THE Merlin was rounding Europa Point and Delancey was secretly thrilled, as he had always been, by the sight of Gibraltar, the rock-face rising almost sheer from the sea on the eastern side, the sea breaking over the rocks to the south. The scene was warmly sunlit and he could see the yellow-brown hillsides beyond the Spanish coast. He could almost smell the undergrowth on Gibraltar’s rocky slopes.
He had been there during the great siege eighteen years back, gaining his commission just before peace was signed. He had reconnoitred the floating batteries and had served in the gunboats which finally rescued some of the Spanish survivors. He had been at Gibraltar quite recently, for that matter, but his mind dwelt now on that earlier and historic occasion. General Elliott’s defence of Gibraltar would be remembered, he supposed, for as long as Britain herself should survive. But war was fought in those days with a sense of chivalry. There were courteous messages and flags of truce and the whole affair ended with an inspection of the garrison by the Duc de Crillon, a polite visitor to the fortress he had failed to capture. The French Revolution had changed all that. So much had changed and so much for the worse. Lord Nelson had learnt from his opponents to aim at the annihilation of the enemy. There had been no thought of that in the previous war. In Rodney’s day it had been enough to win the battle; one was not expected to destroy the enemy
As the harbour came in sight, Delancey saw that the only other man-of-war on the scene was another sloop, a queer-looking craft, probably smaller than the Merlin. If her commander were his junior, which was not very likely, he would himself be the senior naval officer at Gibraltar, entitled to open the dispatch of which he was the bearer. As for the squadron sent to fight Linois, there was no sign of it. The Merlin’s passage from Minorca had been delayed by headwinds and Delancey guessed that Linois’s passage might be slower still.
In the meanwhile, pending the arrival of other forces, three French sail of the line would be opposed by two British sloops. Coming smartly into harbour, Delancey saluted the flag, dropped anchor, and signalled his number to the other sloop. From her reply Delancey gathered that she was the 14-gun Calpé—commanded, according to the List, by the Honourable George Heneage Laurence Dundas, senior to Delancey in rank but almost certainly his junior in age. After issuing a few routine orders to Mr Mather, Delancey went off in a boat to pay his respects and deliver his dispatch. Dundas turned out to be a red-haired young man, aged little over twenty, with a very slight Scots accent, who received Delancey with more than a hint of patronage.
He looked rather prosperous and overweight, to all appearance more of a gentleman than a sailor. His after-cabin was richly furnished with brocade curtains, Persian rugs and silver hanging lamp. Glancing at Delancey’s uniform he all but muttered “Provincial tailoring—it never looks right.” After some slight hesitation he offered Delancey a glass of wine, thinking almost audibly that his ill-dressed visitor would not appreciate good wine when he tasted it and would probably have preferred ale. He broke the seal of the dispatch and then, belatedly, asked Delancey to sit down.
“Pray be seated, captain, while I read this.”
The pause which followed gave Delancey time to look around and admire the prints, the cushions, the crystal decanters. Dundas was evidently a man of wealth. He looked up sharply after he had finished reading:
“You know the contents of this?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there are only two facts I can add. First, Linois has not yet been sighted. Second, there is a squadron off Cadiz commanded by Rear-Admiral Sir James Saumarez.”
“So Linois will have to fight?”
“To reach Cadiz, undoubtedly. But my guess is that he will call at Algeciras. There he will be told that Cadiz is blockaded. It will then be for him to decide what to do next. He might, for example, sail back to Toulon.”
“He will be outnumbered, I take it, by Saumarez?”
“Oh, yes. Sir James has seven sail of the line besides the Thames, frigate, and a sloop. He in turn would be outnumbered, of course, by the French and Spanish together.”
“Should he be warned about Linois?”
“Not until Linois is actually sighted. In the meanwhile, you will want to call on the Governor, General O’Hara. With Spain now at war with us, he sees himself as the hero of the coming siege.”
Delancey and his officers dined that day with the Governor, giving him news of Malta. The Governor, for his part, assured his guests that the fortress would be held to the last. Perhaps prejudiced by memories of General Elliott, now Lord Heathfield, Delancey decided silently that he himself would never have entrusted a key fortress to anyone called O’Hara. An Irishman, he thought, would be better leading an assault.
