FLYING THE TRICOLOUR, the lugger Dove put into St Jean-de-Luz on August 24th, space being found for her alongside the breakwater. She had been more than welcome on her first visit because of what she brought and now she was just as welcome because of the goods she would ship; goods for which there would be no legal outlet after war began. Acting as supercargo, Mr Evans came on board with the bills of lading. He also gave Sam Carter the letter which Delancey had written, adding a brief account of how they had met.
“He was dressed as a French army officer?” asked Sam, making sure that he had the right picture.
“Yes, he was in French army uniform and so were three of his men, one in the coach and two on horseback.”
“That looks to me as if he had killed that number of French soldiers.”
“He must have done.”
“So he needed to cross the border before the hunt was up.”
“I reckon so.”
“And he won’t be all that safe in Spain.”
“Nor he will neither. But we are not yet at war, Sam, are we?”
“Not that I hear of. But it won’t be long. In three or four weeks or even less. This voyage down to Cadiz will be none of the safest, David, and that’s the truth.”
“What, Sam—are you going to do it?”
“Yes, I shall do it. What choice is there? I can’t leave Richard Delancey to die in Spain. He’ll be no prisoner of war, not after what he’s done to the French. Caught in disguise, he’ll be shot. He’s a fine fellow is Richard and a friend of mine. We must save him if we can. You wouldn’t think that he was a good seaman would you? He seems too much of the gentleman sometimes, reading novels or writing poetry, dreaming of god-knows-what. But put him in a tight corner, face him with a knotty problem, and Richard knows what to do and does it. He outwitted me once, remember.”
“I know that, Sam. And he saved your men from the press-gang that time only for us to lose them the next week. The men we have now, shipped in Guernsey, are not to be relied upon. They won’t like the idea of heading south from here.”
“Are you sure of that, David?”
“Once they have a cargo aboard they’ll want to steer for home.”
“More’s the pity then—they can’t.”
The next few days were spent in shipping the cargo. Relations with the French merchants ashore were excellent and there was no trouble with the customs or police. All were perfectly aware of the Dove’s business but some were anxious to hurry her sailing. As one old sea captain explained: “There are naval officers who don’t understand business. If a national ship were to come in, we might have trouble.” All was well, however, until the day of the Dove’s departure. After a last round of drinks and good wishes Sam Carter gave the order to cast off and the Dove made sail. It was a foggy day, the wind was faint and the lugger was moving slowly out of the harbour, when a larger ship suddenly loomed out of the mist. There was no real risk of collision but the other ship was rather close and easily identifiable as a French corvette. An officer hailed the Dove, probably ordering her to heave to. Carter ignored this but heard the sounds of a boat being lowered and manned. Losing sight of the corvette he became aware of the boat overtaking him. In a minute or two the boat was alongside and he was boarded by two French officers, a lieutenant and an “aspirant” or midshipman. He was ordered to drop anchor so that his vessel could be searched. Carter decided to play dumb, all the time hoping for a slant of wind. It came at last while the argument still raged and a seaman gently unhooked the boat from the mizen chains. It drifted astern as the lugsails filled and was lost to view in about two minutes. There was some distant shouting after that and the firing of a musket shot. Then the lugger was heading seaward and two Frenchmen were being disarmed and then hustled below to the forepeak. Without the least intending to do so, Sam Carter had taken two prisoners of war.
“Well, Mr Evans,” said Sam, “I’ll give you a course for Cape Finisterre—or, better, we’ll keep away from the coast, close-hauled on a course farther to the north.”
“The hands are not going to like that, Captain,” said Evans, too softly for the helmsman to hear. “And they’ll like it still less when we steer for Cadiz. There are dangers a-plenty on the enemy’s coast and it will mean going far from the places they know.”
“I don’t pretend to like it myself, Mr Evans, but what can I do? I can’t desert Delancey. Our task is to rescue him and that is what I mean to do.”
“I know that, sir, but we must look out for squalls after rounding Finisterre. The men want to see St Peter Port—not Cadiz.”
“How many of them are reliable?”
“I wish I knew. Then there are the prisoners, who might inspire the mutiny. I wish to God we could put them ashore.”
“And have them tell the story of their capture?”
“Oh—I know we have to keep them. The trouble is, however, that we have lost three men by desertion, two by sickness, and are reduced to nine: you and I, the boatswain, the cook and five deck hands, many of them smugglers by trade but French by descent. If the two prisoners are released the odds might be heavily against us.”
“Is the cook to be trusted?”
