“ALL HANDS on deck! Rouse out, there! Lively, now!” Will Carré, the gunner, assembled the crew of the Nemesis and checked their names against his muster-list. There were 52 men and boys in all including the eight “marines” under Mr Hubert who were drawn up in line below the break of the quarterdeck. The seamen proper clustered in the waist and were presently reported present to Mr Rouget. The presence of the marines was similarly reported to Rouget, who reported in turn to Mr Le Vallois. He then doffed his hat and bowed to the captain, Richard Delancey, who stood at the rail, facing aft. “The crew all present, sir!” Delancey, in naval uniform, turned to Mr Jeremie and bowed to him as the owners’ representative. “All present sir, and the ship ready to sail.” In his best suit and wig, Mr Jeremie now addressed the crew. From the glibness of his words Delancey guessed that he had often done this before and probably without much variation.
“Officers and men, you will know by now that the owners of this ship have appointed Mr Richard Delancey as captain. He is a naval officer who had had great experience in the king’s service. He is also a Guernseyman and brought up in St Peter Port. Obey his orders and you will gain the approbation of the owners. More than that, you will share in the value of every capture you make. You each know to what share you are entitled and you each know that no one is forgotten and that even the cabin boy has something to gain. Do your duty, men, and see that the ship is always ready for action. Keep a sharp look-out at all times and be sure that you see the enemy before you are seen. Follow your officers bravely when the moment comes and be sure that the cowardly French will run for their lives. Bring your prizes back to this port and listen to the cheers as you drop anchor. Go ashore with money to spend and you will find once more that every pretty girl loves a seaman! Good luck to you all!”
While listening, Delancey was studying the faces of the men before him. These, he could see, were the riff-raff of the waterside; the stupid, the clumsy, the drunken and dishonest, the debtors, the hen-pecked, the useless, the sick. The Nemesis was at single anchor outside the harbour and the boat was alongside that would take Mr Jeremie ashore. Even here the midshipman, Duquemin, was still hiding in the cable tier, afraid to be seen on deck. Glancing round, he looked again at his officers, grouped behind him, and saw that they too were unimpressive. They wore a semblance of uniform with their brass-hilted swords, but looked more eager for loot than for battle. There was no attempt at uniform among the “marines” who looked seedier even than the sailors. Their muskets were dirty and their bayonets were dull.
Stepping forward in his turn Delancey did his best to make an impression:
“Officers and men of the Nemesis, I am Richard Delancey, your captain. We shall come to know each other on this cruise. In the meanwhile, I have three things to say. First, this ship is a man-of-war and should look like one. The more warlike and smart we appear, the greater is the likelihood of our enemies surrendering without a fight. Second, our lives may depend upon our guns and small arms being serviceable. Third, our further success may depend upon the way we treat our prisoners. If we are known to behave well, using no violence more than is needed, robbing no seaman of his gear, enemy merchantmen will haul down their colours before a shot is fired. But if we act like pirates, every ship we intercept under the French flag will fight to the last, leaving us with two wrecks to handle, our own ship and the prize. We must be smart. We must be ready. We must be disciplined. Dismiss the men, Mr Le Vallois. Mr Jeremie’s boat, Mr Rouget. Man the side, Mr Hubert.”
Delancey saw Mr Jeremie to the gangway and saluted as the boat pushed off and as Hubert’s marines attempted a ragged present arms. Then he went below to where Sam Carter was waiting in the main cabin. It was to him and to him alone that Delancey had confided his plan of campaign.
He apologized for keeping Sam waiting and then shouted for his steward. “A glass of wine, Sam, to toast our success.”
“Thank you, Captain. I won’t say ‘no.’ But don’t let me delay your departure.”
“We are here anyway until our boat returns. Tell me, what did you think of my plan?”
“I’m sorry, Richard. I could say nothing last night at the tavern, not with all that company around. But, no, I’m sorry: it won’t answer.”
“Why not?”
