Touch and Go (30 page)

“She was a mere child,” he explained, “and I couldn't leave her to be sold into a life of suffering and shame.”

“But of course, you couldn't!” exclaimed Lady Saumarez. “Your action does you credit.”

Then Delancey explained that what he did was easy to misunderstand. “The stories told in Gibraltar were greatly to my disadvantage,” he went on, “and the Admiral himself thought the worse of me.”

He hoped that Lady Saumarez would some day let the Admiral know the truth. She readily agreed to do him justice and guessed that her husband would himself have had second thoughts about it. She made it clear that Delancey would always be welcome at her home. He left with the feeling that this was true and that his career might prosper accordingly.

He met Captain Savage by previous arrangement and they dined together at the Golden Lion. During dinner the landlord brought them news that the
Dove
was entering harbour. A message was sent down to the harbour with the result that Sam Carter and young Topley came to join them in a glass of wine.

“Well, Sam,” said Delancey, “we managed to give that frigate the slip!”

“So we did, Richard, but I owe my escape to Mr Topley here!”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, things looked bad. Five of my men deserted and there was none I could depend on save my mate and boatswain. Then these two Frenchmen came aboard, a man called Delmotte and another called Guichard and they had four of their men behind them. Their idea was that I should sell them the
Dove
for a quarter of her value, otherwise they would betray me to the police. Yes, things looked bad. I didn't know what to do.

“But then there was a lamp alongside and the sound of voices and into the cabin comes your Mr Topley. The mere sight of his uniform put new heart into me. He didn't say much but I told him in a few words what was happening. It is odd, come to think of it, that Delmotte allowed me to explain: I suppose he thought Mr Topley a mere boy.

“Anyway, Mr Topley asked just one question, ‘Which of these two men is the better local pilot?' I replied, ‘Guichard,' and pointed to him, knowing that he lived there, although Delmotte was the leader in this affair. A moment later Mr Topley drew his pistols, shot Delmotte through the heart and pointed the other at Guichard. ‘Disarm him' was all he said.”

“What did their men do?”

“Nothing. With Delmotte dead, there was no fight left in them. We let them go, tied Guichard to the mizen-mast, cut the cable and hoisted sail.”

“It must have been a difficult passage.”

“You can call it that. But Mr Topley here told Guichard that he would have a bullet through his head the moment our keel touched bottom. He was a good pilot after that, attentive and careful.”

“So Delmotte thought Mr Topley a mere boy, did he? He was wrong, Sam. Mr Topley is a man!”

“He is that, Richard; and thank you for the loan!”

All this time Topley was the picture of confusion, looking more like a child, but Delancey put him at his ease by saying “Well done!” and sending him off with a message to the first lieutenant. Then he turned to Captain Savage: “You see, sir, I had a difficult choice. Here was this smuggling craft held to ransom. Had she been a real merchantman under the British flag I might have sent her an officer and a party of seamen. But she was a smuggler and in a French port. Should I leave her to her fate? I couldn't do that either. So I decided to send her one man. But which man to send? I seem to have chosen the right one!”

“You did that—and Sam here was in luck.”

“That's true,” said Sam, “but in years to come I shall wake up screaming in the belief that I am in the Pertuis d'Antioche in pitch darkness on an ebb tide. And now, Richard, I want to show you how grateful I am. I made some inquiries about that ship, the
Bonaparte.
I reckon she'll be off Cape La Hague in three days' time.”

“And the war not over?”

“There's no word of peace yet, although news is expected almost any day now.”

“So there's still a chance?”

“Yes, but I'll have another talk first with Citoyen Guichard, who is still aboard the
Dove.
Dine with me tomorrow, Richard—you, too, Captain Savage—by which time I may know more than I do now.”

