WHEN Delancey returned to St Denis, the squadron had gone, leaving only the Boadicea and the Laura, still under repair. Northmore had done very well, plundering the prizes of cordage and pitch, but his skilled seamen were few and the work was slow. Reporting to the Commodore at his shore headquarters, Delancey was invited to dinner that afternoon. He next reported to the Governor, in whose office he found Lt.-Colonel Keating.
“So the leader of the gang escaped?” said Farquhar with a touch of asperity.
“Yes, sir.”
“And is up to mischief, I suppose, in some other part of the island.”
“I think it more probable that he will make for Mauritius.”
“But how?” asked Keating.
“In an open boat—at night.”
“Yes, I suppose that could be done in this weather.” Farquhar admitted. “He would, of course, know where to find one. He would be lucky, however, to avoid an encounter with one of our men-of-war.”
Delancey shook his head.
“That would not tax his ingenuity, sir. Our frigates blockade Port Louis and Grand Port. He could come ashore at Port de la Savane or La Baie du Cap. Nor is it open boats our men are looking for.”
“Very true,” said Farquhar, “and by your account this fugitive is a dangerous man. He will be our prisoner when Mauritius is conquered and our Governor of that island will know how to deal with him.”
Delancey kept his opinion to himself but he was not as optimistic about this wondering whether Fabius could be identified or whether a court martial could find any evidence against him. His own suspicions were not based on any real information. It was just possible that the man had been killed in the avalanche but that seemed unlikely. Fabius would have known about the Bras Rouge and his path in that direction would have been clear of the flying boulders. It was typical of the man that he should have escaped after telling his men to fight it out: men he must have known were better as torturers than as marksmen. He decided, silently, to avoid bringing Fabius to trial. He would be killed, he decided, while resisting arrest.
The Commodore had no other guests at dinner and he listened attentively to Delancey’s account of his visit to Le Piton des Neiges. He had other things on his mind, however, and was soon talking about his own worries. There were senior officers who would never discuss their own problems, preferring to build up a reputation for taciturn omniscience. Josias Rowley was not one of them. He was Irish and quite prepared to discuss anything. Intelligent, quick-witted, and nervous, he evidently had to confide in somebody and Delancey was apparently the only man available.
“I am not to be the conqueror of Mauritius,” he explained. “Vice-Admiral Bertie is coming from the Cape and will supersede me before the landings take place. I am to do the work and he will take the credit. Well, it comes fair in the end, I suppose. I may some day be an admiral myself! But I am responsible in the meanwhile and must hand over to him in a situation which is completely under control. But the fact is that I lack the superiority I ought to have over the enemy. You know that as well as I do. Captain Pym is off Mauritius with the frigates Sirius, Iphigenia, Néréide, Magicienne, and the gun-brig Staunch. He is barely equal to the French and I must keep the Boadicea here so that I can meet the Vice-Admiral as arranged.”
“I am doing my utmost, sir, to have the Laura ready for sea. She will be hove down tomorrow.”
“I know you are. But the Laura is no match for any of the French frigates.”
“What about the Falcon, sir?”
“Another sloop would make no difference. In any case, I begin to fear that she is lost. She had been sent to India with convoy and was ordered to report back to me. She is long overdue and we have had no news of her. In strict confidence, it would not surprise me to hear that her crew had mutinied. You know Railton’s reputation.”
The meal was finished and they were sitting over their wine but Rowley was on his feet and began pacing up and down the cabin.
“We used to count on a superiority, ship to ship, based on a higher rapidity of fire. But I wouldn’t count on that today, not in battle against Hamelin’s ships, not in a duel with the Venus! And our ships have been out here too long, with depleted crews and too much sickness. The Laura is wretchedly manned and you know it.”
“The French have their troubles, too, sir.”
“To be sure they do but Hamelin has not been overseas for so long as you or I. You might think that I would wish to retain my present command but the fact is that I shall be glad to be relieved. We have in our present situation all the makings of a real setback and I don’t want to be the scapegoat should disaster take place.”