“I doubt it, sir.”
“And young Bennett?”
“I don’t know. If he isn’t, there could be eight against three; with the prisoners, ten against three. These are long odds, sir.”
“We must go armed at all times.”
“I am, sir, and so is Tom Yates.”
The Dove was soon under way on a north-westerly course, the wind being south-west and the sky brightening as they drew away from the coast. Their course was fair for Ushant or sufficiently so to keep the men content. At some point during the following night the Dove would have to tack, making the first leg of the southward passage and that would be the danger point. Sam Carter decided to talk to the doubtful men individually and then, when the time came, he would address them all. His own feelings at this stage were all too mixed. On the one hand he was a smuggler by trade, not involved in the war and intent on bringing his cargo safely into port. He knew exactly how the Guernseymen felt for his own instincts were the same as theirs. As against that, Delancey, his old opponent, was ashore and in danger and had asked for help. There was an awful compulsion in the trust which Delancey had placed in a smuggler’s loyalty; or was it merely in the loyalty of a friend? Had it been any other officer Sam Carter would promptly have steered for home. Friendship apart, however, Sam could see that Delancey’s intelligence could be important. The smuggling business, like any other, depended upon Britain’s command of the sea. Who could smuggle anything if these revolutionaries ruled over Britain as well as France? What would happen to the special privileges of the Channel Islands? Victory at sea was needed by George III but it was just as essential to the free-traders of Guernsey and Alderney Delancey’s journey through Spain was a desperate business and could end in disaster but Sam was a part of it and unable to withdraw. He must keep faith or despise himself for the rest of his life. He could not turn back, not even in the face of mutiny.
Next day, the wind from the same quarter was blowing half a gale. The Dove held her course with heavy seas breaking over her forecastle and the pumps kept going to free her hold from the water that had entered through the opening deck seams. Seeing Luke Bennett on forecastle watch Sam Carter went forward and asked him whether there was much water entering at the hawse-holes. Luke thought there was not. The lugger was pitching wildly and both had to shout to make themselves heard above the noise of the wind and sea. The circumstances were not ideal for conversation but Dick gained the impression that Luke, despite his name, was very much of a Guernseyman. He spoke English with a strong accent and was sometimes at a loss for a word, perhaps because he thought in the local patois of his island. The only fact of importance to emerge was that Luke was an adherent of the late Mr John Wesley, by whose preaching (he said) his father had been saved. He gathered that Henri Nicolle was of the same persuasion, though possibly belonging to a different sect. He had a word later with Nicolle, whose galley fire was extinguished, and gained confirmation about his religious views. The other men were Protestant, he gathered, but were rarely seen in church. There had never been a Guernsey party interested in “Liberty, Equality and Fraternity” (although there had been in Jersey) and it would have been still more difficult to find any Channel Island admirers of Robespierre. Treason was out of the question, the boatswain assured him, and all the men wanted was to run their cargo back to St Peter Port. Sam ended his tour of the lugger by visiting the prisoners, who were in the forepeak, sitting disconsolately on a spare staysail. They refused to give their parole, saying “Vive La France!” and complaining bitterly about the food. Sam Carter locked them in again and returned to the quarterdeck. The gale was now moderating and died away towards evening, giving place to a moderate breeze from the south with occasional rain showers.
Just before sunset Sam Carter called the crew together at the changing of the watch. For the first time he told them the whole story as known to himself. “A naval officer called Delancey, a Guernseyman like others here and well known to us all as the commander of the Nemesis, is ashore in Spain and trying to discover what the French and Spanish are planning to do. When he has found out he will try to embark at the port of Léon, used by us and by other free-traders. He has asked me to meet him there and bring him away and that I have decided to do. He should now be on the road to Cadiz. As Spain is still at peace he should have no difficulty in passing through that country. When he reaches Cadiz we shall then be ready to rescue him at a point just south of there. That done, we can steer for Guernsey and Poole, having saved a brave man, done good business, and played our part in frustrating the enemy.”
Sam paused while the English-speaking seamen (Nicolle and Bennett) explained his little speech to the others in French. Then he went on but now on a note of persuasion: “I know that you would rather head for home and safety now. So should I! But I can’t desert Captain Delancey, a fine seaman and a brave man. He was running a terrible risk in France for he would have been shot as a spy if they had caught him. Our risk is nothing by comparison. If captured by the French we should be treated as smugglers or, at worst, as merchant seamen, to be held until we are exchanged. You may wonder, however, why I concern myself with the affairs of George III. You may even think that a smuggler should stick to his trade. That is some day what I mean to do. But where will our trade be if France should win? What if England should be conquered? What if the customs duties were abolished between England and France? How should we make a living? We believe in Free Trade and we mean to have it even if we have to kill every Frenchman in France!”
