IT WAS July 5th 1809 and Delancey was dining with his officers in the wardroom, following the usual Saturday routine. In the chair was the first lieutenant, the Hon. Stephen Northmore, and Delancey, remembering him as a bright fifteen-year-old midshipman, thought him absurdly young to hold so responsible a position. Then he did some mental arithmetic and realized, with a shock, that Northmore must be twenty-four—no, dammit, twenty-five. He was a handsome young man with fair hair, dark eyes, and bronzed complexion. Rather lazy in his younger days, he was becoming an admirable officer, there could be no doubt of that.
Edward Topley, second lieutenant, short, sturdy, and dark, perhaps two years younger than Northmore, would never be quite as good but had become very reliable; far better in that way than Fitzgerald had ever been. David Stock, third lieutenant, a son of the Bishop of Killala, was a born seaman, popular with the crew and endowed with good powers of leadership but with only moderate intelligence. Sevendale of the Royal Marines had proved himself an excellent soldier in Borneo and revealed, from time to time, a quiet sense of humour. Mackenzie, the surgeon, was a competent Scotsman, sometimes teased for his economical habits, and Finch, the purser, was as colourless and efficient as he had been from the first. Present as guests were young Ledingham and another midshipman called Lewis, transferred from the flagship as a result of a quarrel.
The sea officers were all rather young as compared with their captain, who was forty-eight, but Delancey had trained them all himself. Or was that true? No, he reflected, they had really been trained by Mather. It was now for Northmore to train Ledingham and Lewis. He was no such teacher as Mather had been but he was a good man to copy and Ledingham had already picked up some of his mannerisms. Lewis had also been heard to say “Do it right,” an expression derived from Stock who had learnt it from Mather, a man Lewis had never known.
On the whole, Delancey had reason to be satisfied with his officers. He could only wish that his lower deck had been half as good. The frigate was very undermanned and the real seamen left were only a handful. His only consolation lay in the skill of the Chinese servants who did the laundry and who had provided, as usual, an excellent dinner. Ten days after leaving the Cape, they had not quite exhausted their fresh provisions. There were still, for example, some oranges left. As for the frigate herself, she was all but worn out. Rear-Admiral Stirling had seen that and had ruled out any idea of sending her to sea before the end of the hurricane season in March. There is a point beyond which repair of a ship becomes impossible and that point, for the Laura, would be reached in 1809; at the latest, in 1810. The work carried out at Bombay had merely postponed the inevitable. Looking around him, Delancey thought that the ship and her captain were almost equally worn out. Faced by a new French frigate out from France he would be lucky to avoid having to strike his colours. If he fought it would not be to gain glory but merely to survive, he and the Laura having grown old together. If he went home in 1810 he would have been five years on a foreign station. It was enough and more than enough.
“Were you ever in Mauritius, sir?” It was Topley asking the question and Delancey had to bring his thoughts back to the present.
“No, my knowledge of the place is merely from hearsay. It is not an easy place to blockade.”
“Because of the reefs which surround it?”
“No, because there are three places to watch. The main French naval base is at Port Louis, there is another harbour at Grand Port a dozen miles away, and then a third is St Paul’s in the other island of Bourbon; all three places defended by shore batteries. We can’t be in strength at all three points and the returning French frigate will head for the one which is open at the time.”
“What I can’t understand, sir,” said Northmore, “is why we haven’t captured the islands and ended the nuisance.”
“Why, indeed?” replied Delancey. “One possible reason is that the French frigates have had only moderate success. They have captured country ships but have seldom intercepted an East Indiaman. Should the Company lose two or three of its own ships, the Indian governments would begin to take notice.”
“Can’t the Navy take action by itself?” asked Stock.
“Not if we’re to land troops. Those can only come from India.”
“But remember, sir,” said Sevendale, “that I could land twenty-one marines, or even twenty-two if you count the drummer boy.”
“Oh, yes, I should include the drummer boy,” replied Delancey, “He could terrify the French militia into surrender. They are said to number three thousand.”
“And amount, probably, to nothing.” Topley spoke with conviction but Delancey would not agree.
“We cannot be certain of that. Militia regiments in Britain are often little inferior to regular troops. But the same word is often applied to a rustic rabble without discipline or training.”
“And some rustics, sir,” said Sevendale, “are difficult to train. They often don’t know right from left—”
“Let alone right from wrong,” added Mackenzie.
“So we shall have to land and inspect them,” Delancey concluded, “before we dare pronounce on their quality.”
