Langford’s gunners were told what they had to do and why. “To shoot away the enemy’s wheel is to cripple her for the time being but without serious damage to the prize.” Mather’s gunners were told what the signal would be to open fire—the firing of the quarterdeck carronades—and also the signal to cease fire; the sound of the boatswain’s pipe, sounding “Belay.” When all arrangements had been made and checked the Merlin settled down to patrol the approaches to Cherbourg.
After various false alarms the expected French merchantman was sighted on the sunny morning of the 13th, the wind southerly and the sea moderate. The Merlin, with a Prussian ensign, stood slowly across her bows with boats already lowered on the side further from the enemy. So far from avoiding battle the Bonaparte shortened sail before heading for the French coast, thus presenting her broadside to the privateer.
The two ships converged under easy sail, the Merlin slightly the faster and ready to accept the leeward position. When the sloop’s bowsprit was overlapping the French ship’s stern, Delancey told a boy to haul down the Prussian ensign and hoist the British. He then drew his sword and ordered Langford to be ready to open fire. Beside him on the quarterdeck he had the boatswain, young Stock and two boys to act as messengers. The minutes passed slowly and Delancey found himself watching a rather similar group near the Frenchman’s wheel. Seen in the sunlight, with the blue sea as background, the Bonaparte looked a fine ship, and sat deep in the water with what was evidently a full cargo. All her guns were run out on what would be her engaged side, thirteen in all and of much the same calibre as those of her opponent.
At last the moment had come . . . Delancey pointed his sword towards Langford and shouted “Fire!” The bang of the carronade was almost instantly followed by the crash of the broadside and the enemy’s reply. The battle was fairly joined and the smoke billowed between the two antagonists, blowing back across the Merlin’s deck. Walking over to the lee side of the quarterdeck, Delancey could see that the boarders were scrambling into the boats alongside, directed by Stirling from the entry port.
There came the crash of the second broadside and another smoke cloud. Langford was aiming each carronade in turn but had not yet hit his target. The sloop was still overhauling her opponent, however, and the two quarterdecks were not yet opposite each other. Round shot were flying overhead and one of them had already splintered the spanker boom. Making less noise were the musket-balls, fired from the French ship’s gangway and thudding into the woodwork.
Then came a crash and confused noise forward and Delancey could see that the Merlin’s foretopsail had come down. He jumped at once to the wheel and told the quartermaster to put the helm hard over. The Merlin’s bow swung towards the French ship, her bowsprit being entangled with her opponent’s mainmast shrouds. This was not a manoeuvre which Delancey had planned but there was no alternative. The Merlin would otherwise have dropped astern and, with both ships still very much under way, the boats could not have attacked. The impact of the collision and the fall of the Merlin’s foretopsail, had now brought both ships to a virtual standstill. The bow cannon on either side were now engaging at very close range, those further aft being more distant from each other. As guns began to fire independently the din and smoke became more continuous.
Leaning over the lee bulwarks near the break of the quarterdeck and using his speaking-trumpet, Delancey shouted down to the boats “Carry on, Mr Stirling!” Only when he had seen them push off did he turn back and call “Away boarders!” in the direction of the forecastle. There came a bugle call in reply and the measured beat of the drum. A minute passed and then the soldiers poured out of the forecastle and lined up as if to attack. They had no means, in fact, of reaching the enemy but their menacing appearance was very much as planned and rehearsed. Under the orders of a corporal they presented muskets and fired a volley.
There was a pause while they reloaded and then the bugle sounded again, to be followed once more by the drum beat. A wave of seamen, also armed with muskets, came up on the soldiers’ right and presented their muskets.
As their volley crashed in turn, Delancey sent the boatswain to take some sail trimmers and shift the foretopsail from where it buried the forecastle carronades. Once that had been pulled away it might have been just possible for the seamen to board the enemy ship by means of the bowsprit and covered by the soldiers’ fire. To underline this threat he ran forward, waving his sword as if to urge on the boarding party.
