3
The Lesser Risk
Barely concealing his disgust at Roger's ' dishonourable' attitude to waging war, Formby ordered the Jack to be run up. The frigate's captain was already doing his utmost to sink the sloop or compel her to surrender, so openly proclaiming her to be British added nothing to their danger. But as the little stern gun could not have sent a shot within hundreds of yards of the enemy, or have done her serious damage even had the shot landed, the Lieutenant's gesture was no more than one of futile defiance.
Roger was not at all surprised that his advice had been rejected; but since it had, and there was no other means of gaining a temporary respite from the frigate's fire, he felt that he should no longer delay taking such steps as he could for his own protection. Within the next quarter of an hour he might be killed or drowned, and that was a risk there was no escaping; but, if he did survive this one-sided action, he meant to do everything he could to preserve his identity of Colonel Breuc and, with his usual resourcefulness, he had thought of a plan which, as far as the French were concerned, should give him a fair chance of doing so.
Turning again to Formby he said, ' The Government having placed this sloop at my disposal to take me to France is sufficient indication of the weight they attach to my mission. If we are captured it is of the utmost importance that the French should not realize that I am an Englishman. Therefore, should you shortly decide that you have no option but to surrender, I desire that you first have me put in irons and locked in the lazaret, then tell our captors that I am a Frenchman and that you picked me up this mid-day endeavouring to get to France in a small sailing boat which was near sinking.'
' If that is your wish, I'll see it carried out,' Formby replied. Then he added with a sudden show of spirit, ' But, dam' me, I'll not surrender my ship; not till she's either dismasted or holed below the waterline.'
Clapping him on the shoulder, Roger smiled. 'To hear you express such a sentiment warms my heart, Lieutenant. Since your crew leaves much to be 'desired in handling ship, let us then continue to take our punishment while forging dead ahead, and pray that fortune may aid us to escape.'
As he spoke, the frigate's bow-chaser boomed again. Next moment the Quartermaster at the wheel gave a single scream and collapsed upon the deck. The cannon ball had taken him squarely in the small of the back, cutting him nearly in half and spattering his blood in all directions.
Luckily the spent shot had not seriously damaged the wheel, only shearing off one of the spokes, and it was quickly secured by the bo'sun. But the ball had cleft the air barely a yard from Roger, so that he had felt the wind of it brush his cheek. More than once he had owed his life to having no false shame about taking cover when under fire and, while others about him were still gaping at the gory remains of the unfortunate Quartermaster, he left the poop in two swift bounds for the greater safety of the well-deck below it.
He had scarcely picked himself up and stationed himself under the ladder, where he would be protected not only from a direct hit but also from flying splinters should a shot smash into the deck forward of him, than the frigate's gun boomed again. This time she missed, but her next shot smacked through the sail above him, leaving a large rent in it.
Crouching there, he thanked his stars that he was only a passenger and had no duty to perform or obligation to set an example by remaining exposed upon the poop, as was the case with Formby.
The young Lieutenant, meanwhile, white-faced but determined, remained at his post, cursing his inability to return the frigate's fire. But he ordered the after gun to be run out and loaded in readiness, for it looked as if their pursuer would soon be in range of his smaller armament.
Dusk had now fallen and the enemy's next two shots went wide.
After the second, knowing there would be a minute's interval before another could be fired, Roger swung himself round the ladder and ran a few steps up to it to get a quick look astern over the taffrail. The semi-darkness obscured the outline of the frigate but her position could still be clearly seen because she had lit her lanterns.
At that moment there came a sharp crack and flash. Formby had just given the gunner the order to fire the little twelve-pounder. Instead of ducking back, as he had been about to do, Roger leapt up the remaining steps of the ladder on to the poop. His action nearly cost him his life. Another ball smacked into the deck only a few feet in front of him. It would have carried off his head had it not landed on a ring-bolt which caused it to ricochet and whine away over his shoulder. Dashing forward he grabbed Formby by the arm, and shouted:
' Are you mad to fire upon the frigate? *
Angered by such arbitrary treatment, Formby jerked his arm away. 'How dare you address me in such terms? ' he cried hotly. ' Get back to your funk hole and leave me to fight my ship.'
