THE INVASION fleet had assembled at Rodriguez, sailed from there on November 22nd, and was now on its way to Mauritius. Progress was slow, in light and often contrary winds, but, the sunlit scene was impressive. The sea was covered with ships as far as the eye could see. The men-of-war were in strict formation to windward, the Illustrious (74) in the centre, astern of the Africaine in which Vice-Admiral Bertie had hoisted his flag. There were eleven frigates in all, the Laura among them. To leeward a whole fleet of transports carried the army and had eight sloops as escort. Even the transports kept some semblance of formation and were held to it by a constant fluttering of signal flags and the occasional boom of cannon.
It was the day fixed for a conference of senior officers and boats were already lowered in anticipation of the next order. In, obedience to the first signal from the flagship, the Illustrious backed her topsails and dropped to the rear of the line. The second signal was for commanding officers, at which the calm sea was suddenly covered with boats, all heading for the Illustrious.
On board that ship there was a tremendous twittering of pipes and manning the side as successive captains came on board. Captain Broughton received them in turn and his first lieutenant ushered them into the great cabin, furnished for the occasion with long tables covered in green baize. Pinned to the bulkheads were charts of Mauritius, plans of Port Louis, and an enlarged sketch-map of Coin de Mire. Central to this array of expertise was a large blank sheet of cartridge paper. Near to this was Captain Philip Beaver of the Nisus, who had evidently been there before the signal was made. Resplendent in blue and gold, each with a glittering sword hilt, the captains greeted each other casually, each form of address reflecting the order of seniority. The flag lieutenant supervised the seating, ensuring that Caulfield should be on Beaver’s right, and Broughton (as host) on his left.
Seated separately at a table facing the chair were seven army officers, adding a splash of colour in scarlet, black, and gold. They were led by Lt.-Colonels Fraser and Drummond, the others holding staff appointments as Brigade-Major or Adjutant. It was Broughton who called the meeting to order, assuming the chair but giving the place immediately to Captain Beaver, a hatchet-faced, parchment-coloured man with a pedantic manner, heavy eyebrows, and bitten fingernails. He plainly suffered from sleeplessness, overwork, and a recent touch of fever.
“You will be aware, gentlemen,” he began, “that there was a conference yesterday called by Vice-Admiral Bertie and Major-General Abercromby. It was attended by staff officers of either service and by civilian advisers with local knowledge. Unfortunately but unavoidably absent was Commodore Rowley, who is still on blockade duty off Port Louis with the Andromeda, Nèrèide and Ceylon. At that conference the Admiral and General, as joint commanders of the expedition, decided upon a plan for the conquest of Mauritius; a plan of which you will all receive copies at the close of this meeting. I was entrusted with the detailed execution of that plan and I am speaking now on behalf of the joint commanders—with all apologies to those who may be senior to me.”
Beaver paused at this moment, looking round the cabin from one face to another. Then he went on:
“I need hardly tell you that the plan is secret, to be revealed only to commissioned officers, and these to know only what they need to know. Now, first and foremost, the fleet is to rendezvous in the area marked with a red circle on Chart A” (he pointed to a chart) “between the Gunner’s Quoin and Cape Malheureux. There is holding ground there in from twelve to twenty-seven fathoms. The beach on which the troops are to land is at Mapou Bay, between Cape Malheureux and Fort Malartic, the latter post being about four miles distant. One great merit of this landing-place is that it is well sheltered by adjacent reefs. Its main drawback is that our men-of-war—because of those sea reefs—cannot approach nearer than two miles. Assuming an opposed landing, our covering fire must be provided by guns and howitzers mounted in ships’ launches. The landing will take place in daylight and I plan to have nearly all troops ashore by nightfall.”
“As from this point I propose to deal with the First Division, going on to deal with the rest. The First Division will comprise five frigates and will land 1,555 infantry, half of them of the 84th Regiment. The landing craft, flats and barges, will be organized in two wings, the right under Captain Briggs, the left under Captain Lye. These boats will be serially numbered from one to forty-seven in arabic numerals. The gunboats will be distributed so as to cover the landing, two in advance, three on each flank and two in reserve; these being numbered from one to ten in Roman numerals. Look now at Diagram I . . .”