“All the American States have a militia,” said Northmore. “A free Negro volunteered to join in New Jersey and was asked whether he would prefer the cavalry. “No, sir,” he replied, “When that thar trumpet sounds the retreat, I don’t want to be hindered by no horse!”
The conversation became general but Delancey was still wondering about the armed forces of Mauritius. Could they really have transferred their loyalty from Louis XVI to the Republic and from the Republic to the Empire? Could they, at that distance, have absorbed any ideas about liberty, equality, or fraternity? Or did they merely want to live in peace? It was one thing to have names on a list and muskets in an armoury, quite another to have men actually on parade when the alarm was sounded. The one certainty in Delancey’s mind was that Josias Rowley, to whom the Admiral had entrusted the blockade of the islands, would never confine himself to sailing back and forth. Captain Rowley, as he remembered him, was one of the ablest men in the service and would certainly pursue a more active course. He would push his patrols up to the high-tide mark and beyond.
“It is all very well to believe in discipline,” said David Stock, “but some officers go a great deal too far. Did you hear of what happened when Captain Railton joined the Falcon?”
“I heard something about it,” said Northmore. “Wasn’t there some sort of mutiny?”
“There was the beginning of one. Captain Railton had previously commanded the Scorpion and made for himself the reputation of a taut hand. He was transferred to the Falcon when the Scorpion was ordered home. When he read his commission, the men all refused to serve under him.”
“Allow me to interrupt,” said Delancey with a touch of asperity, “I’m not sure that I like this sort of gossip. But, having heard so much you had best hear the end of it. Admiral Stirling went on board the Falcon and asked the men whether any one of them had served under Captain Railton before. No one came forward. So they knew nothing about Railton, he asked, except from idle rumour? This was the fact and they had to admit it. So the men returned to duty and the Falcon sailed with convoy to India.”
“But isn’t it true, sir, that Railton will flog the last man down from the yard-arm?” Stock evidently knew more than he had said.
“I have no idea. But I shouldn’t condemn Railton on the basis of lower-deck gossip. I met him only briefly but I am told that he has a good record. Shall we leave it at that?”
Delancey could not allow talk against a senior officer and young Stock looked properly ashamed of himself. He and the others probably thought that the old man was becoming pompous. The fact remained, however, that Delancey had heard the same rumours himself. There had been something like mutiny on board the Scorpion and before that in the frigate of which Railton had been first lieutenant. He wondered for a moment whether Stirling had acted with sufficient care.
Three days later (July 8th) Delancey wrote to Fiona at some length:
My dearest Fiona—To understand this letter you will need an atlas open at the map of Africa. Alongside Africa, on the right, you will find the big island of Madagascar. Beyond it again you will find the small islands of the Ile de France (also called Mauritius) and the Ile Bourbon (also called Réunion). The Seychelles comprise a group of islands which also, in theory, belong to France. The white inhabitants there number about two hundred, mostly deported convicts, and about twice as many slaves. These islands change each time a man-of-war calls there, but this is merely a matter of hoisting different flags. Failing to capture the French islands, we have had to blockade them, which is tedious work. We are the cats and the mice, at present, are reduced to two, the Semillante (32) and the Canonniére (48).
The bigger French island is Bourbon or Réunion but it is the other island, the Ile de France or Mauritius, which is the more important. It centres on Port Louis, which is deemed to be impregnable, but there is another harbour, less strongly defended, on the other side of the island. This is called Grand Port and there is a town there called Mahebourg. The interior of the island is mountainous and the coastline is rocky, fringed with reefs which are said to make a landing difficult or impossible. The population is very mixed and includes a high proportion of Negro slaves, used in the cultivation of sugar and coffee. The work of maintaining some sort of blockade is likely to be tedious and quite ineffective in curtailing the depredations of their men-of-war. On returning from a cruise, a French frigate will be warned by signal as to the whereabouts of our blockading squadron and will make accordingly for one of the three harbours available. My plan would be to conquer both islands and so have the chance to go home! I must first, however, secure for myself the appointment of Governor-General—an office which is not even vacant!
