Devil to Pay (23 page)

“What—go into a French
harbour?”

“But how, sir?”

“God—it's impossible!”

“Surely this is madness?”

Delancey listened blandly to these exclamations and continued, after a pause: “It so happens, gentlemen, that I have visited the harbour before. My plan presents no particular difficulty but depends for its success on surprise.”

“Do you mean, sir, that the
Nemesis
is to sail into the harbour at La Gravelle?” Le Vallois' voice was quivering with indignation.

“Certainly not, Mr Le Vallois. We shall go in with the boats.”

“What—all of us?”

“No, you will remain on board, and so will Mr Carré. Mr Rouget will take the longboat, Mr Hubert the launch and Mr Duquemin will come with me in the gig. We'll go over the details later and issue the arms. In the meanwhile—about ship! It's your watch, I think, Mr Rouget? Set a course for La Gravelle. Mr Carré, uncover the boats and remember that we must muffle the oars. Mr Le Vallois, I'll show you the chart. . . .”

By driving his men into a state of bustling preparation Delancey prevented any discussion over his actual plan. He knew, however, that the seamen had reached a sense of frustration during the afternoon's skirmish (as voiced by the deputation) and that talk of action would be to that extent welcome.

There were some feelings of opposition, however, and Le Vallois gave them full expression:

“I should be failing in my duty, sir, if I made no protest about this night attack on La Gravelle. The owners, I am confident, would never countenance so hazardous a venture. I submit that we missed our chance of capturing this ship in daylight. What you now propose is far less likely to succeed.”

“Is that all you have to say, Mr Le Vallois?”

“Yes, sir. With respect, sir.”

“Very well, then. I have three observations to make. First I shall comment upon the word ‘propose.' I have
proposed
nothing. Instead I have given you my orders and I expect them to be obeyed to the letter. Second, the chance we missed today was of an action between two ships of almost equal force; an action which would have left them both crippled, whereas our opponent tonight will be surprised, with half his men ashore. Third, I interpret your protest as a sign of cowardice.”

“Sir!”

“I repeat—cowardice!” Delancey moved round the cabin table, took Le Vallois by the neckcloth and shook him.

“And if you deny that you are a coward, fetch your sword and come on deck—
now.
I'll cut you to pieces and feed those fragments to the mackerel.”

“I apologize, Captain,” gibbered Le Vallois. “I swear to obey orders.” Delancey flung him back against the cabin door and finished the interview by saying, with quiet intensity:

“You'll be dead before morning if you don't . . .
Get out!”

Alone for a minute, Delancey had a moment of almost physical nausea. He had thought himself a gentleman, a man of culture, an artist, and here he was behaving like a mad buccaneer of the last century. What else, however, could he do? Le Vallois must be made to fear his captain more than he feared the enemy, and that fear must be transmitted to the other cowards on board. He strode to the door and shouted: “Pass the word for Mr Rouget!”

That officer appeared at the double, looking thoroughly alarmed.

“I have to acquaint you, Mr Rouget, with a slight change of plan. Mr Duquemin will go with Mr Hubert and Mr Le Vallois will come with me in the gig.”

“Aye, aye, sir. But who will you leave in command of the ship?”

“Old Maindonal.”

“The carpenter, sir?”

“Yes,” said Delancey briefly. “Tell the others and send Maindonal in to see me.”

