Command (24 page)

Would he come to regret this?

Stirk was in no doubt. “Remember th’
Glatton,
Mr Kydd.”

She was an old Indiaman that had been outfitted entirely with carronades. A few years previously she had been set upon by no less than four frigates and two corvettes and had destroyed two of the frigates and set the remainder to flight.

“That’s true enough,” Kydd said, allowing himself to be mollified.

Orders for the attention of the commander of HMS
Teazer
soon arrived. From Admiral Keith himself, they were terse and to the point. Being in all respects ready for sea, she should forthwith attach herself to the forces before Alexandria commanded by Captain Sir Sidney Smith.

Kydd laid down the orders with satisfaction. Smith—now there was a fighting seaman! There was sure to be a chance for bold deeds with his old leader at the great siege of Acre in command.

• • •

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Teazer
sailed within the week. It was an easy passage and four days later they were in sight of Pompey’s Pillar, the distant white sprawl of Alexandria and, ahead, the disciplined and purposeful progress of a small squadron of the Royal Navy under easy sail.

“Well met, Mr Kydd.” Sir Sidney Smith held out his hand. The sensitive features, the odd, almost preoccupied air brought back a floodtide of memories from when Kydd had been truly blooded in personal combat. “It seems I must offer my felicitations,” he continued, eyeing Kydd’s epaulette.

“Aye, sir—a mort unexpected, I have t’ allow,” Kydd said modestly, his broad smile betraying the satisfaction beneath.

“And ready to try your worthy craft in an early meeting with the enemy?” Smith spoke drily, apparently ignorant of Kydd’s recent encounter, or perhaps he had chosen to ignore it. Kydd knew that Smith was still in his original ship
Tigre,
unaccountably with little to show for his epic defence of Acre, Napoleon’s first personal defeat on land.

“Sir, would ye be so good as t’ lay out for me the situation ashore?” Before, he had been merely a lieutenant on secondment; now he was commander of a not insignificant unit of the fleet, with a valid interest in the larger picture.

Smith got to his feet, went to the broad sweep of windows and stared out pensively. “Very well. Since the glorious Nile the French have been cut off, some might say stranded, in this land of vast antiquity and endless desert. And following our late success in Acre, Napoleon has cravenly fled, leaving his great army to its fate.”

He folded his arms and continued to gaze out wordlessly; Kydd thought he had been forgotten. “Nevertheless,” he resumed suddenly, “they have not been idle. Under Kleber, their second before his assassination, they brazenly faced the Turks—who are still the nominal rulers of Egypt—and bested them at every turn.

“It is vital to our interests to eject the French Army from
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Egypt, for it is folly in the extreme to leave a still potent force in being, ready to do untold mischief if loosed. And, besides, it costs Lord Keith a sizeable portion of his ships of force to stand before Alexandria and many lesser vessels to enforce a blockade of the French forces.”

“And our army, sir?” Kydd knew it had made a successful and courageous amphibious landing some months before but at the cost of its general, Abercrombie, and had heard nothing since.

“Yes, yes, I was coming to that. In essence, our army is heavily outnumbered and has been in a state of stalemate since. With the French in strong possession of Cairo, the capital, and Alexandria, the chief port, there is little they can do.”

“An’ therefore nothing we can do,” Kydd said, seeing his chance of action ebb away.

“I didn’t say that,” Smith said sharply. “I have laid out a plan before General Hely-Hutchinson that I am sanguine has sufficient merit to interest him. For its accomplishment it will require par-ticipation by the Navy.”

Kydd brightened. “May I know y’r plan, sir?”

“No, you may not. You will, of course, as a commander of one of His Majesty’s ships be required to attend the general’s councils at which, if the general is in agreement, the plan will be divulged to the meeting. Until then, I would be gratified at your attentions to squadron orders—your immediate tasks will become apparent at the council.”

“And Commander Kydd, sir, of HMS
Teazer,
brig-sloop.”

