There was only one thing that they could do: stay closer – whatever it took, stay with them.
It seemed Seahorse was of the same mind and the two frigates closed in astern just as night lanthorns appeared in the tops of the enemy battleships, their betraying light a penalty for keeping the fleet together in darkness.
Three horizontal lights flickered and stayed in the main-top of Seahorse. Kydd did the same. The light faded and the storm-ridden night began, the white combers charging out of the blackness adding to the violence of the scene – but this was the critical time, the darkness when Villeneuve would surely douse the lanthorns and slip away on his planned course.
Another hour. The same southerly course. Hours more. It was inexplicable – why no move? Kydd was wet, chilled to the heart, but nothing would take him from the quarterdeck at that time.
The watch changed, clawing their way along the life-lines now rigged along the main-deck.
Midnight and still nothing.
A short time later there was a perceptible wan lightening of the violent seascape; an invisible moon rising above the storm wrack, which must have been known to Villeneuve. Now it was too late for him: he could no longer disappear into an ink-black night. Why?
The tempest was reaching its peak and Kydd knew that L’Aurore was now near her limit. They would soon have to take the agonising decision to break off and, in the face of desperate need, abandon the pursuit to carry their vital news to Nelson.
Another frantic hour went by and then, at about two, a blue flare sputtered on Seahorse. As he watched, the three lights in her main-top moved into line as she swung away to larboard.
Unbelieving, Kydd saw the frigate haul her wind for the south-east and begin to diverge, clearly intent on leaving, the blue light to draw L’Aurore away too. He flogged his tired and frozen brain to think why this should be so.
Then he had it. Well south by now, they must have passed to the westward of Corsica and Villeneuve was therefore blocked from a rapid move down Italy. Similarly, on this southward course they had missed the chance of a rapid passage to the west of the Balearics and on to Gibraltar. Whether in fear of constricted waters in this blow or for other reasons, Villeneuve was on his way to the grand cross-ways of the Mediterranean between Sardinia and North Africa and, if told in time, Nelson had a chance.
L’Aurore’s helm spun over and she sheeted in for the south-east, falling in astern of Seahorse. Now, steadied by her sails and on a quartering reach, she came into her own and in the wild night the two frigates stretched away for Agincourt Sound, the smaller quickly taking the lead and putting distance between her and Seahorse.
Kydd was in the race of his life to be the one to tell Nelson that the French were out.
L’Aurore flew into Agincourt Sound, signal guns cracking, and in a thunderous flogging of canvas rounding to at the flagship. Kydd’s boat was in the water instantly, her crew stretching out heroically. He bounded up the side of Victory to be met at the top by the grim-faced commander-in-chief himself.
‘The French are at sea, m’ lord!’ Kydd said immediately.
‘My cabin,’ Nelson snapped. It took minutes only to impart the gist of what had happened and just seconds for the order ‘All captains’ to be passed, followed instantly by ‘Fleet will unmoor’. A gun crashed out to add urgency to the order.
One by one captains whose names were known even beyond the Navy arrived without ceremony and were welcomed gravely by Nelson. Keats of Superb, Pellew of Conqueror, Hallowell of Tigre – men whose deeds were the stuff of legend, all fighting captains who would be the edge of the blade Nelson would wield in the cataclysm to come.
What was known was that the French were out; what was not was where they were bound. Nelson was brief and passionate: ‘It is essential to the nation to find, meet and destroy the Toulon armament before they have chance to join with the Spaniards in an unstoppable force.
‘From Captain Kydd’s hard-gotten information we know they’re progressing down the west coast of Sardinia in a fresh blow under shortened sail. We have a chance! I desire that the fleet weighs immediately. Under full sail in the lee of the gale, we stand south on the east side of Sardinia. Gentlemen, the rendezvous is at its south tip, the Gulf of Palma. There the two fleets will converge and by God’s good grace we shall return to England with news of a great victory.’
There were dutiful murmurs from the hard-faced men around the table who clearly needed no goading to action. ‘Then I do wish you all good fortune in the engagement to come. The frigate captains to remain, I shall not detain you further.’
When Boyle of Seahorse had breathlessly joined them Nelson issued his orders. The frigates were to range ahead, to instantly fall back on the squadron when the enemy was sighted. Every ship, friendly or neutral, was to be stopped and questioned; all conceivable opportunities for intelligence were to be ruthlessly pursued. At all costs the French would be tracked down and the fleets brought into contact – this was their sole and only duty.
‘Phoebe will sail west-about through Bonifacio strait, the others will scout ahead of the fleet. I’m to bring the French to battle in hours, I believe.’
In the dying storm L’Aurore was first to sea. Once clear of Cape Ferro the frigates took up a scouting line, each on the horizon to the next, with the four abreast able to comb sixty miles of sea. With specific signals designed for distant operation, intelligence of the presence of an enemy could reach Victory in minutes and the long-sought battle brought about.
With Villeneuve’s topsails about to rise above the white-tossed line of the horizon at any moment, there was no alternative but to stand to, guns manned and ready. For Kydd’s ship’s company, keyed up for hours, it was nerve-racking and exhausting, but there was now no question that L’Aurore had found her spirit and would give of her best.
Nelson’s fleet reached south as night fell, but there could be no ceasing of vigilance. When found, the lights of the enemy would be close and in Kydd’s orders were provisions for the waging of war at night, a frightful hazard on the open sea. The men slept at the guns as, no doubt, was the case in Victory and the rest of the fleet, waiting for what the dawn would bring.
They found a clear sea, empty – even the fishermen had stayed snug in harbour in the keen winds that were the last of the tramontane. And this was now the southern tip of Sardinia; they had made good speed and there was every prospect that when they swept around past the steep rocky bluff of Cape Spartivento they would be in sight of Villeneuve’s fleet coming down the west side.
The line of frigates re-formed and they moved out ahead – until the rendezvous at the south tip was reached. They could go no further and the French had not been sighted. Until they had further orders the search must stop.
‘Dear Uncle,’ Bowden began, and hesitated. How to convey the hours and days of fearful excitement just past? Begin at the beginning – L’Aurore frigate flying into Agincourt Sound, Captain Kydd coming instantly aboard to set the ship in a fever of elation. Their putting to sea within less than two hours, a masterpiece of fleet planning and execution, then flying before the gale into the night, the men at their guns primed for instant action, the cold dawn – and no French.
Conceive of it, Uncle. In all expectation of the enemy there were none! We heaved to at the rendezvous and a council of war was made and I cannot begin to imagine our noble hero’s fret of mind at losing Villeneuve. Should he choose in the wrong, the world will condemn him as a looby and we are lost.