Invasion (24 page)

“You—where . . . ?”

“Thought I'd come aboard at the last minute, just in case,” Fulton said casually.

“I didn't think—”

“As you would, Englishman. I'll have you know that an American is accounted a welcome guest in France, as would any true republican, which means I can come and go as I please.”

Renzi swallowed his anger. “Just so. Now you are a guest of the King.” He regretted the words immediately, but it was too late.

“We won a war so's not to bend a knee to a king—and I'm not about to start now.”

Something made Renzi answer quickly, “Then why, pray, do you feel able to stand with us now?”

“You don't see it, do you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As I said before, my inventions are for mankind—at one stroke to annihilate the present system of marine war by making it impossible for a navy bent on aggression to venture forth on the high seas. By this we create a guarantee of the liberty of the seas for all men, and where there is free trade there we will find the true sovereignty of the people.”

“But—”

“Once the people have their emancipation they will throw off the yokes of oppression—your monarchs, politicians and other parasites with their standing armies—and at last stand free. Whoever makes my machines possible is of no account, so long as they are created.”

Renzi paused. “Some would say that the submarine boat is a barbaric weapon that pits innocent seamen against a foe that can never be seen.”

Fulton's face shadowed. “That may be true, but for the greater good it must be suffered. I have started a revolution in the minds of engineers that cannot now be stopped, and I must go forward to face my destiny, sir.”

C
HAPTER 8

“A
RE WE ALL ASSEMBLED
?
Then we'll begin.” Although only in his forties the prime minister, the younger William Pitt, wore on his face the effect of years spent leading England in the long wars against the French. This capable prime minister had resigned earlier on a matter of conscience but the lacklustre administration that had replaced his had stumbled on from an ill-advised peace treaty, through a hasty declaration of war to the current crisis. Now matters appeared to be reaching their climax but that did little to lift the mortal weariness that lay so heavily on him. The others in the cabinet room regarded him with concern.

“Sir, I feel I must express my profound sense of deliverance in seeing you once more in the chair that so rightfully belongs to you, at the helm of state in these parlous times. I'm sure I speak for us all when I say—”

“Thank you, Lord Harrowby,” Pitt said, to the new foreign secretary, “but business presses.” He looked meaningfully at the secretary of war. “My lord Camden?”

“Our confidential agent in the matter of the French plunging boat has just returned from France. I have to tell you he confirms the reports concerning its effectiveness as only too true, sir.” There was a general stir about the table.

“Go on.”

“It seems it is no mere philosophic curiosity. Before Napoleon and his admirals in Brest the inventor personally stalked a vessel from beneath the sea and exploded it to pieces in front of their eyes.”

“Melville?”

The first lord of the Admiralty leaned forward. “Sir. If this device is ever perfected we stand under a near-insuperable threat. Our navy being unsafe even in its own harbours renders our entire strategic situation questionable. I cannot answer to the consequences.”

“It may not come to that pass, sir,” Lord Camden said quietly. “This agent was successful in seducing the inventor from the French and at this moment he is in England awaiting our pleasure.”

“Ah, yes . . .”

“Foreign Secretary?”

“I have to bring to your attention, gentlemen, that my predecessor was in communications of a clandestine nature with this inventor in France. As a condition of his quitting the country, certain demands were made and agreed to that we are morally obliged to accept.”

“And these are?”

“Among others, that a committee be immediately convened to examine his plans for a greatly improved submarine boat to be constructed and deployed by us, with a form of assistance from the royal dockyards and the Navy to this end.”

“This seems reasonable enough,” Pitt replied. “But I'll wager there's somewhere a price in gold being asked.”

“A considerable sum was mentioned but this is contingent upon his satisfying the committee in the particulars.”

“Then I see we have a way forward. Ask the gentleman concerned to prepare his plans for the craft, which he will then present in due course. This will satisfy the immediate problem.”

“Er, which is that, Prime Minister?”

“That while he is working for us, he is not for the French,” Pitt said. “And we buy ourselves time to consider our position. I'm not altogether convinced that this is something we, a maritime nation of the first rank, should necessarily be involved with.”

