”We may expect some help from the Sparrowhawk, sir, enough at least to make the batteries distribute their fire.”
“I can’t make out what Moffat is doing.”
“He will be greatly disappointed, sir, to see the signal of recall. I fancy that he may have some idea of doing some damage before he withdraws.”
“But the bateau cannonière will have cut its catamaran loose, surely?”
“Do we know that, sir?”
“No, we don’t. Who is in command?”
“I gathered, sir, that the launching of the catamarans has been left to a lieutenant from Jersey called Le Marquand—sent here specially from Plymouth.”
“I never heard of him.”
“I know of him by reputation. He is said to be especially keen on economy with naval stores.”
“Very praiseworthy. He has no previous experience, perhaps, of such an operation as this?”
“Probably not, sir. He is moving very slowly and that French vessel is overtaking him.”
Delancey studied the scene with a growing impatience. There seemed every likelihood of the bateau cannonière being taken before he could interfere. He was not yet within range and closing the distance would bring him under fire from the shore batteries. Moffat appeared to be fighting a war of his own and Le Marquand seemed to be paralysed. There was every likelihood of severe damage and casualties with nothing to show for it.
“Sparrowhawk, sir, has lowered her longboat.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“They may have had a man overboard.”
That no such emergency had arisen was soon apparent. There was a muffled report and a faint line climbed skywards from Sparrowhawk’s longboat. It reached its apex and then plunged downwards towards the French prame, falling into the sea perhaps half a mile beyond her.
“Congreve rockets!” exclaimed Delancey. “Moffat’s plan for distracting the French! Children playing with a new toy …”
“But why fire rockets from an open boat, sir? With the boat tossing as it is, any effective aim must be impossible.”
“You can’t fire them from a ship, Mr Mather. They would be caught in the rigging and fall on your own quarterdeck. They never, in any case, hit the target. I wish Congreve were here to see that for himself.”
The wind was rising from the north-north-east, there was a threatening grey sky and the Vengeance pitched and rolled, shipping seas over her forecastle and lashed by the icy spray which flew over her decks. Delancey could see now that he was too late. The bateau cannonière was under fire and would have to surrender in a matter of minutes. Le Marquand was defending his craft with some obstinacy, using small arms as well as cannon, but he was heavily outgunned and outnumbered. Had he surrendered at the outset, as many a man might have done, he would have lost all chance of his boat being retaken by Vengeance. This he evidently knew and the resulting action was one that did him credit. His position would have been hopeless had other gunboats joined in the battle but they were intent on finding shelter. The prame closed with him, as Delancey could see, but the heavy seas made boarding impossible. At last the firing died away as the flag was struck. A few minutes later another sighting shot from the Vengeance went through the prame’s sails, to be followed almost immediately by the frigate’s broadside. The prame would have to surrender both herself and her prize.
The capture of a prame was not important in itself but none had been taken before, so far as Delancey knew, and Lord Keith would probably be interested to see a specimen. Once fairly to leeward of the frigate’s broadside, the prame duly struck her colours. A minute later the shore batteries opened fire, having been restrained so far by fear of hitting their own vessel. They had less compunction, it would seem, about hitting a French craft that had surrendered. The guns were firing at extreme range but they were correcting their aim, the shots coming nearer. They also had howitzers in action, far less accurate but more dangerous with a shell which sometimes, not always, burst on impact. Through his speaking trumpet Delancey told the French skipper (in French) to steer out to sea. By the same means he ordered the Frenchmen on board the bateau cannonière to surrender. He watched while they gave up their arms to Le Marquand and his men and then ordered the bateau to follow the prame. The splashes from the falling shot had crept nearer during the last few minutes and the frigate was presently hit by a plunging shot which went through the main deck and lodged finally in the hold, causing only minor damage apart from the shot hole. A shell burst somewhere astern and Delancey realised that his ship was in considerable danger. It was unnerving, he found, to watch the trace of the shells and guess where they would fall. He found that Mather was doing the same thing.