“I quite understand that, sir. May I ask what orders you have given to Captain Pym for the closer blockade of Mauritius?”
“He is under orders, first of all, to raid the coast and distribute copies ashore of the proclamation drawn up by Mr Farquhar. The object of this is to show the inhabitants that they will be more prosperous under British rule and so weaken the effectiveness of the French militia.”
“We have, in my opinion, sir, little to fear from the militia in any case.”
“Well, we are doing what we have been asked to do. As for British rule being so advantageous, I don’t think that the folk here will enjoy it for long. Lacking any real seaport, this colony is governed at a loss and we are almost certain to give it back when the war ends. Mauritius we shall certainly keep, not because we want the place but so as to deny France the use of it. I discussed with Pym a plan to begin the conquest by capturing the Ile de la Passe.”
“The island in the approach to Grand Harbour?”
“Yes, our occupation of the batteries there would make Grand Harbour useless, impossible to enter or leave.”
“Is Pym to lead the attack, sir?”
“No, he will direct it, or cancel it, indeed, if the situation should be unfavourable, but the actual capture will be a task for Captain Willoughby. He will succeed if any man can.”
“An exceptionally gallant officer, sir.”
“Yes, but he is also a specialist in conjunct operations. He is always on shore and drilling his men as infantry. I think, myself—and strictly between you and me—that he plays the soldier too much. It is a good fault, however, from the point of view of capturing the Ile de la Passe. This is a task after his own heart.”
“And Duperré’s squadron is out of the way?”
“Doing mischief, I hear, in the Mozambique Channel.”
“But might return when least expected?”
“Exactly! I’ll be glad, Delancey, when the invasion of Mauritius begins. At the moment we have troopships and transports on their way from India and the Cape, and their position could be extremely hazardous. I lie awake at night, thinking of the dangers, and there is nothing I can do to remove them.”
Delancey said what he could about Pym being a sensible man and Willoughby never at a loss but he thought, privately, that Rowley’s squadron was over-extended, and that the Ile de la Passe was better let alone. As things were, the loss of a single frigate would be extremely serious. All he could do, personally, was to hasten the refitting of the Laura.
For the next week or so he drove his men to frantic exertion and told his officers that much might be at stake. When the recaptured East Indiaman Windham came into the anchorage at St Paul, the captain brought the news that the Ile de la Passe had been captured but that Duperré’s squadron had entered Grand Port and was about to be attacked there by Captain Pym. Commodore Rowley sailed at once in the Boadicea on August 22nd but returned to St Paul on the 30th. Delancey reported to him at once, meaning to assure him that the Laura would be able to sail on the following day. He found the Commodore in his cabin on board the Boadicea white-faced and haggard, with his head in his hands and the chart spread before him.
“The worst has happened, Delancey. We have been defeated in battle.”
“I heard something of this in the town, sir. All sorts of rumours are current.”
“I am sure there are. But the situation is worse than even the French here can suppose. Four of my frigates have been lost or taken—four of them!”
“What happened, sir?”
“The Ile de la Passe was captured and Pym went back to his position off Port Louis, leaving Willoughby off Grand Port with Néréide and Staunch. He was ashore on a raid when Duperré appeared with the Bellone, Minerve, Victor, and two prizes. Willoughby managed to regain his ship and made signals which lured the French into Grand Port—he fired on them as they came in and hoped to keep them there. Then he sent the Windham, a retaken prize, to warn me of what he planned—an attack on the French ships in Grand Port before the rest of their ships could arrive. There was a battle in the harbour itself, three of our frigates being forced to haul down their colours. The Iphigenia remained but then Commodore Hamelin appeared with the Venus, Astrèe, Entreprenant, and Manche. So our last frigate surrendered, together with the Ile de la Passe, and the French can claim a real victory. When I arrived the whole affair was over. I was chased off again and came back here.”
