Devil to Pay (21 page)

“Mr Le Vallois, first lieutenant, is a good seaman but rheumatic and would have retired by now if he had not lost his money that time his house burnt down. Mr Rouget, second lieutenant, is brave in action and a fair navigator. He has been in trouble, though; not here but in England. He has always been honest with me, mind you, but I shouldn't put temptation in his way. Mr Hubert is lieutenant of marines. . . .”

“He is
what?
” asked Delancey

“Lieutenant of marines. We sometimes give that rank to a young man who is ready to fight but knows nothing of seamanship. He leads a few landsmen who are given muskets and bayonets. Hubert is a bit wild and daren't go ashore here on account of his debts. He stays aboard as watchman. Young Duquemin, the midshipman, has also to keep out of sight, having got a St Saviour's girl with child. If he were found ashore he might be made to marry her.”

“And the boatswain?”

“We call him the gunner. Will Carré is a good man when sober, none better. You'll need to see that he gets no more than his share.”

From this and further conversation Delancey came to realize that a privateer was manned by men who had some special reason for going to sea. There was something to be said against all of them (himself included).

For his return journey on foot Delancey was given directions by Perelle but found them difficult to follow. Instead of following the coast back to Cobo he was to strike inland by Vingtaine de l'Epine—a great saving, he was told, in distance. The lanes and footpaths were confusing, however, there were few people to be seen and he soon lost all but a very general sense of direction. The day had begun well but the sky was now overcast and the light was failing as the afternoon went on. He met with an old man who told him to go by way of the garenne. He followed where the old man pointed but the word “garenne” was strange to him. He came, however, to an area of gorse and bracken, bounded by an artificial ditch, and guessed that this was it; a warren, in fact, reserved for rabbits. Heartened by this discovery, he pushed on, losing what little path there had been but finding a gap in a belt of trees. Passing through, he found himself moving uphill through undergrowth towards a ruinous building. There was the cawing of rooks but no sound of cattle or dogs, no sign of habitation. Looking up the hill, however, from what could have been a moat, he saw what seemed to be a crumbling battlement, a ruined tower, a gothic window. All was overgrown and derelict but the building had been a sort of castle; no, a fortified manor house. To one side was the ivy-covered fragment of an old chapel with the graveyard covered by brambles and nettles. In that failing light the ruin looked threatening and sinister. It reminded him of something he had seen—or rather, more truly, of something he had read. . . . All was still as he came to the gothic doorway which was blocked by some rough pieces of timber. He stood for a minute, wondering what to expect—the jangling of an ancient bell, the hooting of an owl? Suddenly he remembered—the Castle of Udolpho!

As he stood, wondering at the strange chance by which he had stumbled on the place, there was a flash of lightning and a distant noise of thunder. At the same time there was a stirring of the trees and a renewed cawing of the rooks. There was clearly going to be a thunderstorm. Turning aside from the ruined building he walked up the hill to the left and presently found himself on a path which improved until he came across a cart-shed and cow-house, the outbuildings of a farm. As the first heavy drops of rain fell he turned aside for shelter. He was presently joined in the cart-shed by an old countryman who had been working in an adjacent field and was equally seeking shelter. After greeting each other, they exchanged views on the weather, each convinced that the storm would soon pass. With the rain now drumming on the thatch overhead, Delancey resolved to stay where he was until the rainstorm had passed. To pass the time he asked the old countryman about the ruins he had passed. Did he know what the building had been?

“What, the old manor house? That's Anneville Manor, sir. You saw the old doorway?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that's where the tenants still meet in Chief Pleas. Yes, sir, that's the old manor and the Chapel of St Thomas, centuries old as people say.”

“To whom does it belong?”

“Well, sir, the fief has always belonged to the Andros family They have been the Seigneurs as far back as anyone can remember. But they sold the land long since and the building now belongs to Mr Mahy— that is, to
old
Mr Mahy, not to Mr Elias Mahy of Le Valnord but to his father who used to be the blacksmith. A strong place, the old house must have been; made to hold, I reckon, against the French.”

