So Near So Far

by C. Northcote Parkinson

  “I sometimes think,” sighed the Admiral, “that war is better left to the professionals.”

  “As I claim to be one of them,” said Delancey, “may I be allowed to suggest a possible way of meeting this threat?”

  “I should be more than grateful,” replied the Admiral. “Tell us what you have in mind.”

  “My proposal, sir, is that you relieve me of other duties, detaching Vengeance to deal with this one threat—as advised, of course, by Mr Xenophon—and trust me to frustrate the enemy’s design. I am no genius, sir, nor do I pretend to have any exceptional abilities, but some success might be achieved by an officer who had no other duties to distract him. You, Admiral, have a dozen other things on your mind. If we are to defeat the enemy’s scheme we shall do it by thinking, not by force.”

  “I incline, sir,” said Mr Xenophon after a pause, “to support Captain Delancey’s proposal. Considering his recent success at Boulogne, I think him as likely to succeed as anyone else. I would promise to give him all the information I have. I can myself think of no better plan.”

  “Very well,” said the Admiral, after a minute’s inward struggle, “you may consider yourself detached, Delancey, on a particular service in which you can count on every assistance from Mr Xenophon. The nature of your task will not be disclosed to anyone outside this room. Refill your glass, Mr Xenophon, and we’ll drink to Delancey’s success.”

  That ended the meeting, Delancey going back to his frigate but agreeing to meet Mr Xenophon on the following day. Immediately, he wanted to be alone and he wanted to think. In previous ships and during other campaigns he had acted as the leader of a team, relying on Mather’s support and discussing each problem with his officers or with some of them. On this occasion he was in a strange position, isolated by the need for secrecy, unable to consult anyone but Mr Xenophon. He had often been in battle before but this was a battle of wits, a war to be waged while he paced his cabin or scribbled notes which he would afterwards destroy. When he finally summarised his notes he found that they comprised a tentative outline of a possible French plan, reading as follows:

  Object: To capture Mr Pitt alive. Once this were done the return voyage would present no problem. No one would fire on a ship with so eminent a prisoner on board—one the French could hang if their vessel were attacked.

  Means: Steamship, catamaran, Nautilus II. The French would use all three in the one operation, the steamship to cross the Channel in a dead calm (if possible), the catamaran to remove the Lizard, Nautilus II to carry out the raid on Walmer Castle, assisted perhaps by spies already in the area.

  Date: Latter half of June, on moonless night for preference.

  Command: No obvious name, but spy ashore could be Fabius, once active in Ireland and quite ruthless enough for such an operation as this.

  Possible plan

  I To intercept the steamship near Boulogne or any other point of departure.

  II To intercept the steamship at sea.

  III To intercept the raiding party near Walmer Castle.

  Because of the recent raid Plan I must be deemed impossible. Plan II would not be feasible on a dark night. So we must adopt Plan III, with possible sacrifice of Lizard. Can Mr X provide the shore party?

  When Delancey went ashore again next day in the forenoon, he was in civilian clothes. He did not want Mr Xenophon to be seen with a naval officer. Why had the man to look so obviously a secret agent? Vanity? Of his real ability there could be no doubt at all. He was, in any case, the man with whom Delancey had to work. They met by arrangement at the Three Kings and Delancey at once proposed a walk in the direction of Walmer Castle.

  “If we are in the open air, sir, the day being fine, there is no danger of anyone listening at the keyhole.”

  “Very true, sir. Secrecy is vital—so much so that we had best defer anything of moment until we are clear of the town.”

  They walked along the coast, keeping to a path trodden mainly by preventive men or foot patrols of infantry. It was a fine day with cloud patterns chasing each other over the sea. From their left came the sound of the breakers and all around them was the cry of the gulls. Delancey was enjoying his day ashore and said as much.

  “You will hardly understand the pleasure I feel in treading the turf and smelling the mere scent of trodden grass.”

  “And yet,” replied Mr Xenophon, “the enemy is there, almost in sight, planning the destruction of all we value.”

  “Very true. How far is it to Walmer?”

  “About two miles.”

  “I propose we rest at the half-way point. We can talk then and I will give you the conclusions to which I have been led since our last meeting.”

  They were presently seated on the grass and Delancey produced his page of notes. To seawards of them lay the frigate Lizard at anchor, showing that Pitt was in residence. When Delancey had finished reading there was a minute’s silence. Then Mr Xenophon asked his first question:

  “Can you describe the man you call Fabius?”

  “Easily, sir. He is of medium height, rather fat, with a white flabby face, sometimes wears spectacles, often disguised as a priest or a clergyman. He is a foreigner but his English is perfect or almost so. He was the man who tried to organise a revolt in western Ireland, supposed to coincide with the French landing in 1798.”

  “An impossible task,” commented Mr Xenophon, “but I know the agent you describe. He passes under a variety of different names but the code-word, Fabius, is new to me. I agree with you that he will be involved in the present French plans, supposing there is one. He is the best agent the French have ever had in Britain. If your suppositions are correct—and I must remind you that they are no more than suppositions—he will be in Deal at this moment. Where else could he be?”