' Funk hole be damned,' Roger retorted. ' I've killed more men than you've been months at sea. Unless you want your ship shot to pieces order your gunner to blow out his match.'
Drawing himself up, Formby snapped, ' For this impertinence, sir, I could have you put in irons. I am the Captain of this ship and-'
'1 care not if you are the King of Spain,' roared Roger. ' Have you not the sense to realize that though we can see the frigate on account of her lights, she can scarce see us as ours are still unlit? To her we can now be no more than a dark shadow. Another few minutes and we'll be hidden by the blessed dark. But do you continue to fire your popgun you'll be giving her a mark by which she may yet sink us.'
The frigate's gun boomed again. Seconds later the shot crashed through the stern rail, sending deadly splinters flying in all directions. One caught the Yeoman of Signals in the fleshy part of the thigh, and he gave vent to a spate of curses. But this fourth hit gave point to Roger's argument and Formby had the grace to admit that he was right. Fighting down his humiliation, he gulped:
'1 stand corrected, Mr. Brook. The temptation at least to show fight got the better of my judgment. We'll not fire on her again and in a few minutes we'll chance a tack with the hope of getting clear of her altogether.'
Several more shots came over but no further hits were scored. As eight bells sounded, signifying the end of the first dog-watch, they turned on to a new course and, shortly afterwards, the firing ceased. They had been saved by the early coming of the winter night.
Now that the action was over, Roger began to consider how it might have affected his plans. When they had sighted the frigate they had been about five hours' sailing from Dieppe, given a continuance of the wind in roughly the same force and direction. Although by nine o'clock it would have been fully dark, only the fisher folk would have turned in for the night at that hour, so he had intended to have the sloop hold off a couple of miles or so from the shore until midnight. But for the past two hours they had been sailing away from Dieppe, and the wind would be less favourable heading back in that direction. Therefore it would now be midnight, or perhaps one in the morning, before they reached the normally deserted cove in which he intended to land. The loss of an hour was of no importance, or two for that matter. His only definite requirement was that he should be put ashore in ample time to get well away from the coast before morning.
To Formby he said, ' Now that we are out of trouble, Lieutenant, I pray your leave to retire to my cabin. I've a hard day ahead of me tomorrow, and it's unlikely that I'll get any sleep for the best part of twenty-four hours; so I've a mind to put in a few hours before I land.'
'That would certainly be wise,' the Lieutenant agreed, 'and you should have a good meal too. Shortly now the galley will produce something for us, and Trumper will relieve me while I have the pleasure of entertaining you.'
Roger shook his head. 'I thank you, but beg to be excused. I am a poor sailor and hot meals at sea are apt to play the devil with my stomach. I've some hard tack in my cabin which will suit me better, should I feel hungry.' Then, not wishing to seem churlish to the young officer after having been so brusque with him, he added with a smile,' But if you chance to
have a decanter of wine handy I'd be delighted to take a glass with you before I turn in.'
'Indeed I have.' Formby's face brightened. 'Let's go below.'
In his cabin he produced some very passable Madeira, of which they drank two glasses apiece, while wishing one another good fortune. Then, having asked to be called at midnight, Roger went to his own cabin.
There he made a scratch meal from his small but carefully chosen stock of provisions, then undressed and, still ruminating on his good luck at having escaped capture, fell asleep.
At midnight the Lieutenant's servant woke him. A quarter of an hour later he had dressed and, carrying his small valise, went up on deck. There was no moon and as cloud obscured the greater part of the heavens it was almost totally dark; so it was a perfect night for a secret landing. Groping his way up to the poop, Roger saw Formby's face lit by the glow from the binnacle. Stepping up to him, he asked:
'How long should we be now? Whereabouts on the French coast do you estimate us to be at the moment? '
Looking up, Formby replied, 'As far as I can judge by dead reckoning, the coast on our beam should be a few miles south of Le Touquet.'
