THE MINERVA was three days out from Port Louis and Delancey had every reason to feel satisfied with his new command. He had tested her in all normal situations and knew now that she was the finest ship in which he had ever served. In the Royal Navy the 38-gun class of frigates enjoyed a special prestige. They were too big for convoy work, too valuable to be sent on casual errands, too powerful to waste on routine patrols. They might, on the other hand, serve with the fleet or take part in a raid, assist in a bombardment or even fly an Admiral’s flag. Bertie, for example, used the Africaine as flagship even after the Illustrious had joined his squadron.
Delancey had never expected to command a frigate of this class, thinking that they were the preserve of the well-born and well-connected, of men with an “Hon.” before their name. But the Minerva was an exceptional frigate in her class, mounting 44 guns all told, twenty-eight 18-pounders, fourteen 32-pounder carronades on the quarter-deck, and two 9-pounders on the forecastle. Under the French flag she had been manned by a crew of 360, but she had now no more than 263, barely half of them British. She was much larger than other ships in her class, having more generous space for every purpose. The captain’s quarters were spacious, the wardroom impressive, and there was more room for each mess-table and hammock. She was both well designed and well built, dry as a bone and extremely easy to handle. Delancey had come to realize just how fortunate he was.
Delancey had his lieutenants to dine with him and made this the occasion to explain his mission. Over their wine he began by commenting upon the Minerva:
“I think you will agree, gentlemen, that we have an exceptional frigate in perfect order.”
“Yes, sir,” said Northmore, “but what I can’t understand is why the French ships are so much better than ours. And whenever we do build a good ship it is copied from one of theirs.”
“They owe a great deal, I fancy, to their Academie de Marine and to Duhamel du Monceau who founded their school of ship design. While they applied scientific theory, we left the work to builders who do what was done last time. The French are more intellectual then we are and their dockyards—unlike their fleet—were not wrecked by the Revolution. They are better at thinking, we are merely better at fighting.”
“So the ideal ship is what we have, sir,” said Northmore, “a French frigate with a British crew.”
“Half a crew,” replied Delancey, “and only half of it British.”
“And no more men to be had this side of the Cape.” added Topley.
“So we should be at a disadvantage, gentlemen, if we were to encounter a French frigate of the same class and recently out of her home port. We should do well if we fought her to a standstill. To take her would be virtually impossible.”
“But is such an engagement likely, sir?” asked Stock. “The French squadron in the Indian Ocean has ceased to exist.”
“Exactly, Mr Stock. So that any opponent we meet must have come directly from France, clean, well supplied, and fully manned.”
“But how can such a ship be maintained without a base?” asked Topley.
“She can’t,” said Delancey. “But Napoleon could send her out before he realizes that his base has been lost. I mention this, gentlemen, as a possible situation. Our gun-drill needs to be more than good. It must be rapid and accurate beyond example . . . It is now my duty to acquaint you with our mission. The Falcon is overdue and possibly lost. She was last seen in the vicinity of the Seychelles. My orders are to locate her, if possible, and bring her back to Port Louis.”
There was a short silence, broken at length by Sevendale:
“I hope, sir, that I am not speaking out of turn. Do we not have reason to suspect that her crew may have mutinied?”
“There may well have been a mutiny. We must, however, say nothing of this to anyone.”
“But the men all know about it!” Stock protested. “It was quayside gossip at Port Louis.”
“The men do not know about it, Mr Stock, because there is little as yet to know. They may share our suspicions but we should not encourage their gossip.”
“Two of them served once under Captain Railton,” said Topley.
“I know that,” replied Delancey sharply, “Davies and Hewitt . . . but our concern is not with rumours but with facts. Of the facts we must grasp the first is that the Seychelle Islands number between eighty and ninety, spread over an area about sixty miles square. There is only one charted anchorage and that lies between St Anne and Mahé. There is only the one settlement and it is on Mahé, with a white population of about two hundred, mostly deported convicts, and twice as many slaves. Some local trader is resident or magistrate and the place now flies the British flag. The Europeans are French though, and have no special loyalty to King George III. A ship in distress, putting into the Seychelles, would normally drop anchor off Mahé. If her crew preferred, for any reason, to avoid notice, they might take their vessel to one of the other islands and we should be left to ask which.”
“And what about supplies, sir?” asked Sevendale.
“The islands provide little beside coconuts, I believe, and sea fish.”
