So Near So Far

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So Near So Far Page 10

by C. Northcote Parkinson


  “Good God!” exclaimed Selby. “Do you mean to tell me that there are men in St Peter Port who trade with the enemy?”

  “I should be surprised if there aren’t. How else are smugglers to live? They have to trade with somebody. But Sir James knows this as well as I do. My fear is that he is under orders from someone who knows a great deal less.”

  Delancey was now able to establish Fiona ashore at Anneville Manor with a domestic staff presided over by an old manservant called Le Breton. She would be visited by many kind neighbours, Captain Savage being particularly attentive, and she was rapidly making Anneville a very comfortable home.

  The heartbreaking moment came when the Vengeance had to sail, Fiona going down to the harbour to say goodbye.

  ”We are sailing no further than Jersey,” he comforted her. “We shan’t be far away and will be back, I daresay, in a matter of days.”

  Fiona was not deceived. “I know where you are going. All St Peter Port knows. But you won’t be very near the target—Captain Savage says that the depth of water is insufficient.”

  “The Admiral might just as well have called you into conference!”

  “I should have told him, if he had, that the whole thing is foolishness—everyone says so.”

  “Could you have told him where the Nautilus is?”

  “No, but she’s not at Granville. That information was false—that old seaman was not as drunk as he pretended to be.”

  “Why do we bother about secret agents when our wives can tell us all we need to know? Goodbye, love, and take great care of yourself. You’ll never know how much I love you because I’ve never been able to explain, and don’t suppose that I shall ever find the words.”

  “It’s not a matter of words. I understand you well enough. Goodbye, my love, and run no foolish risks.”

  He was presently in his gig and on his way out to Vengeance. He gave orders at once to up anchor and make sail. Fiona was still waving as he looked back. He waved in turn and then concentrated again on his work.

  A few days later Sir James Saumarez collected his whole squadron off St Helier: the frigates Cerberus and Vengeance, the sloops Charwell and Kite, the bomb vessels Sulphur and Terror, the schooner Ealing and the cutter Carteret. To the assembled captains his orders were brief. “We have been instructed to bombard the town and port of Granville. It is said that this is the scene for the development of a new and secret type of vessel called the Nautilus. Should this be so, we still lack any information as to where she is. Our only known targets are the gunboats in the harbour, perhaps twenty of them. Our chief danger arises from the tidal range, which is dramatic on that part of the French coast. If we put any vessel on a sandbank we had best do it on a rising tide. The operation will begin on 13 September, the frigates and sloops to lead the attack, the two bomb vessels to be covered by them, the Ealing and Carteret to remain under sail and go to the aid of anyone in trouble.” That was that and the captains remained for dinner on board the flagship. This gave Delancey the opportunity to have a private word with the Admiral.

  “It is my belief, sir, that the Nautilus is not at Granville. I think we have been deceived about that.”

  “What has led you, Delancey, to that conclusion?”

  “The master of that brig knew about the Nautilus but he did not himself come from Granville. That brig sailed from Le Havre, and that, I suspect, sir, is where the Nautilus might be found.”

  “But that is no more than a wild surmise.”

  “Perhaps I flatter myself, sir, in preferring to think it an intelligent guess. The Nautilus was built in Paris, so much I know from Mr Fulton. If she were to undergo sea trials, the obvious place would be Le Havre. She could be taken down the river without difficulty and would have her mooring well up the estuary and beyond our reach.”

  “Why did you say nothing about this when we met together in Guernsey?”

  “I did not know then that the brig came from Le Havre.”

  “If we accept your theory, one wonders why that Frenchman told his lie about Granville.”

  ”I expect he had a grudge against the harbour master. Perhaps his mother-in-law lives there near the quayside. Someone at Granville cheated him once over a barrel of fish.”

  “Well, whatever the truth may be, we are committed to this attack. I can’t cancel it now.”

  “That I fully understand, sir.”

