“I’m glad to be out of Cadiz,” said Hodder with a sigh of relief. “We might have been arrested any minute. I don’t mind admitting, Captain, that I was sleepless last night, expecting a knock on the door. There was a fellow in the courtyard who kept asking me questions. I played dumb as usual but he went on and on. I was glad to escape him when I had the chance but I have an unpleasant feeling that we may be pursued. That sergeant will remember us, too. They’ll be after us, sir—mark my words.”
“Thank you for the warning. I think you are right. I also think we are an hour of two ahead of them with time enough to see whether the Dove is in the harbour. If she isn’t I must ask whether she has been there and whether she is likely to return. That done, we must quit the town on the far side, leave some sort of false trail and then hide somewhere on the coast where we can signal seawards.”
A drive of two hours brought them to the little town of Léon, grouped round a fishing harbour and rising to the church and town hall on higher ground to the eastwards.
The harbour was small but easily entered, with apparently enough water for ships of average draught. It was roughly oblong, the seaward side formed by two breakwaters. A stone-built quayside defined the other three sides, with space for unloading between the water’s edge and the warehouses or other buildings. On the inland or eastern side the houses and shops stood farther back, leaving an open space which might serve as fish market or fairground. There were no stalls set up at the moment but there were a number of boats, brought there perhaps for sale or repair. There were one or two adjacent creeks to the north of the town, one of them with white sand and a few small boats drawn out of the water. There was something of a surf running with a strong wind from off the sea and waves breaking on the beach. The better houses were in the area between the church and the harbour, entered from the north by what was probably the high street. Delancey drove his cart in from that direction, drew up boldly outside the principal inn and joined the few inhabitants who had already gathered inside round the fireplace. His order for rum caused some mild consternation, however, and the tapster said that he had none.
“No rum?” Delancey repeated. “In the name of God you can’t have drunk all that was landed here from the lugger!” The citizens and seamen exchanged glances and the poor tapster said that he would call his master.
“If we have any, the master will know about it.” There was a semiaudible conference in a back room and then the innkeeper appeared in person and admitted to knowing a few words of French.
“The señor was asking for rum? But that, as you must know, is unobtainable in time of war. We have some brandy, however, which I can recommend.” There was a suppressed snigger from one of the sailors and the innkeeper frowned in his direction.
“Strange!” said Delancey. “A friend of mine had rum here only yesterday. It was landed quite recently from a French vessel called the Dove. . . .” There was a tense silence, broken eventually by the innkeeper who first looked hastily around to see whether all others present were known to him.
“You are a friend, perhaps, of Señor Davila?” This question was asked in little more than a whisper.
“He is the man I have come here to meet.” The tension almost visibly ended and the innkeeper was obviously relieved.
“For any friend of Señor Davila I am pleased to produce a very special brandy.” There were more smiles as he poured.
“And where is Señor Davila to be found?” asked Delancey.
“At this time of day he will be at the Barco de Vela tavern on the waterfront. He comes here only in the evening. He is a good friend of mine, señor, and well known here.”
“To Señor Davila!” said Delancey, raising his glass. “And is the Dove in port?”
“No, señor, not today. She may be here tomorrow or the next day. Who knows?”
“Who knows?” Delancey repeated. “Señor Davila, perhaps. I am his friend but he has enemies too. It would be well not to mention my name to any who should come here asking too many questions.”
“I do not know your name, señor.”
“Then it will be easy for you to deny having seen me.”
“Nothing easier, señor. I am singularly unobservant, as my wife always complains. But it grieves me to hear that Señor Davila should have enemies. All here are his friends.”
“No doubt. But there is jealousy to be met with everywhere.”
“How true, alas.”
Delancey said farewell and rejoined Hodder who had been patiently holding the horse’s head. “We must go down to the quayside and visit the Barco de Vela tavern. The Dove has been here and is expected again. I want to know when.”