He enjoyed the occasion, nevertheless, and was glad that Dr Rathbone was among those present. The old scholar came across to Delancey when the guests rose from table and said at once, “I want you to meet the garrison chaplain, the Reverend Mr Samuel Slater. His wife, whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, is going to be very helpful indeed. She has a friend, Mrs Hardwick, who would be delighted to provide a home for Souraya. Come and meet Mr Slater before he goes about his duties.”
It soon appeared that Mrs Hardwick was kindness itself and promised to come aboard the Merlin next day, together with Mrs Slater, and would bring with her some suitable clothes and shoes for Souraya. Delancey accepted this offer with real gratitude but was not quite as pleased when the actual moment came for Souraya to leave his ship. He realised then that the girl had meant something to him, that he would miss her. He realised as promptly that her sadness, which was evident, was the result of her parting from Teesdale. There were tears on either side and then the parting came. His last glimpse of Souraya was of a small figure on the quayside waving good-bye to Teesdale.
On July 4th Dundas and Delancey watched the French squadron pass Europa Point, cross the bay and drop anchor four miles away at Algeciras. From their point of vantage on the King’s Bastion they gazed through their telescopes until the French sails were furled.
“The flagship I take to be the Formidable, a seventy-four,” said Dundas, “with the Indomptable and Desaix.”
“I believe the Formidable is an eighty-gun ship, sir,” was Delancey’s reply, “and so is the Indomptable. There is a frigate—the Muiron, I think, and I suppose the other vessels are prizes.”
Dundas looked a little put out but came back with a comment of his own:
“One of them must be the Speedy and the brig is a small merchantman.”
“It looks to me, sir, as if the French men-of-war are in pretty good order.”
“Yes, the Formidable is a ship to reckon with and I suppose that the other is a sister ship. I must admit that I never heard of Linois.”
It almost seemed that Linois had been dismissed as a man of no social consequence but Delancey did what he could to reinstate him.
“He was an officer of the old regime, I believe, sir, and served under Suffren in the East Indies. He was promoted quite recently. He is a Breton, I have heard, with a reputation for caution rather than for enterprise.”
They closed their telescopes and walked back towards the harbour, both looking thoughtful.
They provided a certain contrast. Dundas was prosperous and well connected but rather lacking in experience. Delancey was a good practical seaman but had no influential relatives. They were on reasonably friendly terms but with a hint of jealousy on either side, liking each other better when they came to know each other more.
That night was windless and the Calpé’s launch was sent off in a flat calm to warn Sir James Saumarez. Delancey was on board the Calpé when the dispatch was sent and he remained to discuss the situation.
“This sloop would have been seen at once,” Dundas explained. “The launch will pass unnoticed.”
“A pull of about eighty miles. . . . And what will Saumarez decide to do?”
“I have been thinking about that. His first instinct will be to prevent Linois joining up with the French and Spanish at Cadiz. His idea will be to destroy the weaker of the two squadrons before it can join forces with the other. That means attacking Linois tomorrow.”
“But Algeciras offers Linois a good defensive position in shallow water, with covering fire from the shore batteries. Saumarez would think twice, surely, before attacking him there.”
“Yes, but what else can he do? Suppose Linois sends a message overland to the Admiral at Cadiz, whose squadron then puts to sea. Then, when Linois himself quits his anchorage, Saumarez would be caught between two enemy squadrons. What chance would he have?”
“What is the Spanish strength, sir?”
“The French and Spanish are said to have about eleven ships between them at Cadiz, but they include three ships of a hundred guns or more. Two of them, we hear, the Real-Carlos and the San-Hermenegilde, mount a hundred and twelve guns apiece. They must be among the biggest ships in the world and we hear that they are splendidly built.”
“Their crews will have seen little service.”
“And that’s the truth. But if you plan for the Calpé and the Merlin to fight the pair of them, you can leave me ashore. They have another three-decker, incidentally, in the San-Fernando.”
“The more pity that we should have lost the Speedy. With her we should have had three a-side!”
“Oh, Cochrane would have fought them single-handed, sending half his crew away on shore leave. To be serious, however, Delancey, I don’t like the sound of those three-deckers. We have nothing to compare with them and they should be able to blow any seventy-four out of the water. A hundred and twelve guns! If it comes to a battle with them, Saumarez would do well to engage at extreme range.”