There was a laugh at that, followed by another laugh after the joke had been translated. Sam Carter decided to end on that note. “Very well then. We shall change course tonight and you will all know why. Port watch and idlers can go below.”
Sam was pleasantly surprised by the men’s behaviour. There had been no grumbling or muttering, no signs of hostility, not even a question. Perhaps his eloquence had won them over? On this point the boatswain was less optimistic.
“I’d rather have heard grumbling, sir. But these men are slow and will take time to weigh up the situation. The pity of it is that the wind is fair for Ushant.” This was the painful truth but the change of course took place without protest and the Dove was then close-hauled on her way to the south. Sam never left the deck all night.
The first leg of the southward course took the lugger far into the Atlantic where no other sail was to be seen. Southerly winds continued all that day but veered westerly during the following evening. With this encouragement Sam was able to tack again and steer a better course for Cadiz. Feeling happier over the progress they were making, he finally turned in, handing over to Mr Evans. Dog-tired, he fell asleep instantly and several hours passed before he awoke, suddenly alert. Something had disturbed him—footsteps perhaps or the creak of the cabin door. Before he could make a move in the darkness he felt cold iron on his forehead and heard a voice saying, “Keep still, mister, or I shoot.” He followed this advice and lay motionless, listening to the intruder’s heavy breathing. Then there were more footsteps and the door opened, admitting the light of a lantern. Sam was now able to recognize Elisha Domaille, who held the pistol, and Gilbert Le Page, who stood at the door.
“Stop this nonsense!” said Sam. “You’ll go to the gallows for this, you fools, and you could have made money by doing your duty.” Neither seaman replied and neither may even have understood. There were more footsteps, however, and voices, and presently Evans was brought into the cabin, followed by Yates. There was a careful search for weapons and Sam’s pistols were removed. Then Henri Nicolle told the prisoners that they need fear nothing. “I am now master of the ship,” he explained, “and will take her to Guernsey. You will remain here quietly until we reach port.”
“Where you’ll be hanged for mutiny!” said Sam.
“For mutiny on a smuggling craft?” asked Nicolle with real interest. “It may be possible but it would certainly be something new.”
“There would be nothing new about a man being hanged for treason. Think again, Nicolle, you are making a big mistake!”
There was no further argument and the three officers were left to themselves, locked in the one cabin.
“I should have stood by you, sir, if it had come to a fight,” said the boatswain, “but I’m not too sorry about this mutiny and that’s a fact. The voyage down to Cadiz would have been a wild goose chase, as likely as not. How do we know that Delancey will be there? How do we know that he’s not in a prison cell at San Sebastian? And what could be more of a risk than lurking round Cadiz and the enemy fleet? You had to keep faith with Mr Delancey—I see that, sir, and would be the last to deny it—and you did your best. But the men have mutinied and there’s nothing more you can do. Maybe it’s to this mutiny we shall owe our lives, and who will blame us?”
“My thoughts were going the same way,” Evans admitted, “and my conclusion is the same. We’re well out of that Cadiz affair if you ask me.”
“And so we leave Captain Delancey to his fate?” asked Sam. “I could never have done that. In some odd fashion he and I have become friends. There’s little I can do for him now but one thing I’ll ask of you, Mr Evans. Don’t offer to navigate!”
“Very well, sir. There is no one among them who knows where we are or what course we should steer.”
“So they may come back to me for help.”
That was not, however, what the mutineers did. They preferred to release the French prisoners, one of whom could navigate. All Sam Carter knew, however, was that the lugger was now before the wind and probably heading for the French coast. At dinner time the captive officers were brought their meal by young Bennett, followed by the surly Michel Vaudin with a pair of pistols.
“Who is navigating?” asked Sam and Bennett answered—”The Frenchie.” To this Sam replied, “He will steer you into a French naval base.”
“Enough of that!” snapped Vaudin, pushing Bennett out of the cabin. Sam thought it useful to have planted a doubt in someone’s mind. When Bennett came to fetch the dirty plates, this time with Le Page as escort, Sam expressed surprise that the men should put their trust in a Catholic navigator. Methodists could not expect good treatment in a French prison, it stood to reason. The result of these remarks was that Sam’s next visitor was Henri Nicolle in person, who asked him whether he would give his parole.