Kydd bowed studiously to the splendid vision of the Army officer before him. “Delighted t’ be part o’ your force, sir,” he said.

“Quite so, Commander. We shall find work for ye soon enough.” The eyes moved on and Kydd yielded obediently to the next in line.

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“The sea officers will sit by me,” Smith announced, when the ceremonies were complete and they had moved into the stuffy operations room with its vast table. Half a dozen naval officers clustered defensively round him, opposite the imposing chair at the head.

Kydd nodded to them; to his gratification a good half of Smith’s squadron were luggers, gunboats and other small craft, which merited no more than a lieutenant-in-command, and therefore over all of them he was nominally senior.

Further introductions concluded and Hely-Hutchinson opened proceedings. “Gentlemen, I have been accorded the privilege of the overall command of this endeavour, and I do not propose to waste time. The French are undefeated and lie before us in superior numbers. I intend to strike fast and thrust deep into Egypt, thereby separating the two main concentrations of French.” He paused and looked round the table before continuing.

“I shall first reduce Rosetta. This will secure the Canopic mouth of the Nile for us, of course. Then I shall follow the river as my path of advance inland through the desert and set Cairo to the sword before the French in Alexandria can achieve a junction with them.”

It was a bold and imaginative stroke.

“Sir, if I may—how will we—”

“The Navy will be told to precede the attacking columns up the river to sweep the banks clear with cannon fire. Is that clear?”

Kydd saw Smith’s blank expression, his fixed staring at the table and knew immediately where such audacity had originated.

“Splendid! Now we shall get to the details . . .”

An Ottoman squadron of Turks and Albanians joined the English soldiers landing opposite Rosetta. The town duly surrendered and the way was now clear for their daring thrust into the heart of Egypt.

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But that did not include Kydd. “No, sir! Do you not see that upriver your otherwise charming sloop would be sadly discommoded by her draught? This work is for others.” There was no shifting Smith, and
Teazer
was left to watch the dust of the troops disappearing round a bend in the river, leaving nothing but date palms and dunes behind them.

It was galling to be beating up and down guarding the seaward approaches to the Nile delta while Smith had taken personal command of the flotilla of gunboats clearing the way for the Army’s advance. There was now every prospect of a titanic struggle in the trackless sands before the immeasurably ancient pyramids; 4,500 untried British soldiers against 10,000 men and 300 guns of the most experienced army in the world, safe behind the walls of the capital of Egypt. Only the surprise and daring of the approach was in their favour.

Days stretched to weeks: the endless sailing along past the low, ochre sands and straggling palms bore down on the spirit. There was no glory to be had in this—no French vessel worth the name was going to risk the ships-of-the-line of the blockade force, while the smaller feluccas, djerms and the rest were no prey for a man-o’-war.

Kydd could feel time slipping—with nothing in view that would give any kind of opportunity to win recognition and secure him in his command. He forced himself to patience.

News from the interior was slow and confused: there was talk of a general rising among the population against the French, but that transmuted into a petty insurrection against the Mamelukes.

Word then came that Hely-Hutchinson had reached Cairo and had had the gall to demand the instant surrender of General Belliard and his army. With double the English numbers it was hardly surprising that the French had refused. The stage seemed set for either catastrophe or headlong retreat.

Returning gunboats appeared and made straight for the little

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17

harbour at Rosetta with the news that, by an astonishing mix of diplomacy and bluff, Hely-Hutchinson had persuaded the French general to capitulate. The price? That his troops would be shipped safely back to France. Shortly thereafter, a flood of vessels of all sizes converged on Rosetta from upriver, each packed with unarmed French soldiers.

It was a brilliant stroke: in one move the British had driven a wedge between the French, eliminated one side and forced the other to draw in their defensive lines around the city and port of Alexandria. At last it appeared that, after a miserable start to the war, the Army could now feel pride in themselves.

With the return of the victorious Hely-Hutchinson, plans could be made for the investment of this last stronghold. A council-of-war was ordered, Commander Kydd in attendance with Sir Sidney Smith and the other naval captains.