At this point a junior lieutenant removed the blank paper, revealing the organization of the First Division.
“This diagram shows the order in which the boats are to approach the beach. Now, I must insist, from the outset, that this order must be correctly formed and rigorously maintained. Should any of the boats be out of position, the units landed will be disorganized and unable to advance as planned. I can assure you—and I speak from experience—that discipline is essential to success in an opposed landing . . .”
Beaver continued his relentless monologue for two hours. He then invited questions, all those from officers junior to him being answered rather sharply. When various other problems had been solved, Delancey brought forward a suggestion of his own:
“You told us, Captain Beaver, that the disadvantage of landing in Mapou Bay lies in the lack of deep water near the beach. Covering fire will have to come, therefore, from gunboats. In rough weather such fire is likely to be inaccurate and even dangerous to our own side.”
“That is correct, Captain Delancey. Certain risks we have to accept.”
“We should minimize them, however, if we deliberately grounded a frigate opposite the chosen beach and used her as a solidly based battery from which the beach could be swept by close-range fire with grapeshot.”
“An attractive idea but I hardly think that the Admiral would be willing to sacrifice a frigate for such a purpose.” He spoke sarcastically, looking round at the other captains for agreement. A number of them smiled and two of them laughed. But Delancey was not to be discouraged.
“It so happens, sir, that the frigate I have the honour to command is worn out and will be broken up as soon as the island has been conquered. I think I may say that she is expendable.”
“Indeed! That certainly alters the case. But how near to the beach could you go? Your fire would be ineffective beyond half a mile.”
“Agreed, sir. But remember that I can empty the frigate first and bring her in fight. She will be wrecked, moreover, and I need not consider the problem of refloating her. In these circumstances I can probably bring her to within five hundred yards of the shoreline.”
“Well, Captain Delancey, I thank you for this offer and am myself prepared to accept it, provided that the Admiral agrees. Any other questions?”
After some brief discussion of minor problems, the conference broke up and its members adjourned for dinner as guests of Captain Broughton.
Delancey found himself sitting between Captains Parker and Henderson, the former a high-spirited young man of good family, the latter a middle-aged officer whose acting appointment was due to Captain Rennie’s death from malaria. Beaver sat with Broughton, Fraser, Gordon, and Drummond at the other and more senior end of the table.
“Thank God that’s over!” said Parker as his glass was filled, “I thought that Beaver was going to talk until sunset, each hour of it more tedious than the last. I nearly fell asleep and wish to God that I had.”
“Captain Beaver,” said Delancey, “is a very conscientious officer.”
“Conscientious! I would call him a bore. As for that confounded conference, every minute of every hour was ten thousand years of living death! All these details of organization are all very well but you know as well as I do that it doesn’t happen like that. All is chaos and then the enemy hauls down the tricolour. Your health, sir!”
Delancey replied to the toast and then turned to Captain Henderson.
“Are you impressed with the staffwork?”
“As much as I ever am. To men like Beaver the plan is more important than beating the enemy. What struck me, however, was that he forgot to ask you the obvious question.”
“And what is that?”
“He never asked what you are to do with your men after the troops are ashore.”
“True enough, he didn’t. My answer would have been that my crew will follow the army into Port Louis and occupy all naval installations before the enemy can destroy them.”
“And a good answer at that, saying nothing about your real motive.”
“What is my real motive?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You want to destroy the Laura before the experts can say that she is capable of repair. Oh, I know about her leaking and all that. But you want to make sure of it!”
“And I thought I was being so subtle!”
“With the Laura written off, you can shift with your crew to the Bellone or Diomede.”
“But the Admiral, surely, might give either frigate to some follower of his own?”
“He can’t give both because he has no means of manning them. You have a crew which will be spare.”
“He could distribute my crew and send me home as a supernumerary.”
“What, after your noble self-sacrifice at Mapou Bay? He wouldn’t dare think of it. No, you will have made yourself the hero of the hour, leading the First Division in under enemy fire.”
“But there won’t be any enemy opposition. You know that as well as I do.”