“What do you mean?” asked Sam cautiously.
“Promise not to attempt anything against us—retaking the lugger or the likes of that.”
“Well, what if I did?”
“You and Mr Evans could come on deck, one at a time.”
“Why do you want me on deck?”
“You could warn us if we were running into danger. Whatever the risks, you have to share them.”
“That’s true. I’ll give my parole for the day ending at sunset and I expect Mr Evans will do the same. In return for being allowed on deck I will see that the lugger is fairly on course for Guernsey. How will that do?”
Agreement was reached on these lines and both Sam and the Frenchman took a sight at midday, fixing their latitude and course. Below again with Evans, Sam described the rough outline of a plan:
“There is no real unity in Nicolle’s crew. He and the youngster, Bennett, are strict Wesleyans, detesting gambling and drink but eager to make money. The other Guernseymen are ordinary smugglers, good seamen but liking their pleasure. The two Frenchmen are intent on returning to France and we three mean to do our duty. The numbers in these four groups are two, four, two and three. If I can win over the Frenchmen we shall be five against six. If I could win over the Wesleyans as well, we should have seven against four.”
Sam Carter’s divisive plan began with the two Frenchmen. He expressed his sympathy with the senior, Lieutenant Jean Berthier, on being so near France and yet a prisoner. It soon appeared that Berthier’s frustration was the greater in that he had just been promoted. His appointment to the Argonaute represented his first real chance to distinguish himself. Had he done well in that ship he would have been promoted again. Here he was a prisoner before the corvette had done anything more than drive a British privateer ashore. He was not to blame—what could he have done?—but he had failed to avoid capture. It would always be remembered against him. To be captured in battle was honourable but to be taken prisoner by some mere smuggling craft must leave him discredited for ever. The other officer, young Etienne Bignon, midshipman, was less downcast but he did not look forward to being a prisoner of war in Britain. For one thing, his chances of being exchanged would be remote. When he gained his freedom again, moreover, it would be to find all his contemporaries promoted over his head and some others as well who had been junior to him. Sam Carter expressed his sympathy and then said:
“What if we took this lugger and sailed her into Cadiz? You would be able to join your ship and with all the credit of the capture. Your admiral would release me and my friends for having aided you. We should be five against six. Given a measure of surprise, we could do it! Which do you choose—an English prison or the Legion of Honour?” Having made this suggestion, Sam walked away so as not to appear too friendly with the Frenchmen and presently went below.
It was Evans who next had a word with Nicolle. “Did you ever hear of Thomas Johnson?”
“The famous Hampshire smuggler who escaped from New Prison in the Borough?”
“That’s the man. He served once as pilot to the Channel Fleet and was thanked for his services. For the next year or two the revenue officers looked the other way, allowing him to make a fortune.”
“What of it? He lost his money with gambling and drink and was in the Fleet Prison for debt when I last heard of him.”
“A more careful and religious man would have kept what he made. Now, if you’d held to your bargain, the revenue officers would have been blind to your doings and you would have ended as a man of wealth, likely as not. You missed your chance, my friend.”
“But I was only cook, Mr Evans, and in no way to do business on my own.”
“You could have had your own craft with Sam Carter’s help and the revenue officers never have so much as noticed her name. What a grand opportunity you have thrown away!”
“An opportunity to see inside a Spanish prison!”
“A chance to preach in a chapel of your own building. You can never do that when the story comes out of how you left Captain Delancey to die among the Spaniards. Think again, Nicolle. You can still save yourself!”
It was then the turn of Tom Yates, the boatswain. It was his task to converse with Luke Bennett and ask him what a good Wesleyan was doing with these sinners from the St Peter Port waterside.
“You have taken a serious step, Luke, taking part in a mutiny. Where will it end? What begins as mutiny will end in piracy. And where does piracy lead? It leads to the gallows, Luke! Think what a shock that will be to your mother. Think what your family and neighbours will have to say about that! Think what the good book says about the wages of sin! You were in the way to be saved and now you are on the way to damnation. Repent while there is still time!”
“What do you mean, Mr Yates—what must I do?”
“You must help me to throw the liquor overboard. These wicked men, Domaille and Blondel and Vaudin, will commit any crime when drunk. From drinking and gambling it is but a step to piracy, from piracy but a step to the gallows. You know where the spirits are kept?”
“Oh, yes, sir. But they are kept locked and Mr Nicolle has the key.”
“He lets you have it, though, when the rum is to be issued?”
