Tenacious(111)

‘However, we have a more immediate worry. Count Phélippeaux 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 Phélippeaux 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 Phélippeaux 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.

Kydd turned his attention to the mole: here was a potential hostile landing place. Remembering his first success in the dunes, he moored a barge there with spring cables to bow and stern. A thirty-six-pounder carronade was mounted in it, the ugly muzzle capable of blasting hundreds of musket balls at any who were brave enough to attempt a landing.

There were fishing-boats, gunboats, every kind of small fry – why not use them? Capable of clearing the shoal water inshore they could render the entire southern approaches impassable by soldiers. Each craft could be equipped with the smaller guns of the ships anchored offshore, then spaced close around the walls, ready for immediate service at any point.