“You and I know it, so does Rowley and so does Tomkinson, not to mention Willoughby and Pym. We all know it, we who have been blockading the damned island for so long. But the newcomers—the Admiral and Beaver included—know something different. They see us storming the beach under shot and shell, earning knighthoods for the directing staff. You will gain the credit for all the risks they think you are to run. Good luck to you! I shan’t be as fortunate this time but I shall have learnt something useful for another occasion.”
“You have convinced me that I am an intriguer and a cowardly scoundrel.”
“No, sir. You are a brave man and a good officer. I would not have dared to speak so freely if I had not known that. But ours is a service in which we have to watch our own interests. We should fare ill if we relied only on our merits.”
“Very true. My motives are a little more complex than you seem to think.”
“Of course they are, sir. There will always be several reasons for anything you do. I was a lieutenant until quite recently, as you know, and have gossiped with other lieutenants, yours included. I should never make the mistake of underestimating Captain Delancey.”
“Perhaps you overestimate him instead. A health to the heroes who are first ashore at Mapou Bay!”
“I drink to that, sir!”
Captain Parker now claimed Delancey’s attention.
“Come, sir, we want your opinion. I have been having an argument with Major Dwyer about the resistance to be expected from the Creole militia.” Delancey looked across at the red-faced soldier opposite and bowed slightly. “We have each given our opinion,” said Parker, “may we now have yours? How Iong, will they remain steady under fire?”
“Five minutes.”
“Ha! I gave them ten minutes, the Major allowed them half an hour. Your guess is nearer mine!”
“But I am not guessing. I have been ashore here and engaged them.”
“You have been ashore here, sir?” asked the astonished soldier.
“We of the blockading squadron have all been ashore from time to time. We have been around here for years. But I was particularly ordered to test the prowess of the militia. I engageed them, watch in hand, and reported afterwards that they would stand their ground for exactly five minutes.”
“Then they, won’t give us much trouble on the beach?”
“They won’t be on the beach Major. We know that we mean to land at Mapou Bay but the French have not been told about that. We decided not to warn them. There are, as they know and as we all know, a dozen places where we could come ashore. How can they defend them all? The opposition we may encounter must come from Fort Malartic and it has four miles to come—not too far, if they see our fleet in time. As for the militia, you must remember that these warriors are all sugar-planters, tradesmen, shopkeepers, and clerks. They can’t be kept from their ordinary work for months at a time. They won’t be assembled, in fact, until our fleet is seen. But how long will it take to collect them, check their names, issue them with ammunition, fall them in by companies, and give them the order to march? What would you say, Major? Four hours?”
“It might be done in four hours if they all lived in a town. But many of these, I should assume, live half-way up some mountainside. I think I should allow ten hours to collect half of them.”
“Exactly. So we shall find them in a defensive position somewhere between Grande Baie and Port Louis, and most probably at the Tombeau River.”
Later that day Delancey received a message, accepting his plan for beaching the Laura. The Admiral was deeply appreciative of his offer and considered it a material contribution to the planned operation. He confirmed the arrangement by which Delancey should transfer with his crew to the Minerve, the name of which ship would become Minerva. In his reply, sent by the flagship’s boat, Delancey proposed that his crew should land and take part in further operations ashore, ending in a position to guard the naval installations at Port Louis. This further proposal was accepted by signal and Delancey began to draw up his own plans accordingly. On this occasion Fabius might find it more difficult to escape.
The landing itself took place on November 29th, the fleet dropping anchor at about midday. After the signal had been made “Prepare For Battle” the ships moved into position and the boats began to assemble as directed.
Delancey had emptied the Laura previously, sending all her stores to other ships and she now carried little more than her guns, ammunition, and crew. Looking over the side, Topley remarked that they could at least see what they were doing. This was true enough for the water was crystal-clear and the coral on the sea bottom was perfectly visible in ten fathoms. In perfect weather, with bright sunlight and a good breeze, the Laura went ahead of the landing craft, Delancey taking charge of the deck as she passed the gap in the reef and holding a steady course for the chosen beach. The water shoaled as the leadsman gave warning from the chains and it looked at one stage as if Delancey meant to run his frigate ashore. So he did in the long run but his immediate tactics were more cautious. He watched the shore through his telescope for signs of the enemy and then edged further in under easy sail.