  “And don’t think that this bombardment or any other is a waste of effort. All round the coast of France, all round the coasts occupied by the French, there are garrisons, batteries, patrols, and sentries, a whole army of men with thousands of guns which Bonaparte could otherwise employ elsewhere. If we never did anything these garrisons would be weakened and his armies in the field would be correspondingly strengthened. I don’t suppose we shall achieve anything at Granville. A few gunboats will be damaged, a few guns dismounted, a dozen men killed or wounded. But some general will report that his coastal defences are too weak. He doesn’t know what place will be attacked next. How can he know? We don’t know. We haven’t decided. So more effort is made and more men wasted. Our allies sometimes complain that our military effort is too feeble. Whether that is true or not, our men-of-war are engaging the equivalent of an entire French army. I repeat, Delancey, that this attack will not be a waste of time.”

  Delancey’s letter to Fiona left for Guernsey in the packet Swallow, the master of which had the shock of his life while his men were making sail. An odd-looking vessel was attempting to enter the anchorage—against both wind and tide; a feat which any schoolboy knew to be impossible. Apart from that she seemed to be on fire. Clouds of black smoke were billowing out from somewhere amidships and it seemed only a question of time before the vessel blew up and sank. It was then apparent, to him and others, that this extraordinary craft had sails but all of them furled. She was approaching for all that and had a bow wave to prove it.

  “Cor, damme!” exclaimed the old seaman. “What in God’s name is that supposed to be?”

  The same question was being asked by everyone in sight and Delancey, among other captains, had an urgent message from Stirling, who was officer of the watch—would he come on deck immediately? He did this in a flash, telescope in hand, and focused at once on the on-coming vessel. It was the Invention, sure enough, the vessel he had last seen at Woolwich. He even had a glimpse of Mr Williams, dressed now as a privateer captain. There was probably no other man in the harbour or anchorage who had seen a steamship before and it would be evening before everybody knew that this astounding vessel was not, and had never been, on fire. The Invention dropped anchor and lowered a boat which headed for the Cerberus. Williams evidently meant to pay his respects to the Admiral and probably offer his services. That there was to be a raid next day on Granville was now a matter of common knowledge. It was obvious to him, if not to anyone else, that a steamship might, on this occasion, play an extremely useful role.

  Later that day, after the Invention’s funnel had ceased to smoke, the flagship signalled Delancey to come aboard. He found the Rear-Admiral at once puzzled and impressed.

  “Ah, Delancey, I want to talk to you about this steam-vessel. I understand that you have seen her before and that Mr Williams is known to you. He has offered me his help in the bombardment of Granville—heaven knows how he came to know about it, the plan being secret, and I am a little disturbed to think that his two 32-pounders are heavier in fact than any other guns we have. However, I must accept the fact that he has made me a generous offer of assistance. He stands to gain nothing and I don’t suppose that any underwriter would have insured his vessel. I have still to decide whether I want his help. As you know more about steam-vessels than I do—and you could not possibly know less—it seemed proper that I should seek your advice. Shall I accept his help?”

  “I suggest, sir, that you should.”

  “But what puzzles me is how the fellow has any coal left after his passage from London River.”

  “He will have made
his passage under sail, sir, using his engine merely to enter the harbour and make a suitable impression on you.”

  “And what good will that do him?”

  “Why, sir, it is not unlikely that some of us may run aground off Granville. The Invention could tow us off. You would report this and the Navy Board might give Mr Williams a contract to build twenty more steam-vessels, likely to prove invaluable on similar occasions. I think, sir, that he is a businessman as well as a patriot. For that matter I rather doubt the effectiveness of his guns. He lacks the experience and he’s hardly had time to train his men.”

  “But you would still make use of him?”

  “I think we might be blamed if we did not.”

  “If I accept his help I shall keep him far astern, to begin with, and later to leeward. There is the risk of fire, the result of sparks from his funnel.”

  “I quite agree, sir. I certainly don’t want to have this contrivance alongside my own ship.”

  “But what control shall I have over Mr Williams? He won’t even understand my signals.”

  ”You could perhaps lend him a midshipman as signal officer?”

  “Yes, I might do that. I don’t mind admitting, Delancey, that I shall be glad when we have finished with Granville and seen the last of the Invention.”