“First let me admit that your intelligence is good and your reasoning better. If the Guernsey smugglers ship brandy which comes, some of it, from Cherbourg, the brandy must have been landed there in the first place. It is not a product of Normandy and it must have come by sea. All that is undeniable.”
“Then it should be possible to intercept the ships which bring the stuff.”
“Look, Richard, if it were possible the Alderney privateers would have done it. But these ships are too big for them and too well armed.”
“Very true, Sam, but the Nemesis is bigger than those Alderney craft.”
“She is not big enough.”
“Perhaps you think I am poaching on your preserve?”
“No, Richard. I am trading further south these days. Your capturing the Bonne Citoyenne might vex some people but it wouldn’t matter to me. I don’t think, however, that you can do it.”
“You mean that she mounts too many guns?”
“She certainly does. But, apart from that, she creeps along the coast. Suppose you go in with another ship of your own class—the Duke of Richmond, say, commanded by Peter Norman—”
“Not me, Sam! I would never trust him.”
“Very well, then. Suppose you have a larger ship, with four and twenty guns. On sighting you, the Bonne Citoyenne would put into the nearest harbour, one she has visited a score of times and one where she will be covered by shore batteries. Not knowing the place, you would never dare follow.”
“And I should be beaten off if I tried?”
“You’d be taken, more likely, and end in a French prison.”
“But, nevertheless, Bonne Citoyenne would be worth capturing— agreed?”
“Oh, yes, no doubt of it. She would be a good prize, anyway, when bound for Cherbourg with wine, brandy and general goods. The same would be true of that other ship—Libération, I think she is called. Neither, however, would have much cargo on the southward run. But forget them, Richard, and go after something smaller.”
“I most probably shall, just to give the men a little confidence. And here comes the steward with the wine. . . . Thank you, Nicolle. . . . Now then—a toast to the Libération of the Bonne Citoyenne!”
“I drink to that, Richard, but your plan is only fit for bedlam!”
“I wonder? If you think me over-confident, Sam, you should know that I have failed so far through not being confident enough. I have been thought shy and absent-minded, a dreamer, an artist. But two things have changed me and one of them happened in the last few minutes.”
“What—you were moved by old Jeremie’s words of encouragement?”
“No, I was looking at my officers and crew. I knew then, quite suddenly, that I am the best seaman on board the Nemesis. I never had that conviction in the navy and I don’t think it would have been justified. But here I feel that I have the right to command.”
“Of course you have, Richard! But that is a modest claim, after all. Your men are the dregs, not half as good as mine. To be the best of this lot means nothing!”
“To me, Sam, it means everything.”
“What other thing has happened to change your outlook?”
“I came across the ruins of Anneville Manor.”
“Well, Richard—what of it?”
“It belonged for centuries to the Andros family I came across it by accident, walking back from Portinfer. Suddenly—there it was, like a ruined castle in a tale of romance. Some day I shall rebuild it. My aim, in the meanwhile, is to make the money.”
“But you are not an Andros!”
“My mother was. I feel that this is a task which has fallen to me. . . . And now, Sam, you think me a romantic fool!”
“No, Richard, not in the least. But don’t lose your life in trying to take the Libération or Bonne Citoyenne. Your only reward would be a tablet in the town church, placed there by the owners. Stay alive for the sake of your friends. Don’t shake your head, Richard—you do have friends. Anyway, you have one.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
“And now I can hear your boat returning. You must sail and I must go ashore.”
The two friends parted and the Nemesis was soon under way, bound in the first place for the Breton coast beyond Roscoff. Delancey felt that his officers were resentful about this, knowing that the Breton coasters were not worth the trouble of pursuit and capture. He ignored their black looks, said nothing of his plans and concentrated all his efforts on gun-drill and musketry. With unwearied patience he repeated the exercises until there were signs of improvement. Then he started competitions between the gun-crews and musketry squads, with extra tots of rum for the winners. The officers were sceptical, pointing out that a fight was the last thing they wanted. Delancey ignored them, politely relentless, and ended with two gun-crews which could load and fire with at least average speed and accuracy. The others could only be said to do their best. As for Hubert’s landsmen, they were drilled to the point of exhaustion.
