Devil to Pay (13 page)

Further calculations were interrupted by the arrival of Mr Lane and Mr Torrin to join him for supper. He realized now that a cutter's commander could not live alone like the captain of a man-of-war. If this was an unwelcome discovery it was softened by the realization that the food would be fresh, with bread instead of hard tack and beer instead of grog. The meal was simple but Delancey was able to offer his mates a glass of wine to follow. They drank the King's health and “Success to the
Rose!”
and then settled down to a discussion about the cutter's sail-plan, rig and armament. One fact which soon emerged was that the crew never had target practice. No allowance was made for it by the Treasury so that gun-drill, performed at least weekly, stopped short of actually firing. Delancey was shocked by this discovery, which seemed to put the revenue men at an appalling disadvantage. Mr Lane disputed this, arguing that smugglers would be still less likely to spend powder and shot on a mere exercise. Noise was the last thing they wanted.

“Aside from that,” said Mr Torrin, “these smugglers of today are not like the men who made up the Hawkhurst Gang a lifetime back. They don't commit murder for the pleasure of killing. They don't fight at all if they can avoid it. Like the rest of us, they just want to make money. So we don't expect battle and murder, not in the ordinary way. It is wartime, we know, and there's the chance that we might fall in with a French privateer. That's how we lost Mr Buckley: there was no call for him to go after her the way he did. But he was always a fighter was Mr Buckley and never counted the odds against him.” Anecdotes were told about other revenue craft but Delancey brought the conversation back to the subject of target practice.

“We can fire warning shots, surely, ahead of any craft we suspect?”

“Yes,” said Mr Lane, “but the guns are not usually shotted.”

“But they are sometimes, then? I can log it so as to account for the powder and shot?”

“Well, I have known that done and no questions asked.”

“Good. I can foresee some gunfire tomorrow. I have changed my mind, however, about sailing during the morning watch. On second thought I had rather we were seen to be heading eastwards.”

“Why would that be an advantage?” asked Mr Torrin.

“Because our doubling back might come as more of a surprise.”

Not another word would Delancey say on the subject but the word went round that the skipper was up to something. He might be a taut hand and it seemed most likely that he was. No one would care about that, however, if only they made a capture or two. Like their opponents, the revenue men were chiefly after money.

“F
IRE!” said Delancey and the
Rose's
starboard bow-chaser sent a nine-pounder shot hurtling toward the floating barrel that was its target. The shot went wide and Delancey pointed to the port bow-chaser and ordered “Fire!” There was another miss, short and wide, and Mr Lane was told to close the range. It was a brilliantly sunny morning, cold but exhilarating, with startled seabirds circling overhead. The standard of marksmanship was appalling and the fishing boats huddled between the
Rose
and the Sussex coast had every cause for alarm. The mere fact that they were not the target was no proof, in itself, that they were safe. They would have felt no happier had they known that they were being described in the cutter's log as suspect vessels which refused to heave-to until shots had been fired across their bows. They had been identified as Shoreham craft on their lawful occasions but they had given Delancey the excuse he needed. The target barrel being unscathed, he sailed closer so as to exercise his men with small arms. This manoeuvre brought him even closer to the fishing vessels whose nets were down and for whom escape was thus impossible. Had one of these craft been captained by a man with a guilty conscience, he might have seen the
Rose
's behaviour as an elaborate manoeuvre designed to take him by surprise.

It so happened, that one vessel among the group in sight was, in fact, captained by just such a man with just such a sense of guilt. His three-masted lugger had hidden among the others, always with another craft between her and the
Rose.
His nerve finally gave way and he ordered his men to make all sail. He fled eastward with a southerly breeze and Delancey ordered an immediate pursuit. Lane went forward with a spyglass and Delancey joined him in the bows.

“Aye,” said Lane finally, “that's the
Four Brothers
out of Shoreham, commanded by Jonathan Battersby. The moonshine must be on board or he wouldn't have run like that. He meant to land it at Rottingdean, seemingly, and was waiting for dark.”

“Are we fast enough to catch him?”