Delancey and Savage accepted the invitation with pleasure and they went on together to buy some supplies for the inevitable parties which would mark the end of the commission: wine, rum and tobacco included. Then Delancey returned to the
Merlin
and heard the story from Topley of how the
Dove
made her escape. Topley was thanked and congratulated on a tricky piece of navigation. Thanks to him the French had been cheated of their prey.

That evening Delancey had Mather and Northmore to supper with him at the Golden Lion. Over their wine Mather expressed his sorrow that the
Merlin
's commission was coming to an end.

“It takes so long to bring a crew up to our present state. Take that little display as we entered port this morning—we could never have done that a year ago and few other ships could do it at all. Week by week, month by month, we have promoted the good men, trained the unskilled, cured the idle of idleness and found simpler work for the stupid. We have worked at it, sir, and the result is the crew we have. We were lucky, though, in one way. We had no men who were actually disloyal.”

“That wasn't luck,” said Delancey, “I got rid of those at the outset.”

“How did you do that, sir?”

“I sent them ashore under the command of young Topley—this was in the early stages of his career, before he had gained confidence—so they all deserted and poor Topley was mastheaded for neglect of duty.”

“I remember that, sir,” said Northmore, “I wondered at the time why you should have sent Topley instead of me.”

“But you see what I mean,” Mather persisted, “we have, at long last, an effective man-of-war and now she is to be paid off. It seems almost a waste of effort!”

“It is not a waste of effort,” Delancey replied, “and that for two reasons. In the first place we have also trained ourselves. What we have done before we can do again but next time more quickly. In the second place this commission is not yet at an end. We may encounter and capture a French corvette between here and Plymouth. That is certainly not inevitable and may not even be likely, but bear the possibility in mind. The war is not ended yet.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The party ended pleasantly and Delancey sent Mather and Northmore on board again so as to relieve Stirling and Topley whose turn it would be to come ashore. These last two would meet Delancey on the quayside at eleven.

With a feeling of temporary freedom from other responsibilities, Delancey strolled around the town and looked in at another inn, one he knew to be a haunt of smugglers and privateersmen. Delancey was recognised at once by several of the inn's regular patrons, acquaintances he had made during the privateering period of his life. He was asked at once to join them. “It's good to see you, captain,” said one of them, “and the way you brought your ship into port was worth watching!” There was a chorus of agreement on this score and Delancey joined the party around the fireplace.

All present wanted to know about Sir James at Algeciras and some of them could name the other Guernseymen who had been serving in the flagship. Delancey told them the story, feeling at the same time that he was gaining stature by his association with the local hero. Then he led the conversation round to privateering and was told that business had declined of late. There had been too many British men-of-war in the Channel and too few French merchantmen. Delancey asked whether the talk of peace might not lure the French from their harbours.

“We've thought of that,” said Will Duquemin, “but what if peace is made and we in Guernsey not the first to hear about it? We should be in court and accused of piracy, murder and heaven knows what.”

“Or accused at best of wrongful detention,” added Luke Tostevin. “No Letter of Marque holds good after the war is ended. Any mistake the like of that could ruin captains and owners alike. Several of our regular privateers are laid up already and those at sea have mostly been sent letters of recall.”

“Things were better in the first few years of the war,” maintained Will, “and people here still talk of the way you captured the
Bonne Citoyenne.
No cleverer capture was ever made, and no private man-of-war out of Guernsey has ever taken as big a prize with as small a loss. We used to talk in those days about Delancey of the
Nemesis.
No, sir, you have not been forgotten.”

“What has happened to that other ship which used to frequent Cherbourg? Do you hear of her these days?”

“Ah!” said Tostevin. “You mean the
Liberation,
sister ship to the
Bonne Citoyenne,
trading out of Rochefort. They have changed her name and she is now called the
Bonaparte.”

“And has no one tried to capture her?”