Remember me to my neighbours in Guernsey and believe me
Your most affectionate husband,
Richard Delancey
At the end of August 1809 Delancey reported on board the Raisonable (64) off Port Louis and was once more in the presence of Josias Rowley. Aged forty-three, Rowley had been in the navy all his life and was the grandson of Admiral Sir William Rowley who went to sea in 1704. His uncle had been Admiral Sir Joshua Rowley, his cousin was a captain now serving in the Mediterranean. Fortunate in his service connections, he had not been quite as lucky in his career. The only battle in which he had taken part was Sir Robert Calder’s action off Finisterre, an affair which ended Calder’s career and did little for the reputation of anyone else. But Rowley’s ability was known and he made an instant impression on everyone who met him. He was a fine-looking vigorous Irishman, with a ready smile but penetrating glance. His ship was in impeccable order, his own appearance to match. He radiated confidence and vitality and was never at a loss. Greeting Delancey as an old friend, he told him at once what the Laura’s function would be:
“My squadron comprises the Raisonable, Leopard (50), Laurel (22), and Otter (16). At Port Louis the French have a powerful frigate, the Canonnière but little else. Their other frigate, the Semillante had an action with the Terpsichore in February—you will have heard about it—and has since been disarmed and dismantled. We hear that she is to go back to France as a merchantman. Plans for the capture of the French islands have been discussed and I have been ordered to collect information about them and more particularly about their state of defence. Were there an effective French squadron at Port Louis, I should find it difficult to reconnoitre the landing places, but we now have our chance. I think it probable that the French will be reinforced and so we must do what we can in the meanwhile. For the task of reconnaissance I need a good seaman with brains and a knowledge of French.”
“And one perhaps whose frigate is old and expendable?”
“That, too. Can you do it?”
“Tell me first, sir, what questions I am to answer?”
“There are two questions. First, I want to know where we could land an army. Second, I want to know what resistance we can expect after the army has been landed. Given information on those two points, the staff in India can draw up a detailed plan. We have little idea at present as to what force we need or where we are to put it ashore.”
“I understand, sir. And I must assume that we shall need to have contact with people ashore?”
“We have none as yet. We have brought from the Seychelles, however, a man called Henri Lestrange who knows the Ile de France and who claims to have royalist sympathies.”
“He is, I suppose, a convict?”
“Oh, yes. His offence could, of course, have been political.”
“No doubt, sir.”
“He is at present on board the Otter but I’ll send him to you.”
“Thank you, sir. He may well be useful, especially if he is a pilot for the French islands.”
“He is not, but he has friends ashore, or so he says.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Dine with me and meet my officers. The master, Mr Gavin, has made an improved chart of the coast around Port Louis. Learn what you can from us before you work on the problem.”
It did not appear, however, that much had so far been discovered about the Ile de France. Its most interesting feature, to the blockading ships, was the signal station on a hilltop behind Port Louis. Apart from that the approach to that chief harbour was defended by an almost invariably adverse wind and a serried row of cannon facing the sea. Wherever a landing was to be planned it would never be there. Lestrange, when he arrived, turned out to be a small, white-faced, and untidy man aged about sixty. He was, he explained, a royalist, opposed to the republicans and even more opposed to the Corsican usurper. He had previously been associated with Oliver de Grandpré of St Malo but had parted company with him when Grandpré made his peace with Napolean. In considering plans for capturing Mauritius, Grandpré had rejected Baie du Tombeau, Pointe aux Canonniers, Grande Rivière, and La Rivière Noire. His advice had been to land at Baie aux Tortues. To do that now was out of the question.
“Why?” asked Delancey.
“Because his recommendation is too widely known. General Decaen will have provided against any landing there.”
“What place do you advise?”
“At Grand Port.”
“And what sort of resistance might we expect from the garrison and the National Guard?”
“Well, I should judge the garrison to be very weak. I have been assured that only four hundred and ninety men paraded for the funeral of Governor Malartic, every man present who was not actually on the sick-list. The National Guard is supposed to number about eleven hundred but there would never be more than eight hundred actually present, and those ill-trained and poorly disciplined.”
Lestrange went back to the Otter and Delancey sent for Sevendale telling him what Lestrange’s advice had been. They discussed it as they paced the sunlit quarter-deck.
“In my opinion,” said Sevendale, “Lestrange is right about Baie aux Tortues. It has been too much talked about. His idea about Grand Port is, to my mind, nonsense.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, sir, look at the island.” Sevendale pointed towards Port Louis, recently renamed Port Napoléon, with wooded hills rising to jagged peaks in the background. “The centre of the island is occupied by mountains rising to over 2,500 feet with a sort of plateau between them. Port Louis is the capital, the place we must occupy. Grand Port is on the opposite side of the mountains with no good roads in between.”
“And what about Lestrange’s estimate of the garrison and National Guard?”
“It is out of date, sir. General Decaen brought with him well over a thousand more men. As for the National Guard, I should suppose that the paper strength is greater than he supposes but that the numbers do not signify.”