' Le Touquet! ' Roger echoed, aghast. ' But that is not far from Boulogne, and sixty miles or more north of Dieppe. What in hell's name led you to bring your ship up-Channel? '
The Lieutenant bridled. ' After our experience this afternoon surely you would not have had me go about and again risk capture? We might well have run into that frigate.'
' In darkness and with our lights out there would not have been one chance in five hundred of our doing so,' Roger snapped. 'And here am I, a half-hour after midnight, still several hours' distant from the place at which I wished to land.'
' I'm sorry, Mr. Brook.' Formby's voice held evident contrition. 'I was under the impression that you'd mentioned that cove south of Dieppe only as a preference, and that it would have served your purpose to be landed at any quiet spot on the French coast. But I'll put her about and beat down to Dieppe if you wish.'
Roger considered for a minute. With the wind in its present quarter it was unlikely that they could reach Dieppe before six o'clock in the morning, and that was much too late to risk a landing. He could require Formby to turn back towards England, cruise off the Sussex coast for twelve hours, then run in again to put him ashore near Dieppe the following night. But that would mean the loss of yet another day in reporting to General Bonaparte; worse, the wind might change, rendering it impossible for him to land in France for another forty-eight hours or more.
Although he hated being at sea in uncertain weather, he had deliberately chosen the much longer crossing to Dieppe, rather than the short one across the Straits of Dover. It had been only a minor consideration that Lymington was one of the most convenient ports from which to cross to Dieppe and that, if he were held up by the weather, he could wait there in the comfort of his old home instead of a draughty inn in Margate or Sandwich. His choice had been governed by the fact that, whereas Calais was over a hundred and fifty miles from Paris, Dieppe was less than a hundred.
In the days of the ancien regime the difference would have mattered little. The corvee—the system of conscripting the peasants once a year for forced labour on the roads—had been one of the most bitterly resented impositions of the Monarchy, but it had kept the roads in excellent condition. Moreover, every few miles there had been Royal Post Houses—well-run hostelries at which travellers could secure good meals and relays of horses without delay or difficulty.
All that had been entirely changed by the Revolution. The roads had become nobody's responsibility. After six years of neglect they had fallen into an appalling state of disrepair, pockmarked with pot-holes sometimes as much as two feet deep and, in wet weather, having in places stretches of almost impassable mud. So many horses had been commandeered for the Army that relays often took hours to obtain, and the inns in which travellers were compelled to wait had become bug-ridden dens staffed by surly servants. To frequent breakdowns and other discomforts had to be added the lawless state of the countryside with the risk of being held up and robbed by bands of deserters.
In consequence, where in the old days it had been possible to travel from Calais to Paris overnight, it could now take up to four days in winter, with the certainty of passengers having time and again to get out, unload their vehicle and, knee-deep in mud, manhandle it out of the deep ruts in which it had become bogged down.
With fury in his heart, Roger thought of the additional fifty miles of such nightmare travel he would now have to face if he were landed in the neighbourhood of Boulogne. But he decided that he could not afford to risk another night at sea, with the possibility that the weather might turn foul and delay his landing by several days.
Turning to Formby, he said coldly, 'Very well, then. Run in, and we will reconnoitre the coast for a place suitable for me to be put ashore.'
At the Lieutenant's command the sloop altered course to northeast. Twenty minutes later they picked up a winking light on their starboard quarter which they decided must be the harbour beacon of the little fishing village of Le Touquet. Although the sky was mainly overcast, a faint starlight percolated through a few rents in the scudding clouds and, as they drew closer inshore, it was just sufficient for them to make out patches of white cliff against the dead blackness of the night sky above them.
While the sloop ploughed on until the Le Touquet beacon had become only a speck astern, Roger and Formby alternately studied the coast through the latter's night glass, until Roger said, ' Somewhere here should serve.'