He went on, “We'll give him his chance, see what he comes up with. We'll have a strong committee—philosophers, scientificals, engineers of note and all of some eminence—to judge his work. Then we'll decide what to do. Agreed?”

At the polite murmuring he declared, “I shall ask the Treasury to open a disbursement account against my discretionary funding for now, this to include some form of emolument, say a monthly subsistence draw, and desire the Navy Board to afford him access to the dockyards and so forth. Oh, and he's to have a place of work that shall be secure—we can't discount that the French will seek to interfere with our new submarine navigator.”

“And to keep him under eye,” Melville added drily.

“Of course. Dover Castle springs to mind, being convenient should he wish to try his toys on Mr. Bonaparte's flotilla.”

“There is one more consideration, Prime Minister,” Harrowby said smoothly. “It seems that Mr. Francis—as he wishes to be known—is rather in the nature of an American with decided republican views and, er, somewhat novel, not to say whimsical, ideas on marine war.”

“Just so, Foreign Secretary.” Pitt reached wearily for the decanter of port. “I'll bear it in mind. As well, he will be needing a form of regular liaison with the Navy in an operational sense. Don't want him getting our admirals huffy. A trials vessel too. Dover—that's Keith's bailiwick. Desire him to make a man-o'-war and crew available for both purposes, not too big.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.”

“And we'll have to find a commander who knows Americans,” he said sourly. “Shall we move on?”

It had been more than a month but now
Teazer
was complete. Kydd looked up from his journal as the door to his cabin opened. It was Renzi. “Reporting for duty, Captain,” he said, with a tired smile.

“Good God, Nicholas, you look dreadful. Sit down, dear fellow. Tysoe! A hot negus on the instant for Mr. Renzi.”

“Pay no mind to me, Tom. I'm—It's that I'm out of sorts is all.” Renzi took the armchair and sank into it, turning his face to catch the sun streaming in through
Teazer
's stern windows.

Kydd rose. “So good t' see you again, even if a mort weather-torn!” He contemplated Renzi then continued softly, “I don't wish t' pry but—”

“A rather disagreeable episode I would much rather forget,” Renzi said distantly, then added, “But it was kind in you to remember the Wordsworth.”

“The commander-in-chief was not amused when I was hauled out of my ship by some rum coves from Whitehall to answer some strange enough questions. Er, they didn't say what it was all about?”

“Nor should they. I'm sworn to mortal secrecy still, else I should tell you all. It was a singular enough experience. Perhaps later.” He closed his eyes, drained.

“And it has put you to some measure o' grief, I fear.”

Renzi opened one eye. “It will pass, should I be granted the sublimity of a space of peace and quiet—and a good book.”

Kydd knew Renzi well enough to be disturbed by his manner. What was it that he had endured? More than a physical trial, certainly, for he was like a man returned from the dead. “That you'll get, Nicholas,” he said warmly. “For his sins young Calloway has been taking care o' the ship's books—if you find 'em out o' kilter, let me know.”

Kydd cleared his throat. Renzi's tiny quarters in an operational ship-of-war were not what was wanted to heal him after his nameless ordeal. “We've lately been with the Downs inshore forces, another having taken our place in the flying squadron, so our days are not so exciting,” he said, as breezily as he could, “but I do think you'll find you'll need more in the way of a constitutional.” He paused. “Nicholas, there is a favour I'd ask of you.”

“Of course.”

“I want you to go to Bath for the waters. For as long as you need—not forgetting to hoist in some reading while you're there, of course.”

Renzi sighed, too tired to protest. “I—that is, it is well taken, and I confess I'm in sore need of respite. I do believe I'll take up your handsome offer, dear brother.”

The next morning Kydd saw his friend safely off in the coach. They had been through so much together and he was grateful he had the means to do this for him.

Then his mind returned to the war. Sober estimates of the size of the invasion flotilla were now nearer two thousand than one, and the flying squadron had taken a recent mauling that had left two shattered wrecks on the dunes near Calais. Fortunately the battleships of the French fleet had not ventured from port but this was widely held to be their admiral husbanding his forces until such time as they would be called on to lock in mortal combat with the British at the grand climax of the invasion. The threat could not have been greater, but Kydd and
Teazer
were kept back on the shores of England in the second tier of defences and he felt the frustration acutely.

