“I can make out their recognition light,” said Mather at last. “Red over two white.”
”And our craft,” said Delancey, “have now hoisted the same. I could wish now that a shorter time had been allowed for the bombardment.”
“Yes, sir, but bomb-vessels always take an hour to find their target.”
“That’s true.”
At long last the distant thunder of gunfire died away and a man in the foretop reported that the gunboats were on their way back to Boulogne. Now the flares became infrequent and it was more difficult to see what was happening. Delancey decided to give Le Couteur some closer support.
“Make more sail, Mr Mather,” he ordered, and the Vengeance heeled a little before the westerly breeze. The decks were already cleared for action but now the men stood to their guns and Delancey made his tour of inspection. He foresaw no immediate action but took the routine precautions. When he returned to the quarterdeck he was unable at first to see what was happening. Then a flare lit the scene and he could see, for an instant, that his plan had miscarried. It looked as if Pauline had taken the last gunboat but the other five had gone about and were going to the rescue. There was the sound now of gunfire and musketry and Delancey realised that Pauline was no match for her opponents and might be taken in another twenty minutes. The time had come to intervene and he did so by lighting a flare and firing a gun, enough to show his presence. In the light, however, of a second flare he could see that Pauline was still under attack, the French evidently hoping to recapture their gunboat before the frigate could come within effective range. The only consolation was that Panic, which could be glimpsed well north of the Pauline, had sensibly kept out of the firing and might not even have been seen by the enemy. The next obvious move in the game was for the Vengeance to steer so as to cut off the gunboat’s retreat. But this would have attracted the fire of the shore batteries—and, in any case, the capture of gunboats was not the object in view. Delancey crowded on more sail and opened fire with his bow chasers. Although the range was still extreme the effect was immediate and the gunboats began to pull away from Pauline, using their oars rather than their sails to facilitate their escape to windward. The clouds had drifted aside and a half moon lit the scene enough to show that Pauline had the captured gunboat close alongside and that Panic was tacking towards her. All firing in the area had died away but it seemed, as the distance lessened, that Pauline had sustained some damage, as might seem inevitable. She was hove to and her crew’s only visible activity was in attempting to repair her rigging.
As the frigate came within hail Le Couteur, using his speaking trumpet, reported that his craft had been hulled in two places and was leaking. “I submit, sir, that we abandon the operation and return to port.”
“Is the captured gunboat undamaged?” asked Delancey.
“Yes, sir,” replied Le Couteur. “We have her crew below hatches.”
“Very well,” said Delancey. “Keep your prisoners on board and return to base. Leave the gunboat with me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The relief was obvious in Le Couteur’s tone of voice, backed up as it was by the sound of the pumps at work.
“So that is the finish,” said Mather, not without a trace of satisfaction.
”Why so?” asked Delancey, rather coldly. “Well, sir, we have no means now of saving the crew of Panic.”
“On the contrary, we have the captured gunboat, Mr Mather.”
“Yes, sir, but you said yourself that an extra gunboat—seven now instead of six—would cause alarm at once.”
“That is quite possible but it is a risk we must take. The operation will proceed as planned but with this difference. I shall now take command of the captured gunboat, with Mr Syvret as second in command. You will command this ship in my absence.”
“But, sir, this is near suicide! Your life is too valuable to throw away on such a hazardous mission. I beg you to send me or another officer.”
“I said, Mather, that I could never order anyone else to go in alone. Well, I hold to that. So the task falls to me.”
By now the Panic was within hail and Delancey ordered Northmore to follow the French gunboats into Boulogne according to plan. “One change, however—you will no longer be brought out by Pauline but by the captured gunboat which will be on your heels. Off with you and make all speed you can.”
Northmore needed no exhortation and it was left to man the remaining gunboat, hastily arming the seamen as they jumped into her. Syvret followed and then Delancey himself. The moon was now hidden again and it was in almost complete darkness that the gunboat headed after her consort. Both vessels had the correct recognition lights and those borne by the last French gunboat were just visible, at half a mile, from Panic. The weakness of the arrangements, which there had been no time to remedy, was that all the French clothing which the captured gunboat’s crew should have been wearing was on its way back to Deal in Pauline. Wasting no lamentations on that subject, Delancey turned to Syvret and asked him abruptly whether their craft had a name.