The Laura was now in six fathoms, soon afterwards in five, the coral sea bottom having given place to shingle, each stone visible from the surface. Beyond four fathoms the ship would have run aground but this must not happen except with her broadside bearing on the land. Foreseeing this moment, Delancey had his boats already lowered and manned and he now used them to tow the frigate sideways, having taken in all sail apart from the mizen staysail and jib. Northmore now went ahead in the gig, sounding continually and signalling the results back to Delancey. Backing and filling, the old Laura did well on her last voyage, responsive as ever to the helm, the routine silence broken only by the creaking of the pumps. The frigate was now in four fathoms and Delancey could see, glancing over the side, that her keel was only just clear of the bottom. How far was she now from the beach? Six hundred yards? He must close the range if he possibly could. A signal from Northmore told of deeper water ahead and the ship was made to sidle in that direction. Four fathoms and a half! What should he do?
At this time Northmore’s boat was seen rowing back towards the frigate, presumably with something to report. Delancey realized, at the same time, that the First Division must be subject to some delay. Had everything gone according to plan, the leading gunboats should be abreast of him by now. They were still, in fact, near the supporting ship, having had no signal to advance. Given so much delay, Delancey could beach the Laura at his leisure. Through his telescope he could see a lot of movement among the boats; the result, no doubt, of some being in the wrong position. Beaver, he thought, would never allow the assault landing to take place until the organization was perfect. Staff officers, he reflected, are often too much like maiden aunts. The result, anyway, was that he had time to hear what Northmore had to say. Not content with the speaking-trumpet, that officer was coming about to report.
“Sir, I have made what could be a useful discovery. Over there on our larboard bow, at five hundred yards distance, there is an underwater ridge at right angles to the shore.”
“There is nothing like that shown on the chart.”
“There wouldn’t be, sir. We are studying the differences between three and four fathoms.”
“That is true. And what is the depth of water on your ridge?”
“Three fathoms, shingle, with a gradual slope on this side, rising from six fathoms and a half.”
“And what happens beyond?”
“Another dip and another ridge.”
“Thank you, Mr Northmore. A useful discovery. Tell your boat’s crew to come aboard. I shall need all hands.”
Sweeping the shore with his telescope, Delancey could see no sign of the enemy. Looking seawards, he could see a great deal of activity but no signal for the assault. He knew now that he had time enough.
“All hands make sail!” Delancey’s sudden shout took his men by surprise—they had rather expected him to anchor. After a moment of hesitation, the men ran to their stations.
“Away aloft!” There was a rush of topmen to the weather shrouds, followed at once by the afterguard.
“Lay out!” The seamen scrambled along the yards and took position along them.
“Man the topsail sheets! Let fall! Sheet home!” The sails dropped and filled.
“Down from aloft!” The men threw themselves down the shrouds and dashed for the halyards.
“Man topsail halyards!—Haul taut!—Hoist topsails!—Man topgallant sheets and halyards!—Sheet home!—Hoist away!”
As order followed order the sails thundered and flapped and the frigate should, by rights, have been under way. But Delancey had turned the ship into the wind, checking her way until all sails were set. There was a good off-shore breeze with occasional gusts of wind, and Delancey, choosing his moment, put the ship on course for the underwater ridge which Northmore had described. The sails filled, the frigate heeled slightly and gathered way. The bow-wave formed, the water foamed past to become a frothing wake. On her last voyage the old Laura looked the part.
She was doing perhaps six knots when she took the ground. There was a grinding and shuddering, followed by a crash as the foretopmast went over the side. It seemed for a minute as if the end of the road had been reached but the sails were still pulling, the shingle underfoot gave way and the ship lurched forward for a further fifty yards before coming to a halt, deliberately and finally wrecked.
Looking about him, Delancey was satisfied with his work. The Laura was hard aground on an almost even keel, perhaps four hundred yards from the beach. She had sprung a dozen leaks and her almost empty hold was filling with water as she settled in her grave. The pumps were silent at last. Delancey now gave orders to man the larboard battery and prepare to open fire with grapeshot. He was perfectly placed to blast the enemy off the beach but he knew that there would be no enemy there. He ordered the rest of the crew to unbend the sails, unrig each mast, and send down the yards and topmasts. Naval stores should never be wasted, said Delancey, and hours of work followed for the men not actually manning the useless guns.
