AFTER SUPPER on the evening of their arrival in Cadiz (September 17th) Delancey told Hodder that their next problem was to embark at the port of Léon. The intelligence he had gained would be of more value, taken promptly to Gibraltar, than would any further information he might hope to gain at Cadiz. He and Hodder should resume their journey as soon as possible and preferably on the following day.
“Very true, sir,” said Hodder. “You put everything very clearly indeed and I am entirely of your opinion.”
“I am glad to hear it. As our object now is merely to leave Spain, I felt that I should obtain your views on how to proceed. Both our lives are at hazard and I should not like to think that yours might be lost as the result of a mistake made by me. Our place of embarkation is about ten miles distant and we might well be there tomorrow. Tell me what you think should be done.”
“I thank you kindly, Captain, for your consideration. The first thing, in my opinion, is for you to change into civilian clothes. That French uniform has been useful so far but it is now becoming a danger.”
“I must confess that I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, sir, it will become conspicuous. Until recently Cadiz must have been full of French officers and some of them would have come here by road to join their ships. You could pass very well as one of them who had arrived too late and I as your servant. Our host here did not even trouble to ask where you had come from or to what ship you belonged. But for a French marine officer to leave here, going southwards . . . that must attract more attention. People are bound to ask why.”
“You are quite right. I was too concerned with Langara to notice any dubious looks directed at me. But you are right. Were I a French officer posted to a man-of-war that had already sailed, I should leave at once for Madrid.”
“That you would, sir.”
“But if I now appear as a civilian that will be still more suspicious.”
“That can’t be helped, sir; and the landlord knows too little French to ask questions.”
“True enough. What next?”
“I think we need some muskets. Should it come to a fight, we are too poorly armed with just your sword and a pair of pistols apiece.”
“I agree, but how to carry muskets unnoticed.”
“I’ve thought of that, Captain. Suppose we sell one of our two horses and use the money to buy a small cart. We can load it with what we need, not forgetting some lanterns to use as a signal to the lugger.”
“A good idea. And then?”
“We need a story to explain what we are doing. We are going fishing, perhaps, and we are wanting to hire a boat.”
“Fishing with muskets?”
“Maybe we are thief-takers looking for an escaped prisoner.”
“Escaped from where?”
“Well, sir, we need some sort of a story.”
“Indeed we do, Mr Hodder, and I’ll tell you what the story is. We are French agents hunting for deserters. The French fleet was here recently but some of their sailors were missing when their ships sailed.”
“Will the innkeeper believe that, sir?”
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t. The deserters in Cadiz have all been caught by now but we think that some are hidden in the vicinity. We are going to inquire in some of the villages adjacent.”
“He’ll think we would be better employed at sea.”
“So we should, but we have to obey orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
On the next day Delancey completed these precautions, selling one horse and purchasing a small cart. Muskets proved unobtainable but he managed to buy two sporting guns, with ammunition, not quite as lethal as muskets would have been but more accurate and more easily explained. The purchase of lanterns presented no difficulty and Delancey also acquired some wood laths with which to make a frame to which the lanterns could be hung. To this equipment he added a well-used spyglass, a knife, an axe, a saw, hammer, nails and a ball of spunyarn. Last of all he bought, second-hand, a suit of blue cloth such as might be worn by the master of a small merchantman, not a uniform, but a costume with a nautical air and a hat with it such as might serve a boatswain ashore. He finally told the innkeeper of his deserter-hunting mission and said that he and his servant would return in two days time. He used a fellow guest as an interpreter in telling this story, his own knowledge of Spanish—which had improved of late—being too limited for this purpose although sufficient for asking the way or ordering a meal. The innkeeper was mainly concerned as was natural, with his bill being paid. Reassured on that point, he showed no great interest in Delancey’s plans.
Delancey might, in fact, have escaped notice altogether had it not been for the arrival of Pierre Marigny, appointed purser of the Duguay-Trouin. Marigny came to stay at the inn on the Tuesday evening, missing his ship by about a week. And whereas the innkeeper found no difficulty in accepting Delancey as a Frenchman, Monsieur Marigny was suspicious from the outset. What was the army captain supposed to be doing? Tracking down deserters? But no captain would ever be detailed to do that, a task for a reliable boatswain’s mate! As soon as questions began to be asked, Delancey was in danger. He could pass as a Frenchman among the Spaniards. He could even pass as a Spaniard among the French. In a mixed company of French and Spanish he was obviously an alien, and Hodder, who had to pose as stone-deaf or halfwitted, was still less able to pass muster. Meeting Marigny in the parlour, with the innkeeper present, Delancey had to explain his accent by stating that he had lived for some years in the United States. He then excused himself, saying that he had to make an early start in the morning. He was conscious of being followed by curious glances as he left the room and decided to leave even earlier than he had planned.