Smith made a late entrance: in a room dominated by the gold frogging and scarlet of army field officers, he appeared dressed in Turkish robes and a blue turban, with side-whiskers and mous-tache in an Oriental style. In scandalised silence, he took his place, remarking offhandedly as he sat, “The Grand Vizier calls me ‘Smit Bey.’ ”

With a brother the ambassador in Constantinople, and his consuming interest in the Levant, Smith was known as an authority on the region and Kydd had heard him speak easily with the Arabs and Ottomans in their own languages. Perhaps, Kydd concluded, his outlandish appearance was Smith’s notion of a gesture of solidarity with them, the lawful rulers of Egypt.

An ill-tempered “Harrumph!” came from Hely-Hutchinson.

“Why, Sir Sidney, I had no notion that you meant to be a character,” he added, and without waiting for reply took up his papers. “The reduction of Alexandria. We have been attempting that very object since the first. Some say ‘impregnable’ but I say

‘vulnerable.’ And this is the reason: Lord Keith tells me that the
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twin harbours are not to be assailed in a frontal manner from the sea—but offers us a landing place on the shores of Aboukir. This I reject out of hand because we would be constrained to fight our way on a narrow front all the way to the city. Nonsense.

“So here is what I shall do. It has come to my attention that the low region to the inland side of Alexandria was known to the ancients as a lake—Mareotis, if I recall correctly.”

Kydd stole a sideways glance at Smith, who caught the look and rolled his eyes furtively. Not knowing how to respond, Kydd gave a weak smile and returned his attention to the general.

“I am going to cut every waterway, every canal and every rivulet and send their waters cascading against the French—Lake Mareotis will live again! And by this means I will be empowered to trap Menou and his troops in an impassable enclave. They may neither be supplied nor can they run away. By my reckoning, with the timely assistance of the Navy, it can only be a short period before we entirely extirpate the French from this land.” A stir of interest rippled about the stuffy room: this was more bold thinking, the kind that won wars—or cost men their lives.

Smith leaned back in his chair. “Sir, you may be assured that the Navy is ready to play its part,” he said languidly. “In fact, such is the urgency of the matter that I have this day placed Commander Kydd in a position of absolute authority over the plicatiles.”

Cold grey eyes bored into Kydd, who quailed. What, in heaven’s name, were the plicatiles?

“I have always placed the utmost reliance on Mr Kydd’s technical understanding and take the liberty of reminding the general that this is the same man who fought by my side so valiantly in Acre.”

The meeting moved to details—troop movements, lines of advance, field-sign colours for the order of battle—but Kydd was in a ferment of anxiety concerning his role with the plicatiles. The developing plan gave no further clue: the Army would advance

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11

on Alexandria but at the same time there would be a determined and noisy diversion from the sea, the squadron commanded in person by Sir Sidney. Yet another element would be the clandestine transfer of troops around the rear of the French made possible by the flooding of Lake Mareotis.

At least the Navy’s role was clear enough—and who knew?

There might well be chances in the deadly scrimmages likely at the entrance of the port—a great deal of shipping lay at anchor inside, including frigates, and
Teazer
would not hang back.

The meeting broke up. A worried young lieutenant tried to ask Kydd about his role in a gunboat but Kydd brushed him off: he had other things on his mind. Smith was deep in conversation with a Turkish field officer and he waited impatiently for it to end, then the two began to move off together.

“S-sir! If y’ please—”

Smith broke off and turned to Kydd.

“Sir, about y’r plicatiles . . .”

“And do I hear an objection? Let me remind you, Mr Kydd, that I’ve gone out of my way to accede to your evident desire for the opportunity of distinguished conduct by an independent command—are you now about to renounce it?”

“B-by no means, sir!” Kydd stuttered. “I shall bend m’ utmost endeavours. It’s—it’s just that . . .”

“You find the service too challenging?” Smith’s eyebrows rose.