Early next morning, Dundas and Delancey met again at the King’s Bastion, each with a midshipman to carry sextant, telescope and chart. They could see now that the French ships were in a carefully chosen defensive position. After taking bearings, Delancey pencilled them in on his chart. Then he pencilled in the shore batteries. “There is one on Isla Verda, another on Santiago—perhaps five shore batteries in all. There is a whole flotilla of gunboats—God knows how many but I’ve seen them exercising—and those three sail of the line are moored in from four to five fathoms. In Saumarez’s place I should let them alone.”
“That means facing the Spanish three-deckers. I’ll wager that he attacks Linois,” replied Dundas, “and I’ll tell you why. Saumarez was at the Battle of the Nile, wasn’t he? Well, his idea will be to fight the same battle again. Hell try to anchor between the enemy ships and the land.”
“What, in three fathoms? Opposite the batteries?”
“That’s what he’ll do, I’ll wager five guineas.”
Soon afterwards, the British squadron was sighted in the distance. As they rounded Cabrita Point it became possible to count the ships.
“Six sail of the line,” said Delancey. “There is one missing, together with the frigate and sloop.”
“The Rear-Admiral may have left them to watch Cadiz, keeping up the appearance of a blockade.”
“That will be his plan. I should expect him now to cross the bay and pick up some local pilots, men with a knowledge of Algeciras. He might then order our two sloops to go ahead of his line, sounding as we go and signalling the depths back to him.”
“Let’s hope to God he doesn’t think of it! We should both be destroyed in the first hour.”
“I doubt if he has even seen us but his leading ship has just sighted the enemy.” Delancey wiped the lens of his telescope and adjusted it again. “The Rear-Admiral’s flag is in the fourth ship and the signal for battle has just been hoisted. It’s seven o’clock of a sunny morning and the day is before them . . . I wish to God, however, that the wind would hold. It blows for a while and then dies away.”
“Yes, look at the flag there. It’s drooping again. And look at Saumarez’s line. His rear ships are miles astern, his leading ship just opening fire.”
The rumble of gunfire could be heard that moment across the bay and smoke began to obscure the view from the Rock of what was happening at Algeciras. Dundas led the way to the harbour, remembering that both sloops should be ready to sail at a moment’s notice. The ramparts were lined with people, both soldiers and civilians, and the streets they passed through were buzzing with excitement.
“We can play no part in the battle,” said Dundas, “but we might have to rescue survivors. I fear that there must be heavy losses on both sides. With the wind as fitful as this, half the ships may fail to engage and those that do may have no chance to withdraw.”
“I submit, sir, that we should do what we can.”
“You are right. We cannot be mere spectators. Bring your officers over to the Calpé and I’ll explain the situation and the part we may hope to play.”
A conference followed on board the Calpé at which Dundas showed the four lieutenants the position so far as he knew it. “The three French sail of the line were last seen in the position as marked on the chart. It may have been Sir James’s intention to anchor between them on the shore. I suspect, however, that his ships are still on the seaward side of them and some of them may be in danger. I shall presently make sail and steer for a position nearly opposite the Isla Verda and astern of where the Indomptable was last seen. The Merlin will take a more northerly course and should reach a position about a mile to the north of Algeciras town but not too close to the Santiago Battery. Our object on board either sloop will be to offer what help we can to the ships of Sir James’s squadron. Having given aid or found it impossible to help in any way, the two sloops will return independently to this anchorage, arriving here in any case before nightfall. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?” All nodded or replied briefly and he went on, “Very well, then, I shall make sail in fifteen minutes’ time and the Merlin will make sail five minutes after that. Good luck!”
The sloops were soon under sail, and were cheered by spectators as they left the anchorage. Delancey gave the order to clear for action and hoped devoutly that their intervention would prove useful. Sloops ordinarily formed no part of a battle fleet and, while frigates were often present, they seldom took any part in an action. In the present instance the two sloops might be ignored by the enemy. As against that, either or both might be sunk before they were even identified. The wind was faint and the two craft moved slowly across the bay. What had been a distant rumble of gunfire became more deafening as they approached. Before them, as they diverged, the smoke lay across their bows like a belt of fog, occasionally lit from within by flashes of light. On her more northerly course the Merlin was approaching an area where two or three topgallant masts showed faintly above the smoke. From forward came the chanting of the leadsman. The ship was otherwise quiet save for Delancey’s orders to the quartermaster at the wheel.
