There would be a reckoning when the weather abated; there would be no rest. At the Tenacious gun the men sat exhausted on the ground, heads in their hands. Dobbie looked up wearily with a smile of recognition. "Got 'em beat again, sir," he croaked.
Kydd could not trust himself to say the words that lay on his heart and ended with a gruff "No chance o' Buonaparte getting what he wants while there's a Tenacious in th' offing." It seemed to serve, for several of the gun crew looked up with pleased grins. "Don't know where I'll find it, but there's a double tot f'r you all when I do."
At the headquarters he found Hewitt slumped in his chair, staring at the wall with the map of operations spread out before him. "That damned relief army had better show itself before long or we're a cooked goose."
"Aye," said Kydd, and searched for words of cheer. "We came close t'day—but doesn't it tell us that Buonaparte is getting impatient, running scared, that he throws his army at us without he has a plan—an' in this blow?"
Hewitt looked up, an odd expression on his face. "Pray see things from his point of view. Before now he has taken the strongest fortresses in Europe, defended by the most modern troops. What does he see here in Acre? An ancient, decaying town ruled by a bloody tyrant and defended by a ragged mix of sailors and Orientals. No wonder he thinks to sweep us aside quickly and get on with his conquests."
"He's tried—"
"He has not yet! But I'll wager he's already sent for a second siege train to pound us to ruin even with our wonderful ships, supposing he is not at this moment up to some other deviltry! Remember, he made his name at Toulon at the head of the artillery—he is no stranger to such works."
They worked together on the defences, Hewitt's halting translations of Phelippeaux's schemes of fortification serving for them both. They divided between them the main tasks: Hewitt consulted Djezzar on matters concerning labour for the works and Kydd saw to the lines of supply from the victualling stores and magazines to the guns—but always many other details demanded their attention.
The winds blew themselves out and veered more easterly as the rain cleared. With the first blue sky all eyes turned to the French encampment for signs of a new assault. But the sodden ground remained impractical and, to the cheers of the defenders, the two ships sailed back cautiously to take up their positions once more.
Smith came ashore immediately and energetically visited all parts of the old walled town, demanding particulars of each. He finished at his headquarters. "Well done, gentlemen," he said, with satisfaction. "Yet I would rather you had kept a better eye on Djezzar Pasha—he is a man of decided opinions concerning his enemies, and I have just learned that in my absence he seized thirty of the prisoners, had them sewn into sacks and thrown into the sea, including our French officer spy. I shall have to be firmer with him in the future.
"And now I have news. Good news, believe me. You will be happy to learn that the Turkish relief army in Galilee has left Damascus and is even now on its way south. A mighty army indeed: seventy-five banners of Mahgrebi infantry and Albanian cavalry, two hundred Janissaries, Dalat and field cannon, Mamelukes and Kurds beyond counting—near eight times Buonaparte's numbers. They march fast and will reach the Jordan in a day or so. Then he must fight, or retreat and abandon the siege. I believe he will fight, and in that case he will be obliged to divide his forces. It will be an interesting time for Mr Buonaparte."
Kydd's heart lifted. Perhaps in a few days he could return to his rightful place in Tenacious—the warm fellowship and ordered sanity of the wardroom.
There was other news: Bedouin fighters were joining from the country—more exotic fighters to prowl the walls with their flowing robes and wickedly curved knives. And it seemed agents in India had discovered that Buonaparte had told the Sultan of Mysore, the scheming Tippoo Sahib, to prepare for a victorious host that would descend on his country from Persia in the footsteps of Alexander.
"However, we have a more immediate worry. Count Phelip-peaux has confided that he believes the French have begun a sap, a mine. Protected from our ships' gunfire they are tunnelling towards us from their forward trenches and when they are under the wall they will explode a great charge to bring it down."
Kydd and Hewitt exchanged a glance. In one stroke another dimension of war had started. While they walked and talked above, French engineers were driving their unseen mine ever closer. In a single instant they could be blown to pieces.
"Sir, does he know where it is? How far it's gone?" Kydd wanted to know.
"No doubt about it—he has seen an advance parallel grow earthworks and men go down into it. The closest trench to the Cursed Tower."
"Is there anything we can do?" Hewitt looked drawn and tired.
"The usual in these cases is for us to counter-mine, to drive our own pit towards theirs and stop them."
Kydd shuddered: he could not conceive of a worse scene than in this black underground the breaking through into an enemy mine and the savagery of hacking and stabbing in such a confined space that must follow.
There was no attack that day, or the next: it was becoming clear that Buonaparte was not going to risk another frontal assault in the face of the ships' broadsides and was either biding his time while his sappers did their work or was away, deploying his forces to face the Turkish hordes.
It gave Smith, Hewitt and Kydd precious time to repair and regroup. One thing they could be sure of, which Kydd kept close to his heart: they would never starve—the little feluccas bringing food ensured that. It was something their enemies could only dream of without command of the sea.
On the following day Smith brought grave news. "Gentlemen, I have to tell you now, the Turkish reinforcements are beaten— outnumbered many times. That devil Buonaparte won a victory over them at Mount Tabor in Canaan. They're fleeing north as fast as they are able and we can expect nothing from them now."
"May we then know your intentions, Sir Sidney?" Hewitt asked, in a low voice.
Without any relieving force in prospect their main reason for holding out was gone. Slowly but surely the mining was reaching their walls, and a victorious General Buonaparte was returning with his booty and no threat in his rear to distract him. When the news got out who knew how it would be received? An evacuation was the only real course left.
"We stay," Smith said calmly. "To yield up Acre is to hand Buonaparte a highway to Constantinople and the world. While we are still here he dare not proceed further with us in his rear. Therefore our duty is plain." It was the cold logic of war. "We bend every sinew to defend ourselves, every man to bear a hand in doing whatever Count Phelippeaux desires in the article of fortifications. We send away any who cannot hold a weapon. Let there be nothing left undone that can help us resist the tyrant."
Hewitt got to his feet and reached for his sword. "Then we had best be about our business. Mr Phelippeaux has the idea to place a ravelin outside the walls. I have no idea what species of animal this is, but I look forward to finding out. Good-day, gentlemen."
Kydd looked nonplussed. "Outside the walls?"
"Certainly. We raise an earthworks on each flank of the wall—this in the shape of an arrowhead pointing towards the Cursed Tower. Each will contain a twenty-four-pounder and they will have an unrivalled field of fire when they play upon the approaches to the breach." Building these ravelins in the open would be a bloody affair, Kydd mused.
"And I desire you, sir, to attend to our port. I'm sure there's much that can be done to dismay the French. Take what you need and tell me about it afterwards—and thank you, Mr Kydd."
A brass eighteen-pounder was found and, in consultation with the gunner of Tenacious, mounted on a platform high up in the lighthouse. This gave a deal of grave joy to the seamen, who were employed to rig complicated sheer-legs, parbuckles and all manner of tackles to raise the long gun to its final eminence. When finished, the height provided a most satisfying range into the French camp.