So Near So Far

by C. Northcote Parkinson

  “Pull for dear life!” Delancey whispered and his boat headed for the river. He glanced again at his watch—about five minutes still to go. At that moment a solid object—presumably a round shot—was dropped from the quayside above him and crashed through the bottom of the boat. Whipping off his boat cloak he stuffed it into the hole, which was just beyond stroke, and held it in position.

  “Starboard!” he shouted, and the next round shot fell clear of the boat, splashing the oarsmen but doing no other damage. They had taken a lot of water on board, however, and would do well to keep afloat for another ten minutes even with bailing. But now there was a new danger. As they drew away from the quayside, avoiding the cold shot, they became a better target for musketry. He heard an officer giving the word for a volley and the muskets fired together. Most of the shots missed but two men were hit and the boat was holed again somewhere forward.

  “Pull!” he shouted. “Hard a-port!”

  Still under fire, the boat turned the corner and was safe, more or less, from the other danger; the one the French did not know about. The range was lengthening for the marksmen on the quayside but the second guard boat was in full pursuit. Delancey’s boat was likely to sink in another five minutes and his only consolation lay in the fact that Hauteville could be seen and was coming their way. Help was at hand but would probably come too late for the wounded and the non-swimmers. Turning to the coxswain, Hemsley, Delancey said, “I want you and Sapworth to save Mr Northmore when this boat sinks. You are both good swimmers and he is too good a man to lose.”

  At that moment Panic exploded with a noise like the end of the world. For an instant the whole scene was light as day. Then it was dark again but with grenades bursting all over the basin and some of them falling harmlessly into the river. It was impossible to judge what damage the gunboats had sustained but there was a dull flickering light which suggested that at least some of them were on fire. Watching, fascinated, Delancey suddenly found that he was up to his knees in water. The boat was sinking beneath him.

  “There is the Hauteville!” he shouted to his men, pointing.

  ”Swim for it!” The swimmers obeyed at once, Hemsley and Sapworth supported Northmore with an oar under each arm, and Delancey told the non-swimmers to use their oars to support them. Then he threw off his coat and swam after Northmore, cursing meanwhile, to find the water so cold. In the ordinary way all the swimmers could have been overtaken by the pursuing guard boat.

  What saved them was the French attempt to save the remainder. By the time the last of these had been rescued (and only one was drowned) those who could swim were on board Hauteville. Nor did it immediately occur to the Frenchmen that Hauteville was anything but what she seemed, one of their own gunboats showing the correct recognition lights. As the guard boat came within hail, Delancey shouted in French “Well done! We have the other prisoners on board. They must all be raving mad! Did they expect to escape? Anyway we have them now.” Going about smartly the Hauteville began to drop down river on the ebb. Shivering and wet through as he was, Delancey had still to save the rest of his men. For the moment, it would seem, the French were stunned by the explosion. They would react later and look with immediate suspicion on any vessel seen leaving harbour. By tomorrow incidentally, half a dozen officers, naval and military, would be under arrest and facing a court martial. Delancey had a passing moment of pity for the youngster who commanded the first guard boat to appear. He had turned back when fired on—well, who wouldn’t?—but he doubted whether the French were in the mood to accept excuses.

  Proceeding down river among all the anchored fishing boats, Hauteville was repeatedly hailed by men on harbour watch who wanted to know what had happened. His teeth chattering, Delancey shouted to each in turn that there had been an explosion in the new basin and that nobody as yet knew the cause. Were the English responsible? To this question, when it came, Delancey replied that they could never have penetrated the defences. The explosion must have been an accident due to someone’s carelessness. Hauteville’s passage down the river was surprisingly uneventful. If she ran into trouble it would be in the harbour mouth and perhaps with the same guard boat. The trick, he knew, was to seize the initiative. As they drew near the entrance he could see that a guard boat was fairly in their way. When within hail he asked questions first.

  “Has any vessel left harbour since that explosion was heard?”

  “No, Captain, and we have been here since nightfall.”

  “No craft has passed you, not even a rowing boat?”

  “No, Captain. What has happened though?”

  “We don’t know. We think, however, that the explosion was probably accidental. Supposing it were an English crime, typical of these treacherous pigs, we mustn’t let the criminals escape. We have been sent to give you support. Tell the gunners ashore that you have been joined by Gunboat Number 379.”

  Hauteville hove to while the guard boat ran its errand. After some shouting in the distance Delancey made sail again and presently took up position just outside the harbour mouth, an obvious menace to any craft attempting to escape. His position was impeccable but the ebb tide slowly carried him seawards and he was presently out of sight in the darkness. An hour later he was on board Vengeance and heading for base.

  “Thank God that’s over,” he said to Mather. “Our losses are small and Northmore is recovering well from a knock on the head. We did all we set out to do. Renouf and Syvret behaved very properly in a situation of peril. I am not sure what I am going to say about Le Couteur.”

  “Well, sir, you would hardly question that Pauline was damaged.”

  “Yes, but how seriously? Or were a couple of shot-holes being used as an excuse?”

  “We shall have the carpenter’s report, sir.”