  After quitting the flagship Delancey went over to the steam-vessel and made himself known again to Mr Williams.

  “Welcome to the Channel Islands. I hope you had a good passage from Woolwich and have had the chance to exercise your guns and mortar?”

  “Well, Captain Delancey, the passage was all I could have wished. The Invention is a good sea boat. We haven’t fired our guns, though, and have only a limited quantity of ammunition. Most of our space below decks is filled with coal.”

  “In your place, Mr Williams, I should not open fire at all, least of all with the mortar. It is not an easy weapon to handle and you can all too easily blow yourself up. Keep out of harm’s way and be ready to rescue any ship in difficulties—that would be my advice. But I am not the Admiral and it will be for him to tell you what to do. Have you studied the chart which we shall be using between here and Granville?”

  “I have, sir, and I can’t say that it fills me with much confidence. There seem to be rocks and sandbanks all over that part of the French coast and the tides run fast between them. I shall follow the Admiral and hope for the best. He is a local man, I hear.”

  “We shall be sailing at night, however.”

  “At night! That is news to me, I’ll confess.”

  “But you have a sailing master, no doubt?”

  “I have Mr Bateman but he was no more than a boatswain in his last ship.”

  ”Well, I admire your spirit, Mr Williams. In your place, nevertheless, I should take a local pilot. Should you part company from the squadron between here and Granville, you might otherwise be in danger. I used to command a privateer in these waters and may still have old shipmates in St Helier. Shall I ask around and find you a good man who has spent his whole life in these parts?”

  “That is very kind of you, sir, very kind indeed. But shall we have time?”

  “We have time enough. The Sulphur, bomb ketch, is a notoriously slow craft and we are still waiting for her to join the squadron.”

  Authorised by Williams, Delancey went ashore and visited several taverns which he had known in years past, finding some old friends finally in the Royal Oak. He ended in earnest conversation with a dubious-looking character called Etienne Le Feuvre, who finally returned with him to the Invention.

  Delancey now explained to Williams that Le Feuvre would be his pilot—for a suitable fee, payable in advance—and that his own ship, Vengeance, would keep in close touch. In this way the navigational dangers would be minimised. Even with these precautions, Williams would need to study the chart and keep a sharp lookout. Having thanked Delancey and seen him return to his own ship, Williams looked at the chart again with renewed misgivings. Between Jersey and Granville lay the Grelets Banks, the Minquiers, and Les Sauvages while the actual approach to Granville was flanked by the Chausey Islands to starboard and the Cathcue Bank to port, followed by a nightmare range of obstacles clustered around the actual target. He knew already about the tidal range. Seven fathoms rise and fall! Forty-two feet! The French coast hereabouts was a region of hideous complexity and Mr Williams deeply regretted having come near the place. He had pictured a scene in which the Invention would have been the focus of interest, all these sailing-ship seamen watching him with amazement. Mr Williams was an engineer, a friend of Mr Bramah, an expert in his own field. The Invention was his masterpiece, affording a glimpse of the future. He was himself no seaman or navigator and he had left the Thames estuary before he realised that Mr Bateman’s knowledge did not extend to nautical astronomy. Bateman professed to know the English headlands by sight but was totally unfamiliar with the French coast, which English shipping always avoided in time of war. On a fine autumn day the Invention, following the men-of-war, might have made a name for herself despite these difficulties and hazards. But this Admiral, who was plainly out of his mind, proposed to make his attack by night! Whatever the Invention achieved would be unseen, unrecorded, unknown to history or legend. If he were to emerge unscathed—and this was now almost the height of his ambition—Williams would owe his safety to the pilotage of the shifty-looking Etienne Le Feuvre, for whom he felt an instinctive distrust. But when he attempted to discuss the problem with Le Feuvre he discovered that his pilot knew no English and could not even understand Mr Williams’s few words of French. What Le Feuvre spoke was an obscure local dialect of which no one else on board knew a word. All Williams could do must be to give Le Feuvre the helm and hope that he knew what he was doing. While still at St Helier, with interpreter at hand, the Jersey pilot insisted on the Invention having another boat, making room for everyone on board; a pessimistic but not unreasonable stipulation in view of the vessel herself being such a novelty. This boat, her third, was towed astern. Had Mr Williams been a man of wealth he might at this time have withdrawn from the current operation—and few would have blamed him—but the hull, engine, rigging, equipment, and provisioning of the Invention had cost him his entire fortune. If he failed to prove the usefulness of the steam-vessel on this occasion he might have no second chance next year or ever. He had gambled for high stakes and doubted now whether he could win. He stood in fact to lose both his fortune and his life.