Weeks passed before the Nemesis began to seek her prey and even then Delancey did no more than sweep the Baie de St Brieux, at first by daylight and then after nightfall. He spoke with Breton fishing boats and sometimes bought from them, molesting nobody and explaining that he had no interest in small craft. As nothing of any size was to be seen on that coast the local fishermen supposed that he must be weak in the head (a theory which his own officers were inclined to share). He was almost ignored by small coastal traders, which did no more than keep their distance from him. Then, and quite abruptly, Delancey struck. He opened fire in daylight on a couple of two-masted luggers out of Portrieux, crippling one of them while the other escaped. He took this small prize into Jersey while his officers fumed at his stupidity The Coquette, laden with a mixed cargo, was of trifling value and the effect of the capture was to scare all other vessels back into harbour. Delancey, however, seemed to be content with his prize while pointing out that better gunnery would have secured the second lugger as well.
The condemnation and sale of the Coquette gave Delancey a sum in hand out of which his crew received something on account. His own and the owners’ share he spent at once on uniform clothing for his officers and “marines.” He had expected to buy scarlet cloth and the services of a tailor but he soon discovered that militia uniform was to be bought ready-made. After much effort he provided Hubert and his men with marine uniforms, crossbelts and headgear. The lieutenants, gunner, and midshipman were also given naval uniform with cocked or round hats as appropriate. News of this activity reached D’Auvergne, as was inevitable, and Delancey was sent for and questioned.
“So it’s you!” exclaimed the Prince. “I might have guessed it! And may I ask what mischief you are planning now?”
Delancey explained something of his plans and the Prince at once offered to help.
“You will need a commissioning pennant and a smart new ensign. I’ll see what I can do. And what about canvas and paint?” Delancey accepted some material help but explained that he would do none of the painting while at St Helier. He would have to find somewhere less public.
“Chausey Island would be the place,” said D’Auvergne promptly. “And one other item I should add to your list—a drum!”
They parted on friendly terms and the Nemesis was soon at sea again, bound for the Chausey Islands, halfway to St Malo.
After the anchor dropped Delancey called his officers together and explained what had to be done:
“You may have wondered, gentlemen, why I have been so particular about your appearance in uniform. You may have thought that this was the whim of a naval officer; his hobbyhorse, as people say. It is part, however, of a plan to confuse the enemy. For the next week or so the Nemesis is to become a king’s ship; a sloop, to be exact, of twenty guns, eight in each battery and two bow-chasers. Now, this is what we must do—” He went into details about the disguise but said nothing about its exact purpose. Mystified and critical, his men had to admit that their captain at least knew what he wanted. And when the Nemesis sailed again, with pennant and colours flying, her drum beating to quarters, her marines in uniform and her officers looking the part, the men agreed that the disguise was effective. But what could be the object? Privateers often disguised their strength so as to look harmless and even invite attack. Whoever heard of a privateer disguised as a king’s ship? They had little time to discuss this problem, however, for they were now plunged into exhausting, realistic and repeated exercises, this time in the manning and arming of boats. Off Sark there were new exercises again, this time in the boarding and capture of an enemy ship at anchor. On this cruise there seemed to be nothing but work.