“No.” Duquemin shook his head slowly. “When you captured the
Bonne Citoyenne,
the other ship was given six more guns and another twenty men. She is too strong for us now even if she wasn't before. We have talked it over time and again—haven't we, Luke?—but we have agreed in the end to let her alone. She would outgun any privateer we have. She might be taken by any two of our ships but the result would be to wreck all three of them. As you know, captain, that sort of action is never worth while.”

Conversation became general and Delancey was glad to hear the local gossip. Then another group of men arrived and he was made to repeat the epic story of Algeciras for the newcomers' benefit. There was a chorus of approval for Sir James Saumarez, of whom Lord Nelson was regarded, in St Peter Port, as a poor imitation. Sir James was the man to beat the dagoes or the frogs. “Did you ever hear about Sir James in the
Crescent?”

The tales were told again, having lost nothing in the telling. A toast was drunk to the Hero of Algeciras and another to Captain Richard Delancey. The time had come, it was now generally agreed, for Paul Rouget to sing his song. In the midst of this performance, the verses being innumerable, Delancey quietly left the room and found himself in the deserted street. The town church clock struck eleven as he reached the quayside where Mr Stirling and young Topley were waiting.

As they were rowed out to the
Merlin,
Delancey asked Stirling what he thought of St Peter Port, which was looking very picturesque in the moonlight.

“A fine anchorage, sir, and pretty well sheltered, and there are some useful shipbuilding yards, all well covered by the guns of the castle. There are some good shops in the High Street and one, a little further to the north, has a sign painted with your name, sir. It is rather faded, though, as if it referred to some earlier corn chandler, not to the man who lives there now. There are plenty of wine merchants and I would guess that they sell wine more cheaply than the merchants of Southampton.”

“And what is your opinion, Mr Topley?”

“I suspect that there are two sides to St Peter Port. There are the town houses of the island gentry, all very elegant and neatly painted, placed in some respectable streets and close to some useful shops and counting houses. But down below, nearer to the harbour, there are dark lanes, narrow stairs, mysterious cellars and crooked entries. I can see that lower part as a scene for secret meetings, conspiracies and plots.”

“You have used your eyes, young man,” said Delancey with approval, thinking to himself that Topley was nearer the truth than he would ever know. “But a black cellar is sometimes merely filled with coal.” He looked back at the dark waterfront with its few lighted windows still reflected in the water. Of the darkened windows, one (he could just identify it) had been his bedroom. How remote his boyhood now seemed! But he had slept there once or twice even when already a midshipman, of much the same age as Topley. What Topley had said about St Peter Port was perfectly true, as Delancey was in a good position to know.

But the two aspects of St Peter Port were less distinct than a chance visitor might suppose. Some stately houses in High Street had cellars which opened into alleyways off the quayside. There were fine ladies in the parlour and rats down below. Further south he could just make out the gable of the warehouse which the Prince of Bouillon had used as his headquarters. He could remember the time when the Prince had his spies in France, when the French aristocrats thronged the High Street, when Republican agents were plotting the invasion of Ireland. He had been a junior lieutenant in those days and had come to know of some of the plots and counterplots.

The British secret service was now based in Jersey—so much he knew—but there would still be French agents in St Peter Port and as active, maybe, as they had been in 1794. He hoped that no rumours could reach them of what he intended, with the result that an escort for the
Bonaparte
would be sent out from Cherbourg. But Sam, he knew, was not the man to divulge secrets, and there was little time left in which the French could take action.

Next day Delancey met Savage and Sam Carter at the Golden Lion and they dined together very pleasantly.

“I have made some inquiries,” said Sam, “and am fairly certain that the
Bonaparte
should be off Cape La Hague within the next few days. It would seem just possible that the French might delay her passage until after peace has been made. That would, in fact, be the sensible thing to do. But they may believe that the war is already over; and, for all we know, they could be right at that!”

“It is now October 9th,” said Delancey, “I shall sail this evening and be in a position to intercept the
Bonaparte
tomorrow. I shall have to ensure somehow, that I am not seen from the French coast, which would give the game away.”