“So your squadron now comprises the Boadicea, Laura, and Staunch?”
“My total strength! And Hamelin will have added the Iphigenia to his squadron.”
“But Pym and Willoughby will have crippled their opponents, surely, before they surrendered?”
“They had damaged the Bellone and Minerve, to be sure. But I still have to face appalling odds. And what is my task? To restore the situation before the troopships arrive in an area we no longer control!”
“What went wrong, sir?”
Rowley was now pacing up and down the cabin, pausing occasionally to glance again at the notes he had been making. His nerves were on edge and his hands were trembling.
“The first mistake was mine. I remained here and ordered Pym to maintain the blockade. I had good reason to make that arrangement but I was wrong. I should have been in immediate command. The next mistakes were made by Willoughby, the hotheaded fool. Instead of holding the Ile de la Passe with all his forces, he had to go raiding ashore—Pointe du Diable, this place and that, taking his best men with him—even his artillerymen.”
“But surely, sir, he had been ordered to distribute the proclamation ashore?”
“Yes, but he’d not been told to do it in person. His first responsibility was for his ship and he should have left the raiding operations to a lieutenant. His trouble is that he can never resist playing soldiers on the nursery floor. Well, he is badly wounded now and taken prisoner, with time to reflect on his folly.”
“What about Pym’s decision to attack the French ships in Grand Port, sir? Was that a mistake?”
“No, Delancey. What else could he have done? But he need not have gone like a bull at a gate. He could have taken his time and felt his way.”
“He supposed, I fancy, sir, that the other French squadron would arrive at any moment.”
“Of course—I know that. But he need not have been so headlong. He could have taken time to discuss the situation with Willoughby and study the navigational hazards. The attack was made too late in the day. He could have waited until morning.”
“Pym and Willoughby are not, I think, the best of friends.”
“I know that. It would not have mattered so much had I been there. Instead of allowing Willoughby to act as pilot, Pym had to take a line of his own. He ran his ship aground, the Magicienne also grounded and the Iphigenia never closed with the enemy. Willoughby was left unsupported and his ship reduced to a mere wreck, with most of his men killed or wounded. The state of the Nèrèide must have been unthinkable—Willoughby is not the man to strike his flag while he has a cartridge left. She must have been a shambles! And the disaster was due, above all, to my absence. I could have prevented it. No, more than that, I could have won a victory . . . It is a sad note on which to end my career.”
Rowley was slumped in his chair again, staring once more at the chart.
“I hope you will forgive me, sir,” said Delancey, “if I beg to differ from you. It seems to me that you now have the chance to make your name a legend. You believe, sir, that you made a crucial mistake. But don’t we all make mistakes? Nelson is thought to have been among our greatest men, but he did not make his reputation by avoiding mistakes. He was in error on a dozen occasions, and it was a tactical mistake that led to his death. I have not your wide experience, sir, but it seems to me that a great leader is not one who is always right, nor one who is undefeated but one, above all, who somehow turns defeat into victory. We judge him, finally, by his reaction to disaster, by his speed of recovery, by his resolve to conquer, and by the way an opponent’s smile of self-congratulation turns suddenly into alarm and dismay. I would urge, sir, that your great moment is still to come.”
“I wish I could think that possible, Delancey. I may have the will but I lack the means. By the time we can regain the initiative I shall be superseded. In the meanwhile, I must decide what to do. The Windham I shall send to Rodriguez, to warn other shipping about the present situation. As for you and me we shall have to stay here and help defend this island. The French have strength enough to retake it and may well make the attempt. We may have another ship before long, I have been told; a fine new frigate called the Africaine, her only previous service having been to take our Ambassador to the United States. If she were to join me, we might be able to make a fight of it. The Africaine is a fast ship, I have been told, and Corbett is a sail-drill maniac who prides himself on his seamanship. But you are right, Delancey. I should like nothing better than a chance to turn the tables on the French, especially at a moment when they think they have won the game!”