“And what landing place would you advise?”
“Well, sir, we must capture Port Louis and we can assume that most of the garrison is there. So we do not want to be too distant, as we should be at Grand Port. Neither, however, do we want to be too close as at Baie du Tombeau. I should assume that we shall meet with some resistance wherever we land, that a message will then go to Decaen, and that he will send troops to meet us, taking two hours, say, to collect them and have them ready to march. I think that we want five hours ashore before those troops arrive. If we allow another hour to deal with the local opposition, let us call it six hours after landing before our troops are ready for battle. I consider therefore that the landing place should be fifteen to twenty miles from Port Louis. The exact place is a question of seamanship.”
“Thank you, Mr Sevendale. I accept your calculations as to time and distance.”
“They are very approximate, sir. I have taken no account of the state of the roads.”
“About that we know too little. Given the right distance, however, we should be in Port Louis on the day after we have landed.”
“We should leave it no later, sir, or Decaen will otherwise have time to withdraw his garrisons from the far side and the other end of the island.”
“And what is the size of force we should land?”
“Two thousand infantry, with artillery and engineers, bringing the total to two thousand five hundred.”
“I am most grateful to you. You have evidently given the matter most careful thought.”
Delancey knew that he would have to do the rest of the planning himself. Going to his cabin he placed the chart on the table and studied it afresh. The required distance northwards would bring him to Cap Malheureux, opposite the island known as the Gunner’s Quoin (Coin de Mire on the chart). The same distance southwards would bring him to the mouth of La Rivière Noire or else to La Rivière Tamarin. Neither area offered any sort of harbour for a ship but both of them seemed to be easily accessible by boat. Which was preferable? The northern coast seemed to offer the better anchorage outside the reef, in ten to twenty fathoms. If that were so, he would have to explore the north coast without showing too much obvious interest in it and then stage a raid on some point to the southward, preferably at about the same distance from Port Louis. Having made these decisions, he issued his orders and sailed on his mission. There followed a week of intensive exploration, with casual cruising each day and boat expeditions each night. Every gap in the reef was tested and measured, with soundings entered on a master chart. It became clear in the end that Mapou Bay was the place for the landing and La Rivière Noire for the testing raid. When the Laura finally rejoined the blockading squadron, Delancey was able to make a firm and detailed report. It was accepted at once and he presently took on board a detachment of a hundred specially chosen soldiers under Captain Stenning, Lieutenant Pinsent, and Ensign Hodges. They comprised volunteers from different regiments, all of them now armed with rifles (rather than with the ordinary musket) and they wore a colonial uniform in dark green. They were marksmen whose training had begun at Shorncliffe and ended with boat-pulling and elementary seamanship at Dover. Off duty they affected laxness of discipline and minor eccentricities in accoutrements. Unimpressive as they were in appearance, Delancey was assured that they were demons in battle.
The landing was to take place at daybreak on September 24th. The Laura made her approach well after midnight, towing the three large boats which had been supplied for the occasion. There was little moonlight but there was no missing the landing place, which was close to a mountain called La Morne de la Rivière Noire, clearly silhouetted against the sky. The wind was faint and the frigate went silently through the water, which shoaled rapidly after the river-mouth had been reached. When in ten fathoms Delancey hove to but did not anchor for fear of making too much noise. Somewhere to starboard the French had a battery with barrack buildings some distance in rear, the cannon actually bearing on the place where the boats were to beach. A silent signal brought the landing craft alongside and the infantry scrambled aboard two of them, leaving the third to Sevendale and his men. Ledingham and Lewis went with the troops, Stock with the marines. The frigate’s own launch was manned only by seamen, led by Topley, and Northmore, in command of the whole operation, went in a cutter which brought the number of boats to five. Northmore and Stenning were given a quiet word of warning at the last moment:
“Remember, gentlemen,” said Delancey, “what we have been told to do. We are not trying to conquer the island. We are not even trying to take prisoners, although two or three would be welcome for questioning. We merely want information on two points. First, we want to know how long it will be before troops arrive from Port Louis. Second, we want to discover whether the National Guard need be taken seriously. My guess is that the artillerymen on the spot will be regular gunners, the infantry supporting them will be National Guard, the troops coming to the rescue will be regular infantry. By tomorrow we shall know whether I am right.”