“Not with the wind a-beam, sir. We'll barely hold our own. Before the wind we can do better with the square mainsail and topsail, having a bigger spread of canvas than he has. We'd come up with him, sir, if the wind veered again.”

“It's more likely to back. With an east wind we might trap him against the land.”

“You mean, sir, that he couldn't round Beachy Head on this tack?”

“That's our best hope, Mr Lane.”

As the chase continued the breeze backed more easterly and both craft, pursuer and pursued, came as close as possible to the wind. They were about a mile apart and the distance between them was tending, if anything, to lengthen. By the afternoon Beachy Head could be seen and with it the last chance, probably, of making a capture. This wind was south-easterly and backing still, the lugger's sails flapping as she tried to hold her course. At last the moment came when she was fairly taken aback while the
Rose
further seawards held her wind and was beginning to close the range. To tack would have brought the lugger across her pursuer's bows, a good target for gunfire. Rather than do that, the
Four Brothers
went clean about, turning towards the land, and headed due west with the wind nearly abaft. The
Rose
lost ground in following suit and lost more still in setting her square mainsail. Delancey knew that he should set the square topsail as well but felt that there was no time for that. He steered a converging course under square mainsail and gaff topsail and was glad to see that Lane was right. Before the wind his was the faster vessel and there was soon less than half a mile between them. Delancey ordered his men to man the bow-chasers and the starboard battery. If only their standard of gunnery were higher! They were actually within range now but Delancey thought that the target was still too distant for the gun-crews he had. Nor did he want to damage a vessel he already classed as a prize.

Suddenly the lugger tacked, heading eastwards again, and came within easy range while doing so. The
Rose
came foaming down on her prey and Delancey dared not tack while the range was lessening.

“Look, sir!” said Torrin, “She's putting her cargo over the side!” He handed the telescope to Delancey, who saw in a flash what was happening. He was also faced with the need to make an instant decision. If he held his course he would recover the cargo, which seemed to be floating. If he tacked he might catch the smuggler but with no material proof by then that he had been smuggling. His one chance of securing both criminal and cargo was to cripple the lugger before she could escape. He altered course slightly so as to bring his broadside to bear and then ordered Torrin to open fire. “Aim high!” he shouted. “Bring a mast down!” The idea was sound but the chances of success were remote. Range and bearing were altering quickly, the sea was lively and the aim indifferent. The first scattered broadside produced holes in the lugger's sails and one or two shrouds gone. There were six guns to fire and the next broadside was hardly more effective although three guns were aimed by Torrin and the other three by Delancey himself. This time the lugger's mizen sail was fairly riddled but without more than trifling damage to the mast. The range had lengthened before they could fire again and the action ended with some last ineffective shots from the bow-chasers. As the floating kegs were recovered—the revenue men were expert in this—the
Four Brothers
disappeared round Beachy Head. Delancey's prey had escaped him.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Lane, “You were quite right to prefer the brandy to the lugger. This way we've got something. T'other way we should have had nothing.” Delancey did not encourage comment of this sort but he could not resist asking the question which worried him.

“Why didn't they fire back?”

“What good would it have done?” asked Lane. “The game was over. To cripple us would have made no difference—we couldn't continue the chase, not with this lot to pick up, and it would have done us no good if we had.”

“But what if we had fired into them?”

“They'd have had to reply so as to confuse our aim. As things were there was nobody hurt, which is just as well. They'll have made no profit on this voyage, though, and we now have something to share.”

“Well done, sir!” said Torrin, coming up in his turn. “The men are all asking how you knew that the lugger was there?”

Delancey decided that his reputation would grow more rapidly if they continued to wonder. “I was not born yesterday, Mr Torrin.”

Within minutes of hauling the last keg on board Delancey set a course of south sou'-west by west and explained that he meant to visit Sandown Bay before sunset. With this wind they should make it easily, keeping well away from the English coast. “It may be supposed in Hampshire that we are still off Beachy Head.”

