Tenacious(27)

Kydd’s feelings for Tenacious turned to a catch in the throat, however, as he realised that in the near future enemy shot might smash its way into her vitals. This time she might not be as lucky as she had been at the Glorious First of June and Camperdown. He got to his feet. ‘We’ll carry on,’ he said gruffly. ‘Our Nel’s a-waiting f’r our report.’

Captain Houghton and the first lieutenant left for Vanguard with Kydd’s report as first dog-watchmen went to supper. Within the hour they were back. ‘Pass the word for Mr Feakes – the carpenter, ahoy!’

The captain’s barge conveyed the carpenter to the flagship. It was dusk when he returned and hurried directly to Houghton’s cabin. Minutes later Bryant was summoned, and before much longer the word was out: to Nelson’s considerable satisfaction, Feakes had given out that Vanguard could not only be jury-rigged for the retreat to Gibraltar but might conceivably be put into some kind of shape to meet the French at sea.

In a race against time the flagship had to be fitted for sea with the only resources they had: spare spars, twice-laid rope and willing hands. And in recognition of Feakes’s faith and intelligent direction, Tenacious was to perform the most difficult task. She would lash alongside Vanguard and, in a feat of seamanship that would stretch every talent aboard, she would be used to extract the stump of foremast and lower in the new to the flagship.

That night Feakes and his mates transferred to Vanguard and set about readying the ship for a complete replacement of all topmasts. Orion would craft the new mizzen topmast, Alexander would provide a fore-topmast while Vanguard herself would work on the main. Within two days the preparations were complete.

In brilliant sunshine and under curious eyes from ashore Tenacious was warped in close to Vanguard. As the ship working the evolution, Tenacious had charge of the operation – Bryant stood at the bulwark with speaking trumpet and the manner of a bull mastiff: should any hesitate or fail they could depend on an instant reaction.

When the partners of the foremast had been knocked out Tenacious’s main-yard was braced around and with stout tackles and guys clapped on it, the ugly, splintered stump of the foremast was plucked out like a tooth. Getting the new one in was a more serious matter: the raw length of the three-foot-thick lower mast might, if it slipped, plummet down and transfix the bottom of the flagship.

It took the entire forenoon but by midday Vanguard had her masts made whole once more. A fore-topmast had been fashioned from a spare main topgallant mast and hoisted into place and her bowsprit strengthened by ‘fishing’ across the weakened part with timber lengths.

In less than four days Nelson’s flagship had been transformed from a storm-shattered wreck to a ship-of-the-line ready for sea – reckoned by all hands to have been made whole again and set to take her place in the line-of-battle.

Admiral Nelson wasted no time. The squadron set sail, re-formed and shaped their course. There was no talk of retreating to Gibraltar; they would sail north. Their duty was clear and unchanged – to return off Toulon and resume their mission.

Gun practice and combat preparation intensified to a high pitch as they neared the rendezvous to collect their frigates, which were vital to the squadron: they would look into enemy ports and report in detail.

But as the lookouts searched the horizons a lone sail was spotted, boldly crossing their course. It was a Balkan merchant vessel. Stopped by Orion, she had intelligence of such import that the admiral called an instant conference. The storm that had driven them south had allowed the French to slip out of port and away.

It had finally happened. The feared Napoleon Buonaparte was at sea and headed for an unknown destination with an immense fleet of overwhelming numbers: fifteen ships-of-the-line and fourteen frigates, with brigs, cutters, gun-boats – seventy-two warships in all. But these were not the heart of the fleet: in four hundred transports there were tens of thousands of battle-hardened troops. This immense armada could have only one purpose.

Nelson’s response was immediate. The awesome fleet had to be found, and for that he needed his precious frigates to extend the line to comb the seas. There was no choice: they must crowd on sail to reach the rendezvous as fast as they could and then, with the frigates spread out abreast, begin the search. When the enemy was found Nelson would detach one ship to report back to Cadíz for orders while continuing to shadow.

They reached the appointed place but there was not a frigate in sight. Orion searched to the east along the line of latitude while Tenacious took the west – but there were no frigates.

They waited at the rendezvous. Dusk fell and night gave time for contemplation of the situation. Dawn arrived – and no frigates. The day passed. Even the meanest imagination knew what it must be costing their helpless admiral. Night, another day, and still no English sail. In the afternoon a garrulous fisherman was stopped – and he had news: in some vague position not so far away he had chanced upon a great fleet passing, at least ten, perhaps a dozen ships-of-the-line, which he thought to be English – clearly incorrect, given that Nelson’s was the only squadron in the Mediterranean.