The boats pushed off and vanished into the darkness while the frigate made sail and presently dropped anchor to the southward, outside what he guessed to be the battery’s arc of fire. All was silent again save for the noise of the breakers along the shore. As Delancey paced the deck the sky turned pale behind the mountain, which loomed black and menacing. All was silent and Delancey wondered whether his landing party could have lost direction. He reflected, however, that this was impossible. From where they were to land they had only to follow the shore to their right.
He thought again about the men who were leading the attack. Stenning was a gentleman, young and adventurous, who had been in battle before. Pinsent was a promoted sergeant with still more experience. Hodges was a mere boy, under fire for the first time. They were to attack the barracks, leaving the battery to the seamen and marines, whose task it would be to put the guns finally out of action. Spiking the guns was not enough, he had emphasized, and Topley knew exactly what to do.
He peered again into the darkness, seeing nothing but made aware of the scent from the land. What was it? Wild acacia? Trochetia? An hour passed as he paced the deck, the eastern sky turning from pale silver to pale gold. What could have gone wrong? There came at last the sound of a distant musket shot, followed a few minutes later by a volley. After that the firing was continuous. Then there followed the boom of cannon and a splash where the shot had fallen both short and wide. So poor was the French aim that Delancey decided to stay where he was, theoretically a sitting target. The ineffective cannonade went on for twenty minutes and then abruptly ceased.
“Man the capstan!” Delancey ordered and the frigate sailed again towards the river-mouth, dropping anchor again in eight fathoms. Daylight now revealed the union flag hoisted over the battery. From further inland came the sound of musketry becoming more distant, less frequent, and finally dying away. Delancey’s gig was in the water and he chose this moment to go ashore.
The distance was about a mile but the tide was making and the river-mouth soon narrowed to the point where the landing craft were beached and guarded by sentries. Landing there, Delancey followed a path to the right, accompanied by his coxswain and two armed seamen. On his right were the rocks which bordered the river-mouth, beyond them the dramatic profile of La Morne de la Rivière Noire and the Laura at anchor. On his left there was thick undergrowth, heavy with scent and loud with the noise of birds and insects. “A beautiful island,” he thought, “too good for the French!” It was very hot, however, and he was perspiring freely. After perhaps half a mile he emerged from the shade of trees and was promptly challenged, “Halt! Who goes there?” Remembering the password he answered “Black River,” and was allowed to go on, saluted by the boatswain’s mate.
As he approached the battery position he heard the sort of noise which he associated with a blacksmith’s shop, the clink of hammer on anvil. When he reached the battery, Northmore reported to him. “All well, sir. No casualties, three prisoners. We are knocking the trunnions off and rolling the gun barrels into the sea. All the powder is now wet and we shall roll the shot after the guns. The prisoners are locked in the magazine.” He pointed to a stone-built hut in rear of the gun platform.
“Well done!” said Delancey. “Now show me the barracks.” They walked back the way they had come but followed a path which branched to the right. This brought them to another sentry post and so to a group of white-painted wooden huts with a stockade on the side which faced the sea. Here Stenning reported to him. “All well, sir. Two men wounded and one wounded prisoner. The enemy fled inland, leaving five men killed, and we have seen nothing of them since.”
“That is, since five o’clock?”
“Are there any stables here?”
“Stables, sir? Yes, I think there are.”
Stenning led the way to a hut detached from the rest with a half-door and a characteristic smell. There was hay in a manger and some water left in a bucket, with stalls for two horses and every sign of their having been occupied.
“Your wounded prisoner is of the National Guard?”
“Yes, sir. So were the men whose bodies we found.”
“So the two horses would be for the commander of the post and his orderly.”
“No doubt, sir.”
“The orderly will be riding to Port Louis with a message. The commander will have gone with his troops in the same direction but will halt after crossing the Tamarin River.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“How many men will he have?”
“Over a hundred, I should guess, thirty of them gunners.”
“So he won’t come back until he is reinforced. The orderly must ride, say, twenty miles. Troops must assemble and move in this direction. Cavalry could be here by about two in the afternoon, infantry by about four or five.”
“Do they have any cavalry, sir?”
“I don’t know. This is our chance to find out. Now I’ll have a word with your wounded prisoner.”
This sole living and present representative of the National Guard was an insignificant Creole in a rather smart uniform, crippled for life by a bullet through the ankle. Captain Stenning nodded his satisfaction. “I always tell my men to fire low,” he muttered. The prisoner explained meanwhile that he was a barber by trade but had been called up some months since, much to his annoyance. He had no love for Napoleon and cared nothing for the glory of France. He could boast now that he was a soldier who had been in battle, but what good would that do him? He would rather have a sound ankle. He was a married man with two children and all he had wanted was to live in peace . . .