“Yes, sir. I lock it and bring the key back to him.”
“Today you forget to lock it. I’ll see to it that the men are saved from this terrible temptation to sin. With the drink over the side we shall all be the safer.”
“I do believe you’re right, Mr Yates. I’ll do it! But don’t let anyone know that I did it on purpose.”
Given the opportunity, however, the boatswain did not throw the rum overboard. Instead, he took six bottles of it and, keeping two in reserve, gave a bottle secretly to Blondel and Domaille, to Le Page and Vaudin. By the early evening they were all more or less drunk and inclined to quarrel over the fifth bottle which he had told them to share. Bennett, who had left the locker open, was told that Le Page had found it unlocked before Yates could act. He was shocked to see what a state his messmates were in and was now all the more inclined to turn against them. Vaudin spoke insolently to Nicolle, who felt that his authority was waning. He saw to it that Carter, Evans and Yates were locked in their cabin but this was the last effective order he was able to give. Luke Bennett unlocked the cabin after dark, bringing with him the two Frenchmen. After a short whispered discussion they all armed themselves with belaying pins or capstan bars. Nicolle was quickly overpowered on deck, where he was trying to keep the vessel on course. The drunken helmsman, Le Page, needed no more than a tap on the head and Blondel, on the forecastle, was as easily dealt with. Domaille and Vaudin were below in a drunken stupor and were left in their hammocks to sleep it off. In five minutes the lugger was recaptured and another ten minutes saw her course altered and her passage southward resumed. She was bound once more for Cadiz.
By the following day the lugger’s proper routine had been re-established. The drunkards of the previous evening found themselves, to their surprise, being driven to work by the boatswain’s rope-end. Nicolle was a prisoner at first but professed to have learnt his lesson. He could never have retained any sort of discipline over the godless men who had at first accepted his leadership. He was allowed to return to his galley and told that, if he behaved himself, bygones would be bygones. That afternoon Sam Carter addressed the whole crew, appealing to their good sense but assuring them that any further trouble from them would lead to dreadful consequences.
“Do your duty as good seamen and I will forget about the events of the last few days. So will Mr Evans, and so will Mr Yates. When some of you mutinied the idea was put in your heads by a ringleader, not Henri Nicolle but another man. I know which of you it was. To him I say, ‘Mend your ways or you’ll end dangling from the yard-arm.’“ (He was looking straight at Michel Vaudin). “To the others who were misguided by him, I say this: how would you like to serve in a man-of-war? And how would you like such a service after the ship’s first lieutenant has been told that you are mutinous rascals in need of discipline? That could easily be your fate and you would feel in the end that you would rather be in hell. But how was it that you came to mutiny? How did sensible men come to listen to the advice of a useless lubber, the worst seaman among you? I think you were misled because you thought we were running into danger on the Spanish coast. You thought we should all end as prisoners in France. Well, I don’t deny that there was some chance of that. But I have made an agreement now with these two French officers and gentlemen, our former prisoners but now our shipmates. We shall make our run southward with French colours hoisted over British, a prize to the French Navy. That will save us from the French or Spanish. Should we meet the British fleet, as may seem more likely, we shall have British colours and I have only to explain what our mission is. We were never in less danger than we are on this voyage and never more certain of bringing our cargo safe to port. Do your duty, men, and you’ll soon be in St Peter Port, celebrating the end of a successful run.”
The mutiny had wasted time but Sam Carter decided that it was still possible to make the rendezvous. Further to encourage him, moreover, the wind was veering from west to north-west, making for a faster passage as it freshened. It rose next day to half a gale and the lugger foamed through the Atlantic rollers, the wind singing through her rigging and the spray coming over the deck as she pitched. With the Frenchman standing his watch and the crew now in a chastened mood, Sam was able to take some rest and make some plans for the future. It was evident that the later stages of the voyage would require finesse. Difficulties were going to arise from the lack of a Spaniard on board— for the lack indeed of anyone with a knowledge of Spanish. His own knowledge of that tongue was rudimentary, a smattering picked up in foreign parts. He could never pass as a Spaniard. Who then was to land at Léon? Sam had also a problem concerning the French officers. He had told them that he would sail to Cadiz and rely on the Spanish to release the lugger. He had told the crew that he was going to keep a rendezvous at Léon, just south of Cadiz; which was the truth. What, however, was he to do with the Frenchmen? After using them to suppress the mutiny he could not fairly treat them merely as prisoners of war. How was he to put them ashore and where? What, finally, was his reaction to be if Delancey failed to keep the rendezvous? Dare he linger on the coast for another week? And would the crew mutiny again if he did? His best plan would be to complete his cargo at Léon, making himself known there as a smuggler and local benefactor. What, however, would he give them in exchange for their local wine, whatever it was? They would probably be glad to obtain coffee, sugar, tobacco and rum but of these commodities he had no appreciable quantities to spare. He had spoken boldly to the crew about his mission being understood by any British man-of-war he might encounter but he was really none too certain about it. An admiral might believe his story but would the commander of a sloop or cutter? Might he not find himself under arrest?