Looking across at the Bonaparte he could see, between clouds of drifting smoke, that the French crew had been assembled to repel boarders. All the men not at the guns were grouped forward, with boarding pikes and cutlasses. Delancey longed to look astern and see whether his boats were disappearing, as they should be, round the French ship’s stern. He knew, however, that he must not so much as glance in that direction. He must have every Frenchman watching for the rush across the bowsprit.
To make doubly sure of that he joined the party on the forecastle, shouting through his speaking-trumpet, now towards the boatswain and now towards Mr Topley. “Come on, men!” he yelled, pointing his sword towards the enemy ship.
He was answered by another bugle call, by beat of drum and a further volley from the soldiers. Then he called for three cheers, which were given with enthusiasm. It would take a very level-headed Frenchman to realise that all this noise was unaccompanied by a single move in his direction.
While the smoke billowed from the cannon fire Delancey ran aft again and saw that his boats were safely out of sight. Swearing when he realised that he had lost the boatswain, Delancey sent young Stock to request Mr Mather to cease fire and one of his boy messengers to ask Mr Bailey to pipe “Belay.” Then he looked across to see whether the tricolour was still flying. To his annoyance it still was.
But Langford’s fire had cleared the enemy’s quarterdeck. Without smashing the wheel, which seemed to be intact, his fire had driven away both officers and helmsmen. “Shall I shift to another target, sir?” asked Langford. “No, cease fire altogether,” replied Delancey.
As he watched he saw Stirling and his men pour from the Bonaparte’s main hatch and sweep forward to where the Frenchmen were still facing the threat posed by Topley and his men. Taken thus unexpectedly from behind, the enemy had no chance at all. There was some feeble resistance but most of them dropped their arms and called for quarter. The men who manned the battery that had been in action had surrendered more easily still, being caught unarmed.
The action was virtually over but Delancey was able to watch another scene, all the more clearly visible now the smoke had all but dispersed. From the hatch on the French ship’s quarterdeck there emerged young Northmore, cutlass in hand. He walked straight to the ensign halliards and pulled down the tricolour from the mizen peak. He rolled it up carefully and walked back to the hatch. A minute later he had gone below, leaving the quarterdeck again deserted. Watching this scene with a smile, Delancey wondered for a moment what had happened to the French captain. Perhaps he had gone below and had been secured in his cabin.
Going forward, Delancey shouted across the gap between the two ships to Stirling to free the Merlin’s bowsprit, cutting away the Frenchman’s rigging as necessary. Then he told Langford to pass a line over to the prize, attach a rope and then haul the two ships alongside each other. As this was done he told young Topley to go and find the captain of the French ship and bring him on board the Merlin. “Should he retain his sword, sir?” asked the midshipman, to which Delancey replied, “He won’t have one. Be off with you.”
Then Delancey went down to the main deck to learn from Mather what the casualties had been. “Four seamen slightly wounded,” was the answer. “The French fire was mostly ineffective.” “And damage?” “Nothing much, sir.” Delancey paid a quick visit to the sick-bay and was told that there were five wounded altogether, all from wood splinters. He had a word with the bandaged men and told them that the French had surrendered.
He then went to see whether th
e carpenter was examining the bowsprit. He was. He knew already that the well had been sounded and that the ship was not leaking. He came to the conclusion that his tactics had succeeded and that casualties and damage on board the Merlin were negligible. The foreyard was gone—broken in three places (hence the failure of the slings) and so was the spritsail yard, but there was nothing else beyond repair.
The Bonaparte, he realised, would not have escaped so lightly but she was not dismasted and could make harbour without difficulty. It remained to detail the prize-crew and set a course for Plymouth. In the circumstances he did not expect to be questioned too closely about the capture he had made. The two ships were now lashed together, the French crew battened down under guard and sentries placed over the Bonaparte’s spirit room, arms racks and officers’ quarters. The officers of the Merlin had done or were doing all that had to be done and Delancey, as captain, had little else, seemingly, to worry about.