  “But do you accept my reasoning?”

  “It is logical enough but based on little but your assumption about what the French will do. They may have some totally different plan. I’ll admit, however, that there is one reason for supposing that your guess is right. I know from recent and reliable intelligence that the Nautilus II is now at Boulogne, having arrived there two days after your visit. I have no news of any steam-vessel.”

  “Your agents in Deal should be able to recognise Fabius, if he is there.”

  “I wouldn’t be too certain of that. He is a master of disguise and probably wears the uniform of a British army officer.”

  “Unless he is employed as a gardener at Walmer Castle itself.”

  “Just so. I am not too sanguine about his being identified, I have greater reliance on hearing of any steam-vessel which appears on the French coast opposite us. There are Deal fishermen who give me the news from Boulogne.”

  ”They daren’t put in there, surely?”

  “No, they meet with French fishermen in mid-Channel and exchange information.”

  “So they work for both sides?”

  “Of course. They are paid by both sides. It is some compensation for the way in which their ordinary business is interrupted in time of war. If a French steamship were to move from Le Havre to Boulogne I should hear of it. I should accept it, moreover, as evidence that a plan such as you describe—or something like it—is about to be put in execution, and almost certainly before the end of the month. Tell me this, though. If we surmise that your supposition is correct, what do we want to do? Do we want to destroy the enemy vessels on sight? Or do we want to catch their men ashore?”

  “We want, surely, to catch them ashore. If we do that we might catch Fabius as well.”

  “You should be employed in intelligence work, sir. You have too good a brain to be pacing the quarterdeck.”

  “I leave all that undercover activity to the Duke of Bouillon. I doubt, however, that he can help us in Kent. I suspect that his agents cover the ground between St Malo and Brest.”

  “An able man, the Duke, and I say nothing against him but his bailiwick, as you say, lies further to the westward. I shall let you know at once if I he
ar tell of that steam-vessel.”

  “Thank you. Now it seems to me that we have to make a plan. I shall remain at anchor in the Downs for the time being and I can at any time provide a landing party of armed seamen and marines. I should like to warn the captain of the Lizard but am under orders to say nothing to him or to anyone else. I want to look at Walmer Castle this morning and study the ground between it and the beach. From the map it looks extremely vulnerable.”

  “It is vulnerable and Mr Pitt resists all special measures of defence. He will have no troops in the immediate vicinity because they would disturb the game. He takes out a gun from time to time and occasionally bags a wood pigeon or rabbit. He takes very seriously his role as Warden of the Cinque Ports, with responsibility for defending the shores of Kent. This position carries with it a salary and this he feels he should earn. So far as security goes, Mr Pitt is not, therefore, an easy man to assist. As for Walmer Castle, it dates from the time of Henry the Eighth, has been modernised as a residence but not as a fortification. We shall see it in a few minutes.”

  Walmer Castle, as they approached it, seemed anything but formidable; a low squat building with embrasures, planned for four rounded bastions and in the general form of a four-leafed clover. It was oddly unimpressive but comfortable, it was said, as a country house. It had a dry moat and a flag fluttered from the flagpole, indicating that Pitt was in residence. The castle was clearly more of antiquarian than military interest. Nor was there anything to prevent strangers from inspecting it, as Fabius had probably done. Mr Xenophon had learnt that the drawbridge was raised at night and the path they were treading was obviously patrolled. There was no guard in the castle itself, probably because the accommodation was wanted for Pitt’s servants and guests, carriages and horses. It was quite close to the shore, being originally sited so that its artillery would cover the beach.

  “From the French point of view,” said Delancey finally, “the place is ideal.”

  Mr Xenophon agreed that the French could have done no better had they planned it themselves. There was nothing between the beach and the ramparts apart from the moat and there did not appear to be a sentinel, even, on the gate. Pitt’s Cinque Port Volunteers or Fencibles were said to number about three thousand but they all slept at home in their beds. It might be thought probable that some of Pitt’s servants were enrolled in this corps and suitably armed but they would amount to little more than a corporal’s guard. His retinue must be limited in number by the circumstance that he was, as it was rumoured, almost bankrupt. There were troops and to spare within a mile or two in three directions but Walmer itself was undefended. The nightly raising of the drawbridge was due not to Pitt’s vigilance, said Mr Xenophon, but to the insistence of colleagues in the Cabinet. The Castle’s security depended almost entirely on the Lizard, still peacefully at anchor within perhaps a mile of the shore.

  “Not an easy problem,” concluded Mr Xenophon.

  “No,” agreed Delancey, “but we’ve already gone some little way towards a solution. Were the Lizard removed from the chessboard, the Vengeance is ready to take her place. She will remain in the Downs after the squadron has sailed.”

  “So you could land your marines and patrol the grounds?”

  “What—without the Prime Minister coming to hear of it? I should be relieved of my command. I should never be employed again. You can reject that possibility from the outset.”

  Delancey met Mr Xenophon again in three days’ time, once more at the Three Kings. By this time the secret agent had more news from Boulogne, news which he revealed as they paced the lawn.

