The Flag of Freedom (41 page)

‘Dear God,' murmured Berry in an undertone, looking across to the lonely figure of his Admiral staring towards the shore. ‘He will kill himself.'

‘He is as likely to kill
me
,' confided Nathan, who felt his responsibility keenly.

They turned eastward along the coast with little hope of a result, and at 1.30 p.m. Nathan sat down in the
Vanguard
's wardroom to as miserable a dinner as he could remember. The assembled officers ate in a wretched silence, in which requests to pass the salt or the gravy, or ‘Could I trouble you for the pickle, sir,' rang out like the tolling of the death-cart at a time of plague. Then, just as the cloth was being removed, a very small midshipman came running in with a message from the officer of the watch.

‘Signal from the
Zealous
,' he squeaked, without delivering himself of the usual compliments. ‘“Enemy in sight!”'

T
hey were in the Bay of Abukir. Thirteen of them, moored in a single line, the nearest very close to the island where Nathan had first sighted the
Meshuda
, the rest curving away to the south-east, right up against the edge of the Inner Shoal. As near invincible a line of battle as Nathan could have imagined, for an approaching enemy would be obliged to run directly into the fire of some 500 cannon on the ships alone – with more guns mounted on the island and in the fort on the headland, which was now occupied by the French.

And then there were the shoals.

Nelson called a council of war in his cabin to which all the Captains were invited – his band of brothers. The sight of the French fleet had worked wonders for his state of mind. He was more like the Nelson of old, the Nelson Nathan remembered from the Bay of Cadiz. But there was
something almost feverish about his excitement, something not altogether reassuring.

The Captains had been asked to bring any charts they had of Abukir Bay. There were three. One – the only one that was English – showed the whole region from Alexandria to Aleppo, but Abukir was no more than a small indentation in the coastline with no markings of any kind. Ben Hallowell had a small sketch of the bay taken from a French prize, but it was not much better. And there was another French map torn from an atlas. There were very few soundings and those they had they did not trust.

Nelson lost a little of his exuberance.

‘Do we have no better than this?' he demanded. ‘And is there no chance of obtaining a pilot?'

‘Captain Peake knows something of the bay,' Berry ventured with a glance at Nathan, who had told him of his battle with the
Meshuda
. Every eye now turned to him. Nathan knew many of the Captains personally, the rest by name and reputation, and he knew they must all be curious to know what he was doing there. They would all be aware of his arrest and imprisonment. Some would also know, or guess, that he had other duties beside that of a ship's Captain.

‘I also have a chart,' he nodded, ‘of sorts.'

He unrolled the chart he had taken from the
Meshuda
and spread it on the table. There was a collective intake of breath as they gathered round. It showed the entire bay, from Abukir Island in the west to Rosetta in the east, with the shoal waters clearly outlined and the soundings marked in fathoms.

‘You have been here?' Nelson queried him sharply. ‘In this very bay?'

Nathan acknowledged that he had. As the Captains listened in silence, he described some of the obstacles he had encountered during his battle with the
Meshuda
.

The silence continued for a long moment after he had finished speaking. Nathan thought he might have given offence by his presumption, for besides Berry he was the most junior officer present – and a frigate Captain at that. Then Nelson spoke.

‘What would you say is the draught of a French two-decker?' he asked the company at large.

They agreed that it would be about 23 feet – much the same as their own.

‘And the length?'

Someone rather hesitantly proposed that it must be about the same length as a British two-decker, which was about 170 feet, if you did not take the bowsprit into account.

‘And I am sure you will have observed that they are moored by the head only,' said Nelson. ‘So they will swing with the wind and the current. Yes?'

He gazed around the table and there were several nods in agreement, though it was clear to Nathan that most of them, like him, did not have the faintest idea what Nelson was talking about.

Then Nathan got it. If the French ships were moored by the bow only – and not at bow and stern – they must be able to swing their own length without danger of running aground. His voice was joined by several others who had come to the same conclusion.

‘Which is room enough, do you not think,' Nelson continued, ‘for our seventy-fours to sail right around their line and up the other side?'

‘By God it is!' exclaimed Berry. ‘We will come up on their blind side.' He blushed furiously when he realised what he had said, but Nelson appeared not to have noticed, or if he did, not to care.

‘Not all of us,' he corrected him. ‘The first five will suffice. The rest, led by
Vanguard
, will bear up to seaward.'

‘We will take them on both sides,' declared Berry, in case the Admiral had not made it plain enough for them.

‘But – do you mean us to pass right down the line?' This from Sam Hood – and he had a point, for it would expose each of them to the fire of the entire French fleet.

‘No. We will engage the van and the centre only,' Nelson assured him. ‘We will bring the whole weight of our attack against the first seven in the line and overwhelm them before the ships at the rear can come to their assistance. They will, as you can see, have the wind against them. Each ship will anchor beside her opponent – by the stern only, mind, so the head does not drift up into the wind. Is that clear?'

It was clear enough to Nathan. He only wished he had a ship.

‘And I assume we are to attack at dawn?' said a voice. Nathan did not know whose it was, but it was a silly question. The sun was already low in the sky and at that latitude there was very little in the way of twilight. It would be properly dark in an hour or so.

‘By God we will not,' said Nelson. They all looked at him. One or two were smiling. The others looked as
startled as Nathan was. He caught Berry's eye and recalled his words.