Meanwhile the signal had been given and the First Division was at last heading for the shore. It was a splendid spectacle, with all the boats in good order and strict formation. The soldiers were ready to dash through the shallows and cross the beach to where, lining the woods beyond, the enemy might be waiting the order to fire. Delancey admired the scene and inwardly admitted that the staffwork, if fussy, had been excellent. But his telescope vainly traversed the beach for evidence of opposition. Of the enemy there was no sign at all. The troops from Fort Malartic could have been there in position—heaven knew there had been time enough—but that was not, probably, what they had been told to do. As Delancey watched, the first wave of troops landed through the surf, their bayonets glittering as they went forward. The gunboats hovered, looking vainly for targets, and the second wave of infantry followed the first. After the whole First Division had landed there came the dull boom of a distant explosion, away to the right.
“What will that mean, sir?” asked Topley.
“The French,” Delancey replied patiently, “have blown up their ammunition at Fort Malartic. It means that the garrison there will fall back on Port Louis.”
As a fixed battery, the Laura’s brief career was now at an end and with it her career in the service. The men on the larboard battery were stood down from their guns, and sent to help dismantle the ship. As this work progressed a gig came alongside, half-full of water, and a young midshipman from the Nisus came aboard in some distress.
“I have a message, sir, for the headquarter ship of the Second Division but my gig was in collision with a launch and is sinking.”
“I see,” replied Delancey. “You shall have the loan of our cutter. Can you tell me why the landing was so delayed?” The boy brightened up at once.
“Some of the troops who were to have been on the right flank were put by mistake on board the Néréide, which anchored furthest to the left.”
“So Captain Beaver had them changed about.?”
“He would have done, sir, but his gig was swamped while towing behind the Nisus and he lost his copy of the signals.”
Delancey turned abruptly aside, hiding his expression and clearing his throat. In a rather shaky voice he gave orders to man the cutter. Come what may, he must not be seen laughing at a brother captain. Choking a little, he told the midshipman to complete his errand, leaving his gig to be collected later. Then he hurried to his cabin where he could have the joke to himself.
During the late afternoon, after the last troops had landed, he sent for his officers and gave his last instructions on board the Laura:
“The time has come, gentlemen, for us to say good-bye to the old Laura. She has done good service and we have been, I think, a happy ship. But the hurricane season is upon us and I shouldn’t like to face a hurricane in this old frigate. At this point, therefore, her career ends. Our service together will continue, however, for we are to transfer the whole crew, officers and men, to the captured French frigate Minerve, a fine 40-gun ship of their largest class. I suspect that General Decaen will capitulate during the next few days and that the Minerve and other ships in Port Louis will be handed over to us undamaged.
“We have three tasks to perform before we can begin to prepare the Minerve for sea. We have, first of all, to save all that can be saved of the Laura. This will be your task, Mr Topley. I do not think it safe for your detachment to remain on board this ship. She is slowly sinking into the sea-bed and is already three inches lower than when she grounded. So you will form a camp ashore, using sails as tents, landing all necessary stores and using the ship’s boats to patrol the ship and prevent looting.
“Mr Northmore, you will command a larger detachment and march your men, fully armed, to Fort Malartic, where I hope you will find shelter, despite the damage done by the exploding magazine. Any carts you find there can be used to bring up hammocks and personal kit. As soon as the French surrender or are defeated, you will march into Port Louis and mount guard over the Minerve, posting additional sentries over other men-of-war and naval shore installations. I shall lead the third detachment comprising the marines under Captain Sevendale, with two midshipmen, my coxswain and steward. My object will be to occupy the French signal station on the hill overlooking Port Louis and secure their signal code. You will be responsible, Mr Northmore, for detailing men to the two main detachments and for making all necessary arrangements. Any questions? Very well, then, we shall all meet again when we rehoist our ensign on board His Majesty’s ship Minerva. Until then—good luck to you all!”