“So that a ship which resorted to one of the smaller islands like Praslin or Silhoutte might be driven to visit Mahé in the end?”
“Possibly, but we might by then have gone.”
“So we may have to search the whole group?” asked Topley.
“We may indeed. I suspect, however, that wherever the sloop may be, there will be people in Mahé who know where she is. Our orders are to find the Falcon and bring her to Port Louis. If there has been a mutiny, it is also our task to bring the mutineers to justice.”
“I confess, sir, that I have some sympathy with a crew which mutinied against Captain Railton. He could have driven them to it,” said Northmore. “From all I hear of him, he could make a ship a hell on earth.”
“If there was a mutiny caused by ill treatment,” replied Delancey, “the court martial will make every allowance for provocation and will reduce the men’s sentences accordingly. We cannot try and acquit the men over the dinner table. Whatever the fate of the Falcon has been, my hope is that we can execute our orders quickly and sail at an early date for Europe. We have all been on this station quite long enough.”
Delancey had said what it was his duty to say but he thought afterwards that he had been talking nonsense. Nothing could justify mutiny, he knew that, but how would he himself have fared under Railton’s command? He hated to see men flogged and hated still more to be responsible for it, but what was it like to be the victim? And what would it be like to serve under a captain who might order anyone to be flogged at any time, perhaps for the smallest mistake, perhaps for nothing at all? He knew how that midshipman had felt and guessed that his own remedy would have been the same. He had also talked glibly about the justice to be expected from a court martial. But were courts martial as just as all that? And were they really merciful? The very word “mutiny” aroused a number of emotions including resentment and including fear.
In the last resort a court martial is not concerned with justice but with discipline. Confronted with members of a mutinous crew, the court assembled at Port Louis would wish, above all, to prevent their example having a bad effect on the squadron as a whole. Seamen must not be allowed to think that mutiny offered a neat solution to their present discontents. They must rather be shown that mutiny must always end with a noose at the yard-arm. There would be room for mercy, to be sure. Some men might be thought relatively innocent, having been misled by the ringleaders. For them there would be no death sentence but merely an award of five dozen lashes; an act of leniency for which they should be grateful. From Lord Neville’s description he knew exactly what these men must have had to endure. Was he now to be the hangman at the end of the story?
Delancey might not enjoy the role of hangman but what was the alternative? If he failed to locate the Falcon, her crew would either turn to piracy or would starve to death. There was no future for them in the Seychelles. Nor would they survive long as pirates for the British squadron, however diminished, would now have leisure to deal with them. Was there any way in which he could spare these men? And how, anyway, could that be done without the knowledge of his crew? If they were to know the true story (whatever it was) how could they be prevented from talking about it? And if it were known he would be lucky, he knew, to escape with a mere dismissal from the service. Nor, incidentally, did he like the idea of combing the islands for the missing sloop. These waters had never been charted and his frigate might easily end as a total loss, wrecked on some reef of which nobody had ever heard. He could, in theory, take a local pilot but was there one he could trust? The one known fact about the white population of Mahé was that they had mostly been convicts. He had learnt, however, not to worry too much about any problem which had not actually arisen. He might after all, find no trace of the Falcon, which could by now have sunk with all hands. He would deal with the situation when he knew what it was.
The only immediate decision he took was to enter the roadstead at Mahé under French colours. The Minerve was recognizably French, after all, even to the spelling of her name, which Delancey had not allowed Northmore to change. He could himself pass as a Frenchman and could hope, in that guise, to gain information which would be denied to a British officer. There should be no reason why French criminals should particularly want to conceal the whereabouts of a British sloop.
On a sultry morning, ten days later, the Minerva drifted rather than sailed into the anchorage off Mahé. There was scarcely a breath of wind and the frigate dropped anchor in water as still as a pond. Looking back from the boat in which he was being rowed ashore, Delancey could see his ship completely mirrored, even to the tricolour hanging limply at the mizen-peak. The frigate lay at anchor in a roadstead protected by islands.