As if to illustrate the French mood of confidence, two of the French frigates (one of them, Iphigenie, recently British) appeared off St Denis a few days later. Rowley prepared to give battle, sailing from St Paul with the Boadicea, Laura, and Staunch. He no sooner sighted the French, however, than he also sighted another frigate which turned out to be the Africaine, having arrived most opportunely on the station. The French frigates made all sail for Mauritius, the Africaine in hot pursuit and the Boadicea following as best she might. By nightfall the Boadicea was out of sight from the Laura and Delancey could do nothing more to regain his position. As he and Northmore paced the quarter-deck, they could just see the glimmer of distant flares.
“We have set all the canvas we have, sir,” said Northmore,“but this is an old ship, too long on the station. The French will never escape, however, from the Africaine.”
“True enough, Mr Northmore, but will Captain Corbett wait for the Boadicea to join him? Let’s hope to God that he doesn’t try to fight the battle by himself.”
“He should be able, sir, to cripple the Frenchman and so give the Commodore his opportunity.”
“I wonder? Corbett must fight under two serious disadvantages. From what I hear, his gunnery will be poor, with little time or ammunition having been allowed for practice. It is also rumoured that he is extremely unpopular. But note the danger of sail-drill fanaticism at the expense of gunnery. His speed will tempt him to outsail his consort and come up with a superior opponent and then his inaccurate fire will lead to his defeat.”
Delancey was to claim afterwards that he had foreseen exactly what would happen to the Africaine. Of this action itself he saw nothing at all. When the Laura rejoined the Commodore next day it was to find that the Africaine had been taken by the French after a tremendous action (in which Corbett was mortally wounded) and then retaken by the Boadicea. The Laura was present during the campaign which followed but was too slow to play an effective role. First of the forces from India was the frigate Ceylon, promptly captured by the French Venus. From the Commodore’s point of view, this represented the worst moment of all but he reacted with vigour, retaking the Ceylon and then capturing the Venus herself. There followed what was probably Rowley’s greatest achievement, the refitting of his squadron in a matter of days. In the midst of all this activity he found time to invite his captains to dinner and thank Delancey among the rest for his support. Delancey, although equally busy, found time to write home:
September 24th 1810
My dearest Fiona—I told you in a previous letter that we lacked the strength to equal the French squadron we were supposed to hold in check. This proved to be all too true and Captain Pym, with four frigates, was defeated at Grand Port, losing all four ships and leaving the Commodore with only two frigates and two smaller ships. To make matters worse he knew that transports carrying troops intended for the conquest of Mauritius were on their way into an area which his squadron was supposed to control. I have said that he had two frigates but one of them was the poor old Laura, of which Captain Willoughby once said rather unkindly, “she is too small to fight, too slow to run away.” He was right, however, and my only consolation is that he (not I) is a wounded prisoner of war.
The Commodore should have another sloop, the Falcon, but we have no news of her and fear that she may have been lost, perhaps as the result of mutiny. I refused at first to believe the stories about Captain Railton, rejecting them as lower-deck gossip, but I have since met an officer who served with him and have had to confess that his reputation must have been well earned.
Anyway, Commodore Rowley was outnumbered by his opponents and could foresee the arrival of other ships, one by one, each being taken in turn by the enemy. This happened to the Africaine and the Ceylon, leaving the Commodore in a position which might have seemed hopeless. There followed the astonishing feat by which he recaptured these two frigates and went on to capture the Venus—the best frigate on the French side—in an action which lasted only ten minutes. All this he achieved with just the one frigate, the Boadicea. If ever man deserved immortal fame it is he. But, surely, you will exclaim, he had the Laura to assist him? In point of fact we could not have helped him less had we been stationed in the West Indies or the Baltic. We came within extreme range of the Venus a few minutes before she struck her colours, firing one useless broadside so as to claim a share in the victory. The one result of that broadside has been to start a leak in our own ship and one which we have so far failed to trace. We have the pumps going now for an hour or more in either watch.