“So Anneville is, by tradition, the Andros home in Guernsey?”

“Why, yes, sir. They must have owned it for hundreds of years.”

“What an extraordinary story!”

“Why, sir?”

“I expressed myself badly What is extraordinary is not the existence of this old place, known only to a handful of neighbours but the chance of one in a thousand that brought me here. Andros is one of my names. This place could easily have been my home!”

“A
LL HANDS on deck! Rouse out, there! Lively, now!” Will Carré, the gunner, assembled the crew of the
Nemesis
and checked their names against his muster-list. There were 52 men and boys in all including the eight “marines” under Mr Hubert who were drawn up in line below the break of the quarterdeck. The seamen proper clustered in the waist and were presently reported present to Mr Rouget. The presence of the marines was similarly reported to Rouget, who reported in turn to Mr Le Vallois. He then doffed his hat and bowed to the captain, Richard Delancey, who stood at the rail, facing aft. “The crew all present, sir!” Delancey, in naval uniform, turned to Mr Jeremie and bowed to him as the owners' representative. “All present sir, and the ship ready to sail.” In his best suit and wig, Mr Jeremie now addressed the crew. From the glibness of his words Delancey guessed that he had often done this before and probably without much variation.

“Officers and men, you will know by now that the owners of this ship have appointed Mr Richard Delancey as captain. He is a naval officer who had had great experience in the king's service. He is also a Guernseyman and brought up in St Peter Port. Obey his orders and you will gain the approbation of the owners. More than that, you will share in the value of every capture you make. You each know to what share you are entitled and you each know that no one is forgotten and that even the cabin boy has something to gain. Do your duty, men, and see that the ship is always ready for action. Keep a sharp look-out at all times and be sure that you see the enemy before you are seen. Follow your officers bravely when the moment comes and be sure that the cowardly French will run for their lives. Bring your prizes back to this port and listen to the cheers as you drop anchor. Go ashore with money to spend and you will find once more that every pretty girl loves a seaman! Good luck to you all!”

While listening, Delancey was studying the faces of the men before him. These, he could see, were the riff-raff of the waterside; the stupid, the clumsy, the drunken and dishonest, the debtors, the hen-pecked, the useless, the sick. The
Nemesis
was at single anchor outside the harbour and the boat was alongside that would take Mr Jeremie ashore. Even here the midshipman, Duquemin, was still hiding in the cable tier, afraid to be seen on deck. Glancing round, he looked again at his officers, grouped behind him, and saw that they too were unimpressive. They wore a semblance of uniform with their brass-hilted swords, but looked more eager for loot than for battle. There was no attempt at uniform among the “marines” who looked seedier even than the sailors. Their muskets were dirty and their bayonets were dull.

Stepping forward in his turn Delancey did his best to make an impression:

“Officers and men of the
Nemesis,
I am Richard Delancey, your captain. We shall come to know each other on this cruise. In the meanwhile, I have three things to say. First, this ship is a man-of-war and should look like one. The more warlike and smart we appear, the greater is the likelihood of our enemies surrendering without a fight. Second, our lives may depend upon our guns and small arms being serviceable. Third, our further success may depend upon the way we treat our prisoners. If we are known to behave well, using no violence more than is needed, robbing no seaman of his gear, enemy merchantmen will haul down their colours before a shot is fired. But if we act like pirates, every ship we intercept under the French flag will fight to the last, leaving us with two wrecks to handle, our own ship and the prize. We must be smart. We must be ready. We must be disciplined. Dismiss the men, Mr Le Vallois. Mr Jeremie's boat, Mr Rouget. Man the side, Mr Hubert.”

Delancey saw Mr Jeremie to the gangway and saluted as the boat pushed off and as Hubert's marines attempted a ragged present arms. Then he went below to where Sam Carter was waiting in the main cabin. It was to him and to him alone that Delancey had confided his plan of campaign.