  “So we shall. I never thought that Le Couteur was a particularly active officer. I am glad to think that he is not one of mine.”

  “What havoc, sir, was caused by the explosion?”

  “I have no means of knowing. It took place as planned, in the middle of the basin and we saw the grenades scattering in all directions. Half of them will have been wasted but some of the incendiaries may have found a target.”

  “And the flames would spread, surely, from one gunboat to another?”

  “I doubt it, Mr Mather. Seamen, dockyard workers, and soldiers should have been there in ten minutes. All fires would be extinguished in twenty minutes after that. No, we have shaken their self-confidence. The actual damage done will be small, perhaps negligible.”

  “I hope, nevertheless, that your own leadership will be recognised.”

  “It won’t even be made public. I was under orders to direct the attack, leaving the operation to Le Couteur and others. I don’t even know how to word my report or to whom credit should be given. Through no fault of his own, Northmore was out of it. I shall have no words of praise for Le Couteur. Renouf and Syvret are mere children, neither of them ready for a commission. As for me, I had no business to be there at all.”

  “It is a miracle, sir, that you are alive.”

  “Alive, yes, but very exhausted and very wet. I shall go below and turn in. Take the frigate back to the Downs but call me, of course, in case of need.”

  Delancey went to bed but failed at first to sleep. The purpose of his raid had been mainly political, to show Parliament and public that the government recently returned to power had introduced a new vigour into the waging of war. Rear-Admiral Knight would have gained approval and perhaps even some official sign of recognition. Pitt and Dundas would be pleased. But what of the French reaction? Napoleon would be furious. The explosion had been in the presence of the French army or a large part of it. Its importance could, of course, be minimised. It could be described as a mere pinprick. But the fact remained that the British had gone into the inner harbour at Boulogne and it was quite useless to pretend that their attempt had failed. French soldiers, who were to embark under the protection of French seamen, would begin to regard the p
lanned invasion as suicidal. The seamen who would be responsible for transporting the Army of England could not even keep the British out of the gunboat basin at Boulogne. If the British could do that at the main point of embarkation, what would they do to the invasion craft in mid-Channel? If the Emperor were to restore morale he would have to strike back quickly not with propaganda but with action. What would he do? Putting himself in Napoleon’s place, Delancey tried to think of a counter-stroke, an exploit for which the resources existed and which would overshadow recent events at Boulogne. It was no easy problem but Napoleon was no ordinary man. What was Britain’s most vulnerable point and how could it be reached?

  Delancey fell asleep before he could answer either question, nor did he solve it before breakfast next day. He had many other things on his mind, incidentally, not the least of them the wording of that confounded report. He was to claim afterwards that while he had not known the answer to his question, he had known—and was perhaps alone in knowing—what question to ask.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WALMER CASTLE

  DELANCEY looked about him and thought there was something to be said for the life of a flag officer. Rear-Admiral Knight’s cabin was furnished in a civilised style, no doubt at his wife’s instigation. The sunlight streaming through the stern windows was reflected from mahogany and silver, from glass decanters and gilt picture frames. The Antelope might be of an obsolete class but she was at least a two-decked ship with room for a flag officer in addition to the captain. Would he ever achieve his flag? It seemed most unlikely. The promotion would come on his deathbed if it came at all. But what had Fiona said? “You are a legend, while Knight has nothing more than a command.” That was nonsense but there was something uneasy about Knight’s show of authority. He asserted himself but with an obvious effort as if apologising for his lack of distinction. But the Rear-Admiral had nearly finished reading Delancey’s report. He was about to make the inevitable comment.

  “Considering the brilliance of the exploit—and I use that expression deliberately—your report, Delancey, is not very informative. It is carefully worded but the effect is—what word do I mean?”

  “Laconic, sir?”

  “Exactly! Laconic. You give credit, moreover, to Mr Syvret, master’s mate, to Mr Renouf, midshipman, and to no one else. What about Le Couteur? He took that French gunboat, after all.”

  “He did that and then found an excuse to take Pauline back to the Downs.”

  “An excuse which you accepted.”

  “I did not accept that Pauline was badly damaged. I accepted the fact that Le Couteur lacked the courage to take her into Boulogne.”

  “You say nothing about Northmore.”

  “What can I say? He was badly hurt at the outset and was rescued with some difficulty. He is an excellent young man but he was unlucky on this occasion and could do nothing to add to his reputation.”

  “Your story is that Syvret placed the explosion vessel in position and lit the fuses, he and his men being rescued by Renouf, neither of them being fit for promotion. How could they do what they did without a more senior officer, to direct them? What part did you play, Delancey?”

  “How could I enter Boulogne, sir? I was under orders to remain outside.”

  “And you would never disobey an order?”

  “I have been taught from my youth that orders must be obeyed.”

  “So we split the credit between two mere children, neither of whom had been in battle before.”

  “But, surely, Admiral, the raid on Boulogne would have been impossible without your distracting the French by the bombardment of Wimereux. As for me, I might claim the credit for drawing up the plan which these youngsters were to execute.”

