Touch and Go (21 page)

“Their crews will have seen little service.”

“And that's the truth. But if you plan for the
Calpé
and the
Merlin
to fight the pair of them, you can leave me ashore. They have another three-decker, incidentally, in the
San-Fernando.
”

“The more pity that we should have lost the
Speedy.
With her we should have had three a-side!”

“Oh, Cochrane would have fought them single-handed, sending half his crew away on shore leave. To be serious, however, Delancey, I don't like the sound of those three-deckers. We have nothing to compare with them and they should be able to blow any seventy-four out of the water. A
hundred and twelve
guns! If it comes to a battle with them, Saumarez would do well to engage at extreme range.”

Early next morning, Dundas and Delancey met again at the King's Bastion, each with a midshipman to carry sextant, telescope and chart. They could see now that the French ships were in a carefully chosen defensive position. After taking bearings, Delancey pencilled them in on his chart. Then he pencilled in the shore batteries. “There is one on Isla Verda, another on Santiago—perhaps five shore batteries in all. There is a whole flotilla of gunboats—God knows how many but I've seen them exercising—and those three sail of the line are moored in from four to five fathoms. In Saumarez's place I should let them alone.”

“That means facing the Spanish three-deckers. I'll wager that he attacks Linois,” replied Dundas, “and I'll tell you why. Saumarez was at the Battle of the Nile, wasn't he? Well, his idea will be to fight the same battle again. Hell try to anchor between the enemy ships and the land.”

“What, in three fathoms? Opposite the batteries?”

“That's what he'll do, I'll wager five guineas.”

Soon afterwards, the British squadron was sighted in the distance. As they rounded Cabrita Point it became possible to count the ships.

“Six sail of the line,” said Delancey. “There is one missing, together with the frigate and sloop.”

“The Rear-Admiral may have left them to watch Cadiz, keeping up the appearance of a blockade.”

“That will be his plan. I should expect him now to cross the bay and pick up some local pilots, men with a knowledge of Algeciras. He might then order our two sloops to go ahead of his line, sounding as we go and signalling the depths back to him.”

“Let's hope to God he doesn't think of it! We should both be destroyed in the first hour.”

“I doubt if he has even seen us but his leading ship has just sighted the enemy.” Delancey wiped the lens of his telescope and adjusted it again. “The Rear-Admiral's flag is in the fourth ship and the signal for battle has just been hoisted. It's seven o'clock of a sunny morning and the day is before them . . . I wish to God, however, that the wind would hold. It blows for a while and then dies away.”

“Yes, look at the flag there. It's drooping again. And look at Saumarez's line. His rear ships are miles astern, his leading ship just opening fire.”

The rumble of gunfire could be heard that moment across the bay and smoke began to obscure the view from the Rock of what was happening at Algeciras. Dundas led the way to the harbour, remembering that both sloops should be ready to sail at a moment's notice. The ramparts were lined with people, both soldiers and civilians, and the streets they passed through were buzzing with excitement.

“We can play no part in the battle,” said Dundas, “but we might have to rescue survivors. I fear that there must be heavy losses on both sides. With the wind as fitful as this, half the ships may fail to engage and those that do may have no chance to withdraw.”

“I submit, sir, that we should do what we can.”

“You are right. We cannot be mere spectators. Bring your officers over to the
Calpé
and I'll explain the situation and the part we may hope to play.”

A conference followed on board the
Calpé
at which Dundas showed the four lieutenants the position so far as he knew it. “The three French sail of the line were last seen in the position as marked on the chart. It may have been Sir James's intention to anchor between them on the shore. I suspect, however, that his ships are still on the seaward side of them and some of them may be in danger. I shall presently make sail and steer for a position nearly opposite the Isla Verda and astern of where the
Indomptable
was last seen. The
Merlin
will take a more northerly course and should reach a position about a mile to the north of Algeciras town but not too close to the Santiago Battery. Our object on board either sloop will be to offer what help we can to the ships of Sir James's squadron. Having given aid or found it impossible to help in any way, the two sloops will return independently to this anchorage, arriving here in any case before nightfall. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?” All nodded or replied briefly and he went on, “Very well, then, I shall make sail in fifteen minutes' time and the
Merlin
will make sail five minutes after that. Good luck!”