“I have seen no name, sir, and have concluded that she is merely Gunboat Number 379.”
“It is time she had a name. We are both from Guernsey, Mr Syvret. Where is your home there?”
“My father has a house in the new part of St Peter Port—Hauteville.”
“The fashionable quarter, eh? Very well, then. We name this craft the gunboat Hauteville. Her task is to rescue the crew of the explosion vessel Panic after the fuses have been lit. Have you been in battle before, Mr Syvret?”
“No, sir.”
“Then your future will depend a great deal on your conduct tonight, above all on your presence of mind. Should I be wounded, you will find yourself in command with many lives depending on your skill and timing. What about your own pistols, to begin with? Have you checked their priming?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Do you think we have lessened the distance between us and Panic?”
“I think we have, sir, and I think we should. Panic has a cargo and we don’t.”
“Correct. Unluckily, we lost time at the beginning, owing to the damage sustained by Pauline. Never mind, we are going to succeed.”
To find the entrance to Boulogne harbour was unexpectedly easy even on a dark night, the pierheads being marked by lights. The Panic headed confidently for the gap and Hauteville followed, but now at little more than a cable’s distance. Where things went wrong was in the very harbour mouth. Delancey heard a confused noise—with shouts and two or three pistol shots—and guessed at once what had happened. The French had detailed some boat to row guard and Panic had fairly collided with her. He had known all along that there could be a guard boat, but hoped that the French might have forgotten what was, in fact, an obvious precaution.
“Pull for your lives!” Delancey rapped out the order and then added, “Panic is in trouble. Pull!”
Adding to the sense of urgency, he drew one of his pistols and saw to it that young Syvret did the same. Ahead in the gloom Panic seemed to be more the centre of argument than conflict. His guess was that she had already been taken. She looked the part at any distance but not at close range, with her bulging tarpaulin amidships and her reduced number of oarsmen. He wondered how young Renouf’s Alderney French was being accepted. The boy was fluent enough but his accent would be peculiar. The babble of voices grew louder as Hauteville closed on the scene and Delancey could see now that the guard boat was alongside Panic, both vessels motionless. He guessed that Panic’s men had been heavily outnumbered. Wrapped in his boat cloak, he stood up as the gunboat swept alongside the explosion vessel, the coxswain telling his men to back water. Without hesitation, Delancey jumped on board Panic and thundered (in French):
“What is going on here?”
It was Renouf who replied in the same language: “We have been stopped, Captain, by this officer, who evidently knows nothing of our mission.”
Renouf was facing a young but burly French officer whose s
word was drawn. Just beyond them lay Northmore, perhaps knocked unconscious (or perhaps dead?) as a result of the first encounter.
“What is this, young man?” roared Delancey. “What do you think you are doing? Why have you attacked a French gunboat? Why have you wounded a brother officer? What will the Emperor do when he hears of this? Are you insane? Have I to put you under arrest?”
Taken aback, the French enseigne de vaisseau began to explain that the gunboat looked suspicious, was not typical of her class.
“She is different, you say? Of course she is different! We have just captured her from those English pigs, these murderers and madmen! Try to stop us and you will face a court martial! Take your sacred boat to hell out of this before I ram the craft down your throat! The English are up to some filthy trick with craft like this, made to look like ours. There may be a whole flotilla of them! Can’t you see that the Admiral must know of this at the earliest possible moment? Can’t you understand that our mission is of the utmost importance? Can’t you understand anything? Stand to attention, imbecile! Put your hat on straight. Try to look like an officer even if you have to behave like a fool! Go back to your miserable boat and look out for the enemy. Take yourself off before I shoot you for mutiny.”