Now the time approaches for the capture of Mauritius. Vice-Admiral Bertie is known to be on his way with a powerful squadron and a whole army embarked in transports. I think myself that the French resistance will be trifling. So Mauritius must fall and I look forward to visiting that island at leisure. I also have my own motive for going ashore there. There is an elusive character, known sometimes by the name of Fabius, whose career as a secret agent I have traced from Ireland to Borneo, from there to Bourbon. He is now in Mauritius—of this I am convinced—and there is nowhere else to which he can readily escape. The moment is coming, I think, when his story will come to an end, probably before a firing squad.
The landing in Mauritius is to be directed by Captain Beaver, coming out from England with the sole purpose of planning and executing this one operation. He has not arrived yet but his reputation goes ahead of him and I see weeks of activity during which we shall all be speaking a new language. From a drawing up of landing tables we shall go on to talk of sepoy units, cross-covering fire, flank battalions, lascar gunners, the Reserve Brigade, and the picket line. In much the same way there will be soldiers with some grasp of the language (although not the realities) of seamanship. There is no real harm in all this “dreadful note of preparation” but I cannot help suspecting that the mere organization has become an end in itself.
I have written confidently about the coming invasion of Mauritius but it might occur to you to ask why the French have done so little to save it. I have myself wondered about that. What would be the outcome if they sent a squadron out, timed to arrive in November? What if it appeared, offering battle, at the very moment when we shall all be busy with landing tables and landing craft? On the whole, however, I think this a remote possibility. That Napoleon should order some eleventh-hour reinforcement is quite probable but I doubt whether French seamanship is equal to bringing a squadron here together and in readiness for battle. Since we captured the Cape they have lacked any intermediate port at which to rendezvous. Some effort on their part is to be expected but I incline to believe that they have left it too late.
Expect to see me within a few months and expect to find me older and more nearly worn out. To be home again is the main thing and I am not much inclined to seek further service, certainly not on so distant a station. The time is near, I think, when I shall have had enough. With the French nearly driven from the Indian Ocean, prize-money is not to be looked for save in respect of captured frigates. We shall intercept no Spanish galleon between here and the Cape. So you must expect only a moderate fortune in the years to come, enough I hope for your needs but far less than you deserve. Within the confines of my modest means I shall do my best to make you happy and compensate you in some measure for these long years of separation. Remember me to my friends in the Vale and believe me still
Your most affectionate husband,
Richard Delancey
Ten days later Delancey was summoned on board the Boadicea and found Commodore Rowley in an expansive mood.
“Well, Delancey,” he said, “my period as Commodore is coming to an end. Vice-Admiral Bertie will be here in a matter of weeks and I shall then be no more than captain of the Boadicea.”
“A famous captain, sir, of a famous ship.”
“It is good of you to say so. In the meanwhile I have my last chance to bestow a little patronage. Considering the Laura worn out, I should like you to have the French frigate Minerve of forty guns, assuming that she is taken when the island is ours, and I should like you to take your crew with you. She will be ordered to England, undoubtedly. I cannot assure you, in advance, that the Admiral will confirm this arrangement but I shall recommend it and tell him that you have been offered this new command and that the offer was made in recognition of your good service.”
“Thank you, sir. I am happy to accept.”
“It is just possible that the French will destroy their ships before they capitulate but that is not what I should expect. The Minerve is a fine frigate and little damaged. As a ship, she will do you credit.”
“I shall do my best to justify your choice.”
“I am very sure of that. It has also been my duty to find a commander for the sloop—I should have said the corvette—Trompeuse, recently taken by us and renamed Nautilus. She is to remain as guardship at the island of Bourbon and offers a vacancy for a master and commander. I hope you will regard it as a compliment to you if I make out an acting appointment for Mr Northmore, of whom I know you think very highly.”
“I appreciate the compliment, sir, but wonder whether you have not overlooked the claims of your own officers?”