As on a similar occasion in the other island of Bourbon, Delancey had a schoolboy sensation of being on holiday. The Laura had latterly been a worrying responsibility and he now had the sensation of shedding a burden. Strictly speaking, he should have led the main detachment himself but he could not resist the temptation to hunt Fabius down. He had, he decided, a score to settle. Fabius would not, of course, be an easy prey. His concern, however, had been with signals and interrogation and these provided the point at which the pursuit could begin. It should end somewhere in Mauritius for there was nowhere else for the man to go. In the meanwhile, the battle for Mauritius was soon over. A skirmish on the day after the landing led to a minor engagement on December 1st and 2nd, which was followed by Decaen’s capitulation on the 3rd. By the evening of that day Northmore and his men were in the harbour area and Delancey’s party had climbed to the signal station above Port Louis. They found it deserted, with flags removed and all papers burnt. All it afforded was a fine view of the town and harbour.
“Disappointing, sir,” said Sevendade, “but does the signal station matter now?”
“Yes, it does. My guess is that Napoleon may have sent more ships to the rescue. They may sail after the island has fallen but before news of its fall has reached France. When they sight the island, supposing it to be in French hands, they will identify themselves and expect to be warned about the whereabouts of the blockading squadron. If they see an appropriate signal, they will sail into Port Louis, not realizing their mistake until they are covered by the batteries and compelled to haul down their colours. If there is no proper response, they will go about and make all sail.”
“Where will they go, sir, in that event? They would be short of provisions and water.”
“They would make for Madagascar and could not well do anything else. But a clean ship straight from France should easily escape from any pursuit. So it is important for us to make the right signal.”
“Can we do that, sir?”
“Yes, we can. We have part of their code, remember, picked up in Bourbon. My fear is that someone here—Fabius for example—will contrive to make another signal from some other point.”
“Won’t he have fled, sir, to the other side of the island?”
“Not if he means to make that signal. My own belief is that those ships are on their way and that Fabius is somewhere in this town.”
They were looking down across the town during this conversation. It was evening and lights were beginning to appear, one of them perhaps in the place where Fabius lay hidden. For the time being Delancey could do no more and he led his party down to the harbour where their new ship lay alongside the wharf in Trou Fanfaron. There he was met by Northmore, who reported that the frigate was excellently maintained and had been almost ready for sea. The commissioning pennant was hoisted the following day.
If Delancey expected a leisurely stay in port during which he could make inquiries into the former treatment of British prisoners-of-war he was quickly undeceived. While work on the Minerva was still proceeding he was summoned to Vice-Bertie’s headquarters—a building near the small boat harbour—and given an unexpected and urgent task. Behind closed doors and after warnings about secrecy, he was told that the sloop Falcon had mutinied and was thought to be in the Seychelles. She was known to have sailed from Bombay under orders to join Bertie’s flag. Long overdue, she had been regarded as lost but there had been some sinister rumours, followed at last by some definite information.
“A country ship has reached Bourbon from Madras. Her master, a Malacca Portuguese called Da Silva, reports that his ship was intercepted by a British sloop of war which proceeded to rob him of a number of barrels of provisions. From his description I am led to conclude that the sloop he encountered was the Falcon. From the conduct of her crew I am inclined to assume that Captain Railton and his officers are no longer in command. I fear this is a case of mutiny. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, sir. But where was the merchantman when this encounter took place?”
“I was coming to that. She was north of the Seychelles and the Falcon was apparently heading for those islands.”
“Thank you, sir. That would be the sensible thing to do. Their need will be for water. If they sail from the Seychelles it will be to head, no doubt, for Madagascar; a base from which pirates have operated before.”
“I wonder, Captain Delancey, whether we should use the word ‘Piracy.’ Pirates are surely a thing of the past, almost unknown in modern times. Tom Collins had his day but is remembered only in the name of a drink.”
“But surely, sir, the robbing of that country ship was an act of piracy?”
“Legally, it was. But it was not the act of people who have chosen piracy as a career. They did not capture the ship or kill the crew. They took—admittedly by force—the stores they needed, and that was all. These men are guilty of mutiny. We do not know as yet that they are guilty of murder.”
“You mean, sir, that Captain Railton and his officers may still be alive?”
“Indeed they may. They could have been put on board some craft bound for the Straits of Lombok or Bali.”
“So our problem is how to bring these mutineers to justice?”
“We must certainly do that. But we want no gossip in the meanwhile. Mutiny spreads, as you know, by example. When our seamen hear of mutiny they should be told, in the same breath, that the mutineers have been hanged. They should never be allowed to picture mutineers living in luxury on a tropic island with plenty of rum and plenty of girls. There must be no word of this to anyone.”