The Frenchman was overwhelmed by mere force of personality, muttering apologies and scrambling back into the guard boat, followed by his men. Delancey gave him no time to recover his dignity but yelled after him: “Don’t just sit there in your sacred boat! Back to your proper place! Move! If I so much as see you again I shall have you back on the lower deck.”
The boats had drifted to a point within hail of the pierhead on the starboard side and a voice could be heard from overhead, someone (an artillery officer?) asking what the disturbance was about. Delancey bawled a reply which seemed to serve its purpose:
“Some half-wit son of a fishwife has tried to prevent our return to base. All is well now—no cause for alarm. I think the enemy have been driven off. Their attack on Wimereux came to nothing.”
Speaking now to Renouf, Delancey told him to proceed up harbour and then, shouting to Syvret, told him (in French) to take command of Hauteville. Northmore, it was obvious, was in no state to command Panic, the crew of which had been weakened by the loss of two men wounded in the recent skirmish. This made the task no easier but they were past the main defences and it remained to enter the inner basin with the nonchalance of seamen who were based there. There were many craft anchored in the river but Panic attracted no further notice, the oarsmen rowing steadily and the coxswain holding close to the starboard side of the channel. Hauteville followed at a respectful distance and the boat being towed by Panic seemed to be in good order, with one man in charge of her. Renouf assured Delancey that flint, steel, and tinder were all ready but that they planned to light their linstocks from a lantern which they had concealed but lit. The youngsters were excited but seemingly unafraid.
Several hazards remained, the first being the possibility—perhaps the likelihood—of there being some sort of guard set on the entrance to the inner basin. There might even be a watchword. Granted that difficulty were overcome (supposing it existed) the other hazards would follow the lighting of the fuses. There might be men at hand who would extinguish them. There would certainly be a hue and cry after the explosion took place. What were their chances of escape? Remote? One of the worst risks would be from their own grenades. If they survived all that, the escape down the river would be aided by the ebb tide and the general confusion. Watching for the expected opening to starboard, Delancey wondered whether he had ever been involved before in such a mad enterprise. It was his own plan and events—the loss of Le Couteur and Northmore—had finally left him to execute it himself. This was just as well in one way. No one else from the Vengeance could have bluffed his way past the guard boat. But would another such bluff bring him safely back to the frigate? After the explosion the French would be in a very different mood, furious with themselves and with each other, ready to shoot anyone at sight. To reach the target had not, so far, been too difficult. To withdraw after the blow had been struck might very well prove all but impossible.
Just when he had begun to wonder whether he had overshot the entrance the quayside to starboard suddenly ended and two lights could be seen marking the passage, which was all too narrow from the British point of view. Glancing back, it was just possible to glimpse the faithful Hauteville, keeping her distance. Reassured on that point, Delancey told his coxswain to steer for the middle and then, as the Panic went in, the challenge came from the starboard side.
”Qui vive? What gunboat is that?”
“Numéro 379, damaged after an encounter with the enemy.”
“Bring her in closer.”
“What was that? I can’t hear you.”
“Bring her in so that I can check the number.”
“I can’t hear you. I’ll report back when the gunboat is safely moored.”
“I must see her first.”
“What’s that? Who am I? I am Delacroix, frigate captain.”
All this time the gunboat was drawing away from the sentry post and she was actually out of earshot before the discussion ended. Ahead lay the mass of gunboats, moored, as Delancey had heard, to mooring chains stretched across the basin and supported by buoys. To reach the centre of the flotilla seemed at first impossible, the craft being so close together. Heading to port, Delancey hoped to find an empty berth. There was none but there was space at the end of the line and Panic proceeded slowly along that side of the basin. Once more there seemed to be no room between the crowded vessels. When the gap appeared Delancey had almost given up hope of finding it. There had to be a passage somewhere, however, if only to allow the French to row guard, and there it was, narrow but sufficient.