“Steady as she goes,” he said, and then, to Stirling, “I don’t like the look of this. The shore batteries are playing merry hell and the wind has almost died away.”
“Let us hope, sir, that the Spanish artillerymen are new to their work.”
“Likely enough, but Linois will have sent a third of his men ashore to help them. He need only man the one broadside . . .”
To make himself heard, Delancey had now to shout. One or two spent shots passed overhead and one hit the water alongside, ricocheted and sank somewhere astern. The Merlin was all too vulnerable on this battlefield. But Dundas had been right. The two sloops had to do something if it was only to rescue a few men from the water. Delancey had often studied paintings of naval battles where a common feature was usually some wreckage in the foreground to which seamen were clinging. But for this device the foreground would be rather blank. Was it, however, as common in fact as in art? There had been such scenes, to be sure, during the siege of Gibraltar in the previous war, but that had not been an ordinary battle.
What about the present affair? He was soon to discover for himself what its foreground would look like. One thing already apparent was the smoke, more of it than any artist could represent without simply spoiling the canvas. Sailors all believed that gunfire tended to produce a flat calm. Whether generally true or not, the faint wind was certainly dying away on this occasion. Moving ever more slowly, the Merlin was now entering the acrid smoke of battle. Her bowsprit became indistinct and then her foretopsail, already torn by a stray shot.
Overwhelmingly now came the smell of expended gunpowder. It was sometimes said of a man “he has never smelt powder.” This could never be said now of anyone on board the Merlin, for the smoke was everywhere, making the eyes smart. There came a shout from the forecastle and Delancey snapped “Hard a-starboard,” hoping that his reaction was the right one. A ghostly ship’s boat slid past to larboard but seemed to be empty. Delancey corrected the sloop’s course, knowing little by now of his whereabouts save that he was or would soon be in the middle of a battle.
To judge from the tremendous noise there were two ships in action somewhere shoreward of the Merlin, each broadside shaking the sloop by mere concussion conveyed through the water. Delancey glimpsed one of them for a minute and saw the muzzle flash from her more distant opponent. He guessed that the British ship might be the Pompée.
Five minutes later some wreckage was sighted, a ship’s mizen-top with seven men clinging to it. The Merlin hove to as Delancey ordered and the men, Frenchmen from the Formidable, were rescued. They had gone overboard when the mast fell but could give no information save that the Formidable had cut her cable, probably with the idea of running ashore. Firing in that direction was now more distant but the sounds of battle to the northward were intensified.
A boat appeared from nowhere which Delancey recognised as a launch from the dockyard, pulling towards where he had last seen the Pompée. She had no sooner vanished than another but smaller boat appeared, evidently damaged and leaking. Her crew were taken on board the Merlin, explaining that they had come to help the squadron but had been hit by a stray shot. Delancey held north-westward, the sound of gunfire intensifying, and then the smoke was cleared by a freshening breeze and he could see the Hannibal on his larboard bow. The breeze did not hold for long but he could see what had happened.
The Hannibal had been heading south, attempting to pass between the French ships and the shore. She had gone too close to the land, however, and had run aground a quarter of a mile from the beach and immediately opposite the Santiago Battery. An attempt was being made to kedge her off but the launch with the anchor was under fire from some gunboats. To judge from the chart, the Hannibal must be in three fathoms or less, her attempted manoeuvre having been singularly ill advised.
Holding his course for another ten minutes while the breeze died away again, Delancey dropped anchor at a cable’s distance to seaward of the Hannibal, keeping her between him and the battery. Then he ordered Stirling to lower a boat.
Coming on board the Hannibal with Topley at his heels, Delancey found himself the witness of a scene in hell. Seamen were firing and reloading with top speed but several of the upper deck starboard guns, including Numbers One to Three had been dismounted. Those still in action were undermanned and the blood-stained deck was littered with the killed and wounded. As he hesitated at the entry port, more cannonballs tore between decks and crashed through the stern. She was being raked by a French ship somewhere on her bows. The ship’s hull shuddered under the impact but she was otherwise motionless, a sitting target. Taking a deep breath, he ran aft and gained the quarterdeck, where some of her guns were still in action. A wounded man was sobbing like a child, another was groaning. The only officer to be seen was a lieutenant whose right arm was bandaged.