Mahé was nearly everywhere covered by coconut trees and tamarisks down to the water’s edge. Inland there were forest-covered mountains rising to a peak of some considerable height. It was very hot and humid and quite silent except for the rhythmic splash of the dipping oar blades. A few bystanders stood listlessly near the landing place but more had preferred to lounge in the shade of the casuarina trees behind where the tricolour was hoisted over a hut rather larger than the others in sight. On the far side of the hut stood a saluting cannon, freshly painted black with the tompion fitted and a lead apron covering the touch-hole. There was a rudimentary boat pier made from lumps of coral and the cutter was brought alongside it. Followed by his only French-speaking seaman, a man called Jean-Pierre Cunat, Delancey stepped ashore and was greeted by a bearded islander called Hudelet who introduced himself as the resident magistrate and then presented his clerk, a half-caste called Larue. Delancey had not been able to improvise a French uniform but the heat of the day sufficiently accounted for him coming ashore in white shirt and trousers. His boat’s crew, as informally clad, did not come ashore, the boat pulling out for some distance and dropping a grapnel. The seamen were seen to be fishing, which seemed to explain this manoeuvre. Further out a school of dolphins could be seen and flying fish, pursued by seabirds. Delancey was led to the palm-thatched hut under the flag, where he was politely offered bananas, jack fruit, and a glass of palm brandy. He and Hudelet talked at first about the weather which was, as they agreed, excessively fatiguing. Both were fluent in French but neither could be said to have a Parisian accent.
“It would not surprise me, Captain, if there were to be a hurricane. This is the time of year for it and there is often, as they say, a calm before the storm.”
“Are hurricanes frequent, then?”
“No, they happen very rarely. Nor are we ever in the actual track of the hurricane. It is the fringe which we experience but that, believe me, is enough. You are fortunate to be in an anchorage that is fairly safe.”
“Now tell me the local news.”
“Nothing ever happens here, Captain. We have more geography than history. We hear news, however, of the Ile de France, news of the British being defeated in a naval battle. The Emperor will be very pleased!”
“Yes. I have just come from there. The British will talk less now about their plans to conquer the island. They have had a setback, there can be no doubt about that. We may even recover Bourbon from them. Tell me, however, you are often visited here by British ships; have you seen any lately?”
“No, Captain, not for many months.”
“To be quite frank, Monsieur Hudelet, we have heard of a British sloop being sighted near here and have been sent to look for her. Has she not been seen?”
“No, monsieur.”
“A pity. It may be, however, that you can help us in another way. I wonder whether you have here a trader of some enterprise, one who has been to sea, a man whose business extends to the other islands in the group, a man who makes money and might aspire perhaps to have a ship of his own?”
“I know the man you mean! Henri Flacourt! I am not surprised that you have heard of him. He is an active trader, known even in Port Louis. He has had his losses, you know, but so do we all. Yes, he is ready to take risks, is Henri. He is here now but on the other side of the island at L’Esperance. He could be here tomorrow if you particularly wish to see him.”
“Well, yes, I could put some business in his way. I could do with fresh vegetables, chickens, eggs, and fruit.”
“All those I can supply myself, Captain.”
“Of course. But I should also like to meet Henri Flacourt. I should be most grateful if you would send for him.”
“Certainly, Captain, and with pleasure. Heaven knows, I do not seek to preserve a monopoly. Ask anyone and you will find that I am strictly fair and never use my official position to gain any mean advantage.”
“Your reputation is well known, monsieur,” replied Delancey with a slight bow, knowing that what he said was strictly true. “I look forward to seeing Monsieur Flacourt tomorrow.”
Taking his leave, Delancey did not suppose for a moment that any message would go to Flacourt. So he told his attendant seaman, Cunat, to send the same message by another route, giving the bearer a quite generous reward.
On the following day, which was equally hot and windless, Delancey had another interview with Hudelet, who was profuse in his apologies. His messenger had failed to find Monsieur Flacourt, who must be on one of the other islands—as indeed he often was. Flacourt, a short and stout man from St Malo with a Breton accent, appeared before Hudelet’s explanation was even complete, and Delancey soon took him aside for a private conversation.
“I have been told, monsieur, that you know the Seychelles very well and are fully aware of all that happens anywhere in the group. Will you have patience if I put to you a purely imaginary case? Supposing—I say, supposing—that a British corvette had put in, not at this island but at another island, her crew might well be short of food and as short again of money. Having spent what money they had, they would offer what else they have of value; a few muskets perhaps, a barrel of powder, even a six-pounder gun with the cipher on it of King George III. They might in the end have to sell the ship herself. All this would depend, however, on the British remaining ignorant of the ship’s whereabouts. If her presence became known to the French, on the other hand, such a sloop would be compelled to surrender and her crew would all become prisoners-of-war. The profitable trade in cordage and cannon balls would be brought to an end. Do you follow me, Monsieur Flacourt?”