It was afternoon on May 22nd, 1795, when the merchantman Bonne Citoyenne passed the Pointe du Rozel on the last stage of her regular passage from Bordeaux to Cherbourg. There was a fresh south-westerly breeze and she stood up the Passage de la Deroute under easy sail and keeping a sharp look-out. There was Jersey to windward and Alderney ahead and the captain, Citoyen Carignan, a cautious man, would breathe a sigh of relief when he rounded the Cap de la Hague. It would have been better seamanship, no doubt, to lay a course direct from Brest to a point west of Alderney, leaving Guernsey to starboard. He would then, however, have been far from the friendly ports to leeward. By hugging the coastline, on the other hand, he was always within easy reach of St Brieux, St Malo, Granville, Reynville, Havre de St Germain or La Gravelle. Beyond that was a stretch of inhospitable coastline ending in Cap de la Hague, with Cherbourg round the point. With this breeze even a heavily laden ship would be safe in Cherbourg harbour by the evening. The sun was bright, the visibility was excellent and the lookout in the foretop had no difficulty in seeing the sail which appeared directly ahead. He hailed the deck and the captain went halfway up the mizen shrouds with his telescope. As soon as he reached the quarterdeck again he gave the order to clear for action, for the stranger was clearly hostile and stood directly in his path. Citoyen Carignan would soon have to make a choice between battle or flight. Faced by a small privateer he would be prepared to fight his way through the passage between Alderney and Cap de la Hague. Since he mounted 22 guns and had a crew of seventy, he could beat off the average privateer; and the sound of gunfire might bring out a cruiser from Cherbourg. Faced by a frigate, on the other hand, he would run to leeward and take refuge at La Gravelle. To sail back the way he had come could be fatal, as he realized, for a frigate, working to windward, would certainly overtake him in a matter of hours.
“What do you make of her?” Carignan asked of his first mate, to whom he handed the telescope.
“No frigate, Captain, that is certain.”
“But a national corvette?”
“Who knows? Perhaps twenty guns, no ensign, worn sails. . . . She looks—no, I can’t make her out.” He handed the telescope back and the captain renewed his scrutiny. The distance between the two ships was lessening but the stranger, at closer range, was still something of a mystery. As he watched, the corvette (if she was a corvette) tacked. She had been on the port tack when first seen, standing north-westwards under easy sail. For a minute or two her masts were in line. Then she was on the other tack, heading towards the French coast. If both ships held their present course the enemy privateer (or corvette?) would soon cut the Bonne Citoyenne off from her nearest refuge at La Gravelle. Carignan would then have no choice to make, with Cherbourg his only possible place of safety, the enemy to windward of him and 45 miles to go before sunset. The two ships were now converging rapidly but Carignan made more sail and thus made sure of reaching the point of intersection before his opponent. Although within range, neither opened fire for some minutes. Then the enemy’s bow-chaser boomed, the smoke billowed and dispersed and the corvette (or privateer) hoisted her white ensign and pennant. The shot was across the bows and a signal followed, presumably ordering the merchantman to heave to. Carignan hoisted the tricolour in defiance but made no other response, watching through his telescope as the enemy ship crossed his wake. She was at about three cables’ distance and sharply distinct in the afternoon sun. Carignan could see the blue uniforms on her quarterdeck, the scarlet and white of her marines, the glitter of their bayonets. There came downwind the beat of the drum and the faintly heard words of command. There was no other sound and all the seamen visible were standing rigidly to their guns. As soon as she had passed the merchantman’s stern, the corvette put up her helm and came almost into the Bonne Citoyenne’s wake. Assuming her to be faster and better manned, the corvette (or sloop, as the English would call her) should be alongside in twenty minutes and Carignan would have to fight her off for the time it might take to cover ten miles. He pointed this out to his first mate and added: “We have a very good chance.”
“Yes, Captain,” said the mate. “She mounts fewer guns than we do. But why didn’t she fire her broadside as she passed?”
The enemy corvette was well-disciplined and well-handled but she seemed to be one of the slowest ships in her class. She gained little on her prey, her captain resorting to his two bow-chasers in the hope of crippling his opponent. The British shooting was indifferent, however, and the range began to lengthen. The Bonne Citoyenne came into La Gravelle undamaged and the pursuing corvette turned away, baffled. The French crew cheered as they made fast to the breakwater and Carignan congratulated himself on his victory over an enemy frigate.
“A frigate, Captain?” asked the second mate.
“Of the smallest class,” Carignan admitted, privately resolving to word his report rather differently.