The cart drove on and made its next stop in the street of the fishmongers. Waves could be seen bursting over the breakwater and Delancey doubted whether the Dove would even attempt to enter until the wind abated. There was a heavy shower of rain as he walked over to the Barco de Vela tavern and asked boldly for Señor Davila. A short dark man of prosperous appearance detached himself from the group by the window and Delancey quickly claimed him as an old friend.
“Señor Davila! How good to see you looking so well! The saints have you in their good keeping, I can see.”
Davila looked puzzled for a few seconds and then quickly guessed what part he was supposed to play.
“My dear friend! How good to see you and what a pleasant surprise! Join me by the fire while your cloak dries. A glass of brandy, perhaps?” Davila steered Delancey over to a corner where they could talk in French without being overheard.
“Captain Delancey? What a relief to see you! We had almost given you up for lost.”
“You are working with Sam Carter, señor?”
“We are in business together and I expect him here tomorrow or whenever this gale stops blowing. The Dove has been here but had to put to sea again. Señor Carter was inquiring after you at a village just to the north of here. He left Señor Alvarez with me—a very useful man. He and I will look after you. I should add that it is greatly to our interest to see that you reach the Dove in safety. What I want to know is this: are you being followed?”
“I think it quite probable.”
“Then you must go to a place I know in the country just south of here. You must go as soon as possible and remain hidden until the Dove returns, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the next day.”
“Very well, but how do I get there?”
“You shall have a guide.”
Davila went quickly to the front door and came back with a young man called Marco.
“This is my groom and he knows the way. I shall come and visit you after dark. Go now, please, and quickly!”
Delancey and Marco hurried back to the cart and Hodder, following Marco’s directions, drove out of Léon by a minor road which twisted up the hillside. They were barely in time for Marco, looking back, muttered, “Soldiers!” Delancey glimpsed a troop of cavalry drawn up on the quayside with an officer dismounted outside the Barco de Vela tavern. It looked as if the hunt was up and Delancey guessed that the rear-admiral, for one, might be in an ugly mood after the loss of his baggage. The inhabitants of Léon would be unwilling to betray a smuggler with whom they did business. They would not be as tolerant of an English spy and the place was far too small for Delancey’s arrival to have passed unnoticed.
Hodder whipped the horse into a gallop when the road flattened out and an hour later took a lane, as directed, on the right which presently dwindled into a mere cart track. There were no peasants in sight and Delancey sensed that they were approaching a desolate part of the coast. The track ended at a ruined and roofless cottage, beyond which the cliffs fell steeply to a storm-swept tangle of rocks. There was a high wind still which carried with it the sound of the breakers. The hiding place was well chosen but it was not a place from which to embark. When the cart stopped, Marco told Delancey that this was a place of safety, visited by no one. It was unlikely to be safe very much longer but Delancey did not think that he had been see
n on the way there, certainly not since quitting the road. A general search of the countryside would disclose his whereabouts in the course of a day but no such operation was to be expected, not at least with the small force so far available. Delancey had seen no more than a single troop, just over twenty dragoons, adequate for making an arrest but quite insufficient for scouring the country. He and Hodder were safe at least for the time being and could make themselves comfortable.
Marco said adios and left them, walking back the way they had come, and Delancey set about building a shelter for the night. Choosing a windward corner of the ruin, he and Hodder cleaned it of loose stones and rubbish. Demolishing the cart, they used its wheels for two side walls, its floor for a roof and its shafts to make a temporary stable for the horse. Finally, Delancey lashed some timbers together to make a frame for his lanterns. After dark it would be at least technically possible to signal the Dove. Whether any signal would be recognised was also problematical for Sam was no man-of-war’s man and Mr Evans’ knowledge would be as limited. Looking seaward, Delancey could see one or two sail in the distance but they were most probably fishing craft or coasters. If the Dove returned it would be after dark. One thing was certain, however, he and Hodder would have to embark at Léon; and yet how were they to pass through a town where their descriptions had most probably been circulated and where troops were hunting for them?