  Sir James Saumarez sailed from Jersey on the morning of 13 September, the Invention astern of the men-of-war. Lagging in the column were the two bomb vessels, whose presence was essential to the bombardment’s success, and the Invention— under sail only—was slower even than they were. Night fell and Williams lost sight of the squadron, his last glimpse giving him the impression that Le Feuvre was steering a more westerly course. Had they possessed any language in common, Williams would have pestered his pilot with queries as to their position. Thwarted in that way, he could only bite his nails with anxiety and peer into the darkness of a moonless and cloudy night. He half expected to hear gunfire and see flashes from the gun muzzles but all was silent as the hours passed and as a light westerly breeze brought them nearer the place they were to attack. Going below to his cabin, Williams studied the chart afresh and looked with horror again at the tangle of obstacles into which they were heading. He knew that they were on a rising tide and that this was the main reason for the attack’s timing, and there was some small consolation in believing that they might re-float the vessel if she ran aground. In that sense the sandbanks opposite Granville might be thought relatively harmless but all the other hazards from the Minquiers to the Little Etat were rocks, whether exposed or tidal or normally hidden. Le Feuvre had the leadsman in the chains and had his eye on the compass but must otherwise depend on some sort of instinct. If that were so, his instinct failed him for the Invention crashed into a rocky obstacle at about 1:40 A.M. on the 14th. The sails were immediately struck and a hasty inspe
ction was enough to show that the vessel was lost. She was held forwards by the rocks themselves but had been badly holed below the waterline. The water was pouring aft from there, ensuring that the vessel would sink by the stern. Had she been in ballast an effort could have been made to pump the water out and the rising tide would have lifted her clear, but the water was going into the coal bunker and the pump had been choked by coal dust. The only possible course was to abandon ship, thanking heaven (or Le Feuvre) for the extra boat which was already in the water. The other two were quickly launched and about ten minutes were available in which people could save their gear, together with the ship’s papers and navigational instruments. The Invention went down as the boats stood by. There was some discussion at this point as to the direction in which the boats should go but the problem was solved for them dramatically. Far to the east and south there was the light of a starshell, followed by the rumble of gunfire. The bombardment of Granville had begun and an estimate of distance and bearing made it fairly clear that the Invention had been lost on Les Sauvages, about twelve miles west of the squadron’s route. Mr Williams ordered his men to row in the direction of Granville and his boats were picked up before daybreak by the cutter Carteret which had been sent back to look for them. On board the Cerberus the rescued men had the privilege of watching the bombardment of Granville which finally ended towards the evening of the 15th.

  Chapter Nine

  THE RAID

  FIONA did not land at Dover. It seemed to Delancey, on second thoughts, that a better plan would be to put her ashore at Deal. He recalled that this was a common resort for naval officers’ wives and that she might care to remain there until such time as Vengeance might sail again. When he paid his respects to Rear-Admiral Edward Knight, he found that Mrs Knight was on board the flagship for the day. When Delancey was presented to her and mentioned that Fiona was with him, Mrs Knight was instantly helpful.

  “You must bring her ashore at once and she shall stay with us until a proper lodging can be found. She should on no account stay in Lower Deal where the common folk live, nor even in Middle Deal where some married lieutenants put their wives. Good lodgings are hard to find these days but vacancies occur when ships are posted to a foreign station. Did I hear something about the Europa quitting this station, Admiral? That would mean a vacancy when Mrs Barnett leaves, as I suppose she will, and in the better part of Upper Deal.”

 

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