“And the slowest,” added the mate with a puzzled expression. He would have been less puzzled, in one way, had he known that the Nemesis had been towing an old sail astern. He would have been more puzzled in another way, however, had he known this, for such a strange piece of seamanship might be regarded as a proof of lunacy. Nor need we wonder that the long-suffering crew of the Nemesis had come to the same conclusion, that their captain must be out of his mind. Weeks of training had been followed by the capture of an almost worthless prize. Then there had been all this fuss over uniforms and paintwork. And now, having waylaid a valuable merchantman, he had fired a few shots and broken off the engagement. Le Vallois was irritated although secretly glad to avoid battle. Rouget was furious, Hubert was puzzled, young Duquemin almost openly relieved. When Le Vallois knocked at the cabin door it was with a gloomy satisfaction that he announced the coming aft of a group of seamen who wished to make a complaint. “Send them in,” said Delancey, and the first lieutenant ushered in a group consisting of Le Breton, Puteaux, Cluett, Tardif and Wetherall. “Well?” asked Delancey and Wetherall spoke up on behalf of the others:
“You’ll recollect, sir, that we proved ourselves to be the best guncrew on board this here ship?”
“Yes, I know.”
“But the crew you put on the bow-chaser were the worst we have, the crew which never came near the target.”
“I am aware of that. Good practice for them.”
“But we reckon, sir, that we could have crippled that frog ship and brought her to close action.”
“I daresay you might have done. But that was not what I wanted.”
“Well, sir, we felt disgraced.”
“Forget it. Before many hours have passed you will have reason to feel proud. For that I give you my word. And when I want to hit the target I shall know which gun-crew to put on the bow-chaser. You may not believe it but I know what I am doing.”
When the deputation had withdrawn old Le Vallois made his formal protest:
“I feel bound to tell you, sir, that the men are discouraged. They can’t understand your tactics, sir, and nor do I.”
“You soon will, Mr Le Vallois. Bring the other officers in—yes, with Carré as well. Leave Mr Duquemin in charge of the deck.”
Delancey walked to the stern windows and saw the French coast disappearing as the light failed. The Nemesis was just north of Sark, heading slowly north-westwards under topsails and jib. There was a knock at the door and his four officers entered, all looking more or less resentful.
“Pray be seated, gentlemen,” said Delancey, setting them the example. “I want you to picture, if you will, the evening’s events in the little port of La Gravelle. The Bonne Citoyenne came in on the flood tide, just beginning, and tied up alongside. Her captain is pleased with himself. He was headed away from Cherbourg by a British sloop of twenty guns but he held her off and reached port, saved by the bad seamanship or cowardice—or both—of the British captain. What does he do now? Mr Le Vallois?”
“He stays where he is for the time being.”
“Just so, and then? Mr Rouget?”
“He lets one watch go ashore.”
“Very true. So he does! And then? Mr Hubert?”
“He goes to the local tavern and tells the company about his victory over the Royal Navy. They all shout ‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!’“
“I think you are right, Mr Hubert. But he has to do something else first. Mr Carré?” There was silence and Delancey had to answer his own question: “He sends a messenger overland to the senior naval officer at Cherbourg, asking for a cruiser to meet him tomorrow off Cap de la Hague. The messenger rode off an hour ago and will be there three hours hence. He will have to ride sixteen miles or so but not in vain. The corvette will sail at first light.”
“How do we know that?” asked Hubert.
“Because the Bonne Citoyenne is bringing the wine; and she won’t quit La Gravelle until sure of her escort. That confounded sloop may still be around, lurking perhaps beyond Alderney. So she won’t sail tonight—as she could—on the ebb. She’ll be there, it has been decided, until morning. That is her captain’s intention, gentlemen. But one fact has escaped his notice—the fact that we shall capture his ship tonight.” There was a gasp of astonishment and all the officers tried to speak at once:
“What—go into a French harbour?”
“But how, sir?”
“God—it’s impossible!”
“Surely this is madness?”
Delancey listened blandly to these exclamations and continued, after a pause: “It so happens, gentlemen, that I have visited the harbour before. My plan presents no particular difficulty but depends for its success on surprise.”