  “Both plan and execution were brilliant. I give you full credit for both. I shall add—since we are alone—that I also give you credit for being an accomplished liar. I know what happened, having other sources of information. You may be laconic but some of your men are not. Very well, then. Your report shall stand and my covering letter to the Board of Admiralty will fill in some of the gaps, making sense of what you omit. Have you any idea of the damage you did?”

  “None at all, sir. The explosion took place in the middle of the inner basin. It should have destroyed the nearest gunboats. A few others may have been damaged by grenades but many of these fell in the river or on the quayside.”

  “Starting some fires?”

  “Maybe, but they would have been extinguished within the next ten minutes. The French were all over the area before I—I mean, before Mr Syvret—had gone.”

  “Yes, they would be.”

  “The damage we did was to French morale. It seems to me that the Emperor must order his men to retaliate.”

  “But what can they do, in heaven’s name? They have no men-of-war in the Channel, nothing bigger than a gun-brig. Their sail of the line are all blockaded in port from Brest southwards. What retaliation is possible?”

  “Well, Admiral, I know what I should do in Napoleon’s place, although I have no reason to think that his ideas and mine are the same. At the conference held at Dover in April—or was it on some other occasion?—I remember someone suggesting that the French might raid Brighton when the Prince Regent is there. Were I the Emperor I should rather raid Walmer Castle when the Prime Minister is there. Pitt’s capture would be a master stroke, a brilliant preliminary to an invasion attempt. It might not seriously affect our strategy—some people would say that our subsequent conduct of the war would be improved—but it would shake our confidence. To have the Prime Minister in such an exposed position has always seemed to be a mistaken policy.”

  “He sees himself commanding his volunteer battalions in battle. But we indeed run a risk in having him so often at Walmer. Luckily, their lordships are aware of this. I have orders to station a frigate off Walmer whenever the Prime Minister is in residence, and the Lizard is already there.”

  “So the French can see at a glance whether he is in residence or not?”

  “That idea did occur to me. But the Lizard could beat off any force they have available in the Channel and the sound of gunfire would alert every garrison for miles round. Our preparations seem to me tolerably complete. What more can we do?”

  “Why, sir, we can send for Mr Xenophon and ask him for the latest news from the French coast. If they have a plan he is likely to know about it.”

  “Their lordships had the same idea. Mr Xenophon is to be in Deal tomorrow and we shall have supper together at the Three Kings. I should like you to join us.”

  The Admiral had secured a private room but nothing was said about secret matters until the servants had withdrawn. Mr Xenophon, who looked as sinister as ever in his rather theatrical way, then opened the discussion before the Admiral could call upon him. A decanter of Madeira was on the table and the candles were reflected in the polished mahogany. It was good to be ashore.

  “You should know, Admiral, that your recent raid on Boulogne gave great satisfaction to all members of the Cabinet. Your conduct was highly approved and Captain Delancey’s name has been brought to the attention of the Prime Minister. I have been at pains to discover what you actually achieved. Seven gunboats were destroyed, five others more or less damaged. Two soldiers were killed by grenades and three seamen wounded. These losses are trivial but the Emperor’s wrath has caused other casualties. The Captain of the Port has been dismissed. Five naval and military officers are to face a court martial. One junior officer, commanding a guard boat, committed suicide, before the Court of Inquiry was even convened. Everyone concerned is trying to ensure that the blame shall fall on someone else. Defensive precautions have reached a crescendo of inconvenience and several harmless civilians have been shot by sentinels anxious to show their vigilance. There is greater friction than ever between army and navy. The only way to restore confidence is to plan some counter-stroke before the Emperor appears at Boulogne. There can be no doubt that such a counter-strike is being planned or prepared
. On the assumption that the invasion itself may be planned for July, this preliminary raid must take place in June.”

  “During the month which has now begun,” added the Admiral. “But the French have no men-of-war in the Channel.”

  “Just so,” replied Mr Xenophon. “We can assume therefore that some secret weapon will be used. The new weapons of which we have information are three: the steamship, the catamaran, a floating box filled with gunpowder, and the Nautilus.”

  “And the Nautilus was last heard of at Brest,” commented the Admiral. “She underwent her trials there.”

  “That is perfectly true,” said Mr Xenophon, “but we are now informed that an enlarged and improved vessel—call her Nautilus II—was built at Paris to Fulton’s design and is now undergoing trials at Le Havre.”

  “So that the French plan must probably depend upon that vessel?” suggested the Admiral.

  “Not necessarily,” replied Mr Xenophon, “it could depend upon the steamship or the catamaran.”

  “It would, in any event,” said Delancey, “depend upon good weather and a dark night.”

  “Which points to the third or fourth week in June,” replied the Admiral. “Could we persuade the Prime Minister to stay in London for those two weeks?”

  “I doubt it,” replied Mr Xenophon. “The Prime Minister has spent nearly his whole life at his desk, but he now sees himself as a man of action. Talk of danger and he will move towards the sound of guns. He takes very seriously his role as an amateur soldier. Some crisis might keep him in London but he would prefer to be on the invasion coast, ready to sell his life dearly, sword in hand, at the head of his troops.”