  “The French have a steam-vessel in the inner harbour, just arrived from Le Havre under sail. My informants can tell me nothing about her speed or the distance she can go or the fuel she can load. She is schooner rigged, unarmed, and could measure about eighty tons.”

  “My guess,” said Delancey, “is that she can travel at about four knots in calm weather, more than that with a following wind. She will have coal enough to cross the Channel but might, in any case, tow a barge or lighter with a further supply, enough for the return passage. I have been aboard a steamer called the Charlotte Dundas and would surmise that this French craft has much the same performance. Tell me, how many agents have you in Deal?”

  “I have five in all.”

  “And have they heard or seen anything of Fabius?”

  “Nothing at all but that need not surprise us. In time of peace our informants might tell us of a stranger recently staying at the Hoop and Griffin, a man never seen before in these parts and not landed from any ship in the Downs. But in wartime there are too many strangers all the time. The Inn servants can tell us nothing. If we assume that Fabius wears a uniform, that of a naval lieutenant or an army captain, who will notice him? There will be twenty others of his rank, all demanding attention at the same time, and the servants too busy to remember any of them. His disguise will be good, remember, but for which I might have identified him myself. Since hearing of this steam-vessel I am convinced that he is here, probably with other agents, and I am sure moreover that the French do intend some sort of raid.”

  “Which can only be a raid on Walmer Castle. How simple it would be if Pitt were a little more reasonable.”

  ”He is a sick man, sir, headstrong, difficult, and irritable, impossible to advise.”

  “So we must meet this threat without his help. The crisis will come on the first calm day or, rather, night, after 15th June. What is the name of that steam-vessel—did your informants discover that?”

  “She is called the Corsican.”

  “Boulogne harbour dries out with the tide. The Corsican will sail when there is water enough and reach the target area in about six hours, well before daylight. We shall be there before her. She will be visible, I should add, because of the sparks from her funnel.”

  “And that,” muttered Mr Xenophon, “is something I never thought about.”

  Next day Delancey came ashore again but accompanied this time by his marine officer, Lieutenant Bartlett, by Northmore and Topley. He walked again to Walmer Castle and took these officers over the ground between its ramparts and the sea.

  “Your men will be deployed on the seaward side of the path and your task will be to intercept any landing along this shore. The marines will be in the centre with the seamen, in two parties, on either side of them.”

  He defined their areas of responsibility and warned them to memorise every feature of the terrain. They would be in pitch darkness when the time came. They were to say nothing, incidentally, about this present exercise. “I should like to have brought the men along or the more senior of them, but I dared not risk their talking about it.”

  At supper ashore that evening with Mr Xenophon, Richard Delancey described his arrangements and then added: “The actual grounds of the Castle I leave to you and your men. I think, however, that I should come with you.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “I have the best chance, I think, of recognising Fabius and he will approach the place, I take it, from the landward side.”

  “Yes, I think that his task will be to kidnap the Prime Minister, delivering him to a boat crew landed from the Corsican.”

  “But what about Nautilus II? That craft must have some role to play in the drama, but I can’t at the moment see what her part is to be.”

  “Nor can I. Agreed, however, that you join my group. In dark civilian clothes, please, and armed only with pistols.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “NAUTILUS II”

  ON 15 JUNE it was blowing a half gale from the south-west which was still a stiff breeze on the 17th. It fell calm on the evening of the next day with only a faint easterly wind. There was no means of knowing that the raid would take place on the night of the 18th/19th but the weather at least was suitable and the French could have no certainty that it would be as favourable again before the nights were moonlit once more. Delancey sent his men ashore and then landed so as to meet Mr Xenophon at
the Three Kings. If all their calculations were right, the Corsican would already have left Boulogne and might be expected off Walmer any time after three in the morning. Mr Xenophon had a private room where he had provided supper for his five agents. If he was flamboyant in manner and dress, his men were quite the reverse. They were as carefully unremarkable as could be wished, medium in height, colour, and age, nondescript in clothing and expressionless in face. They were not introduced to Delancey by name but were described vaguely as “my friends.” They each carried a walking stick and Delancey having occasion to move one of these, found it unexpectedly heavy. Seeing his look of surprise, Mr Xenophon explained that such a stick was called a pacifier. “We drill it partly hollow and pour in molten lead …”

  From Mr Xenophon’s final orders it was obvious that his men had been over the ground very carefully, certainly inside the castle ground and probably within the castle itself. They referred to a sketch-map of the place in which various points were marked A, B, C, and D. It appeared that Mr Xenophon would be at A, with Delancey and one of his men. Two other agents would be at B, two more at C, and all would close on D at a given signal. Delancey assured Mr Xenophon that seamen and marines were under strict orders to keep to seaward of the coastal path.

  “I have introduced only one change into my plans as previously agreed. Two of my ship’s boats will patrol the area beyond the line of the breakers, each commanded by a lieutenant. We have thus three lines of defence shoreward of the guard frigate. For an enemy landing party to reach the castle is all but impossible.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Mr Xenophon. “You forget that Fabius and his men may be in the castle already.”