“Do you mean, sir, that the Nemesis is to sail into the harbour at La Gravelle?” Le Vallois’ voice was quivering with indignation.
“Certainly not, Mr Le Vallois. We shall go in with the boats.”
“What—all of us?”
“No, you will remain on board, and so will Mr Carré. Mr Rouget will take the longboat, Mr Hubert the launch and Mr Duquemin will come with me in the gig. We’ll go over the details later and issue the arms. In the meanwhile—about ship! It’s your watch, I think, Mr Rouget? Set a course for La Gravelle. Mr Carré, uncover the boats and remember that we must muffle the oars. Mr Le Vallois, I’ll show you the chart. . . .”
By driving his men into a state of bustling preparation Delancey prevented any discussion over his actual plan. He knew, however, that the seamen had reached a sense of frustration during the afternoon’s skirmish (as voiced by the deputation) and that talk of action would be to that extent welcome.
There were some feelings of opposition, however, and Le Vallois gave them full expression:
“I should be failing in my duty, sir, if I made no protest about this night attack on La Gravelle. The owners, I am confident, would never countenance so hazardous a venture. I submit that we missed our chance of capturing this ship in daylight. What you now propose is far less likely to succeed.”
“Is that all you have to say, Mr Le Vallois?”
“Yes, sir. With respect, sir.”
“Very well, then. I have three observations to make. First I shall comment upon the word ‘propose.’ I have proposed nothing. Instead I have given you my orders and I expect them to be obeyed to the letter. Second, the chance we missed today was of an action between two ships of almost equal force; an action which would have left them both crippled, whereas our opponent tonight will be surprised, with half his men ashore. Third, I interpret your protest as a sign of cowardice.”
“Sir!”
“I repeat—cowardice!” Delancey moved round the cabin table, took Le Vallois by the neckcloth and shook him.
“And if you deny that you are a coward, fetch your sword and come on deck—now. I’ll cut you to pieces and feed those fragments to the mackerel.”
“I apologize, Captain,” gibbered Le Vallois. “I swear to obey orders.” Delancey flung him back against the cabin door and finished the interview by saying, with quiet intensity:
“You’ll be dead before morning if you don’t . . . Get out!”
Alone for a minute, Delancey had a moment of almost physical nausea. He had thought himself a gentleman, a man of culture, an artist, and here he was behaving like a mad buccaneer of the last century. What else, however, could he do? Le Vallois must be made to fear his captain more than he feared the enemy, and that fear must be transmitted to the other cowards on board. He strode to the door and shouted: “Pass the word for Mr Rouget!”
That officer appeared at the double, looking thoroughly alarmed.
“I have to acquaint you, Mr Rouget, with a slight change of plan. Mr Duquemin will go with Mr Hubert and Mr Le Vallois will come with me in the gig.”
“Aye, aye, sir. But who will you leave in command of the ship?”
“Old Maindonal.”
“The carpenter, sir?”
“Yes,” said Delancey briefly. “Tell the others and send Maindonal in to see me.”
The essence of Delancey’s plan was to come into the harbour at high water just as the tide began to ebb. He had been into La Gravelle before—it seemed a lifetime ago—but the navigational problem on that occasion had been simpler. He had then merely to bring the Royalist away. This time he had to handle a captured merchantman as well, relying on the ebb tide. But the time of high water could vary from day to day by as much as fifteen minutes. . . . He was too absorbed in calculations to think of the risks involved but the chances of failure were, he thought, minimal. As all depended upon surprise, however, he had decided to drop the anchor well out of earshot and sail in with the anchor off the ground, ready to catch when the water shoaled. This would complicate the steering but the wind, luckily, was steady in strength and direction. When the anchor caught, the Nemesis was very near the position as planned. The boats, towed in, were quickly manned and armed, leaving the carpenter on board with a crew of nineteen. It was a starlit night with a crescent moon, light enough to see the breakwater. The three boats were initially roped together, the gig leading, and were not cast off until the harbour mouth was reached. Then the longboat went in, followed by the launch, and were almost alongside the Bonne Citoyenne before they were challenged. Even then a reply from Rouget in French gained another three minutes. The merchantman was taken, in fact, with surprisingly little opposition or noise. As for Delancey, he took the gig into the steps and left her there with a boy in charge. Le Vallois with one seaman went along the quay to a point opposite the French ship’s bows, Delancey with another man went to a point opposite her stern. Two ropes were cast off from two bollards and the Bonne Citoyenne began to drift away with the ebb. Delancey and Le Vallois walked back to the gig and had pushed off before the alarm was fairly given.