He apologized for keeping Sam waiting and then shouted for his steward. “A glass of wine, Sam, to toast our success.”

“Thank you, Captain. I won't say ‘no.' But don't let me delay your departure.”

“We are here anyway until our boat returns. Tell me, what did you think of my plan?”

“I'm sorry, Richard. I could say nothing last night at the tavern, not with all that company around. But, no, I'm sorry: it won't answer.”

“Why not?”

“First let me admit that your intelligence is good and your reasoning better. If the Guernsey smugglers ship brandy which comes, some of it, from Cherbourg, the brandy must have been landed there in the first place. It is not a product of Normandy and it must have come by sea. All that is undeniable.”

“Then it should be possible to intercept the ships which bring the stuff.”

“Look, Richard, if it were possible the Alderney privateers would have done it. But these ships are too big for them and too well armed.”

“Very true, Sam, but the
Nemesis
is bigger than those Alderney craft.”

“She is not big enough.”

“Perhaps you think I am poaching on your preserve?”

“No, Richard. I am trading further south these days. Your capturing the
Bonne Citoyenne
might vex some people but it wouldn't matter to me. I don't think, however, that you can do it.”

“You mean that she mounts too many guns?”

“She certainly does. But, apart from that, she creeps along the coast. Suppose you go in with another ship of your own class—the
Duke of Richmond,
say, commanded by Peter Norman—”

“Not me, Sam! I would never trust him.”

“Very well, then. Suppose you have a larger ship, with four and twenty guns. On sighting you, the
Bonne Citoyenne
would put into the nearest harbour, one she has visited a score of times and one where she will be covered by shore batteries. Not knowing the place, you would never dare follow.”

“And I should be beaten off if I tried?”

“You'd be taken, more likely, and end in a French prison.”

“But, nevertheless,
Bonne Citoyenne
would be worth capturing— agreed?”

“Oh, yes, no doubt of it. She would be a good prize, anyway, when bound for Cherbourg with wine, brandy and general goods. The same would be true of that other ship—
Libération,
I think she is called. Neither, however, would have much cargo on the southward run. But forget them, Richard, and go after something smaller.”

“I most probably shall, just to give the men a little confidence. And here comes the steward with the wine. . . . Thank you, Nicolle. . . . Now then—a toast to the
Libération
of the
Bonne Citoyenne!”

“I drink to that, Richard, but your plan is only fit for bedlam!”

“I wonder? If you think me over-confident, Sam, you should know that I have failed so far through not being confident enough. I have been thought shy and absent-minded, a dreamer, an artist. But two things have changed me and one of them happened in the last few minutes.”

“What—you were moved by old Jeremie's words of encouragement?”

“No, I was looking at my officers and crew. I knew then, quite suddenly, that I am the best seaman on board the
Nemesis.
I never had that conviction in the navy and I don't think it would have been justified. But here I feel that I have the right to command.”

“Of course you have, Richard! But that is a modest claim, after all. Your men are the dregs, not half as good as mine. To be the best of this lot means nothing!”

“To me, Sam, it means everything.”

“What other thing has happened to change your outlook?”

“I came across the ruins of Anneville Manor.”

“Well, Richard—what of it?”

“It belonged for centuries to the Andros family I came across it by accident, walking back from Portinfer. Suddenly—there it was, like a ruined castle in a tale of romance. Some day I shall rebuild it. My aim, in the meanwhile, is to make the money.”

“But you are not an Andros!”

“My mother was. I feel that this is a task which has fallen to me. . . . And now, Sam, you think me a romantic fool!”

“No, Richard, not in the least. But don't lose your life in trying to take the
Libération
or
Bonne Citoyenne.
Your only reward would be a tablet in the town church, placed there by the owners. Stay alive for the sake of your friends. Don't shake your head, Richard—you do have friends. Anyway, you have one.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“And now I can hear your boat returning. You must sail and I must go ashore.”