Touch and Go (6 page)

Frantic efforts were being made on board that sloop and her opponent, knotting, splicing and fishing the wounded spars.

Had they been alone the advantage would have gone to the first under sail. In fact, however, the frigate would arrive before either could be ready for action. While Delancey watched, the
Lapwing
took up a position athwart the corvette's stern and fired a single gun. The tricolour was hauled down instantly and the action was over. Young Stock made a gesture, pointing to Delancey's left forearm and his captain noticed, for the first time, that the sleeve was soaked in blood. Before he could do anything about it the
Merlin's
first lieutenant came aft, red in the face, almost apoplectic with rage. He was hatless, with his coat torn and his sword missing.

“Look, sir,” Waring yelled, beside himself, “that corvette should have been prize to us! We could have brought her to close action! We could have destroyed her at pistol-shot range! We could have fired a double-shotted broadside and boarded her in the smoke! Now all the credit will go to the
Lapwing
—yes, and all the prize-money too! I protest, sir! I beg leave to ask for a transfer. What sort of warfare is this? How will it read in the
Gazette?
I am ashamed, sir, to have taken part in such an action!” All this was bellowed in the hearing of half the men on deck. Delancey's thundered reply was just as audible:

“Silence, sir! Stand at attention when you address your superior officer! Where is your hat, sir? Fetch it and report back to me.”

Waring, who had been in the thick of the fray for over an hour, had every excuse for being hatless but Delancey used the point of etiquette to bring the man to his senses. On Waring's return, now able to salute properly, Delancey spoke as loudly as before.

“Now, Mr Waring, you are to take fifteen men on board that corvette, batten her crew below hatches, hoist our ensign over the tricolour and take station astern of the convoy. Is that understood?”

“But I submit, sir, that the corvette struck to the
Lapwing.
“

“So she did, but I had previously agreed with Mr Holroyd that she should be ours and that prize-money in respect of this and the other prize taken shall be equally shared between his ship and mine.”

Waring's mouth was agape, his finger to his mouth like an abashed schoolboy. His lips moved convulsively before any sound came, and then he stuttered:

“Very gug-good, sir . . . I'm sorry, sir.”

“Let me remind you of another circumstance. When you take command of that corvette, please ask yourself whether your task would have been made easier by our having riddled her with gunfire at point-blank range. I am giving you the temporary command of a jury-rigged corvette. Would you rather have had a blood-stained bundle of firewood?”

“No, sir.” He opened his mouth to say more but no words came.

“One other thing, Mr Waring. You are disappointed not to have captured that corvette by boarding. Why? Because a spectacular victory would have led, you think, to your promotion. I want you to realise that such a dramatic scene would have cost me twenty men killed or wounded. Why should I throw men's lives away to gain promotion for you; or for me either? We have captured a man-of-war fit for service, undamaged below the hammock nettings, and it has cost me five men wounded. That is a price I am ready to pay. Your idea was to pay a far heavier price for something which would by then have been worthless. I won't do it, Mr Waring. I won't do it. And nor will you if you value your future in the service.”

By the time that the crestfallen Waring had taken over the
Malouine
from the midshipman who had been sent to her from the
Lapwing,
Delancey had signalled for Holroyd to come aboard. A friendly meeting followed on board the
Merlin.

“Congratulations, Captain Delancey! Two captured men-of-war and both of them fit for the service!”

“Thanks to your co-operation, Mr Holroyd. Did the
Mouche
give you any trouble?”

“Only in trying to escape but her attempt didn't answer. She was trapped among the merchantmen, who solidly blocked her way. So she hauled down her colours and I sent a prize-crew on board.”

“My hope is that the
Mouche
will be taken into the service, with you as commander. I shall make the recommendation to Rear-Admiral Fothergill.”

“Thank you, sir. May I express my own hope that you should be made post into the
Lapwing?”

“There is no vacancy, Mr Holroyd, while Captain Doyle is alive. I think, however, that Mr Waring might go to her as first lieutenant.”

