“I can fire my musket. They will think that I have seen them.” The corporal fired in the air. “That will warn the sergeant.” Delancey drew a pistol and fired that in the air, telling Northmore to do the same. “The sounds of a skirmish,” he explained. “That will make the sergeant hurry.” All three weapons were now re-loaded and then Delancey asked the corporal his name.
“Lazareff” was the reply, followed by the information that he came from Le Mans and had never been in battle before. Delancey felt the urge to point out that he had never been in battle yet. He restrained himself, however, and thought quickly about his next move. It would be useful, he decided, to take a few prisoners for questioning. These men were the nearest to hand. He would send them down to the creek where they would run into Topley’s men. He himself would follow to prevent their escape. The danger in this was that he and Northmore would be fired upon by their own side. As against this, the chief merit in the plan was that Mr Xenophon would hear the firing, not directed at him, and would make for the beach by some route further to the left. A further merit lay in the chance of taking prisoners but this was very much an afterthought. These men guarding the coast had never formed part of the Army of England and would have no intelligence better than hearsay. He doubted whether young Lazareff, for example, would have much to say for himself. Some minutes passed and then the patrol could be heard approaching, with much stumbling, slipping, and swearing. It comprised a sergeant and four men, all rather short of breath. Following his practice, Delancey did not wait to be questioned.
“These men have escaped you, sergeant. They crossed this path ten minutes ago. I just glimpsed them as they disappeared in that direction. Corporal Lazareff fired his musket as a signal. If we follow up we shall trap these men against the sea. I think they are smugglers rather than spies. They can explain themselves, however, when they are caught. They were unarmed so far as I could see.”
Delancey was careful to stand in the light of the lantern, which showed up his uniform. He turned to Northmore and asked him whether he too thought that the men were unarmed. “Oui, mon Capitaine,” replied Northmore, part perfect.
“So we have no call to be heroic. I think, sergeant, you should go for a hundred paces along this path and then swing left down the hillside. The lieutenant and I will follow you. Right? Off you go!”
Delancey had not exactly given an order, uncertain as to whether the sergeant would obey an officer from another regiment, but he had authority in his voice and the sergeant did as he was told, taking the corporal with him but with the lantern now extinguished. With more clattering and swearing, the patrol disappeared into the night and Delancey, with Northmore, followed at a more sedate pace. He feared that there would be a confused situation with friends attacking each other and foes escaping in the darkness. He felt tolerably certain, however, that Mr Xenophon would now be able to escape.
The eastern sky was turning pale and Delancey began to see the gunboat as an easy target for the French artillery. However, the immediate problem was to reach the shore, remembering that the sound of firing might bring more French soldiers into the area, and that further shots fired would bring them at the double. The path they were following was no sort of highway but it was flanked by rocks and bushes, enough to ensure that the French patrol would keep to the way they probably knew. Looking at the lie of the land and listening to the now audible sound of the breakers, Delancey knew that he was not far above the landing place. Below him and rather to his right he now heard voices raised, no doubt the challenge and reply. Then there followed a single shot and, after a pause, a ragged volley. Then there was silence broken by the hurried footsteps of the Frenchmen in retreat. They had run into Topley’s men by whom they would have been considerably outnumbered. The likelihood was that several had fallen and that those on the run would number no more than three or four, the predestined prisoners included.
Delancey and Northmore drew their pistols and waited patiently on either side of the path. The first man to appear was a private soldier and Delancey shot him dead. The second, another private, lunged at Delancey with his bayonet. It was a clumsy attack, easily parried, and Delancey called on the young man to surrender. Surprisingly, the soldier threw himself again at Delancey with a fury which partly made up for his lack of skill. Slightly off balance, Delancey put the bayonet aside but found his opponent still ready to do or die. The butt of the musket swung upwards but missed and then the soldier, dropping that weapon, went straight for Delancey’s throat. Delancey brought his knee up sharply but without much effect and he fell to the ground with his opponent on top of him. Pistol in hand, Northmore was afraid to fire for fear of hitting the wrong man, a danger made worse when Delancey rolled sideways to avoid being throttled. The struggle continued for a minute or two, the two opponents panting for breath but Delancey managed to free one leg and kick his opponent in the stomach. A minute later there was a shot and the Frenchman collapsed with a bullet through his head. Northmore dropped his smoking pistol and helped Delancey to his feet, asking anxiously whether he had been hurt. Recovering his sword, Delancey told the midshipman that he was unharmed and warned him to look out for the other Frenchmen. Having heard the shots and the voices, the other men approached at the double. First among them was the young Corporal Lazareff.
Telling Northmore to hold his fire, Delancey levelled his second pistol and told the young man that he was a prisoner. Lazareff obediently dropped his musket and raised his hands. His example was at once followed by the man behind him. No others appeared and Delancey concluded that the sergeant and another man had been killed at the outset. Northmore secured the two prisoners, using their own equipment to tie their hands, and both he and Delancey reloaded their pistols. Then they resumed their march.
“I think,” said Delancey, “that the time has come to sing.” Without further preamble he started on the first verse of a sea shanty, the one called “Spanish Ladies”:
Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies,
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.
For we’re off to find soundings in the Channel of Old England,
From Ushant to Scilly ‘tis thirty-five leagues.
Unable to remember the second verse, he and Northmore sang the first verse again. Neither was particularly musical and the duet did them no credit at all. It served its purpose, however, for there was no firing as they scrambled down towards the shore. Topley’s men would never fire on the singers of a shanty. Three minutes later Delancey was greeted by Topley himself, with evident relief.