The sloops were soon under sail, and were cheered by spectators as they left the anchorage. Delancey gave the order to clear for action and hoped devoutly that their intervention would prove useful. Sloops ordinarily formed no part of a battle fleet and, while frigates were often present, they seldom took any part in an action. In the present instance the two sloops might be ignored by the enemy. As against that, either or both might be sunk before they were even identified. The wind was faint and the two craft moved slowly across the bay. What had been a distant rumble of gunfire became more deafening as they approached. Before them, as they diverged, the smoke lay across their bows like a belt of fog, occasionally lit from within by flashes of light. On her more northerly course the
Merlin
was approaching an area where two or three topgallant masts showed faintly above the smoke. From forward came the chanting of the leadsman. The ship was otherwise quiet save for Delancey's orders to the quartermaster at the wheel.

“Steady as she goes,” he said, and then, to Stirling, “I don't like the look of this. The shore batteries are playing merry hell and the wind has almost died away.”

“Let us hope, sir, that the Spanish artillerymen are new to their work.”

“Likely enough, but Linois will have sent a third of his men ashore to help them. He need only man the one broadside . . .”

To make himself heard, Delancey had now to shout. One or two spent shots passed overhead and one hit the water alongside, ricocheted and sank somewhere astern. The
Merlin
was all too vulnerable on this battlefield. But Dundas had been right. The two sloops had to do something if it was only to rescue a few men from the water. Delancey had often studied paintings of naval battles where a common feature was usually some wreckage in the foreground to which seamen were clinging. But for this device the foreground would be rather blank. Was it, however, as common in fact as in art? There had been such scenes, to be sure, during the siege of Gibraltar in the previous war, but that had not been an ordinary battle.

What about the present affair? He was soon to discover for himself what its foreground would look like. One thing already apparent was the smoke, more of it than any artist could represent without simply spoiling the canvas. Sailors all believed that gunfire tended to produce a flat calm. Whether generally true or not, the faint wind was certainly dying away on this occasion. Moving ever more slowly, the
Merlin
was now entering the acrid smoke of battle. Her bowsprit became indistinct and then her foretopsail, already torn by a stray shot.

Overwhelmingly now came the smell of expended gunpowder. It was sometimes said of a man “he has never smelt powder.” This could never be said now of anyone on board the
Merlin,
for the smoke was everywhere, making the eyes smart. There came a shout from the forecastle and Delancey snapped “Hard a-starboard,” hoping that his reaction was the right one. A ghostly ship's boat slid past to larboard but seemed to be empty. Delancey corrected the sloop's course, knowing little by now of his whereabouts save that he was or would soon be in the middle of a battle.

To judge from the tremendous noise there were two ships in action somewhere shoreward of the
Merlin,
each broadside shaking the sloop by mere concussion conveyed through the water. Delancey glimpsed one of them for a minute and saw the muzzle flash from her more distant opponent. He guessed that the British ship might be the
Pompée.

Five minutes later some wreckage was sighted, a ship's mizen-top with seven men clinging to it. The
Merlin
hove to as Delancey ordered and the men, Frenchmen from the
Formidable,
were rescued. They had gone overboard when the mast fell but could give no information save that the
Formidable
had cut her cable, probably with the idea of running ashore. Firing in that direction was now more distant but the sounds of battle to the northward were intensified.