Mr Midshipman Topley could now be seen on his way back from the prize, crossing by the improvised gangway and heading for the quarterdeck.
“Well,” said Delancey, “where is the French captain? Was he killed or wounded?”
“No, sir,” replied the youngster, white-faced. “He is in his ship’s powder magazine. His gunner is with him. So far as I can understand their language, sir, I think they mean to blow us all up in ten minutes.”
Chapter Fourteen
TOUCH AND GO
FOR AN instant Delancey’s vision was blurred. He was shaken as one might be shaken by an earthquake. In a moment of easy triumph he was suddenly faced with defeat and death. With an effort he pulled himself together.
“I see. Did you see them?”
“No, sir. They are inside the magazine. The doorway is covered by a blanket with a slit in it through which to pass out the cartridges—very much the same as we have. The magazine is lighted like ours, too, from the light-room next to it. I could hear what they said but could not see them or see to aim.”
“Where are the other French officers?”
“In the great cabin, sir, under guard.”
“Right. We’ll go there first and you’ll lead me to the magazine afterwards.”
It was an occasion for thinking fast. Delancey’s first instinct was to discover, if he could, whether the French captain would do as he threatened. When he entered the Bonaparte’s great cabin, with Topley still at his heels, he asked for the first mate. Of the four men present, one stepped forward and introduced himself as Michel Varignon, second captain.
“Are you ready to die for the First Consul?” asked Delancey.
“For him, for the flag, for the glory of France.”
“Good. You will die in about five minutes. Your captain means to blow up the powder magazine.”
“Incredible! He must be mad!”
“But is he mad enough to do it?”
Varignon looked at the others, met their eyes and shrugged.
“Yes, he could do it. Captain Charbonnier is a patriot, you understand, a fanatic and—perhaps—in some ways—mad.”
“In that case I can only say—good-bye.”
Approaching the magazine, Delancey sent Topley ahead of him to tell the French captain who he was.
“Halt!” said a voice from within the magazine. “Come no nearer or I fire this pistol into the nearest barrel.”
“Very well,” Delancey replied, “I have halted. What are your terms, captain?”
“First, I want the two ships tied together so that the one explosion will destroy both.”
“They are tied together, captain.”
“Keep them so. Then take them into Cherbourg with the tricolour hoisted over the British ensign, surrendering your corvette to the first French man-of-war you see. You know the alternative. I shall shout ‘Vive la France’ and fire.”
“But of course. Nothing more natural. But tell me, captain, how will you know down here what is happening on deck? How can you tell whether we are in Cherbourg or Portsmouth? You had best come on deck and see for yourself.”
“Do you take me for a madman? I stay here with my finger on the trigger.”
“Why not leave your gunner here? He can hold a pistol as well as you.”
“No. I shall stay where I am. He will go on deck, holding his pistol. If you separate the two ships, if you do not make for Cherbourg, if you threaten him in any way, he will fire a shot; and that will be the signal to me.”
“Very well then. What is his name?”
“Jean-Pierre Grobert.”
“Right. We are under his orders.”
“Go on deck then. He will soon join you. Should he not return to me every quarter of an hour I shall fire, destroying both ships and all on board.”
“Agreed.”
As Delancey withdrew he heard urgent whispering inside the magazine. Jean-Pierre Grobert was being briefed on his part. Once on the main deck Delancey told young Topley to explain the situation to all the other officers. All weapons to be uncocked and all captured weapons unloaded. “Tell them that one shot will be enough to kill us all.” He himself went back to the Bonaparte’s great cabin and explained the position to Varignon while the others listened.
“What sort of man is Grobert?” he asked. “Is he another fanatic and as eager to die?”