Following a distant bugle call there came the sound of running footsteps. A young petty officer appeared on the jetty, saw what was happening and shouted for help. He was presently joined by two men with muskets who fired at the Bonne Citoyenne’s present helmsman but evidently without result. There next appeared an officer who swore loudly and told the men with muskets to aim at the gig. As they did so, missing again, the petty officer ran off to tell someone more senior. The eventual result was the tramp of a whole platoon and a volley fired seaward without any very defined target. There followed another bugle call and a lot of scattered firing and shooting but without control enough to achieve anything. By the time the soldiers had arrived the Bonne Citoyenne was under sail and out of range.
When the Nemesis stood into the Russel next day with her prize astern she still had the appearance of a king’s ship, no less formidable than H.M. Sloop Albatross which was hove to in the roads. Delancey knew that the Albatross was based on Jersey and wondered, idly, why she was neither at anchor nor under way. Nearing St Peter Port, he suddenly saw the point of her manoeuvre. Her longboat had been lowered and was just overtaking a lugger which was steering for the harbour mouth. Delancey then realized that the lugger was the Dove and that her crew were just about to be impressed into the navy. Making a quick decision, he took the Nemesis into a point within hail of the Dove and between her and the Albatross. Backing his own topsails, he saw the lugger’s sails come down and her crew being collected on deck. Near her wheel Sam Carter was arguing with the midshipman, whose armed boat’s crew were already on board. Impressive in uniform, Delancey grabbed his speaking trumpet and hailed the Dove.
“Hawke to Albatross. Leave that lugger alone and return to your ship!”
The agitated midshipman looked in his direction and called back: “I am only obeying orders, sir!”
“Can’t hear you, bring your boat alongside.”
After some hesitation, the midshipman obeyed but had sense enough to leave his coxswain and six men in the Dove. His slowness over this gave time for Delancey to fetch his cocked hat and sword and pass an order to Hubert. He did not order the midshipman aboard but shouted down at him from the quarterdeck:
“That lugger is on a secret mission and her crew are not to be impressed. Leave her alone and return to your ship.”
“I have my captain’s orders, sir.”
“I am senior to your captain and you now have my orders.”
“I don’t know who you are, sir.” The quiver in the boy’s voice showed that he was on the verge of tears.
“You’ll soon find out, young man!” At this moment Hubert reported to Delancey, he too in uniform, backed with five of his men equally in scarlet.
“Mr Hubert, I shall want you to take a platoon of marines on board that lugger. Now, youngster, you have five minutes to get your men back into their boat. Or do you want to have them thrown out at bayonet point? Be off with you, sir, or you’ll feel the cane on your backside.” The miserable boy finally did as he was told and Delancey watched the longboat make its crestfallen return to the Albatross, which presently made sail for Jersey. The Nemesis and Dove had drifted closer together and Sam Carter was able to express his thanks without straining his voice.
“Thank you, Richard! Impressing those men would have ruined me. You should have been on the stage. I am distressed to think what will happen to that midshipman when he reports to his first lieutenant.”
“So am I, Sam, but he deserves it. He should know by now that a lieutenant can’t be senior to a master and commander.”
“Very true, but we must give him the credit for knowing one fact of which you yourself seem to be ignorant.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, he knew that only a king’s ship has marines aboard. . . .”