Formby gave orders to stand in, start sounding and prepare to lower a boat. For some minutes a monotonous chant broke the silence as a seaman swung the lead. When he called four fathoms the command was given to heave to, and the sails came rustling down. A kedge-anchor was thrown out and the boat lowered and manned. Formby wished Roger luck, they shook hands, then Roger climbed down into the stern of the boat.
It had a crew of six: the coxswain, four oarsmen and a man in the bow to jump out with the painter. No sooner had it started to pull away than Roger's attention was caught by the loud splashing of the oars. For a secret landing such as this the oars should have been muffled and it was another indication of Formby's lack of experience that this precaution had been neglected. It was now too late to do anything about it, but Roger said to the coxswain in a low voice:
' Go easy. Tell the men to dip their oars gently; and there's to be no talking.'
As the coxswain passed on his order, Roger reflected that it was hardly necessary to observe caution to the point where it would double the time it would take for the boat to reach the shore, and he realized that he had given it only as a result of habit. Even so, perhaps it had been wise, since the coast here was so much nearer to England than at Dieppe that it was much more frequently patrolled, and one could not be too careful.
Slowly the boat nosed its way in, was lifted slightly by the surf and grounded on the beach. The bowman jumped out and threw his weight on the painter to keep the boat from being sucked back by the undertow. But the man was still standing calf-deep in water and as the wavelets broke they were wetting him up to the thighs. Seing this by the faint starlight, Roger said to the coxswain:
' Be good enough to have the boat hauled up for me. It will be many hours before I can "secure a change of clothes and I have no mind to spend the night in those I am wearing half soaked with seawater.'
' Aye, aye, sir! ' The coxswain spoke sharply to his crew. The four oarsmen shipped their oars, scrambled over the side into the surf and set about dragging the boat up out of the sea. When the bow was clear of the water Roger stood up, with a word of thanks slipped a guinea into the coxswain's hand, scrambled over the thwarts and jumped ashore.
When he sprang out the men were still heaving and cursing, and as they dragged at the boat the keel was making a loud, grating sound on a patch of shingle. It was these noises which had prevented any of them hearing other sounds up by the
cliff face. Before Roger caught them he had taken a dozen paces along the shore in the direction of Le Touquet. His heart began to hammer. They were, unmistakably, the footfalls of men running towards the sea. At this hour, in such a deserted spot, it could only be a French patrol that had seen the faint outline of the sloop or heard the boat approaching from her.
He gave a swift glance round. The seamen were now endeavouring to re-launch the boat. He could dash back to it. But would they get it off in time? Even if they did it was certain that the French patrol would be armed with muskets and the boat still within point-blank range.
The alternative was to chance taking to his heels. The men in the patrol would, without doubt, head straight for the boat, in the hope of capturing it as well as its crew. If they reached it before it was afloat a fight would ensue. They would then be too fully occupied to come after him before the darkness had rendered it impossible for them to tell the direction he had taken. He was already some way from the boat and as soon as the patrol came within sight of it the eyes of all of them would be riveted on it; so he might even escape their notice and get clear away without fear of pursuit.
While these thoughts were racing through his mind, the seamen were shouting in alarm and urging one another to greater efforts to get the boat off. Through their shouting cut cries of challenge from the French and demands by them to stand or be fired upon. Without waiting another second, Roger plunged forward and pelted along the shore as fast as his legs would carry him.
Before he had covered fifty yards a shot rang out. Fearing that it might have been aimed at him, he did a quick swerve, then looked back over his shoulder. A second was fired at that moment and for an instant its flash lit the scene behind him as brightly as daylight. Two groups of black silhouettes stood out sharply. The boat had been got off, and the coxswain stood in the stern, his arm extended, pointing a pistol; but three of the seamen, clustered round the bow, had not yet managed to clamber aboard. No more than fifteen feet away the French patrol was charging down the slope. It was led by a figure waving a sword and some of the men had their muskets raised, with the evident intent of firing as they ran. Roger judged there to be at least a dozen of them, but it was obvious that their whole attention was concentrated on the boat's crew and he doubted if any of them had given even a glance in his direction.
The Sultan's Daughter rb-7 Page 4