Authors: C. Northcote Parkinson
Delancey expressed all the right sentiments and came away rather depressed. Any hopes he had of trapping the two corvettes could now be forgotten. Old Doyle was not thirsting for battle but for a well-earned rest. He looked quite unfit for service and Holroyd, the
Lapwing's
first lieutenant, was trying to persuade him to stay ashore. Holroyd he had met before, a blunt and competent seaman with a strong Yorkshire accent, who had been disfigured by a facial wound. He had been the
Lapwing's
real commander for months past. There was an element of self-interest in Holroyd's advice but he was honestly worried about the old man, doubting whether he would survive another period at sea. Delancey thought that a bachelor's retirement must be a lonely and miserable experience, one he would rather avoid. He must himself marry before it was too late; as soon, perhaps, as the war was over. As things stood, however, he had little or nothing to offer and the ending of the war, whenever that should be, would leave him with, if anything, less.
Dining ashore at the gunner's mess, Delancey met with Holroyd again. There was talk about Gibraltar's strength as a fortress and its usefulness as a base. Its weakness lay in the fact that its harbour was all in view of the Spanish coast whatever happened there was clearly seen and quickly reported. A gunner captain asked whether that really mattered.
“It matters in this way,” said Holroyd. “Suppose we are assembling an eastward-bound convoy, as we are at this moment, the number of ships, the date of sailing, the value of the cargoes, and the strength of the escort is reported to the Spanish. The next ship bound eastwards from Malaga takes full information to Palermo, which lies right in the path of the convoy. Then the French cruisers decide whether to intercept it or let it alone.”
“How interesting!” said another gunner officer. “I had supposed that they cruised near a usual landfall and merely hoped for luck.”
“No such thing, sir,” said Holroyd, “they act on intelligence and there is no lack of it from Gibraltar.”
“But the convoy's destination can be secret, surely?” objected the Major.
“How can it be secret?” asked Holroyd. “The crews of merchantmen know where they are going and were told, indeed, before they signed on. I mustn't tell you our route and am not supposed to know. But everyone along the waterfront can tell you, and your mess servants probably know already.”
Coming away together, Delancey and Holroyd discussed the matter again. “A man-of-war's destination could be made the subject of a false rumour,” said Delancey finally, and Holroyd agreed that this was possible. What rumour had he in mind? “Well, just by way of example, the
Lapwing's
crew might think that their ship was going no further than Minorca.” There was a minute's silence as they paced the quayside and then Holroyd replied, “I see what you mean, sir.” Holroyd could take a hint and needed no reminder. That the
Lapwing
would go no further than Minorca was soon a matter of common knowledge, known to everyone before the convoy sailed.
After eight days at sea Delancey was surprised to see the
Lapwing
hove to while the convoy sailed on. When the
Merlin
thus came up with the frigate, Holroyd's voice could be heard hailing Delancey:
“Captain Doyle is sick, sir. I have taken over the command.”
“Is he dying?”
“Could be, sir. He should be in hospital, anyway.”
“Very well, then. I am now the senior officer. Alter course for Port Mahon.”
“Just this ship alone, sir?”
“No, the whole convoy.
Merlin
will now replace you as leading ship. You will take station astern.”
So the rumour turned out to be almost true. Captain Doyle was taken ashore at Port Mahon, Minorca, and Delancey sent for the masters of all the merchantmen.
Chairs were set out round the mahogany table in the after cabin. Young Topley had pinned some charts to the bulkhead and stood by them with a pointer. Northmore guarded the doorway and announced each master by name. Teesdale had placed decanters and glasses on the sideboard. Holroyd had been among the last to arrive, his boat having furthest to row, and he took his place on Delancey's right, Waring and Mather on his left. Delancey began by telling them that Captain Doyle had been sent to hospital.
“I am now in command and am fortunate to have Mr Holroyd as second. I think it possible, though not certain, that we may be intercepted off Sicily by two French corvettes. On a recent occasion their plan was to engage the escort sloop with one corvette while the other would thus be free to attack the convoy. If they do that again, we have a surprise for them: the presence of the
Lapwing.