That evening Señor Davila appeared, having walked out from the town. He was accompanied by José Alvarez whom he introduced as his business partner. They brought with them meat, bread, butter, cheese and a bottle of wine. Sitting with them as they ate by their hidden camp fire, Davila drank a glass of wine and gave them the news. First of all, he said, the cavalry had been sent in pursuit of them; an officer and 24 troopers. The lieutenant was young and inexperienced and had gleaned little information at the Léon inn and nothing at all at the Barco de Vela tavern. He had told people that he had been ordered to arrest a couple of spies but the seafaring folk disbelieved him, thinking that he was really searching for contraband—of which the place had plenty. So far as the soldiers were concerned the people of Léon had seen nothing, heard nothing and knew nothing. Unfortunately, however, the garrison commander had followed up his cavalry troop by a whole company of infantry under a captain called Miguel de Passamonte. Since his arrival in the late afternoon he had taken the cavalry under command and intensified the search.
“He is not another boy without experience, then?” asked Delancey.
“Miguel de Passamonte? No, señor, he is an old soldier risen from the ranks, a man who knows his trade. His patrols are ready to ask who is known and who is a stranger. It is all most unfortunate, señor. Until today this was a peaceful town with no real difficulty over anything. A man could do business without fear of gossip. Now all is upset and we have begun to distrust each other. Passamonte is at the Barco de Vela tavern this evening and who knows what may be revealed by men who have drunk too much? You and I were seen there together, remember. Frankly, señor, I don’t know what to do!”
“May I suggest that we take one problem at a time? The first one, I think, centres upon the Dove. Dare we bring her into port? I assume that you have the means of warning her to remain outside?”
“Yes, there is a signal arranged. I think, however, that she can enter harbour safely under the French flag. The customs officers are friends of mine and it is to them that Passamonte will address any questions he may want to ask about the Dove. She will be safe but Passamonte will place sentries on the quayside. The lugger will be watched, of this we can be certain.”
“Very well. The next problem concerns the extent of Passamonte’s knowledge. How much does he know?”
“He knows that you have been in the town. He is certain, I should say, that you are not there now. He will conclude that you are somewhere in the vicinity and he will assume that Léon is the place at which you mean to embark. His plan will be to wait and watch.”
“But how does he know that I am to embark here? I might well go on down the coast and attempt to reach Gibraltar. I may yet have to do this and I should regard it indeed as the obvious plan.”
“I agree, señor, but Passamonte is not concerned with what happens at Tarifa—that is another officer’s responsibility. His orders confine him to this place and he must assume that this is the point at which you intend to leave Spain.”
“So my best plan might be to go farther south . . . ?”
“But other garrisons will also have been warned and you would not, elsewhere, have a friend ashore.”
“You think that Passamonte will look on the Dove with suspicion?”
“Yes, but not to the point of interference. She will be the bait, her gangplank the point at which the trap is to close.”
“I wonder that she has been able to linger on this coast: visiting this port more than once, I assume?”
“She has been here three times already and her visits are profitable to me and to my friends. At sea she is protected on this occasion by a British frigate, the Medusa, which keeps almost out of sight.”
“The Medusa? Captain Morris?”
“I don’t know the captain’s name.”
“How does the frigate keep in touch?”
“The Dove has been lent a set of signal flags and a midshipman who knows the code. She also carries rockets and blue flares to light in an emergency.”
“Good! What other ships are there in port? Anything of interest?”
“Only the Aguila, supposed to be fitting out as a ten-gun privateer, but the owners could never find a crew for her.”
“One other question: is there another landing place, outside the actual harbour?”
“There is a sort of creek on the north side called the Playa Blanco where one can land on a calm day but it is extremely dangerous in any sort of sea—impossible, for instance, on such a day as this has been. Fishing boats are sometimes repaired there.”
“Good! With the wind moderating I think that we shall be able to leave Spain tomorrow night. During the next few hours I shall try to signal the Dove. If Señor Carter knows that I am here he will bring the lugger into port tomorrow. When he does that I want you to go aboard, give him my kind regards, explain the situation and tell him to expect me aboard just before the beginning of the ebb. What hour would that be?”