“Delancey of the sloop Merlin, come to see if I can be of service. Are you the captain?”
“No, sir. The captain is below, having a wound dressed.” The man was in obvious pain and was trying hard to keep his voice under control.
“Can I help you lighten the ship? My men could push your guns overboard. She might float then and we could tow you off, stern foremost.”
At that instant the deserted wheel was smashed by a shot which went on to knock splinters out of the mizen, wounding another five men, one of them doubled in agony. The lieutenant winced and tried to focus on Delancey.
“I’ll tell the captain of your offer, sir, but I don’t think your plan will answer. If we cease fire we shall suffer worse and lack the men to help drag her off. We have lost over fifty killed already. Apart from that, the ship has been holed between wind and water.”
“But the shot holes have been plugged?”
“Oh, yes, sir. But with the water aboard she will be deeper than when we took the ground.”
“And the pumps?”
“Damaged, sir, and only one of ‘em working.”
A cannon-ball from the Fort shattered the gangway amidships and another, red hot, lodged in the break of the quarterdeck, where it was dowsed by a marine.
The lieutenant’s voice cracked but he remained steady. “Heated shot, sir; a trick they learnt from us in the last war. They are using explosive shells, too, but so far without effect.”
“If we can’t float her, you will have to haul down her colours. Can I help remove your crew?”
“Not without the captain’s order, sir.”
“My compliments to him, then, and tell him that I am standing by. I can relieve you a little by giving those gunboats something else to think about.”
“Thank you, sir. The captain will be obliged to you.”
The Hannibal was evidently in a bad way, too many of her officers fallen and her men shocked and dazed with bloodshed, noise and fatigue. As he went back to the entry port, calling Topley to follow him, another shot smashed through the ship’s side. He glanced in that direction to see what had happened. “There goes Number Seven Gun,” he said to himself as he scrambled into the boat. “She can’t last much longer.”
Back on board the Merlin, Delancey used his telescope to survey the battlefield as a whole. Firing was less intense and a breeze had cleared the smoke away, revealing the full extent of the disaster. A mile to the south was the flagship, Caesar, flying the signal to discontinue the action. The Venerable and Audacious were obeying this signal, the Pompée, badly damaged, was being towed out by boats, and the Spencer, which had never come to close action, was under sail.
Looking shorewards, he could see that all three French ships were aground in the shallows, all damaged and none in action. The Hannibal apart, only the shore batteries were firing. Far to the south was the Calpé but heading towards the flagship with several boats in tow. The Spanish gunboats were in two groups, some to the south and others to the north of the Santiago Battery, all firing at the Hannibal.
The gunboats were undecked rowing craft, somewhat larger than a ship’s boat, each mounting a single cannon in the bows. A group of them, working together, could equal the fire of a warship but they were highly vulnerable and were used only close to the shore. Studying them through his telescope, Delancey made a quick decision and ordered Stirling to make sail. While the sloop gained way he had a hurried talk with Mather.
“We can’t save the Hannibal but we can drive off the gunboats. If I get the chance I shall try to capture one of them. So I want the launch ready to lower, with crew armed and Mr Northmore to command.”
The Merlin swept round the Hannibal’s bows and bore down on the near gunboat. For a fatal moment or two these continued to engage the Hannibal. Before they could shift to the new target, the Merlin had hove to with her port broadside bearing on them. “Fire!” shouted Delancey and his gunners, inspired by Stirling, produced a rapid and accurate fire, enough to sink one of the gunboats and send the rest pulling out of range with more haste than dignity.
Seeing that group in disarray, Delancey made sail again, circled to seaward of the Hannibal and bore down on the other group. “Heave to!” he shouted, and “Lower the launch!” The order, being expected, was quickly obeyed and the launch raced after the gunboat which had advanced most daringly. The boat, full of men, might have escaped but a shot from the Merlin smashed three of her oars.
Through his telescope, Delancey watched the longboat surge up to her opponent. Northmore was first aboard the enemy, cutlass in hand, and the Spanish were overwhelmed in a matter of minutes. Then the launch was on her way back with the captured gunboat in company.