Late that afternoon the
Rose
completed her sixty mile run before the wind and finally brought to and dropped anchor off Shanklin. She was right over a sandbank called Shanklin Chine and the
Rose
's crew, mystified already, were still more surprised when their eccentric commander set another barrel afloat and announced a competition between the two bow-chasers. Each would have one shot at two hundred yards and the winning crew would have a prize. Neither crew scored a hit and Delancey himself then aimed the starboard gun and shattered the target into drifting firewood. Apparently satisfied by this result, Delancey took a few bearings with his sextant and (half an hour later) made sail again to the westward, setting a course to round Portland Bill. Next day he was off Lyme Regis and Bridport and cruising slowly along the Chesil Bank. That evening, Wednesday, he set a course for St Catherine's Point from St Alban's Head. The wind was westerly again and warmer, the night was dark but clear, with starlight enough to distinguish the Needles.

Delancey paced the deck, wondering whether his calculations had been correct. If they were, Sam Carter's lugger, the
Dove
, was simultaneously heading for Sandown Bay. If Madden had responded to Delancey's suggestion, the
Rapid
was closing in from the eastward, placing the
Dove
in a trap. But what if the calculation were wrong? It all rested upon his discovery that Molly Brown was not available on the coming Thursday and Friday. He had assumed that those days were kept for Sam Carter, Thursday as the day after the run and Friday in case the run were delayed. He had next assumed that cargo would be sunk in Sandown Bay well before midnight on Wednesday so that the main consignment could be delivered at Poole in the small hours. It would not be Poole itself, he knew, but some creek adjacent (and there were any number of these, to judge from the chart). That would not affect the timing, however. The weakness of his plan derived rather from the bold guesses on which it was based. What if Molly kept Thursday for somebody else? What if Sam Carter varied the pattern by going to Poole first and to Sandown Bay afterwards? What if he had taken alarm from hearing of the
Rose
's activity? There were a score of ways in which the
Rose
's commander could be made to look foolish. In one respect he had been sensible, though— he had told nothing of his plans to Lane or Torrin. His attempt might fail without his crew knowing what had been attempted. There was some consolation in that. . . . Slowly and quietly the
Rose
was approaching Sandown Bay. She was cleared for action with guns loaded and run out. There were flares ready to light when the moment came.

“There's a craft at anchor off Shanklin, sir.” It was Torrin's voice, hoarse with excitement, and Delancey sighed with relief. Perhaps the gamble had come off after all! He could at first see nothing himself but there were lights ashore in the village and they were disappearing in turn as the bearing altered. There was a dark shape between the land and the silent watchers in the revenue cutter. Higher than the lights of the village were some scattered lights further inland and further to the east. Four of these glowed red and Torrin, pointing this out, could not imagine why.

“Looks like some form of signal, sir. It's also strange that a craft should lie at anchor just there—far to the south of the usual anchorage. She is very near the place where we were at target practice only yesterday.”

Delancey agreed that this was indeed an odd circumstance. He then lowered the
Rose
's sails and allowed her to drift, waiting to see what the other vessel would do. At last came the unmistakable sounds of a vessel being pulled up to her anchor. She was about to sail and the
Rose
had crept up, unnoticed, to a point within half a mile. The time had come to identify the stranger, which was done by lighting a blue flare. By its light every detail was visible for a split second. It was enough, for Lane at once called from the bows that the craft making sail was the
Dove
of Poole.

She steered away to the east and south and the
Rose
followed on her best point of sailing. Following the trend of the land, the
Dove
then headed for the area where the
Rapid
should be waiting for her. Delancey lighted flare after flare so that Madden could see the
Dov's
silhouette. At last he was answered by another flare to the north and knew that the smuggler was fairly trapped between two cutters and the land. She stood in for Bembridge under easy sail and finally hove to while
Rose
and
Rapid
closed in on their prey. After a minute's hesitation Delancey put on his naval uniform before rowing over in the gig, taking Torrin with him and ordering Lane to keep the lugger covered by the
Rose
's broadside. He should, strictly speaking, have sent Lane and remained on board himself but he wanted to see the
Dove
and also her captain. There were a number of lanterns lit and he was able to see both.