There were few vessels in sight off the coast of Portugal and the Dove was in the latitude of Lisbon before she fell in with a French privateer brig. Sam Carter decided that escape would not be easy and that to speak with her might be useful. When they were within hail Lieutenant Berthier used the speaking trumpet to announce his own identity and explain that the Dove was a prize on her way to Toulon. The privateer was the Espérance, it appeared, Captain Duval, out of La Rochelle and cruising on the Portuguese coast where she had so far taken nothing. Berthier went over to the Espérance in the gig and came back with the news that Admiral Mann was no longer off Cadiz and that there were signs of the Spanish fleet putting to sea. Some of Langara’s ships had their yards crossed, or so Duval had been told, and a few had moved nearer the harbour mouth.
After this polite exchange the two vessels parted company again, the Esperance for her home port and the Dove heading for Cadiz. Next day at sunrise another sail was sighted and this turned out to be a British frigate on her way to Gibraltar. She was the Penelope (36), Captain Moss, and Sam Carter thought at first that his worst fears were justified. A dour and jaundiced sort of man, Moss looked on him and the lugger with deep suspicion and showed little inclination to believe the story of Delancey’s mission. He finally decided to put a prize crew aboard the Dove—six men under a master’s mate. When the run southward was resumed, the lugger was very much in custody but Sam was philosophic about it. He felt sure that a flag officer would be more inclined to believe him.
On September 10th the Penelope, with Dove in company, sighted a detachment of the Mediterranean fleet. The day was sunny but with drifting clouds which threw their shadows on the green expanse of broken water. There was a stiff breeze and a touch of cold in the air, a foreshadowing of winter on its way. The squadron was cruising near Gibraltar under easy sail, five sail of the line and two or three smaller vessels, filling much of the seascape with their sunlit sails. The formation was exactly kept and the total effect, compounded of power, discipline and beauty, was breathtaking and memorable. A signal from the flagship, repeated by ships that were nearer, ordered the Penelope to take station on the Goliath’s beam. Moss carried out this order, with Dove in his wake, and was then ordered to send a boat. After Moss had reported, the next signal summoned to the flagship the master of the Dove. As he was rowed over, Sam Carter was awestruck by the mere size of the Goliath (98) which loomed enormous over him. He had seen the Channel Fleet often enough but he had never been aboard a three-decker. He felt overwhelmed, dwarfed and nervous, barely able to return a sentry’s salute. At the entry port he was met by a lieutenant who led him aft to the admiral’s quarters, outside which he was kept waiting for ten minutes. Finally the lieutenant ushered him into the admiral’s day cabin where a group of officers were apparently in conference. Sam realized that Rear-Admiral Griffin must be the distinguished-looking man with gold braid on his coat, who sat at his desk in the middle of the group. He had just signed some document which his secretary was replacing by another. A young officer was at his other elbow, flanked by a midshipman. There were two other officers present, talking quietly to each other. After a minute or two the lieutenant who was his guide had a word with the flag lieutenant, who murmured something to the rear-admiral. A moment afterwards that officer had risen and was looking straight at his visitor. Sam made his best bow, which was acknowledged, and came forward towards the admiral’s desk.
“Captain Moss tells me, sir, that you claim to be master of a lugger out of Poole and Guernsey and that you have been in touch with Lieutenant Delancey, who is ashore somewhere in Spain. You believe, I gather, that Delancey hopes to gain information about the intended movements of the Spanish fleet. It that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How far has his mission succeeded?”
“I have no means, sir, of knowing. He went ashore near Bayonne and plans to reach Cadiz. I would suppose, sir, that any intelligence he can secure will come from Cadiz itself.”
“He will be lucky if he is still alive. We cannot judge of his success but our inshore frigates report some movement in Cadiz which might mean that Langara was about to sail—or might again mean nothing. We shall know more, I am confident, in a few days time. In the meantime, how is Delancey to escape from Spain? He is too good an officer to lose.”