All this time the guns of the Santiago Battery ignored the Merlin and continued to fire steadily at the Hannibal. The artillerymen had found the range and bearing of that target and were not to be tempted into engaging any other. Neither the French nor the Spanish had captured a British ship of the line for years. They saw in the Hannibal a ship that would have to surrender and they would not cease fire until she did. Their tired gunners were firing slowly but every shot found the target.
A few guns replied from the grounded ship and Delancey could see that Captain Solomon Ferris was on deck again and directing the fire. Delancey did not linger on the scene but made sail as soon as he had recovered his launch. Captain Ferris acknowledged his help with a wave of the hand. The Merlin was now headed seawards, lengthening her distance from the Hannibal.
“She is striking her colours, sir,” said Mather, and Delancey could see that this was true. Her ensign was rehoisted with union downwards and boats from the French flagship Formidable could be seen closing in on her. Half an hour later, while the Merlin was on her way back to Gibraltar, with the gunboat in tow, Delancey saw the Calpé nearing the Hannibal as if to offer help. There was nothing he could do and some gunfire followed as if the Calpé were in action. Then all was silent again and the battle was over.
Back in the anchorage at Gibraltar, Delancey went over to the Calpé to ask what had happened.
He found Dundas in a smoke-blackened uniform, hatless and bloodstained, struggling to make good the damage aboard his sloop. He was a more convincing leader than Delancey had expected and his exhausted men were doing their best.
“Well,” said Dundas, “we had done what we could for the other ships, especially the Pompée. It was our boats and two from the dockyard which towed her out. We picked up a few Frenchmen from the water. Then, as the smoke cleared, I saw that the Hannibal was ashore. I guessed that she would have to strike her colours but thought it might be possible to remove some of her crew first. Her ensign was still flying but, with the wind as it was, I could not see it plainly. I only discovered afterwards that it had been hoisted union downwards.
“By then it was too late. I had sent two of my boats to her assistance. The result was that twenty-two of my men were taken prisoner. I was so furious about it that I fired a broadside or two at their gunboats, which had been beached. The Santiago Battery replied and we sustained damage enough to keep us busy for a week, with seven men wounded into the bargain. How did the Merlin fare?”
“We were a little more fortunate, sir. I was on board the Hannibal at an earlier hour, before she struck but after she was aground. I drove off the gunboats and captured one of them. We suffered no damage and only two men are slightly wounded.” Delancey felt that his report sounded rather smug. He tried to add the human touch: “We might have suffered more if the batteries had not been firing at you. We were lucky to escape as lightly as we did.”
“You did well, Delancey. The man I am sorry for is the Admiral, though. We must assume that the French will be claiming a victory and it will be Sir James’s task to explain away a defeat.”
“But was it a defeat, sir?”
“Well, Sir James had six ships against their three and came off badly damaged, leaving one of his ships in their hands. Men have been court-martialled for less.”
“But look, sir, you were the last in action. What did you see? All three French ships were aground and out of action, masts sprung, topmasts gone. Boats from the shore were taking away the wounded. What you could see, what I had seen a little earlier, was a beaten enemy, unfit to renew the engagement.”
“Very true, but it won’t read like that in the dispatch which Linois is writing. France has no excessive number of victorious admirals. Linois, you may depend upon it, is making the most of his opportunity. He has a British ship of the line with the tricolour hoisted above the blue ensign and he wants, above all, to place her out of our reach. She is the proof of his victory. Had I been in Ferris’s place I should have set her on fire.”
“With all his wounded on board?”
“No, you’re right. He couldn’t do that.”
“So Linois has his prize and means to keep her. What will he do next?”
“He will send a message overland to Cadiz, asking the Admiral there to come to his rescue. I should guess that the messenger is already on his way.”
“Then he must have his three ships—no, four, ready for sea by the time the squadron arrives. He will have to work fast.”
“And Sir James will have to work faster!”
“That’s true, by God. When Linois sails, Sir James has his last chance to recover the Hannibal. I thought of volunteering to burn her tonight but his better plan will be to recapture her.”
“From among all those Spanish three-deckers?”
“It will be his only chance, for all that. The work of repair should have begun by now.”
“It has begun so far as the dockyard is concerned, but the seamen are exhausted, unfit for work until tomorrow. Then they will have to work as never before. It is going to be a race against time.”