The essence of Delancey's plan was to come into the harbour at high water just as the tide began to ebb. He had been into La Gravelle before—it seemed a lifetime ago—but the navigational problem on that occasion had been simpler. He had then merely to bring the
Royalist
away. This time he had to handle a captured merchantman as well, relying on the ebb tide. But the time of high water could vary from day to day by as much as fifteen minutes. . . . He was too absorbed in calculations to think of the risks involved but the chances of failure were, he thought, minimal. As all depended upon surprise, however, he had decided to drop the anchor well out of earshot and sail in with the anchor off the ground, ready to catch when the water shoaled. This would complicate the steering but the wind, luckily, was steady in strength and direction. When the anchor caught, the
Nemesis
was very near the position as planned. The boats, towed in, were quickly manned and armed, leaving the carpenter on board with a crew of nineteen. It was a starlit night with a crescent moon, light enough to see the breakwater. The three boats were initially roped together, the gig leading, and were not cast off until the harbour mouth was reached. Then the longboat went in, followed by the launch, and were almost alongside the
Bonne Citoyenne
before they were challenged. Even then a reply from Rouget in French gained another three minutes. The merchantman was taken, in fact, with surprisingly little opposition or noise. As for Delancey, he took the gig into the steps and left her there with a boy in charge. Le Vallois with one seaman went along the quay to a point opposite the French ship's bows, Delancey with another man went to a point opposite her stern. Two ropes were cast off from two bollards and the
Bonne Citoyenne
began to drift away with the ebb. Delancey and Le Vallois walked back to the gig and had pushed off before the alarm was fairly given.

Following a distant bugle call there came the sound of running footsteps. A young petty officer appeared on the jetty, saw what was happening and shouted for help. He was presently joined by two men with muskets who fired at the
Bonne Citoyenne's
present helmsman but evidently without result. There next appeared an officer who swore loudly and told the men with muskets to aim at the gig. As they did so, missing again, the petty officer ran off to tell someone more senior. The eventual result was the tramp of a whole platoon and a volley fired seaward without any very defined target. There followed another bugle call and a lot of scattered firing and shooting but without control enough to achieve anything. By the time the soldiers had arrived the
Bonne Citoyenne
was under sail and out of range.

When the
Nemesis
stood into the Russel next day with her prize astern she still had the appearance of a king's ship, no less formidable than H.M. Sloop
Albatross
which was hove to in the roads. Delancey knew that the
Albatross
was based on Jersey and wondered, idly, why she was neither at anchor nor under way. Nearing St Peter Port, he suddenly saw the point of her manoeuvre. Her longboat had been lowered and was just overtaking a lugger which was steering for the harbour mouth. Delancey then realized that the lugger was the
Dove
and that her crew were just about to be impressed into the navy. Making a quick decision, he took the
Nemesis
into a point within hail of the
Dove
and between her and the
Albatross.
Backing his own topsails, he saw the lugger's sails come down and her crew being collected on deck. Near her wheel Sam Carter was arguing with the midshipman, whose armed boat's crew were already on board. Impressive in uniform, Delancey grabbed his speaking trumpet and hailed the
Dove.

“Hawke
to
Albatross.
Leave that lugger alone and return to your ship!”

The agitated midshipman looked in his direction and called back: “I am only obeying orders, sir!”

“Can't hear you, bring your boat alongside.”

After some hesitation, the midshipman obeyed but had sense enough to leave his coxswain and six men in the
Dove.
His slowness over this gave time for Delancey to fetch his cocked hat and sword and pass an order to Hubert. He did not order the midshipman aboard but shouted down at him from the quarterdeck:

“That lugger is on a secret mission and her crew are not to be impressed. Leave her alone and return to your ship.”

“I have my captain's orders, sir.”

“I am senior to your captain and you now have my orders.”

“I don't know who you are, sir.” The quiver in the boy's voice showed that he was on the verge of tears.

“You'll soon find out, young man!” At this moment Hubert reported to Delancey, he too in uniform, backed with five of his men equally in scarlet.

“Mr Hubert, I shall want you to take a platoon of marines on board that lugger. Now, youngster, you have five minutes to get your men back into their boat. Or do you want to have them thrown out at bayonet point? Be off with you, sir, or you'll feel the cane on your backside.” The miserable boy finally did as he was told and Delancey watched the longboat make its crestfallen return to the
Albatross,
which presently made sail for Jersey. The
Nemesis
and
Dove
had drifted closer together and Sam Carter was able to express his thanks without straining his voice.