At last the summons came. A peremptory order to report to the commander-in-chief for redeployment.

Keith kept him waiting for twenty minutes, then called him in. “Mr. Kydd, you're of this hour relieved of duty in these inshore waters.” Why should the commander-in-chief himself tell him that he was to resume in a flying squadron? The usual order pack would normally suffice. Kydd felt uneasy.

“Tell me, does the record speak true? While you were on the North American station you were sent ashore in the United States to resolve some dispute that ended well enough, then spent a little time at sea in their new navy.”

“I did, sir.”

“So therefore it would be true to say that you know Americans?”

“Well, sir, I—”

“Capital. You and your sloop are stood down from active duty on this station. My condolences on the loss of opportunity for distinction, but we all have our cross to bear.”

“Sir! May I know—”

“Since you have shown yourself inclined to furtive intrigue I have given you over to the Foreign Office in their service.”

At Kydd's evident shock, Keith gave a cold smile. “Don't imagine you'll be out on some wild adventure. I gather it's to be acting as dogsbody to some American charlatan inventor. You'll remain in my command, Mr. Kydd—as Inspector of Fencibles.”

Surely not. The Sea Fencibles—a home-defence force of dabblers and seamen past their prime. At one stage the doughty Earl St. Vincent, first lord of the Admiralty, had muttered dismissively, “The Sea Fencibles are there only to calm the fears of old ladies, both within and without Parliament.”

What had he done as a fighting seaman that he should be relegated to this? Kydd bit his lip in frustration. “Aye aye, sir,” he said bleakly.

Keith waved his hand in dismissal. “Flags will tell you the rest.”

How things had changed. From service in the very front line of the war at sea to nursemaid of well-meaning amateurs and whoever the American was. The flag-lieutenant was unable to add much. Sympathetically, he explained that the commander-in-chief had received his orders from a higher level and had complied, with Kydd the unlucky choice. It was apparently a discreet affair, and while his line of responsibility lay with Whitehall, his appointment as Inspector of Fencibles was to give him cover and keep him administratively within Keith's command.

A gentleman from London was, however, in attendance to explain. He was at pains to make clear the contractual arrangements between His Majesty's government and the American, a Mr. Fulton, who also went by the name of Francis, which in the main appeared to be the production of plans for a contrivance of his inventing to be scrutinised in due course by a learned committee.

Kydd's role was to act as intermediary between the inventor and the Navy, providing assistance of a practical nature to include advice concerning operational procedures and administrative support at all levels. This latter was of particular importance, it seemed, bearing as it did on weighty matters, including the proper form of indenting for dockyard stores requested by Mr. Fulton and lines of responsibility back to Mr. Hammond, under-secretary of state with responsibility for the project.

This contrivance? The functionary was not certain, leaving it up to Kydd to pursue details as he wished with the contractor. All costs must be fairly accounted for and rendered in the proper form, and a journal to be kept.

Voice lowered, the man went on to inform Kydd that, the contract being of a confidential nature, all elements pertaining should be kept from public view. Security for the principal of the contract and his workings would not be his responsibility, however, except in so far as unforeseen events dictated.

Francis, not Fulton, was the name on the contract; he was a gentleman of singular views and would need sensitive handling. Work space was being provided in Dover Castle, any sea trials would probably take place locally and other than that, well, Kydd was expected to work closely and supportively with the man, provided always that the interests and prerogatives of the Crown were upheld.

Numb with rage, Kydd made his way back to his ship. A sloop-ofwar of the first rank and a commander, Royal Navy, at the beck and call of some money-grubbing projector—it was infamous. England needed every sail-of-war to face Napoleon!

He swallowed his bitterness. “Mr. Hallum, we have new orders.”

“Sir?” The man's grey subservience irritated Kydd. “We weigh within the hour for Dover—and strike the blue ensign,” he snapped.

“S-strike?”

“God damn it!” Kydd roared. “Take it down, I said. Hoist a red 'un in its place!” He went on grimly, “As of now we're an unattached private ship so we fly a red. Hands t' turn to, unmoor ship, Mr. Hallum.” It would be remarked all over the anchorage: HMS
Teazer
was standing down from the fight.