As they walked away, Stenning asked Delancey whether it was significant that the prisoner showed so little loyalty towards Napoleon.
“Of no significance at all,” replied Delancey. “He was telling us what he thinks we want to hear. But we have fairly measured the heroism of the National Guard. How long did they stand their ground?”
“For about five minutes, sir.”
“That is what they are worth, then. The French gunners are better but I doubt whether they have had the ammunition to spare for practice. Their shot came nowhere near the Laura despite the fact that they were not themselves under fire.”
Delancey joined Northmore at the battery position and shared a meal with the seamen and marines, Then he gave orders for evacuating the post:
“Mr Northmore,” he said, “Captain Stenning will remain with his men to meet the French assault when it comes. He has orders to withdraw, however, when attacked. Mr Topley will place his seamen in position to guard the boats. Mr Sevendale will place his men between the boats and the barracks so that the soldiers can pass through the marines’ position as they go to embark. The marines will then withdraw in turn, covered by the seamen who are ashore. Is that clear? I shall now return to the ship and leave you in command.”
At about three that afternoon there came the renewed sound of musketry which died away in half an hour. There were single shots after that at long intervals but the firing had died away by nightfall. Delancey saw nothing of the skirmish but had a full report from Northmore when the boats returned.
“The French attacked soon after three and we glimpsed some men on horseback—probably dragoons, armed with muskets. They failed, however, to press home their attack. After a further skirmish, in which two of our men were slightly wounded, the French withdrew again. Captain Stenning then sent out patrols. They reported, on their return, that they had seen camp-fires in the distance, indicating the arrival of troops in force. We embarked after that but without any further contact with the enemy.”
“Thank you, Mr Northmore. What is your interpretation, Captain Stenning, of the French tactics on this occasion?”
“Well, sir, General Decaen would seem to have some cavalry, perhaps no more than a troop. When he heard of our landing he sent some senior officer, with a few cavalrymen, to take command of the National Guard and gunners that were already on the spot. This officer, probably a Colonel, spurred them into action, his dragoons setting the example, but little came of his efforts. He was followed by a column of infantry but that failed to arrive before nightfall. The camp-fires our patrols sighted were lit by their troops forming the vanguard, their main body being far to the rear.”
“Thank you for a skilful operation in which we have discovered all that we wanted to know at a cost of four men wounded, all likely to recover. Well done!”
When the Laura rejoined the squadron off Port Louis, Delancey was able to report the success of his mission.
“The best place for our troops to land would be Mapou Bay, in my opinion, immediately opposite the Gunner’s Quoin, where there would be room for two battalions to land at the same time. The total force needed should not exceed two thousand five hundred men. The initial resistance would be small but French cavalry patrols might be expected to appear in about eight hours. French infantry would not be present in any strength until daybreak of the second day. We need not concern ourselves with the French National Guard, the military qualities of which are negligible.”
“Thank you, Captain Delancey, for an admirable report, concise and to the point. Have you anything further to add?”
“I shall report in writing, sir, on our landing at La Rivière Noire, commending the behaviour of all concerned. May I add my private opinion that General Decaen will capitulate as soon as we give him a reasonable pretext?”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because he has been in exile here. All his contemporaries have been winning glory in Europe, becoming Barons or Dukes of the Empire. He will want his share, only to be gained after a creditable capitulation to superior forces.”
“From what I hear, the army he will have to face will be superior enough. Other estimates of the force needed are widely different from yours! That, however, need not concern us. Our task, is merely to put them on shore.”
It was not a task to be undertaken in 1809. Lord Minto’s approach to the conquest of Mauritius was nothing if not cautious. The plan initially agreed was for the conquest of Bourbon, and the orders for that were not issued until March 1810. The blockade of the French islands continued in the meanwhile, the monotony relieved only by a raid on Bourbon in September; a raid in which the Laura played no part, having been left to cruise off Port Louis. When the hurricane season approached Commodore Rowley withdrew to the Cape with his whole squadron. He knew by then that the invasion of the French islands was to take place in 1810. Amidst all the other preparations he ordered a survey on the Laura, supposing that she might have to be sent home. It was decided, however, that she was good for another season of blockade duty but would probably have to be broken up at the end of the year. That would not mean the end of Delancey’s service in the Indian Ocean, he was assured; he and his crew would be transferred, no doubt, to another frigate. His services had been extremely valuable, he was told, and he was much too good a man to lose.