would be there.
This brought an agitated growling but no full-throated clamour.
He was losing them.
It was time to play his last and only card.
“What if I told you the name of this captive, this victim of Turkish treachery? It’s one you know-for he’s been your shipmate since L’Aurore was first commissioned.”
There was an astonished silence at this.
“I’ll tell you who. It’s Nicholas Renzi as was. Who’s seen us through more than one adventure, put his life at stake for his ship, always played us true. Now, will we sail away without we even try?”
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“What about them monster guns? We ain’t got a chance agin ’em all firing at one target.”
“I’m surprised at you, Mason, a fine gunner like you. I ask you, how do we fight a night action? Always yardarm to yardarm, that way we can’t miss, for at night sighting is useless. So even if they’re ready for us-which they won’t be-they’ll not get off a shot worth the aiming.
“Martin?” Another gunner.
“Cracking on wi’ a full spread o’ canvas-what if we touch? It’ll be all over main quickly, I’m thinking.”
“Good question. Here’s the answer: we’ve been up and down that damned ditch enough times we’re not going to be surprised by it. Most important, we’ve got some copper-bottomed pilot notes, thanks to Mr Kendall, which we’re going to use to set up a right good steer for ourselves. We go into this with the best navigation there is.”
A hum of interest started and he caught the word “Renzi” more than once.
Curzon came up beside him. “Sir, you’re saying that it’s Lord Farndon in a Turkish clink? How can this be? We left him in England. Are you sure this is not an imposter?”
“It’s him, sure enough. I’d recognise his hand anywhere-but the devil alone knows what he’s doing in all this.”
“What’ll ye do, sir, once we gets to Constantinople, like?” came a question from the tattooed hulk of Oakley, the boatswain.
“Ah, yes. That’s when we spin our yarn as says we’re scouts for the biggest fleet Nelson ever had, and if they’re not relieved of our men, our admiral will be tempted to come up the same way as we did before and finish the job.”
It brought hesitant laughs, for wasn’t Kydd joking? He must really have a secret plan as he always had before.
Now was probably the best time to try for the decider.
“So, maybe we’ll have a crack at it. I’m not going to call for a show of hands-I’m your captain, after all-but here’s my word on it: if any man feels he doesn’t want to be a part of it, he’s free to go ashore and wait it out with the Russians, no questions asked. And if-”
“Cap’n Kydd!” came Toby Stirk’s bull roar. “I were wi’ Renzi back in the old Royal Billy and, be buggered to it, I’m not leavin’ a messmate to die in some Turk chokey! I say what’re we waitin’ about for? Let’s get the bastard and our boat’s crew out an’ worry about it later!”
The answering cheer said it alclass="underline" they were going to Constantinople or hell, like true British tars, for a shipmate. The adventure was on.
The master took his time studying the chart before he gravely pronounced, “This’n is the hardest beat to wind’d of any run I’ve heard … ’Cepting Cap’n Cook’s night sail up the St Lawrence as fooled the Frenchies, o’ course,” he added.
“What I advises is a passage plan as takes advantage of the shore seamarks, there bein’ no buoyage in the Dardanelles. We’re lucky the Turk has plenty o’ them mosques-they’re always white an’ will show in the moonlight. So we has our waypoints depending on these.”
It was a sound plan: he’d noted quite a number of mosques and had taken their bearings at points along their course. What they had to do now was to come up with a best track; then at the waypoints where a change of course was necessary, transfer to the original plotted course new bearings. This would fix the point at which the helm should go over.
It was professional work in which Kendall could be expected to excel, and Kydd turned his mind to the practicalities.
The passage through would be all in one board, on the starboard tack, so sail-handling would not be a problem.The only need to touch gear was in the dog-leg between the inner castles when they would have to brace around to conform to their heading.
Firing back was out of the question-gun-flash would blind the helm and those taking sights. They would have to make the entire distance without defending themselves.
The slightest error in the bearings would be disastrous. It was crucial to be sure of the course changes, and Kydd took pains to make it so.
The passage plan waypoints were in the form of specified bearings. That was, if the seamark bore on its line of bearing at the same time as an opposite one lined up with its own, then the waypoint had been reached and the wheel would be put over.
He would have all the officers at the same task: separately equipped with boat compasses, they would each be tracking progress on their side of the ship and call a warning when coming up to a line of bearing. At the same time the master’s mates would be ahead of them, searching out and identifying the next seamark.
It was as much as they could do to prepare-but would it be enough?
Kydd was uncomfortably aware of the two things he could not control and which might in a trice render them a helpless wreck: the moon and the wind.
The quarter-moon was favourable: enough to make out their marks ashore but not so bright as to allow the fort gunners to aim accurately. But if the worst happened-clouds coming up to veil the face of the moon-then they would no longer make out their seamarks, and under full sail a quick end was inevitable.
For the moment the wind was fair: east-southeasterly. But Kydd knew now that the usual pattern in this part of the world was for the reigning winds tending to be either northeasterly or southwesterly. The master’s log, taking wind direction every watch, showed their present good fortune to be only a stage in a slow but persistent backing as it shifted from south to north.