“I have a rendezvous, sir, on the coast just south of Cadiz. That is the place where he hopes to re-embark.”
“I am astounded, sir, at what Delancey seems willing to attempt. We must bring him away safely if we can. Confiding in you to do your utmost, I would suggest that you stay on the rendezvous or return there at intervals for another three weeks after the last date. To enable you to do this I shall detach a frigate to cover the operation, Captain Norris of the Medusa is familiar with that coast and I shall give him the necessary orders.”
“Thank you, sir. I should be more hopeful of success if I had a Spanish interpreter.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The rear-admiral turned to his secretary and told him to make inquiries. He then thanked Sam Carter for his services, to which Sam replied with thanks for the admiral’s help.
“I hope, sir, that Captain Delancey will be able to thank you in person after Langara has been defeated.”
“I hardly know whether I shall meet that young officer. Be so good, therefore, as to give him this message from me: ‘If he continues to serve with the devotion and resolution he now displays he should some day reach high rank in the navy.’ There is too much reason to apprehend, however, that he is dead by now. Should he have survived, however, and should he return from his present hazardous enterprise, I predict for him an outstanding career. Tell him that, Mr Carter, and convey to him my thanks and good wishes.”
An hour later there arrived on board the Marguerite a character called José Alvarez of Trinidad, an ordinary seaman from the Ajax. Spanish was certainly his first language but his grasp of English was quite sufficient for all ordinary purposes. He had been given some idea of what was wanted and made no difficulties about going ashore in Spain. All he wanted in return for this service was a discharge from the navy Of life on the lower deck he had plainly had enough! Once on land, he confessed, he meant to stay there.
The Dove parted company from Rear-Admiral Griffin’s squadron that evening and began a cautious night approach to the fishing village of Léon. The frigate Medusa kept just within sight, ready to rescue the lugger in case of need. Delancey could not as yet have reached the rendezvous but Sam Carter wanted, first of all, to establish himself locally in the character of smuggler, a process essential to the rescue. His one fear was that José Alvarez, when landed, would vanish for good. He sent for him and explained that a fortune was to be made in smuggling and that it was now José’s opportunity to set himself up as a contraband agent in Léon. Were he to settle there, Sam insisted, smugglers from Guernsey and Alderney would call at regular intervals and land goods which were unobtainable in Spain. In cooperation with Davila, it would be the agent’s task to warehouse the goods for England and distribute the cargoes landed at Léon. He and Davila would need, of course, to maintain a friendly relationship with the local authorities. There would be hard work at first and even, quite possibly, some moments of anxiety, but José Alvarez would end as a reputable and wealthy merchant, a better fate than becoming a mere stevedore and far better than joining the ranks of the unemployed.
Alvarez was suspicious at first and slow to convince. He had to hear each explanation at least three times, responding each time with the same objections. He agreed at last when Sam hinted that he would have a bad time at sea if he was known to have refused this opportunity.
Sam doubted, in fact, whether Alvarez had enough business experience to fill the agent’s role. He had never, apparently, been more than a ship chandler’s clerk at Port of Spain. He was at least literate, however, and able to do simple arithmetic and the opportunity was there for someone. Alvarez was thus given a motive for keeping in touch with the Dove. He would not simply vanish (Sam hoped) but would spy out the land and report progress through the channels of communication which Sam meant to set up. After studying the chart Sam had decided to land Alvarez at a point just south of Léon and to do this just before dawn. He would then sail on southwards and return the following night. If all were safe, Alvarez would make a signal to that effect and the Dove would enter the harbour. This would be on the l4th September, the day previous to that chosen for the first rendezvous with Delancey. There was no prearranged plan for making contact but it was obvious that Delancey would recognize the Dove if she were there and inquire after her if she were not. Sam had come away from the interview with Admiral Griffin in a mood of stern resolve, feeling that he was present at a possibly historic scene. If there was any chance of bringing Delancey safely away he resolved that it should be and must be done.