“At half-past one in the morning.”
“Then I want you to bring the signal midshipman out here, disguised as a Spaniard and bringing with him a rocket, his flags and code. I want to communicate with the Medusa from here.”
“Very well, señor—all that is possible, even under the sentry’s eye.”
“Thank you for all your help, Señor Davila, and not least for the supper. The crisis should be over in two days’ time and you should be back in business.”
“What I have done is nothing. My reward will be to know that you are safe. Forgive me if I leave you now.”
“You can reach home without being challenged by the sentries?”
“Oh, yes, señor. I know this town well and have good friends in every street.”
“Goodnight, then, and thank you!”
“Goodnight, señor, and God keep you safe!”
After Davila and Alvarez had gone Hodder asked Delancey whether he thought the Spaniards were to be trusted. He himself was more than doubtful. “I don’t like the look of Davila, Captain. I don’t like the look of him at all. These dagoes are all alike, sir, each one no better than the last. He would change sides any day if he thought it would pay him.”
“I daresay; but in this case it wouldn’t pay him. He is in business here as a smuggler’s agent, he and Alvarez working with Sam Carter. Sam is therefore the man he dare not antagonise—and Sam is a friend of mine.”
“I hope you’re right, sir, and I hope you regard me as a friend, too. My life has not been all that respectable, as you know, or will have guessed, but I’ve learnt something in these last few weeks, I don’t exactly know what. But I wan
t England to win, sir, and I admire the way in which you never waver from your purpose. You are a gentleman, sir, and can trust me as you would your own boatswain or gunner. If we have to fight our way out of this, I’ll not give in easily.”
“I know that, Mr Hodder—and thank you. It’s time now to signal the Dove. God knows whether she is in sight!”
Delancey had hoped to find a tree from which he could hang his pattern of lanterns, a tree which, bereft of branches, could be used as a mast. All the trees in sight were stunted oaks, however, the best of them effectively masked by others. In the end he chose a sturdy bush on the very cliff top from which his frame could hang on the cliff face, not an ideal arrangement but one which ensured that the signal could not be seen from any other direction. He and Hodder now arranged six of their eight lanterns in a framework, making a pattern which was (or had been) the Channel Fleet recognition signal. The lanterns were lit and the whole clumsy device was lowered gingerly down the cliff at a point where projection hid it from either side. Over the next hour or two Delancey hauled the frame up for a few minutes at a time. The signal might or might not be understood but it would at least be recognised as a signal. Hours passed without a reply and it was not long before dawn when Hodder called out, “Look, sir!” and pointed to a distant blue flare which showed for an instant and vanished again. Delancey pulled up his framework and rearranged the lanterns, adding two more and using all eight to form the letter “D.” He hoped that this would tell Sam everything. There was an answering flare and no further signal from either side. Delancey and Hodder lay down to rest.
They woke in broad daylight to breakfast on what remained from yesterday’s supper. Afterwards they walked northwards to a headland from which they had a better view of Léon. The wind had dropped and there, sure enough, was the Dove! She was about to enter the harbour in daylight and there, far seawards, was another sail, evidently that of the Medusa. The sight of these distant sails had the emotional impact of a miracle. To have exchanged signals in the dark had given him reason to hope but actually to see the Dove again brought tears to his eyes. He brushed them aside impatiently and then found that his hands were trembling as he levelled the spyglass. He realised with a sort of shock that he had not really expected to escape from Spain. God knew that the chances were still against his survival. But there was the Dove and his spyglass, when finally focused, showed her sails being lowered as she sidled up to the farther quayside. He could just see a rope being made fast to a bollard in the north-east corner of the harbour. That would be Evans, that speck on the forecastle, not recognizable at this distance but placed where the chief mate should be as the vessel was hauled into her berth. Here were petty criminals risking their vessel and their lives to rescue a friend. . . . He realised that Hodder was talking.
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