“No, I have other appointments to make and they have not been forgotten. I think Northmore deserves promotion, young as he may be, and you can tell him that the command is his. I do not think that the Admiral will cancel any acting appointments made before his arrival on the station.”
Delancey returned to his ship with conflicting emotions. To command a frigate of the largest class must be every captain’s ambition. It was something he had never felt sure of achieving. He would be proud indeed to be captain of the Minerve. But what about losing Northmore? What about Topley as first lieutenant? There could of course be worse first lieutenants than Topley, a solid reliable man, but he lacked Northmore’s vitality. He could do the work but he could not inspire others. The ordinary course of promotion would also make Ledingham an acting lieutenant, deservedly but a little too soon. Altogether, the ship he had been promised deserved better officers than she was likely to have. Cursing inwardly, he sent for Northmore and congratulated him on his promotion.
“I am glad to tell you that the Commodore wishes to offer you the command of the sloop Nautilus, a very good ship of her class, not more than three years old and said to be in very good state. I shall be sorry to lose you, Mr Northmore, but I would never stand in the way of a young officer’s promotion provided that he is fit for it. I think myself that you will make an excellent captain and have a distinguished career ahead of you.”
“Thank you, sir, for your good opinion and for the recommendation to which I owe this prospect of promotion. I am deeply indebted to you for bringing me forward in the service. Yours has been the example I have followed and from you I have learnt what little I know. I shall never forget your kindness and encouragement.”
“And I shall follow your career with continued interest.”
“There is, however, sir, a question I have to ask.”
“Well?”
“Where is the Nautilus to be stationed?”
“She is initially to serve as guardship at the island of Bourbon. I understand that the Governor there objects to the island being left without naval protection. So the Commodore has decided to detach the Nautilus for that purpose.”
There was a moment of silence and it was evident that North-more was trying to make a difficult decision. He finally made it and said:
“That being the case, sir, I beg to decline the appointment.”
Delancey looked at Northmore as if the young man had suddenly gone out of his mind.
“But you do realize what you are doing? The Laura will be broken up and I shall take her officers and crew to the Minerve— that is, after she has been taken. She will be paid off in England and you will have to seek another berth. There is no likelihood of your being offered promotion in the Channel Fleet or in the Mediterranean. You can have no certainty that you will even be first lieutenant—you may well find yourself third or fourth. There are many drawbacks about service in the East Indies, as you have discovered by now, but the advantage, if you survive, lies in the prospect of early promotion. All the smaller vessels here, and indeed several of the frigates, are commanded by officers holding acting rank. There is no such promotion at Portsmouth except for officers with great interest. If you refuse this appointment you may wreck your entire career. Don’t make a final decision now. Sleep on it and decide tomorrow.”
“You are very good to me, sir, but the truth is that I have decided already.”
“I have no words in which to express my astonishment. It seems to me that you are making a possibly fatal mistake.”
“You have good reason to think that. Please do not think me ungrateful.”
“No, I don’t think that—not for a moment. But I should like to know why you are refusing so good an opportunity.”
“Well, sir, there is one thing more important to me than promotion—and that is survival.”
“I see what you mean . . .”
“I have watched, sir, while the original crew of this ship has dwindled to a handful, the gaps filled somehow by lascars, Chinese, Portuguese, and Malays. You point out, sir, that many of our ships on this station are commanded by officers who hold acting rank. What has happened to the captains originally appointed? A few are invalided but the rest are dead. If I remain on this station for another year or two I shall merely add my name to the list and make room for another acting commander. I want promotion, sir, as much as the next man but I want still more to stay alive. I’ll accept the risk of being killed in action or even drowned but I would rather avoid death from hepatitis. In a word, sir, I want to go home.”
Delancey ended this interview with a great weight off his mind. He had done his duty in urging Northmore to accept promotion but his efforts, thank God, had failed. And who was to blame Northmore for wanting, first and foremost, a passage to England? It was above all things what he wanted himself.