“Thank you, Richard! Impressing those men would have ruined me. You should have been on the stage. I am distressed to think what will happen to that midshipman when he reports to his first lieutenant.”

“So am I, Sam, but he deserves it. He should know by now that a lieutenant
can't
be senior to a master and commander.”

“Very true, but we must give him the credit for knowing one fact of which you yourself seem to be ignorant.”

“And what is that?”

“Well, he knew that only a king's ship has marines aboard. . . .”

“C
OME IN, come in, Captain!” said Mr Jeremie. “Pray be seated.

Allow me to offer you a glass of Madeira?” Delancey took a chair and accepted some wine, thanking his host for the kindly thought.

“A pleasure, Captain, and far below the consideration you merit. Last year's campaign was a great success and we are confident that the year 1796 will bring as great a measure of prosperity.”

“I am happy to think that the owners have a good return on their outlay—and that your own conservatory is the proof of it.”

“Well, we look forward to having our own vines. But I am told that you are yourself a landowner these days.”

“Hardly that, sir. I have bought an old ruin and the land which surrounds it.”

“Your success with the
Nemesis
should turn it into a fine property some day. Perhaps you will name the residence after your ship?”

“It has always been Anneville, sir, and I should not wish to change it.”

“Foolish of me—I had forgotten the family connection on your mother's side. Well now, you have the land and want only the money to build your residence. I sent for you, Captain, to give you good news on that subject. I think that a fortune is yours for the taking.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“A fortune, I repeat, before the year ends. Drink up, Captain, and allow me to refill your glass.”

“Thank you, Mr Jeremie. You will find me attentive.”

Both glasses were refilled and Mr Jeremie looked about him to make sure that he was not overheard, looking into the entrance hall and closing the door again. Even after that precaution he lowered his voice: “What I tell you is in strictest confidence. I have had a letter from Mr Early.”

“Indeed?”

“He is part-owner, as you know, of the
Nemesis,
and while he lives in Dorset he is much in Portsmouth and London, moves in the best society and enjoys the confidence of men in high office. In those circles, he tells me, the talk is of war with Spain. . . . Not a word of this to anyone.”

“You can trust me, sir, to be discreet.”

“Of course, of course. . . . Until recently our allies, the Spanish are to make peace with France and will soon be the subservient allies of the French Directory. To privateer owners this trend of events is of the greatest importance, but not all owners will be equally well informed. We are fortunate in having Mr Early as our partner.”

“He is well-named, sir.”

“Well-named? . . . Ha, I take your meaning! We plan to be early in the field, heh? Very droll! I must remember that. . . . Listen, though: there is more to this news than may strike you at first. With Spain as our enemy there will be another thirty sail of the line against us. We shall be as hard put to it as during the last war, barely able to hold our own. We shall win through, sir, no doubt of that. But the war may go against us for a year or two. And that will be the privateers' opportunity.”

“What—when we are in danger of defeat?”

“Beyond question! When our fleets fall back on the Channel to save us from invasion, when our frigates are all needed to protect our trade, when the enemy's fleet is at sea and undefeated and when his cruisers are on our very coast—
that
is the time when his merchantmen venture forth without convoy, richly laden, fearing nothing!
That is
when we prosper here in Guernsey. And that will be the situation, mark my words, before this year is ended.”

“So that victory, sir, is the last thing you want?”

“We want to win the war, naturally; and so we shall. But that comes later, and by that time the French privateers will be out—it will be their turn—and ours might as well be laid up or refitted for some other trade.”

“You mean, sir, that privateers do best on the losing side?”

“Just so; and that is the prospect we have to face. If the Spanish fleet sails for Toulon we are outnumbered in the Mediterranean and must withdraw from there. If the Spanish fleet sails for Brest the threat is to Ireland and we must go to meet it. The king's ships will have all they can do to save us from invasion, and the interception of French merchantmen will be left to us, to the few lovers of their country who go to war at their own expense.”