“Do you observe, Mr Mather, that these shells drift to leeward at the height of their trajectory?”
“Yes, sir. I would guess that the wind may blow even more strongly at that level.”
”So we might do better to edge into the wind?”
“But the Frenchmen will allow for the drift and may even allow too much.”
“You are right. All we can do is lengthen the range. I shall waste no time in replying to their fire.”
“We should be clear, sir, in about ten minutes.”
This was probably a good estimate but ten minutes can seem a very long period of time. The frigate was hit again, this time on the forecastle, and two men were wounded by splinters. No considerable damage had been done but at this moment a shell narrowly missed the bateau cannonière. Le Marquand soon afterwards made the signal that his craft had been damaged and was leaking.
“Make more sail, Mr Mather,” ordered Delancey. “Put the frigate to windward of the prame.” As the frigate passed the bateau cannonière, Delancey took up the speaking tube and gave a terse order to Le Marquand:
“Board the prame with your entire crew. Then set the bateau cannonière alight. I’ll shelter you as you do it.”
It was at least relatively easy to board the prame from the bateau cannonière under the frigate’s lee but it meant bringing all three vessels to a standstill and close together, making a perfect target for the shore batteries, which were not themselves under fire. From further seaward the Sparrowhawk’s rockets were now directed against the French emplacements but seemed to be perfectly harmless as they flew beyond the target. Le Marquand’s men were maddeningly slow in boarding the prame and Le Marquand took what seemed hours to set the bateau cannonière alight. His men had to fetch combustibles from the prame and he himself could be seen fiddling with flint and steel. Now the prame was hit and then the frigate again, this time with several casualties, two killed and three wounded. It was immediately after this last hit that Mather suddenly shook Delancey’s arm and pointed to the bateau cannonière. She was dragging a rope astern and Delancey had a shock, realising the full horror of the situation. The catamaran was still there at the end of the tow-line—a box about twenty feet long packed with about twenty kegs of gunpowder—and it could be detonated at any moment (as he supposed) by the shock of an exploding shell.
“Make sail!” he shouted to Mather but it was already too late.
Two more shells burst on impact at sea-level, clear of their target but fatally near the catamaran. There was a blinding flash, a deafening thunderclap, and a feeling as if the frigate had been hit by a giant hammer. The catamaran had been somewhere between two and three hundred yards distant, not near enough to set the two ships alight, and Delancey could see, as the smoke blew away, that the prame and the bateau cannonière were also still afloat and without visible damage.
As the people about him collected their wits, Delancey repeated his order: “Mr Mather—make sail!” To his signals officer, a midshipman, he added “Signal the prame to follow this ship.” To another midshipman, acting as his A.D.C., he said “Tell the carpenter to sound the well and report back to me.”
There was a bustle of activity as the frigate got under way. The bateau cannonière was now fairly alight, its smoke drifting downwind, and Ve
ngeance now steered a course which would place the smoke between her and the French batteries. The smoke-screen was far from complete and the masts probably showed above it but it would do something to confuse the artillerymen. The ship was not actually hit again although the splinters from one bursting shell destroyed the port quarter gallery. The Vengeance presently headed seawards, followed by the prame, and the firing died away. The bateau cannonière had sunk by that time, fired on by the enemy as she went down and notched up, no doubt, as an enemy sloop destroyed by the gunners ashore.
After dropping anchor in the Downs Delancey went aboard the flagship, having collected Le Marquand on the way. The Sparrowhawk was already in the anchorage and Captain Moffat was already with the Admiral. Le Marquand had begun some explanation in the boat but Delancey cut him short, saying quietly “Not before the boat’s crew.” The Rear-Admiral greeted Delancey with a few words of congratulation. “I thought at one time that your ship had gone. You did well to escape without material damage. I fear you will have had some losses.” Delancey and Moffat greeted each other without much cordiality and Le Marquand looked thoroughly distressed. They all sat down at the Admiral’s invitation, the flag captain and flag lieutenant completing the group, the latter making rough notes as the meeting went on.