“No, no,” replied Varignon. “The captain is a bachelor, you will understand, disappointed in love, disappointed at being refused rank in the Navy, disappointed again in business; a man with little to live for. Grobert is married with a wife at Nantes—”
“And three children,” added the purser.
“He also has the promise of promotion to a bigger ship,” said Varignon, clinching the matter.
“But he will obey the captain’s orders?” asked Delancey.
“Unquestionably,” said the second mate. “Grobert is not the sort of man to have ideas of his own.”
“I see. Well, Grobert is coming on deck. If you will all give me your parole, I will leave you free to talk with him. I suggest that you raise the question with each other, in his hearing, whether Captain Charbonnier is or is not insane. I need not remind you that all our lives are at stake.”
The parole was given and Delancey led the party to where the gunner had placed himself near the main hatch. From where he was, Grobert could see what was happening and the sound of his pistol would certainly be heard in the magazine. To Delancey’s relief, Grobert appeared to be a red-faced rather plump little man whose normally cheerful expression was clouded by the current situation. Pistol in hand, he looked the picture of misery.
Going near him, Delancey called out “We are about to make sail. You can tell your captain that the two ships are still together and that our course is to the north. I have brought your friends on deck and you will perhaps like to talk with them.” Walking off, he gave orders for the Merlin to get under way. “Make sail—main and mizen topsails, forecourse and fore t’gallant.”
He did nothing with the Bonaparte’s sails as that ship’s running rigging had still to be knotted and spliced. There was infinite difficulty in steering but the Merlin and prize began their slow passage northward.
The worried gunner of the Bonaparte went below to report progress, returning presently to say that the captain had merely said “Vive la France.” Grobert was accosted by the other French officers, who joined with him in anxious conclave. Going over to them, Delancey said casually: “Nice weather for one’s last day on earth, don’t you think?” As he strolled away again, Varignon hurried after him: “But we are heading, surely, for Cherbourg?” Delancey shook his head. “I am under orders to take my ship into Plymouth and this I shall do.”
“But that puts us all under sentence of death.”
“Exactly.”
“But is there no other way?”
“There is indeed. Persuade Grobert that his captain is a lunatic.”
“But how would that save us?”
“He could tell your captain that we are entering Cherbourg whe
n we are actually coming into St Peter Port.”
“He would expect French officers to come on board and congratulate him.”
“If you can think of a better plan I shall listen to you with the closest attention.”
“I can think of no better plan but what you propose is impossible. Grobert listens to us and then says that he must obey his captain. Nothing we say can shake his determination to do what he has been told to do. He is inconceivably stupid!”
Moving slowly north of Alderney, Delancey was coming to a point at which he had to head east or west and do so while Grobert watched. The man might be stupid but not to the point of confusing the points of the compass. He would know at once whether the Merlin was heading for Cherbourg or not. All Delancey had gained so far was time. His only plan now would be to overpower Grobert and send someone below to impersonate him. That would almost certainly fail. On second thoughts, he would have to do it himself and try to shoot Captain Charbonnier through the blanket, with odds against him of about a hundred to one. His hand, for one thing, would be too unsteady to aim. . . . He was sweating now and hoped that nobody would notice. Perhaps, however, they were all sweating themselves . . .
There came a hail from the Merlin’s mast-head: “Sail on the starboard quarter.” He looked round for a telescope and then realised he was in the wrong ship. He shouted across to Mather “What vessel is that?” and received the answer “A lugger, sir, heading this way under all sail.” For a moment he thought that the incident was irrelevant. Then he remembered Sam Carter’s promise. This would be the Dove, almost certainly, and with the worst possible news. Worst possible? Well, it might prove his immediate salvation. The lunatic in the magazine would hardly want to blow up both ships in time of peace. He decided to heave to.
“Mr Mather,” he shouted, “back the main topsail!” While the yard was being braced round, he turned to Grobert and pointed to the approaching lugger.
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