A boat appeared from nowhere which Delancey recognised as a launch from the dockyard, pulling towards where he had last seen the
Pompée.
She had no sooner vanished than another but smaller boat appeared, evidently damaged and leaking. Her crew were taken on board the
Merlin,
explaining that they had come to help the squadron but had been hit by a stray shot. Delancey held north-westward, the sound of gunfire intensifying, and then the smoke was cleared by a freshening breeze and he could see the
Hannibal
on his larboard bow. The breeze did not hold for long but he could see what had happened.

The
Hannibal
had been heading south, attempting to pass between the French ships and the shore. She had gone too close to the land, however, and had run aground a quarter of a mile from the beach and immediately opposite the Santiago Battery. An attempt was being made to kedge her off but the launch with the anchor was under fire from some gunboats. To judge from the chart, the
Hannibal
must be in three fathoms or less, her attempted manoeuvre having been singularly ill advised.

Holding his course for another ten minutes while the breeze died away again, Delancey dropped anchor at a cable's distance to seaward of the
Hannibal,
keeping her between him and the battery. Then he ordered Stirling to lower a boat.

Coming on board the
Hannibal
with Topley at his heels, Delancey found himself the witness of a scene in hell. Seamen were firing and reloading with top speed but several of the upper deck starboard guns, including Numbers One to Three had been dismounted. Those still in action were undermanned and the blood-stained deck was littered with the killed and wounded. As he hesitated at the entry port, more cannonballs tore between decks and crashed through the stern. She was being raked by a French ship somewhere on her bows. The ship's hull shuddered under the impact but she was otherwise motionless, a sitting target. Taking a deep breath, he ran aft and gained the quarterdeck, where some of her guns were still in action. A wounded man was sobbing like a child, another was groaning. The only officer to be seen was a lieutenant whose right arm was bandaged.

“Delancey of the sloop
Merlin,
come to see if I can be of service. Are you the captain?”

“No, sir. The captain is below, having a wound dressed.” The man was in obvious pain and was trying hard to keep his voice under control.

“Can I help you lighten the ship? My men could push your guns overboard. She might float then and we could tow you off, stern foremost.”

At that instant the deserted wheel was smashed by a shot which went on to knock splinters out of the mizen, wounding another five men, one of them doubled in agony. The lieutenant winced and tried to focus on Delancey.

“I'll tell the captain of your offer, sir, but I don't think your plan will answer. If we cease fire we shall suffer worse and lack the men to help drag her off. We have lost over fifty killed already. Apart from that, the ship has been holed between wind and water.”

“But the shot holes have been plugged?”

“Oh, yes, sir. But with the water aboard she will be deeper than when we took the ground.”

“And the pumps?”

“Damaged, sir, and only one of ‘em working.”

A cannon-ball from the Fort shattered the gangway amidships and another, red hot, lodged in the break of the quarterdeck, where it was dowsed by a marine.

The lieutenant's voice cracked but he remained steady. “Heated shot, sir; a trick they learnt from us in the last war. They are using explosive shells, too, but so far without effect.”

“If we can't float her, you will have to haul down her colours. Can I help remove your crew?”

“Not without the captain's order, sir.”

“My compliments to him, then, and tell him that I am standing by. I can relieve you a little by giving those gunboats something else to think about.”

“Thank you, sir. The captain will be obliged to you.”

The
Hannibal
was evidently in a bad way, too many of her officers fallen and her men shocked and dazed with bloodshed, noise and fatigue. As he went back to the entry port, calling Topley to follow him, another shot smashed through the ship's side. He glanced in that direction to see what had happened. “There goes Number Seven Gun,” he said to himself as he scrambled into the boat. “She can't last much longer.”

Back on board the
Merlin,
Delancey used his telescope to survey the battlefield as a whole. Firing was less intense and a breeze had cleared the smoke away, revealing the full extent of the disaster. A mile to the south was the flagship,
Caesar,
flying the signal to discontinue the action. The
Venerable
and
Audacious
were obeying this signal, the
Pompée,
badly damaged, was being towed out by boats, and the
Spencer,
which had never come to close action, was under sail.