“Thank God you’re safe, sir!”
“Have you seen Mr Xenophon?”
“No, sir, he came in that lugger—” Topley pointed to a second craft drawn up near the gunboat, “—and went ashore with his two men. We have not seen him since.”
“Two men are missing from that French patrol—do you know where they are?”
“One was killed, sir. His body lies to the left of the path. The other escaped, heading more in the other direction. I’m afraid our musketry was indifferent, sir.”
“It was atrocious. It remains, however, to find Mr Xenophon. Have you a flare in the gunboat? I think we shipped two or three of them.”
”Yes, sir.”
“Light one. I want Mr Xenophon to see that the coast is clear.”
“Even with a man unaccounted for, sir?”
“He is the sergeant, I think, and the man I wanted. Hurry up with that flare.”
A minute or two later the whole landscape was lit as if in daylight. Low on the hillside to the right of the path three figures could be seen, two of them carrying a fourth. Delancey, now standing beside the gunboat, grabbed the speaking trumpet and shouted, “Come on, Mr Xenophon! The way is open but daybreak is near. Hurry!” Turning to Northmore, he added “Send a petty officer and two men to help carry the body—I think it is the sergeant’s.”
The next ten minutes seemed to last about a century with the sky growing lighter all the t
ime. At long last, however, Mr Xenophon was on the beach, followed by two seamen carrying the sergeant. “He met with an accident,” Mr Xenophon explained, regaining his breath. “He’ll recover in an hour or two.”
“All aboard!” ordered Delancey. “Hoist the tricolour and hoist a recognition signal—say, three lanterns in any pattern. Come with us in the gunboat, Mr Xenophon, but tell your men to get the lugger afloat and make sail after us. Now let’s see how quickly we can have this gunboat afloat and under sail. Move, for God’s sake!”
Within minutes the gunboat was through the breakers and Delancey, watching his men make sail, had time for a few words with Mr Xenophon.
“Well, sir,” he said, “we can bring our government the news for which ministers have been waiting. All plans for invading England have clearly been cancelled.”
”I agree,” replied Mr Xenophon “and I hope that you will be given full credit for this exploit. You can surely expect the command of a larger frigate. After all, you have taken prisoners on French soil.”
“Shall we learn anything from them?”
“I doubt it. They won’t know anything.”
“I am glad that we were able to save Jacquemard. He is a good man.”
“Yes, but no longer of any use. He will be told to lie low until the war is over.”
“Good. I hope they will be safe.”
“My regret concerns that creature Fabius.”
“Mine, too, Mr Xenophon, but don’t grieve too much. His day of reckoning will come. I believe that somewhere, somehow, I shall meet that man again.”
The sails filled, the gunboat gathered way, and Delancey stood by the helmsman, telling his men to man their guns and prepare for action. It was good to be at sea again and better to know that England—yes, and Guernsey—was safe from invasion for the time being. He would be given leave pending his next appointment and should be with Fiona in a matter of days or weeks. He had loved her as a child, loved her as an almost disreputable actress, and now loved her as a senior officer’s wife and one who looked and behaved as if she had never been anything else. As a lover, at least, he knew himself to be the most fortunate of men. He also had the luck to be the bearer of good news for the Admiralty. He had fairly earned a better command.
It grew lighter every minute but the first hint of daybreak had been accompanied by a faint but freshening westerly breeze. The gunboat was under sail with creditable alacrity and the lugger followed but Delancey presently made his men heave to. When the lugger came ahead of the gunboat Delancey told the men to keep their boat ahead of his and not worry if fired upon. Mystified, the lugger’s crew led the way on the course that Delancey had given them. Soon afterwards the lugger was fairly out of the bay where the landing had taken place and plainly in view of the French artillerymen. The cannon boomed on either side and French soldiers were already on the beach from which they had sailed and from which they were now out of small-arms range. But the scene was soon afterwards confused, from the French gunners’ point of view, by the appearance of a gunboat sailing in pursuit of the lugger. Not only was the gunboat flying the tricolour, she was also engaging the lugger with her bow-chaser. Her broadside consisted of mere swivel guns but she swung this way and that so as to bring them into action. A lieutenant on the nearer battery of the two in action cursed in fury: “If only that sacred gunboat would take itself off we could sink the enemy!” It seemed to him that the gunboat’s practice was appalling, the shot splashing wide of the target, but the gunboat herself was too often in his line of fire. Dancing with rage, he shouted to his sergeant that the idiot, whoever he was, seemed to be doing it on purpose. “The imbecile!” he bawled. “The sacred and useless pig!” As the swivel guns banged away the target was slowly passing out of range from the shore batteries. It could not be doubted that the gunboat would finally overtake her prey but without choosing to share the credit with anyone else. It was obvious that the gunboat, a far faster vessel, would have captured the lugger already but for wasting time with her ridiculous popguns. Seeing this, the lieutenant fairly shook his fist at the gunboat and asked of an unresponsive heaven why the Emperor should waste money on his futile navy. In another hour the pursued and pursuer were hardly in sight. Leaving his men to scour out the cannon under his sergeant’s direction, the lieutenant hurried to his tent and penned a letter of complaint. It was an eloquent letter, scribbled in the heat of the moment, and it led, inevitably, to the lieutenant’s court martial.
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