“Starboard—hard over!” said Delancey and the Panic passed into a sort of corridor, with gunboats moored on either side. He looked again for a gap and in vain. One thing clear, however, was that all the craft were unmanned, the guards being all on the quayside. So the opportunity existed to make a gap where there was none. Bringing Panic up to a gunboat which seemed to be in about the middle of the line, Delancey jumped on board and presently was able to study the system of moorings. There were chains, as he had expected, but each individual gunboat was moored to its chain by an ordinary hemp cable which went round her foremast before being bent to a solid cleat in the vessel’s bows. To unbend the cable was a simple matter and Delancey, having freed one gunboat, returned to Panic and told his oarsmen to back water. With the ebb tide’s assistance they pulled that gunboat out. Repeating the manoeuvre with a second one, beyond the first, Delancey set both of them adrift and fastened Panic by the same means to the chain where the second gunboat had been moored. After bringing the boat alongside, Delancey gave the order to remove the tarpaulin and throw it overboard. When that had been done he gave Renouf the order to light the fuses. Four men lit their linstocks from the hidden lantern and scrambled along the gunboat, lighting the fuses with all the speed they had gained in rehearsal. It was quickly done but the French took alarm at this moment. Some sentry may have seen the pinpoints of light or heard the drifting gunboats bump into each other. A shot was fired in the air and this was followed, within a minute or two, by the sound of a distant bugle.
“Man the boat!” said Delancey, and followed the others only after he had seen the half-conscious Northmore helped aboard.
“Give way—and pull!” was Delancey’s next order and he told the coxswain to steer to port, his aim being to return by the other side of the basin, the far side, that is, from his line of entry. This was partly on principle, partly because the bugle call had come from the other direction. With the alarm already given, escape was going to be very difficult indeed.
Delancey’s boat, a cutter, reached the end of the passage and turned to starboard when the far quayside was reached. There was no challenge so far and, looking back, Delancey could see nothing of the pinpoints of light which they ha
d left, flickering, on board Panic. That did not mean that they were invisible from the higher level of the wharf. Assuming that these had been seen, the French would react by sending an armed boat into the basin with orders to investigate, and Delancey felt a moment of sympathy for the young officer to whom this duty would fall. There might be twenty minutes to go (give or take five minutes either way) but who was to know that? Another and more distant bugle sounded and then the noise could be heard of men running at the double on the far side of the basin. Delancey was about to tell his oarsmen to put their backs into it but he realised that they were doing their best, knowing the situation as well as he did. Their bow wave was smacking against the stonework as they passed. Now they were at the corner of the basin and turned sharply to starboard.
It was while they were approaching the entrance to the basin that Delancey, who was listening for it, heard the approach of the guard boat. A young officer’s voice could be heard, accompanied by the creak of the rowlocks and the splash of the oars. Both boats were nearing the entrance, although from opposite directions, and Delancey guessed that the French boat would be there first. That he was right about this was confirmed when the French boat hailed the men on guard. He could distinguish no actual words but could imagine some youngster asking, “Which way did they go?” or words to that effect. With any luck words and gestures would induce the guard boat to turn left. Consulting his watch by the light of the hidden lantern, Delancey saw that it was fifteen minutes since the fuses were lit. In theory at least the guard boat might be there in time.
“Vast pulling!” he whispered, and his boat glided silently towards the entrance. As he did so he glimpsed the French boat rounding the far side and pulling away from him. “Pass me a musket!” he muttered and was handed one which he checked and found to be loaded and primed. “Hard a-port!” he whispered to the coxswain and the boat drifted slowly towards the entrance. Before the corner was fairly turned and while the guard boat was still in sight he aimed at it carefully and fired. It may be doubted whether he hit his target but the result was very much what he expected. The boat turned sideways, his fire was returned, and then the boat swung back towards him. The musket balls spattered the quayside harmlessly and he knew that Panic was now pretty safe from interference. At the same moment he became aware of another French boat approaching the entrance from the river. To avoid an encounter with her—and hoping that this boat would be fired upon by the other—he told the coxswain to creep close to the stonework to port, hoping thus to be less visible. These tactics were successful up to a point, the newcomers being distracted by the recent sound of firing within the basin.
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