“Very good, sir.”
“The next question is—how soon can you sail?”
“As soon as we have completed our provisions and water, that is, by the day after tomorrow.”
“Good. I thought you were more nearly ready than anyone else. You took over the Minerva rather smartly, didn’t you?”
“Minerva was the goddess of wisdom, sir.”
“Was she, though? Well, you have a fine frigate, the envy of other commanders. Let us see what you can do with her. Your orders are to sail for the Seychelles, find the Falcon, and bring her back, with the mutineers under guard as prisoners awaiting court martial.”
“Aye, aye, sir. You will be aware, sir, no doubt, that I have only a minimal crew for the Minerva. The Laura was herself undermanned and she was a much smaller ship.”
“I am aware of it, but what can I do? I have somehow to find a crew for the Bellone as well—and God knows how I am going to do that. You must do the best with what you have. Your crew is sufficient, I take it, to work the ship?”
“Yes, sir, but not to man more than the one battery.”
“What does that matter? There is no French frigate left in the Indian Ocean. Any other difficulties?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well, then. Your reward for this service will be your orders to take the Minerva back to England. It would seem from your record that you have been on this station long enough. Half the ships will be going home as no longer needed and yours will be one of them. But deal with the Falcon first.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The interview was over but Delancey did not leave the building until he had talked with the flag lieutenant.
“You know, Mr West, what my orders are?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I shall have them in writing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have we an officer here who has served with Captain Railton?”
“That’s a little difficult. There was Hussey, but he has gone. Hollis? No, he was never in the Falcon. The one man I can think of is Lord Neville, who now commands the sloop Actaeon. He was once with Railton but only for a few months.”
“Thank you. I’ll have a word with him. One other thing—you know what has been said about Railton—I mean, about his brutality to his crew—would you suppose it is true?”
“That’s not an easy question to answer, sir. I never served with him myself. I talked with him on perhaps two or three occasions and he was uncommonly civil. But he has a certain reputation and I have probably heard the rumours that you will have heard. I don’t exactly know why I say this—a matter of instinct, perhaps—but I incline to believe these stories. I felt no surprise when I heard this recent report. I have felt for some time that he is—or was—a man whose crew might mutiny. I hesitate to voice this opinion because I could produce no sort of evidence to support it. But Neville should be more definite. He has the reputation of being unapproachable, a man rather difficult to converse with. You will already, perhaps, have made his acquaintance?”
“We have met but only for a few minutes and on a formal occasion. We talked, I recall, about food.”
“He is something of a gourmet, I believe.”
“Tell me then—and this is my last question—is there in Port Louis a place where a gourmet would care to dine?”
“There is one, Le Morne Brabant, which serves native dishes. The other places imitate France but with indifferent success.”
“Thank you again for your information and advice.”
The Viscount Neville did not respond too readily to Delancey’s invitation, refusing for that day and finally accepting with some reluctance for the following day, the last on which Delancey would be there. Neville was too often a target for toadying brother officers, and preferred no doubt to choose his own company. He softened a little when told about the curried lobster and the Camaron River prawn but raised his eyebrows when he found that there were no other guests.
He was a tall handsome man with a thin nose, prominent blue eyes and an aristocratic manner. For a gourmet he was surprisingly slim. The room where they were to dine was clean but unpretentious and he looked about him with some distaste.
“I sail tomorrow,” Delancey explained, “and this is my last chance of a meal ashore. But I should greatly value your lordship’s opinion on the bill of fare. I have made inquiries and have satisfied myself that the meat here is more or less uneatable, except for the venison, which is unfortunately out of season. So we must make the most of what they have, which is fish and fruit. I have ventured to order oysters sprinkled with lime and small clams as an alternative, a crab soup, curried lobster, which is really crayfish, I think, with pomme d’amour palmiste salad and a sauce rouge made of river prawns and onion. There are no mangoes, papaws, or lychees just now but I am told that we can have Chinese guavas, custard apples, and bananas. The wine is imported, my lord, from France and they have a Chablis here which is said to be quite drinkable. I hope we shall not fare too badly. We shall be having the best, at least, of what the island has to offer.”