“Perfectly, Captain. If there were such a ship, her crew might well do as you say, and the arrival of a French frigate would be as inconvenient as you suggest.”
“Just so. Now it so happens that a French frigate has arrived, altering the whole situation. Now let us suppose that you monsieur, were a merchant who had done business with these poor seamen—we are still discussing a purely imaginary situation, remember, a mere fable from a storybook—you would be able to visit that sloop again and tell these men that they will have to surrender.”
“Were I such a merchant who had traded in that way I should indeed know where the sloop is and could deliver a message of that kind.”
“In that unlikely event, you would also know what end to the story would be happiest from your point of view. The last act of the drama should see the crew removed and the ship left where she is or at least wrecked in a position where she would not sink. All that might remain would belong, in effect, to you. You could become a rich man, Monsieur Flacourt.”
“You make me begin to wish that your fairy story were true. But it seems to me that a corvette such as you describe would already be damaged, unfit for sea and incapable of repair outside a dockyard.”
They had been pacing slowly in the shade of the tamarisk trees but Delancey paused at this moment and looked directly at Flacourt:
“I think we should begin to speak plainly, monsieur.”
“And why not? When Hudelet insisted on placing that gun near the flagstaff, all secrecy was at an end.”
“Do the British seamen realize that.”
“They are simple men and believe what I tell them. They imagine that they are outnumbered. Nor do they grasp that their presence here is known not merely to me but to every one on the island.”
“Will you take me to this corvette and allow me to speak with them?”
“Only after we have reached agreement about the corvette and her contents.”
There followed a long period of negotiation, interrupted only for dinner and ended only when the light began to fail. There were consultations among the islanders after that and they agreed, as Delancey afterwards learnt, that they would rather be rid of the Falcon’s crew. Their presence was a danger in itself and a strain on the island’s food supply. When Delancey came ashore next day Flacourt offered at once to take him to the Falcon, which was, he learnt, at Mamelle Island, a mere ten miles away.
“I see, Captain,” said Hudelet, “that you have sent down topmasts and have dropped a second anchor.”
“Yes, I feel, as you do, that this may be the calm before the storm. I don’t like the feel of the atmosphere. But this anchorage will be a good place in which to ride it out.”
“Yes, we have shelter here. Mamelle Island is a great deal more exposed. Flacourt tells me that he is going to take you there. I think we should be able to come to some arrangement.”
“A pity that there is no wind to take us there.”
“Flacourt’s slaves will row you there in two hours.”
They took a little longer than that, the Negroes keeping time with a dismal African song and the beating of a small drum. It was a flat calm and the forested shores of Mahé slid by to port. Then Mamelle was sighted and near by a single lower mast showed where the Falcon had ended her last voyage. She was not beached on the island but aground on a reef some three hundred yards from the shore. It seemed that the ship was on an almost even keel and that the crew were still aboard. There was no sign of any camp on the island and a wisp of smoke suggested that the ship’s galley fire was alight. Clothes lines strung across the waist and fishing lines festooned the forecastle. Little notice was taken of Flacourt’s boat, which must have become a familiar sight. Delancey studied the ship’s position and told Flacourt that it looked precarious.
“She will shift in the first gale and go down in deeper water.”
“I agree,” said Flacourt, “and I have told the men to land everything of value. They are unwilling to do that and some of them think that the ship can be saved.”
“Rubbish,” replied Delancey, “she is a total loss. May I ask, monsieur, whether you speak or understand English?”
“No, Captain, I do not.”
“Well, then, I propose to address the corvette’s crew in English, a language I speak fairly well. How many of them are there?”
“Any officers?”
“Only the surgeon. The boatswain has taken command.”
“I see.”
They were met at the entry port by the carpenter, Mr Calvert, who sent to inform the boatswain when told that a French officer had come aboard. The boatswain turned out to be an old grey-haired seaman called Hodges with a worried expression, possibly the worse for drink. At Flacourt’s suggestion, translated by Delancey, he ordered the crew on deck. From the quarterdeck Delancey made his speech:
“Mr Hodges has given me permission to tell you what your position is. Your captain and officers are presumably dead and all you who are left are likely to face a charge of mutiny; a charge for which the penalty is death. Your ship is badly damaged and will sink during the next gale; which is to be expected during the next few days. Once ashore on the Seychelles, having escaped drowning, you must not expect to be welcomed by the inhabitants, who do not have enough food for you. They may leave you to starve or they may hand you over to the next visiting British man-of-war. As I see your present situation, those who do not drown will starve and those who do not starve will hang. Any questions?”