‘I only hope it does not betray him to a greater madness.'

Nelson was looking straight at him. ‘You trust this chart?' he said, placing his hand upon it as if it was a Bible.

Nathan swallowed. He was inclined to prevaricate but knew it would not do, not when he had laid the chart so brazenly before them. He nodded, with a much greater confidence than he felt.

‘Very well then, we will go straight at 'em.' Nelson looked around the circle of faces and smiled. ‘Do not worry about the dark, gentlemen. It will be light enough when five hundred guns are firing at us. Thank you – and may God be with you all.'

Whether or not God was with them, for once the wind was. A steady onshore breeze carried them clear into the mouth of the bay under a full press of sail. Nathan, with no particular duties, took himself aloft to observe the French preparations.

The battle fleet stretched across the bay in one long line for about a mile, with less than half a cable's length between each ship. And in the shallower waters beyond were the frigates – three, no, four of them – and two smaller vessels. Nathan focused on each of them in turn.
Yes
. He felt his heart lurch. She was tucked away at the rear of the French line, right up against the Inner Shoal. She had a slightly different rig, but he was sure of it. The
Unicorn
. He gazed at her for some time while various conflicting emotions chased across his mind. The strongest was the continuing sense of loss – and regret for leaving
her in the care of his first lieutenant while he played games of cloak and sword in Venice.

And yet it was his exploits in Venice that had surely led him here, where there was at least some hope of winning her back.

He turned his attention back to the main battle fleet – the chief obstacle to this ambition. Thirteen sail of the line. Exactly the same number as the British fleet, save that three of Nelson's ships –
Swiftsure
,
Alexander
and
Culloden
– had yet to join them. They had been sent on scouting missions and were still several miles behind. Nelson, of course, would not wait for them.

Nathan wondered again at the Admiral's state of mind. He had an impatience for death or glory that was akin to Bonaparte's, but if anything, more frenzied. Perhaps because he was seventeen or eighteen years older than Bonaparte and in poor health. And, of course, there was the frustration of that long, desperate chase.

‘By this time tomorrow I shall have gained a peerage – or a tomb in Westminster Abbey,' he had told Berry as he rose from dinner.

Either way, he must be confident of victory, for their lordships would not care to bury him at Westminster if he led his men to defeat. And for most of those men, of course, the alternatives were much less glorious. A pocketful of prize money and the thanks of a grateful nation – or a watery grave off the coast of Egypt. And God help you if you were wounded.

Nathan focused his mind and his glass on the line of French ships. There was a great deal of activity both in and out of the water. Scores of boats were moving about
from ship to ship and also between the ships and the shore – and all loaded with men. Why? Nathan could see no obvious reason for these transfers. But every ship had her guns run out, all along the line, and there was little movement aloft. It was clear that they meant to meet the British attack where they lay – at anchor.

He felt the ship heel unexpectedly to leeward and wrapped his arm more firmly about the futtock shroud. They were hauling sharply to the wind to weather the foul ground to seaward of the island, where the
Meshuda
had gone aground. Even from where he sat, 100 feet above the deck, Nathan could hear the voice of the seaman in the bows casting the lead.
Fifteen fathoms, thirteen, eleven
…

He studied the gap between the nearest Frenchman and the island. Scarcely more than a cable's length – 250 yards, perhaps, and most of it shoal water. Was there room enough to pass? And even if there was, they would take a terrific pounding from the guns on the island. Nathan could see the gun crews there, stacking up the reserves of powder and shot, and there was enough smoke in the air to suggest that they were heating it up. Red-hot shot. If a single British ship ran aground, it would all be over, for there was no room for any other to pass.

Zealous
was leading the line, but
Goliath
was coming up beside her on her larboard bow, as if racing her for the honour. By God, they were never going to run through the gap two abreast … He could see the lofty figure of Sam Hood at the con of the
Zealous
, cool as you please, doffing his hat to Tom Foley on the
Goliath
. Like a pair of swells at the races. And then the wind took the hat and blew it overboard.

Then, from behind the French line, a small brig appeared under full sail, heading straight for them – or as straight as the wind would allow – as if she planned to take on the entire British fleet. What could she be playing at? Then Nathan realised. She was trying to lure them onto the shoals. He almost shouted a warning, though they could not possibly have heard him.

The brig was almost within gunshot now, but neither of the British ships took the slightest notice of her. They continued to run on, neck and neck, heading for the gap at the front of the French line.

Then suddenly the French opened fire. One moment they were sitting there, like ducks in a row, the next the whole French van exploded in a fury of fire and smoke. As the long rolling roar died away, Nathan trained his glass on the
Zealous
. Several large holes had appeared in her topsails. They looked like cabbage leaves when the caterpillars have been at them. The French were aiming high, as usual, and with chain shot, doing their damnedest to wreck the rigging before the British were in a position to fire back. It made sense of a sort, for in these waters, even if they brought down a single spar, it might easily cause a ship to run aground. But their gunnery was poor. They were firing most of the shot into thin air – Nathan could see the splashes where it was falling back into the sea. He checked his watch. Almost half after six, the fiery sun sliding beneath the westerly horizon and leaving a crimson stain that seemed to spread across the surface of the sea towards the scene of battle. Nathan wondered if he would live to see it rise. He trained his glass once more on the gundeck of the nearest Frenchman and saw something
else, something he had not noticed before.