The dinner was not what Neville expected but he was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. He was dubious about the clams but gave a qualified approval to the crab soup. It was the crayfish which converted him and he became quite human, talking easily about a visit he had paid to Paris during the short period of peace which followed the Treaty of Amiens.
“Before the Revolution,” he explained, “the best cooks were all employed by the more prosperous nobles. As a result of the Revolution these same cooks were compelled, in effect, to set up in business for themselves. Their establishments provide the best cookery in the world.”
Delancey learnt a great deal about gastronomy before he could lead Neville into talking about Captain Railton. Once he began however, he was eloquent.
“Railton?” he said slowly. “I was his second lieutenant for ninety-eight days. I counted them, you know, and each day seemed to last a year—no, a decade. Then I had interest enough to ensure that I was posted to another ship. Poor Dyer then became second and a midshipman called Pringle was given an acting commission as third. Even now I sometimes have a nightmare, thinking that I am back in the Falcon. I wake in a cold sweat, fairly trembling, until I realize where I am. No, I have not forgotten Captain Railton . . .”
“No; and that is the most extraordinary thing about him. He has his own queer sort of sanity. He is or was the most evil man I ever met.”
“Evil in the sense of being cruel?”
“Cruel he certainly is but evil in him goes beyond cruelty. He is hated by his crew but not merely for using the cat. In that respect his log might well prove him little worse than some captains who are relatively popular.” Neville looked at his wine glass for a minute, trying to crystallize his thoughts.
“Tell me, Delancey, what quality do seamen most appreciate in their captain?”
“Consistency.”
“Just so. They like to know where they are. If it is two dozen for being found drunk, they accept that. What they hate is uncertainty. They could be reconciled to a captain who is always in a bad temper on Monday morning or who hates men with red hair. What they cannot stand is someone who is kindness itself in the morning and a raging tyrant in the afternoon. Railton is a man whose moods are utterly unpredictable. I have heard other officers threaten to flog every man in the larboard watch. Rail-ton is the only captain I have known who could have done it.”
“What was the final straw, the incident which induced you to arrange a transfer?”
“It concerned a midshipman—no, he was not even that, a young gentleman volunteer—called John Vesey. He was aged about fourteen but looked younger, a mere child, son of some provincial attorney. He was not particularly bright but Railton made him something of a favourite. We all rather liked the boy and Dyer helped him with his navigation. Railton used to ask his officers to dine with him occasionally—he was not consistent even in that—and I was present one day when young Vesey was another guest. There was no other youngster present and Vesey, I could see, was pitifully nervous. The purser did his best to encourage the boy but he was fairly trembling. When it fell to him to pass the decanter, he spilt some of the wine on the table-cloth and more of it on his trousers. He did not drop the decanter, mind you. There was nothing broken, not even a glass. Railton, however, glared at the child as if he had committed treason. “Mr Vesey,” he thundered, “you shall be flogged for that tomorrow!” Under any other captain this would have passed as an idle threat or a rather unpleasant joke. But Railton meant it—as we all knew—and meant it all the more because the boy was generally liked and had been treated kindly even by him. There was silence for a minute or two and then Railton asked me what I thought of the local sea fish—did I like the silver bream better than the “sacre chien,” did I believe that eating the cordonnier could give one a nightmare? I knew all about nightmares and hoped then that I was in the midst of one. After all, Vesey was the captain’s guest. However, I replied somehow and conversation was resumed. When Dyer was speaking I stole a glance at the white-faced child at the foot of the table. He looked as if he were about to faint.”
“And was the boy flogged?”
“No, he went over the side during the morning watch. His death was logged as an accident.”
“You have painted for me a lifelike portrait of Captain Railton and I am most grateful.”
“I could tell you a great deal more about him, but you have probably heard enough. Why are you specially interested?”
“I am wondering whether the crew of the Falcon have mutinied. One of her officers, the surgeon, is an old shipmate of mine.”
“Robertson? He is a good man. But as for mutiny, I have myself no doubt at all. The Falcon’s crew were bound to mutiny and I could not myself understand why they had not mutinied already. I should incline to assume that Railton is dead. If he is not in hell I refuse to believe that such a place exists.”