“Who are you, sir?” asked the carpenter.
“I command the frigate Minerve, flying the French tricolour and now at anchor off Mahé.”
“You speak English, sir, like a native.”
“Thank you, Mr Calvert. I have been in England as a prisoner-of-war on parole.”
“Cannot you remove us, sir, as prisoners-of-war?”
“Where could you go? The British have captured Bourbon and Mauritius. They will be here, no doubt, in a matter of weeks. I cannot supply my frigate for a voyage to France with nearly a hundred extra hands. What you ask is impossible.”
“What then, sir, are we to do?” It was the old boatswain who asked the question, looking the picture of misery.
“What are you to do, you ask? How are you to save your lives? There is a way. There is only one way. You can put yourselves under my command and do exactly what I tell you. You must obey me, you understand, without question. But please realize, at the outset, that your lives mean nothing to me. I don’t care whether you die or how. I leave the choice to you. You can either accept my orders or stay here and rot. Please yourselves! Mr Hodges, I give the men ten minutes in which to decide. Mr Calvert, I want you to show me where the ship is holed.”
Ten minutes later Mr Hodges, speaking for the remainder, put himself and them under Delancey’s orders.
“Very well, then,” said Delancey, “I want the surgeon to report to me.” A middle-aged man with a squint came forward and introduced himself.
“I am David Robertson, surgeon of this ship.”
“Good. Now, I must know exactly when and how the mutiny took place. Can you tell me the whole story? Or do I need another witness?”
“I think, sir, you should hear what Ned Potter has to say. He was Captain Railton’s steward.”
“Right. Will you take Potter to the captain’s cabin? Now, Mr Hodges, I want all hands employed on emptying the ship. The sailmaker is to take all sails ashore and rig tents for the crew and for storage. The armourer is to take all weapons ashore and store them under cover with a sentry to guard them. Move everything ashore, Mr Hodges! Make the men work as they have never worked before!”
In the captain’s cabin Delancey found Robertson and Potter waiting for him. He sat at the table and told them both to sit down facing him.
“Now, Mr Robertson, I want to know what happened. You needn’t tell me why—I know something about Captain Railton. You were on passage from Bombay to Mauritius. Where were you when the mutiny took place?”
“Opposite the Maldives, sir, and about to pass through the One-and-a-half-degree Channel.”
“What was the immediate cause of the mutiny?”
“Railton had sworn to flog the last man down from aloft. In his hurry to get down, a topman missed his footing, fell to the deck, and was killed. The captain ordered the men to throw the body overboard.”
“Without proper burial?”
“Yes, sir. The men mutinied that night.”
“And Railton was killed? Who else?”
“No one else but the officers were placed under arrest in their cabins. I was the exception, having to look after the sick. Hodges took command, with Calvert as first lieutenant.”
“And then?”
“Two days later the officers tried to recapture the ship. In the attempt both lieutenants were killed and both midshipmen. Three seamen were wounded.”
“So Hodges decided to make for the Seychelles?”
“Yes, sir—on my advice.”
“But his navigation was not quite equal to it. Now, tell me this: are any of the men here guilty, in your opinion, of deliberate murder?”
“No, sir. Railton had driven them to a point of desperation but the men who killed him were no worse than the others. It was his life or theirs and what else could they have done? They had no grudge against the officers but they had to defend themselves. The officers were all given proper burial, by the way. The seamen lay great stress on it.”
“Yes, I know. Now, Potter, you have heard what Mr Robertson has told me. What can you add?”
“Well, sir, I was close to Captain Railton, being his steward; his valet as you might say. I watched him go mad, sir, and could tell that he was getting worse. He was quite a pleasant gentleman, I’ve been told, sir, when he was a lieutenant. Being a captain was too much for him, sir. When young Binney was killed I heard him say “Throw that lubber overboard,” and his messmates had to do it. He was raving mad, was the captain, and didn’t rightly know what he was doing or saying.”