Alvarez was landed by boat on a rocky shore before dawn on the 13th September. It was nearly calm, luckily, or the landing might have been hazardous. Then the Dove sailed slowly on, with the frigate shadowing her from a distance. On her return the following night there was a light signal from the point at which Alvarez had landed and Sam sent the boat in again. Alvarez told Mr Evans that he’d made contact with Señor Davila, that there was no garrison at Léon and that the local Spaniards were eager to do business. Some bribes would have to be paid to customs officers and police but there would be no real difficulty The Dove, under French colours, could safely enter harbour on the morning’s tide. This decided Sam’s policy but gave a new urgency to the problem that had been on his mind: what to do with his two French prisoners. He decided to tell them frankly what was worrying him:
“I realize, gentlemen, that you want to return to duty. It is right that you should do so and I have no wish to hold you as prisoners. On the other hand, you will have to account for your absence and will have to describe how you came to be captured, what treatment you have received and how you were freed or else came to escape. I cannot take you into Cadiz, despite anything I may have said about it. Tell me what you think I should do.”
Jean Berthier must have been expecting this question for he eventually produced his own solution. Let the two of them escape and they would swear to report that the Dove had gone on to the Mediterranean. The success of this scheme would depend upon their falling in with a local craft bound for Cadiz. Sam accepted this idea, ordering his men to keep a sharp look-out for a boat that would serve the purpose. He also arranged with the captain of the Medusa that twice lowering the tricolour on board the Dove should be the signal for the frigate to give chase as if the Dove were hostile. When a suitable fishing vessel was sighted the Dove sailed to intercept her. When fairly alongside the heavily laden boat the Dove’s crew began a pantomime negotiation over the purchase of her catch. Since the lugger was under French colours the Spanish fishermen, numbering five, were treated as allies. While the bargaining took place Sam made the prearranged signal to the Medusa unseen by the Spaniards who were having linguistic difficulties. The negotiations, conducted on one side in Guernsey French, were being prolonged to the point of frustration.
So absorbed was everyone in the discussion that the approach of the Medusa from to windward was apparently unnoticed. The frigate finally fired a gun, which produced panic aboard the Dove. The attention of the crew, concentrated until now on the fishing boat, was suddenly transferred to the frigate. Incoherent orders were shouted, instructions were given and cancelled and there was a general tendency to collect, jabbering and pointing, on the windward side of the lugger. Apparently unnoticed in all this confusion, the two French officers scrambled furtively, baggage in hand, into the fishing boat, offering money and pointing to Cadiz. At the same moment, the Dove made all sail in her southward flight, another cannon shot spurring her crew into a frenzy of activity. The lugger held her own against the frigate for speed and the scene, from the point of view of the Spanish fishermen, was that of a French vessel escaping from the clumsy pursuit of the enemy. They hoisted sail and headed for Cadiz, well content to accept money for returning to their home port as they had anyway been intending to do.
At a suitable moment the Medusa gave up the chase and allowed the Dove to pursue her voyage to Léon. Her arrival was evidently expected for a boat came out to meet her with Alvarez on board. He was able to assure Sam Carter of his welcome to a berth alongside the port’s tiny breakwater. Davila and other local businessmen were delighted at the prospect of trade and contraband and the local authorities were not inclined to ask questions about the Dove’s precise port of origin. Alvarez, who seemed to be a better businessman than Sam had supposed him to be, was full of information about the place and about the imports which would be especially welcome there. The local merchants, it seemed, were more than ready to do business.
By the evening of 14th September, Sam Carter felt that his task was all but accomplished. His vessel was at the appointed rendezvous and was well received there. He had his appointed agent at Léon who was busy making himself known to the principal inhabitants. If Delancey were to arrive on the following day, as arranged, even as a fugitive and in disguise, Davila would hear of it immediately. Delancey would be able to embark at once and the Dove could sail with the next tide. If there was any difficulty or need for force, the Medusa was there in the background. If, finally, Delancey failed to appear, the Dove could remain where she was for another week or more. There was plenty of scope for negotiation and exchange of samples, every excuse for bargaining and gossip. The question was whether Delancey would actually keep the rendezvous. Sam had to confess that the odds were heavily against it.
There was, in fact, no sign of Delancey on the 15th of September, no news of his exploits or rumour of his approach. When midnight came, the end of the first appointed day, Sam came to the conclusion that his fears had been justified. Delancey had been killed or captured, most probably in France and just as any sensible man might have expected. If this were so, news might come of English spies arrested near San Sebastian. The faint possibility remained that Delancey was still making a dash for safety. If he were, and whether disguised as a gypsy or a priest, the Dove must be waiting for him. Meanwhile, Davila was hearing rumours from Cadiz. All the talk there along the waterside was that the Spanish fleet was about to sail. Stores were being shipped, crews were being exercised, ships were moving to new anchorages and all onlookers agreed that news of war might arrive any day. When news came, Langara would sail but whether heading north or south no one could say. Sam Carter settled down to wait.