“A good idea, sir, if I may say so. I am sorry to see, sir, that you are wounded.” Holroyd was looking at Delancey with real anxiety. “You should see our surgeon, sir—I'll send him over. We can't afford to lose you, sir; we all think you have a big future in the service. This recent action did you credit, if I may say so.” Holroyd was a rough character and Delancey was touched to see his real concern.

“No surgeon needed, Mr Holroyd. This is a mere scratch—I never noticed it. Thank you, however, for your good wishes. You deserve to command your own ship and should do so with distinction.”

Teesdale appeared now at Delancey's side, carrying a basin, sponge and bandages. He helped his commander off with his coat and sponged the cut, applying a bandage to the forearm. He looked anxiously to see whether Delancey had any other hurt. His look of hero-worship was shared by David Stock, who was holding the coat with its tattered sleeve. But Delancey was still talking to Holroyd.

“I shall have to ask you to put up with Waring until you go to your first command. He is not without some useful qualities . . .” He paused for a moment, choosing his words, “He might be a useful officer in some ship or other . . . but not, I think, in mine.”

“C
aptain Delancey is here,” murmured the flag-lieutenant. “Show him in,” replied Rear-Admiral Fothergill. “I only wish I had better news for him.” Delancey entered, bowed and stood at attention. He thought that Fothergill looked tired and old, perhaps disappointed over some expected appointment. Or was he disappointed on Delancey's behalf?

“Good-morning, Delancey. Do please be seated.”

Sitting down, Delancey looked round the sparsely furnished office and saw that a chart of Malta and Gozo had been pinned to a board behind the Admiral's chair.

“I regret to tell you that your very creditable action off Sicily has not gained you the promotion you deserve. As you know, Captain Doyle recovered sufficiently to take the
Lapwing
back to Plymouth. She was condemned after survey and broken up. Doyle retired and Mr Waring is now employed by the Transport Board. Their Lordships did not consider an action against an inferior force could justify more than one promotion, that of Mr Holroyd.”

“I quite understand, sir.” Delancey showed no emotion and had not, indeed, expected anything different.

“I dare say that they would have been more impressed had your losses been heavier.”

“It is more important to me that my men should trust me not to throw away their lives.”

“You are perfectly right. I remember, by the way, that you were yourself slightly wounded.”

“A mere scratch, sir. I never even noticed it until we had ceased fire. There's hardly a scar now.”

“I am glad to hear that it healed, anyway. Well, I couldn't secure your promotion but I can give you a change from escort work. Your next convoy will be destined for Malta and I shall authorise Captain Ball to retain the
Merlin
for service there, at least for the time being. I don't think we have sent you there before?”

“No, sir.”

“So the time has come to look at the chart.” The Admiral rose and went to the board behind his chair:

“Here is Malta and here is Grand Harbour guarded by fortifications and overlooked by the city of Valletta—here. The adjacent island of Gozo has no harbour of comparable importance. But note the position of Malta, midway in the passage which connects the eastern with the western Mediterranean. Its strategic value is immense and Grand Harbour could be of great value to us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You probably know what the situation is. Malta, you recall, was taken by General Bonaparte on his way to Egypt. After the destruction of the French fleet by Lord Nelson at Aboukir the isolated French garrison in Malta was in danger. The Maltese then rose against the French, raising some ten thousand men under the flag of Naples. Muskets and ammunition for about twelve hundred of these were landed by Sir James Saumarez. So the French, numbering some three thousand men under General Vaubois, withdrew to Valletta where they are still besieged. A small French force at M'dina (he pointed to the chart) was massacred and a yet smaller French garrison, in Gozo (he pointed again) capitulated to us. We now have a squadron blockading Valletta and Captain Ball is ashore, giving what help he can to the Maltese.

“Why doesn't Vaubois surrender?”

“Well, you must remember that Malta was Bonaparte's own conquest. He has since become virtual ruler of France. So we may assume that Vaubois has been ordered to hold out.”

“Can't the Maltese storm Valletta?”

“The city is virtually impregnable. The fortifications built for the Knights of Malta are of gigantic size and fantastic strength. Something could be done by a regular army under an experienced general with heavy artillery and a corps of engineers. Come and look at the chart. . . . Here is Grand Harbour, one of the finest landlocked harbours in the world. Valletta occupies this headland, fortified across the neck.” The Admiral came away from the chart and sat down again.