“Thank you, Potter. Now, Mr Robertson, I want to ask you this: Would you join me in a plan which will save the lives of your shipmates? It means running a serious risk and making some statements which will not be entirely true, but it is the only way to save lives. What about you, Potter? As steward you are used to holding your tongue. Will you join me in this plan?”
“Yes, sir,” said Potter, and Robertson expressed more decided agreement.
“If we can avert further tragedy, we must do it, sir. I’m with you, come what may. What have we to do?”
“Listen. It is my guess that we are in for a gale of wind within the next few days. During that storm I think that this ship will lift from where she is and sink in deeper water. I propose to convince myself that she was at sea until then and was wrecked on that day. There will be only two survivors: you, Mr Robertson and you, Potter. You will report to me that the ship has sunk and I shall believe you. During the same gale but on Mahé Island itself an American ship will be wrecked at Beau Vallon and will become a total loss. In that instance the whole crew will come safely ashore and will come to me for help. I shall enter them on board my frigate.”
“What, in a French man-of-war?”
“No, I should have explained before that I am a Captain in the Royal Navy. My frigate flies the French flag but is actually British.”
“But won’t the islanders spoil your plan by telling the true story?”
“Not if they want to keep all the contents of the Falcon. If all those naval stores, guns and sails and spars, were salvaged from an American ship in the China trade, everything can be kept by Monsieur Flacourt and his friends. If everything came from a British sloop, the Royal Navy will want to claim it. My guess is that they will support our story.”
“God, sir, we shall be grateful to you!” said Robertson.
“Keep your gratitude until later. You’ll find that I shall demand a great deal in return. More immediately, explain to the men what I intend. Tell them what their story is to be. Rehearse it with them in the greatest detail. What was that American ship’s name, from what port, of what tonnage? What was her captain’s name? What was she doing here? They will have to tell me their story and I shall believe it. But it needs to be credible and they must all tell the same story, even to the crew of the Minerva.”
“But, surely, sir,” objected Robertson, “they will be recognized by your men, having met them while in harbour?”
“A few will be recognized. Their story must be that they deserted the Falcon and were in the American ship when she was wrecked.”
“You will run a dreadful risk, sir, if the truth should ever become known.”
“I am all too aware of that. My defence must be that I was credulous, too easily deceived. That I made up the story myself will be known only to you and Potter. I have to trust you. My career depends upon your being completely reliable. Listen now, I am going back to my ship. I shall not see you again until after the shipwreck. In the meanwhile you have two urgent tasks. First, strip this ship of everything which is of any value and put all the stuff on shore, as safe as you can make it from the effects of a possible gale. Then use the ship’s boats to take the entire crew to some point on the west side of Mahé—Flacourt will show you where—and fix on the exact spot for your shipwreck. Alter the ship’s name on each boat and then send one of them to me with news of the disaster. Afterwards and quite separately, you and Potter report to me that the Falcon went down with all other hands. Is that clear? Flacourt will know the whole truth, by the way, and the Falcon’s boats are finally to be given to him.”
Back on board the Minerva, Delancey wondered whether he had made the mistake that would wreck his career. Almost foolproof in theory, his plan depended too much on seamen being able to hold their tongues. From a humanitarian point of view, he was doing his best for the Falcon’s crew but were his motives humane? He knew that they were not. What he wanted was a fully manned frigate which might gain him an eleventh-hour victory over some frigate which might yet arrive from France. He now had the chance to recruit eighty-nine men. Adding these to the men he had would give him three hundred and fifty-two, almost a full complement by French standards and something in excess of a 38-gun frigate’s establishment. He would have the best-manned frigate on the station, fit to blow any opponent out of the water. Nor were these men from the Falcon such bad material. He had looked them over and could see that they were potentially good men and grateful at the moment for their reprieve. Given a few weeks of intensive gun-drill he would have exceptionally strong crew in an exceptionally fine ship. The temptation was too much for him. Accepting the risk, his career would be at stake for weeks and indeed months to come. After that the risk would diminish. There would be gossip along many a waterfront but who took any notice of what poor seamen may say? Once his crew was paid off it would be difficult to substantiate even the most persistent rumour. His decision had been made long since, really before he left Mauritius. Having found the Falcon’s men he meant to keep them.