“Well, gentlemen, I was ordered to carry out an experiment with the catamaran and made my plan accordingly, with Mr Le Marquand to head the attack in a captured French craft and under the French flag, with the Sparrowhawk to cover Mr Le Marquand’s withdrawal and the Vengeance to cover the withdrawal of the Sparrowhawk. A high wind sprang up and a heavy sea and I felt obliged to cancel the operation. To that extent the experiment has proved nothing. For success we needed a light wind and a smooth sea. On the other hand, we have gained some experience of this new weapon and I shall need to summarise what we have learnt. It is not my purpose this evening to blame anyone for a failure which was essentially due to bad weather. All I intend is to complete the story for the purposes of my report. I myself saw what happened up to the time when I signalled the recall. As the flagship withdrew I saw less of what followed and I need to know the facts. Mr Le Marquand, I shall begin with you. What happened after you turned back?”
Reports followed from Le Marquand and Moffat, the first explaining his dilemma with the catamaran, the second claiming to have had success with his rockets.
When called upon, Delancey described the action from his own point of view and was then invited to draw his conclusions.
“I have many doubts and uncertainties, Admiral, and am not as prejudiced as Captain Moffat may suppose. On three points, however, I have formed a tentative opinion. First and foremost, I cannot see that a catamaran has any real advantage over a manned vessel packed with the same, or a greater, quantity of powder. Second, I think that an attack using explosives should always be staged in darkness. Third, I have come to question whether an explosion at sea is as dangerous to the enemy as to the ingenious and intrepid men who trigger it off.
“Earlier today I survived the explosion of a catamaran at a distance of about two cables. I could not claim that I ignored it. I must admit, indeed, that I was greatly alarmed. I will admit, further, that my frigate sustained serious damage the extent of which has still to be established by survey. As against that, we are still afloat and could still give battle.
“The fact, as I see it, is that an explosion to be effective needs a confined space, as when a mine is fired beneath an enemy fortification. At sea the force of the detonation is largely wasted on the yielding waters and the empty sky. The noise is impressive but the enemy is still there. A ship can be blown apart by a mere spark in its own magazine but here the explosion is confined within the vessel’s hull. Outside the ship the effect is limited and may even be negligible. Some would argue that the catamaran is useless or worse than useless. I do not say that. I thought that Mr Le Marquand made a good point in observing that it could be used by a ship when closely pursued and so it might provided that the pursuer were in the exact wake of her prey—hardly perhaps an everyday event but not theoretically impossible. As a method, however, of attacking the French flotilla, I doubt its effectiveness. I feel that more could be achieved by the same effort applied in a different way.”
“Thank you,” said the Admiral. “Will you also give us your opinion of the Congreve rocket?”
“Well, sir, I have never seen them used except on this one occasion. Forgive me, therefore, if I hesitate over reaching any general conclusion. I was not surprised, however, to hear Captain Moffat confess to his ignorance of what damage the rockets did. When you stand behind a weapon you see less, as a rule, than someone else can see from a flank. I watched his rocket attack with great interest and can assure him that nearly all these missiles went far beyond the target—often to the distance of perhaps half a mile. The French artillerymen may well have been distracted by their appearance and noise—I do not question that for a moment—but I doubt whether they sustained either casualties or damage.”
“Thank you, Delancey, and thank you, gentlemen. With your good help I have executed the orders I received. I am particularly grateful to Captain Moffat for testing the rockets and advising me on the use of the catamaran. The decision as to their further use must rest with their lordships. My responsibility ends with my report concerning all that took place on this one occasion. I am grateful to Captain Delancey for rescuing Mr Le Marquand and I am grateful to Mr Le Marquand for undertaking an extremely dangerous mission. Please convey my thanks, gentlemen, to all who took part. I am perfectly convinced that everyone did his best. You all have work to do and I must not keep you from it. I should be grateful, Delancey, if you would remain for a few minutes.”