To make this a complete surprise, we must hide the frigate behind three of the largest merchantmen, the
Cumberland,
the
Hopewell
and
Boyne.
“On the cabin table before me I have arranged corks to represent the convoy. The three ships I have named are here in the centre with the
Merlin
here to windward of them and the
Lapwing
to leewardâ
here.
Here are the French, ready to fall into our trap. But all depends upon masking the
Lapwing
until the last moment. Can I rely on you, gentlemen?” There was a murmur of agreement and one skipper spoke up:
“You might be interested to know, sir, that the story current in Gibraltar was that the
Lapwing
would go no further than here and would then turn back. So the frigate mayn't be expected, anyway.”
“That's right,” said another skipper. “I heard that, too, strictly in confidence.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” said Delancey, glancing at Holroyd innocently. “Odd how these stories come to circulate. Are there any questions?” The conference broke up, the skippers having a glass of wine before they left, and the remainder of that day was spent in a hurried repainting of both men-of-war, the
Lapwing
made to look more like a merchantman and the
Merlin
merely made to look different, like another sloop of the same class.
At daybreak the
Merlin
fired a gun and the convoy put to sea again, each ship gradually taking up her assigned position. The formation was far from perfect but Delancey realised that this was an advantage if the huddle in the centre was to look accidental.
Five days later, on a sunny but cold afternoon with foam-capped waves and a strengthening north-easterly wind, a sail to windward was reported from the mast-head. The stranger was a corvette and Delancey had the feeling that it had all happened before. There were, however to be differences, the first of which would be his own failure to sight the other corvette. This time he was going to fall innocently into the trap, engaging the nearer corvette and failing to suspect the presence of the other. The light this time was less favourable to the French but he was going to be as unobservant as Waring had been on the earlier occasion. Steadying his telescope against the mizen shrouds, he looked carefully at the distant corvette. Yes, she was the same brig, no doubt of that.
He ordered the helmsman to keep closer to the wind, lengthening the distance between the
Merlin
and the convoy. He noted with satisfaction that his ship lay between her opponent and the centre ships of the convoy, all rather bunched and overlapping. With perhaps half an hour to go, he gave the order to clear for action. The drum beat to quarters, the guns were run out, the decks were sanded and the gun crews numbered off. Waring took command of the port battery on this occasion and began to make estimates of the rapidly lessening range. Waring was at his best on such an occasion, his confidence an inspiration to his men, his crude jokes welcome to the older seamen, his fearlessness a good example to the young. “Wait until we have the frogs within range,” he shouted. “They'll be beaten before they've finished dirtying their breeches!”
Commanding the other battery was Mather whose manner was different and probably less effective. He talked to each gun captain in turn and had a word of encouragement for those who had not been in battle before. On the quarterdeck Langford was telling his gun crews they would have a good view of the battle, far better than men could have on the main deck. They were also more exposed but he said nothing about that. On the forecastle Northmore was extolling the virtues of cold steel: “Soften them with gunfire, I say, and finish them off with the cutlass! They never dare stand up to us, man for man!”
As Delancey made his rounds, with Topley and Stock at his heels, he could sense that his men were spoiling for a fight. Stripped to the waist with kerchiefs tied over their ears, they hid their fears under a loud bantering of talk of prize-money, bets being taken on how long it would be before the French colours came down. Delancey talked little but said a word of reassurance to the youngsters, to the powder monkeys who had to fetch the cartridges from the magazine. “Don't keep the gunners waiting, lads!” Topley, he noticed, had a useful air of nonchalance but David Stock was white-faced and frightened. “It's the waiting you'll find hard, boy. You'll feel better when you hear the guns!” God knows whether that was true but the child managed to show a sickly grin in reply.