The gale, when it came to the Seychelles, was the outer fringe of a hurricane which passed far to the south, missing Mauritius as well. The wind was fitful at first, with occasional gusts which died away to nothing. Seabirds made a plaintive cry, big waves crashed on to the shoreline, and there was a general sense of impending drama. When the wind rose to gale-force it blew at first from the south, veered slowly to the west, and finally to the north-east before dying away. The Minerva was never in real danger, being sheltered by the islands and snugged down in advance, but the wind rose to a high scream of violence, drowning the distant noise of thunder. The storm reached its peak at night and Delancey, on the forecastle, watched by the illumination of the lightning flashes to see how the cables were taking the strain. There was no sign of chafing and he turned away, wondering about the fate of the Falcon, the position of which was far more exposed. If the Minerva pitched and rolled, her cordage groaning, the Falcon could not last for long. He hoped that all the men had gone ashore before the wind began to rise. His guess was that she would lift over the reef and capsize nearer the shore. If the wind blew from another quarter she might drift further out before she sank. In either event there would be nothing left for anyone to see, which was just as well.
By next morning there was no more than a northerly stiff breeze, which died away towards evening. In this more favourable weather Flacourt’s boat, rowed by his black slaves, put off from the shore with two passengers. One was Mr Robertson, the other was Ned Potter. Flacourt solemnly presented them as strangers and Delancey had clearly never seen them before. He met them officially, and very publicly, on the frigate’s quarterdeck and listened to Mr Robertson’s report.
“So the Falcon is a total loss and you are the only two survivors. Are you sure of that, Mr Robertson?”
“Yes, sir. She was wrecked in the gale and went down in deep water. I was fortunate in clinging to a cask and Potter here clutched at a hen-coop. We reached Mamelle Island in the dark, searched the shore this morning, and can assure you that there was nobody there. I am sorry to say that all the others must have perished, Captain Railton among them.”
After making a more detailed report, Robertson was signed on as supernumerary assistant surgeon, Potter as assistant captain’s steward. On the following day there came news of another disaster resulting from the same gale. Hudelet sent word that an American merchantman called the Active, out of Salem, had been wrecked on the west coast of Mahé, all the crew being saved. He asked whether Delancey could offer the men a passage to Mauritius, for there was no way of maintaining so many men in as poor a colony as the Seychelles. Delancey made no rash promises but he suggested that the castaways should be brought to the landing place the next day. He would talk to them and see what could be done. At the appointed hour Delancey went on shore, this time in uniform and attended by Topley, Sevendale, Ledingham, and Lewis. As he left the ship the French ensign was hauled down and replaced by the British. At much the same time the British replaced the French flag on land. When he stepped ashore he was greeted by Messieurs Hudelet and Flacourt, the former a little reproachful about the original deception. “You need not have distrusted us, Captain. As soon as we heard of the capture of Mauritius we decided to become a British colony. We are on your side and look to you for protection.” Delancey accepted this addition to the Empire, perhaps a little absentmindedly, and went towards the flagstaff at which the castaway mariners were assembled; all, as it happened, in their best clothes. He had obviously seen none of them before.
“Fellow seamen,” he said, “I am very sorry to hear of the shipwreck which has brought you here. I understand that your ship, the Active of Salem, went ashore here during the recent gale. I am glad, on the other hand, that no lives were lost and that you were all able, as I should guess, to save your personal gear. I have been told that ship and cargo were a total loss. Who is the ship’s master?”
Hodges stepped forward.
“And the first mate?”
Calvert raised his hand.
“Good. Now, I realize that most of you will be American citizens, neutral in the present war. It often happens, these days, that the crew of an American ship will include some British seamen, men we describe as deserters from the Royal Navy. Attempts are sometimes made to identify these men. Let me assure you at once that I shall make no such attempt. So far as I am concerned, you are all American, with papers to prove it. This being so, you might expect that I would offer you all a passage to Mauritius as distressed seamen, and bring your plight to the notice of the American Consul at that port. Unfortunately, I cannot do that. My frigate is not designed to carry passengers in any number. In the ordinary way, I could report your presence here and hope, for your sake, that some arrangement could be made for your rescue. I learn, however, from the resident magistrate that the food supplies here are very limited. Hospitable as our local friends are, they cannot be your hosts for very much longer. At first I could think of no solution to the problem. It now occurs to me that our difficulties would be at an end if you were all to enter on board my frigate, the Minerva, perhaps the finest ship of her class in the world. You would be assured of fair rations, good treatment, and the pay suitable to your rank. If you were all to suppose that joining the Minerva meant serving in the Royal Navy until the end of the war, you might well hesitate. I can assure you, however, that the Minerva is bound for Mauritius and then for England. She will then be paid off. The Americans here, the majority of you, will then use their papers to prove their nationality and will be exempt from any further service.