When the others had gone the Admiral asked Delancey whether the Vengeance would have to be docked.
“No survey has been made, sir, except by my own carpenter,” replied Delancey, “but she was making eight inches of water an hour as from the time of the explosion and I suspect that the rate of intake will increase. We have to keep the pumps going almost continuously.”
“Can’t you get at the leaks and stop them?”
“No, sir. They are too general. The whole fabric of the ship was badly shaken and strained.”
“I am sorry to hear it. You see, I have another mission for you; a task I would not readily entrust to anyone else. It will not wait until your frigate comes out of dock.”
“Might I know, sir, what task you have in mind?”
“It is one about which you must say nothing to anyone else. I want information about the so-called Army of England. Are the troops ready to embark or has the Emperor cancelled the whole operation?”
“I see, Admiral. Might I ask whether Napoleon is still at Boulogne?”
“Yes, so far as we know. He is reviewing troops, making speeches, distributing medals. But we don’t want to know what he says but what he means to do. As soon as we know for certain that the invasion has been cancelled our troops can be redeployed, perhaps with a view to some offensive operation. Knowing this, it will be the French aim to pose the threat, rattling their sabres, while their Army is actually on the march into central Europe. If they do this cleverly enough, we are still manning our ramparts while they have gone somewhere else. We need to discover whether the Army of England is still there. We can be certain that its ghost will remain after its substance has gone. The bugles will sound, the campfires will be lit, the orderly officers’ lanterns will be seen. But are the troops actually there? The reports received by Mr Xenophon are contradictory and confused. His informants do not always know what they are talking about. What we lack is a clear answer to a simple question. My belief is that you can provide it. No one else can.”
“You may be wanting more, sir, than I have to offer. I can understand, however, why our intelligence system has seemingly failed us. If the attempt at invasion has been postponed by as much as three weeks, there will be considerable movement which a civilian can hardly interpret.”
“Well, sir, no army can camp on the beach for more than a few days. With embarkation imminent, the bulk of the forces will bivouac within two miles of the coast. They can’t stay there, however. They need grass and water for their horses, firewood for cooking, space to exercise, and room to breath. They will go inland for ten miles or more. To one agent this will look like abandoning the whole invasion plan. To another it will look like a move to another camp from which the formation can return in twelve hours.”
“I see what you mean and am confirmed in my belief that you are the man to solve our problem. I am the more regretful that Vengeance must go into dock.”
“With all due respect, Admiral, I beg leave to question whether the frigate is wanted. It is my private opinion, for what it is worth, that Vengeance will probably have to be scrapped. If Mr Mather takes her to Sheerness or Chatham, I can stay here on your orders, retaining a picked boat’s crew for a particular service. We still have that French gunboat at Deal, which will be enough for our purpose.”
“Look, Delancey, you are not going into Boulogne again!”
“Not into Boulogne, sir. That, I fancy, will be the last place from which the formations will withdraw. I would prefer to test the enemy preparedness at a less central point.”
“Where, for heaven’s sake?”
“At Ambleteuse, sir, a place I have long wished to visit. It is just north of Wimereux.”
“I know where it is, confound you. But I’ll not encourage mere lunacy. You are active enough, Delancey, but we need caution as well. We want you to come back alive.”
“I am just as insistent on that point as you can be, sir. It is always, believe me, my prime consideration.”
Delancey did well to keep away from Boulogne, a place where vigilance was now an obsession. Had he gone ashore there, however, by some unimaginable means, and had he gained a hidden position within earshot of a certain detached building above the town, he could have saved himself the trouble of landing at Ambleteuse. There were sentries all round the place but the absence of any spy on the British payroll was further explained by the fact that few people knew to what wartime purpose the old farmhouse had been put. Officers and orderlies came and went but troops were billeted everywhere and that building was no more frequented than any other.
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