The sloop and corvette were converging at great speed and Delancey could not but admire the lines and the rig of his opponent. She was a fine craft and her white sails curved beautifully against the dark grey clouds behind her, a graceful vessel but temporarily in the wrong navy. Even as he watched, regretting what had to come, there was a flash from the corvette's forecastle, a puff of smoke quickly dispersed downwind, a distant jarring sound and a splash in the sea between the two opponents. It was a sighting shot and proved what Delancey knew, that the enemy was out of range. He made another quick tour of the port battery, having a word with the men as he passed. They were tense now, each at his post, each gun captain with the lanyard in his hand.
By the time he had regained the quarterdeck the moment for battle had come. He drew his sword and called out: “You may open fire, Mr Waring.” The deck reeled under him as the guns thundered. A minute later, after the smoke had cleared, the corvette was hidden in her turn and the sound came of shot flying overhead. A hole appeared in the
Merlin
's foretopsail and a jagged strip was torn from the main course. Just as he had expected, the French were firing high.
It was not until then that a look-out man slid down the rigging and reported a second sail beyond the enemy. Delancey thanked the man absently and sent him to join the forecastle gun to which he was stationed. Looking to windward when the smoke allowed, he glimpsed the other corvette, visible now from the deck and heading for the convoy. Meanwhile, the
Merlin
's gunners were firing into the corvette's hull while the French continued to fire high, gradually reducing the
Merlin
's sails to ribbons. As a result, she began to lose speed, falling astern of her opponent.
This was the moment for which Delancey had been waiting. Giving the order to tack, he put the helm hard over, crossing the corvette's wake and giving Mather the order to open fire. The starboard broadside crashed out with the guns at maximum elevation, loaded alternately with chain- and bar-shot. Raking the corvette, these whirling missiles played havoc with sails and cordage. Urged on by Mather the gunners reloaded and fired again, this time with grape-shot. Delancey tacked again, putting the
Merlin
on the same course as her opponent but now to windward of her. The corvette had lost speed through damage to her sails and the
Merlin
was able to keep level while Mather hurried from gun to gun, checking elevation and aim. After the third broadside, grape-shot again, he ordered all gun captains to concentrate on the corvette's mainmast shrouds, using the chain-shot only.
The enemy were firing back, aiming high as before but surprised perhaps to find that the British were doing the same. Grape-shot came tearing through the canvas above Delancey's head and there was a crash forward where the foreyard had come down in the slings. The mizen-mast was hit and splinters of wood wounded three men at one of the quarterdeck guns. Two more on the forecastle were wounded and one of the ship's boats was smashed by a stray shot. The two opponents were fighting at about two cables' distance and Delancey was careful not to close the range, partly to avoid heavy casualties and partly to give his grape-shot sufficient spread. With guns firing independently the noise was shattering and continuous.
At long last, however, and after what seemed hours of fighting, the expected result was achieved. The corvette's mainmast went over the side. When the last of the weather shrouds had parted, the unsupported mast broke off about eight feet above the deck. Fire was now concentrated on the foremast shrouds, save that the quarterdeck guns fired grapeshot still at the enemy's mainmast stump, discouraging the efforts of the men sent to clear the wreckage. Five minutes later the
Merlin
's foremast went, followed by her main topmast.
There was a frantic scene forward where Northmore was coping with chaos, half his men trapped under the fallen canvas and others entangled with the rigging. The boatswain went to his aid and axes whirled, severing the tangled shrouds and letting the foremast drift clear. Amidships there was a scene of similar confusion with Mather directing the efforts of his men. Delancey sent Langford to help him and Copley to assist Northmore. Stock he sent to ask the carpenter whether the ship was leaking. For the time being the action was over, the two vessels drifting apart, rolling and pitching in a choppy sea. All firing ceased and parties of seamen began to deal with the damage. The
Merlin
would not be under sail for another half hour at least.
Telescope to his eye, Delancey was trying to see what had happened to the other corvette. He could see that the merchantmen were hove to around a central cluster of ships. There was no gunfire and the
Lapwing
presently detached herself from the remainder and made sail, close-hauled, towards the
Merlin.