“Who commands the Maltese, sir?”

“Some priests and notaries, one or two of their nobles; but none with any knowledge of war.”

“So the stalemate is likely to continue?”

“It would seem so. But the situation is damned awkward, made worse by the fact that the French have a squadron there—three sail of the line and three frigates with Rear-Admiral Decrès and Rear-Admiral Villeneuve. These are all safe under the guns of the fortress. We tie up as many ships to blockade the place. Apart from that, we want the harbour for ourselves.”

“But the French must be starving.”

“They are, more or less. But one or two ships have run the blockade with supplies and ammunition, the last being the frigate
Boudeuse,
in February.”

“Would you suppose, sir, that they will try again with a larger force?” Delancey's tone was optimistic.

“That is their only hope but it is a question what force they can collect. In the meanwhile, we have a small garrison in Gozo, a squadron on blockade duty and our Maltese friends ashore. Our next convoy in October will consist of storeships laden with all that is needed to sustain the siege. Having escorted these ships on their passage you will relieve the
Hornet,
which is due for overhaul, and thus come under the orders of the senior naval officer, probably Commodore Sir Thomas Troubridge. The store-ships will return here escorted by the
Hornet.”

“Aye, aye, sir. When shall we sail?”

“In about three weeks' time. I forgot to tell you, by the way, that Mather is confirmed as your first lieutenant and that another officer called Stirling has arrived and will join you as second.”

“I'm glad to hear that, sir.”

Withdrawing at that point, Delancey met Mr Stirling in the outer office and was favourably impressed. The young officer was of average height but broad and stocky in build and immensely strong. He was fair-haired, bronzed, tough and compact; not a man to quarrel with. Judging from this first impression, Delancey guessed that this was a man on whom he could rely.

Over the following weeks Delancey came to recognise that his first impression of Stirling had been correct. He was an excellent officer, recently discharged from hospital after being wounded in action. He was a lowland Scot by origin but had been brought up in Hampshire and sent to sea as a boy. He was complementary to Mather, more forceful than the first lieutenant but less intelligent. Where Stirling was ruthless and cheerful, Mather was sensitive and subtle. In the hard work of refitting the
Merlin
they gained good results by an alternation of method.

The crew had done well in action against the
Malouine,
a smaller ship with fewer guns, but some would need much further training before Delancey would be satisfied. It was not enough to be average; he wanted his ship to be exceptional. This was now possible, with Mather a better first lieutenant than he himself had ever been and Stirling in some ways a better officer than Mather.

What had he that they lacked? He came in the end to realise that it was imagination and detachment. He could see the situation from the enemy's point of view—it was this gift which ended the career of the
Malouine
and
Mouche
—and he could decide cold-bloodedly whether to fight or not. For one who had started life without much confidence, he had come to the surprising conclusion that he deserved to command. He was lucky, he decided, to have two outstanding officers and yet knew himself to be better than either. He felt confident as never before, and very lonely indeed.

There was a delay in collecting the necessary supplies and the convoy for Malta did not sail until November 24th. After calling at Port Mahon, Delancey was off Malta on December 19th, reporting on that day to the Commodore. The island looked bleak under low cloud with heavy seas breaking on its rocky shore. The
Merlin,
however, was looking her best and hove to with a flourish. In obedience to a signal Delancey had a boat lowered and was rowed over to the
Culloden,
flying the Commodore's flag. She was cruising back and forth outside the entrance to Grand Harbour, keeping just out of range of the shore batteries and so placed as to prevent any French ship leaving harbour without being immediately engaged. Knowing about Troubridge from hearsay, Delancey looked at the
Culloden
as he boarded her, with something like awe. Looking back at his own ship, however, he could do so with pride. In less than a year he had brought her to something like perfection in appearance, smartness, sail-drill and gunnery. Her figure-head gleamed in gold leaf and his boat's crew were uniformed in black jackets and white trousers. Tanner brought the boat to the
Culloden
's entry with a flourish and oars were tossed smartly and together. None of this was wasted on the bluff and burly Sir Thomas, to whom Delancey reported on the quarterdeck.