“Now, I have made you all an offer. But I want, above everything, to treat you fairly. While I can offer you good berths in a happy ship, I must not pretend that life will be easy. The French have been swept from the Indian Ocean but our passage home must take us near the French coast. I must be ready at all times to meet the enemy. The Minerva could always outsail a bigger ship and can as certainly overwhelm any ship in her own class. But an action is not improbable and we must be ready for it. So the choice lies with you, to go or stay. Be clear, however, about this; I take all or none. Now I shall leave you to think it over or take a vote. In ten minutes from now I shall ask Mr Hodges what you have decided to do.”
Delancey walked away and conferred in the hut with Hudelet and Flacourt.
“What will they decide to do?” asked Hudelet when the offer had been explained to him.
“They will enter on board the Minerva.” replied Delancey at once. “What else can they do? Now, about the details. I propose that all the boats saved from the wreck go to you, Monsieur Flacourt, as a farewell gift. I also propose, however, that most of the gunpowder shall be delivered to my ship before nightfall.”
“But, surely, sir,” protested Flacourt, “you have all the gunpowder you need.”
“Not for the amount of target practice this crew is going to have,” said Delancey grimly. “Do you agree or shall we take the boats?” The argument ended, leaving only the details to discuss. Then Delancey returned to the meeting and asked Hodges what the men had decided.
“We’ll all enter, sir,” said Hodges. Turning to the men he then called “Three cheers for Captain Delancey!” The cheers were given and seemed even to have been expected, for all boats instantly pushed off from the frigate and made for the shore. Delancey did not wait for them but said good-bye to Hudelet and Flacourt and took Hodges and Calvert with him to the boat in which he had come.
“I find all this quite astonishing, sir,” said Topley. “We are going to have a full crew—something unknown in these waters since the war began!”
“We have certainly been fortunate,” Delancey agreed. “We have completed our task, establishing the fate of the Falcon, and can presently sail for home.”
“What I can’t understand, sir, is how an experienced officer like Captain Railton could have wrecked his ship on Mamelle Island—or how indeed he came anywhere near the place.”
“Oh, I know the answer to that. We are lucky again in that the only two men to survive are the surgeon and the captain’s steward. Mr Robertson assures me, and Ned Potter agrees, that Captain Railton was insane.”
“That explains a lot, sir. The best of our good fortune is that these Americans have agreed so readily to enter!”
“I think that Hodges must have persuaded them—isn’t that right, Mr Hodges? I regret to say that I can’t offer you a master’s vacancy on board the Minerva. Would you agree to act, for the time being, as second boatswain? As for you, Mr Calvert, I learn from Mr Hodges that you were once a carpenter before you became a deck officer. Would you agree to act, for this one voyage, as assistant carpenter?” Neither of them made any difficulty and it was clear that the petty officer appointments would be simpler still.
A fortnight later the Minerva dropped anchor in Port Louis but very near the harbour entrance and well away from the other men-of-war. She flew a yellow flag and Delancey reported to Commodore Beaver (the Admiral having gone) that he had some cases of fever among some men recently entered. He proposed to allow no shore leave for fear of spreading the infection. The Commodore then readily agreed that the Minerva should sail for home as soon as possible. She would need some supplies, however, which would be sent to her, and there must be a court of inquiry into the loss of the sloop Falcon. In the circumstances, this was very much of a formality because the evidence of the two survivors was quite sufficient to establish the truth. That Railton had been insane was readily accepted but no senior officer wished to lay stress on it. It was enough to take Robertson’s word for it that the man had been seriously ill and was unfit for duty. Delancey’s evidence fixed the date and place of the disaster. These were the essential facts, they were duly recorded, and the case was closed.
The Minerva, meanwhile, was completing her stores and water for the homeward voyage, but still kept in a state of isolation. Among the few officers allowed ashore, Delancey was just leaving naval headquarters one day when he was breathlessly hailed by a young officer on the senior naval officer’s staff, “Captain Delancey, sir, the Commodore requests you to have your ship ready for sea as soon as possible. Enemy ships have just been sighted from the signal station.”