Delancey left the inn at daybreak, having paid his bill the night before. Hodder led their remaining horse round to the livery stable from which the cart was to be collected and at which their sporting guns and lanterns were temporarily stored. Delancey’s personal documents, those of a French army officer, satisfied the sergeant at the city gate and they were presently on the road to Léon. It was a stormy day, overcast, with a westerly gale and Delancey and Hodder were glad to huddle into their cloaks and pull their hats over their eyes.
“I’m glad to be out of Cadiz,” said Hodder with a sigh of relief. “We might have been arrested any minute. I don’t mind admitting, Captain, that I was sleepless last night, expecting a knock on the door. There was a fellow in the courtyard who kept asking me questions. I played dumb as usual but he went on and on. I was glad to escape him when I had the chance but I have an unpleasant feeling that we may be pursued. That sergeant will remember us, too. They’ll be after us, sir—mark my words.”
“Thank you for the warning. I think you are right. I also think we are an hour of two ahead of them with time enough to see whether the Dove is in the harbour. If she isn’t I must ask whether she has been there and whether she is likely to return. That done, we must quit the town on the far side, leave some sort of false trail and then hide somewhere on the coast where we can signal seawards.”
A drive of two hours brought them to the little town of Léon, grouped round a fishing harbour and rising to the church and town hall on higher ground to the eastwards.
The harbour was small but easily entered, with apparently enough water for ships of average draught. It was roughly oblong, the seaward side formed by two breakwaters. A stone-built quayside defined the other three sides, with space for unloading between the water’s edge and the warehouses or other buildings. On the inland or eastern side the houses and shops stood farther back, leaving an open space which might serve as fish market or fairground. There were no stalls set up at the moment but there were a number of boats, brought there perhaps for sale or repair. There were one or two adjacent creeks to the north of the town, one of them with white sand and a few small boats drawn out of the water. There was something of a surf running with a strong wind from off the sea and waves breaking on the beach. The better houses were in the area between the church and the harbour, entered from the north by what was probably the high street. Delancey drove his cart in from that direction, drew up boldly outside the principal inn and joined the few inhabitants who had already gathered inside round the fireplace. His order for rum caused some mild consternation, however, and the tapster said that he had none.
“No rum?” Delancey repeated. “In the name of God you can’t have drunk all that was landed here from the lugger!” The citizens and seamen exchanged glances and the poor tapster said that he would call his master.
“If we have any, the master will know about it.” There was a semiaudible conference in a back room and then the innkeeper appeared in person and admitted to knowing a few words of French.
“The señor was asking for rum? But that, as you must know, is unobtainable in time of war. We have some brandy, however, which I can recommend.” There was a suppressed snigger from one of the sailors and the innkeeper frowned in his direction.
“Strange!” said Delancey. “A friend of mine had rum here only yesterday. It was landed quite recently from a French vessel called the Dove. . . .” There was a tense silence, broken eventually by the innkeeper who first looked hastily around to see whether all others present were known to him.
“You are a friend, perhaps, of Señor Davila?” This question was asked in little more than a whisper.
“He is the man I have come here to meet.” The tension almost visibly ended and the innkeeper was obviously relieved.
“For any friend of Señor Davila I am pleased to produce a very special brandy.” There were more smiles as he poured.
“And where is Señor Davila to be found?” asked Delancey.
“At this time of day he will be at the Barco de Vela tavern on the waterfront. He comes here only in the evening. He is a good friend of mine, señor, and well known here.”
“To Señor Davila!” said Delancey, raising his glass. “And is the Dove in port?”
“No, señor, not today. She may be here tomorrow or the next day. Who knows?”
“Who knows?” Delancey repeated. “Señor Davila, perhaps. I am his friend but he has enemies too. It would be well not to mention my name to any who should come here asking too many questions.”
“I do not know your name, señor.”
“Then it will be easy for you to deny having seen me.”
“Nothing easier, señor. I am singularly unobservant, as my wife always complains. But it grieves me to hear that Señor Davila should have enemies. All here are his friends.”
“No doubt. But there is jealousy to be met with everywhere.”
“How true, alas.”
Delancey said farewell and rejoined Hodder who had been patiently holding the horse’s head. “We must go down to the quayside and visit the Barco de Vela tavern. The Dove has been here and is expected again. I want to know when.”
The cart drove on and made its next stop in the street of the fishmongers. Waves could be seen bursting over the breakwater and Delancey doubted whether the Dove would even attempt to enter until the wind abated. There was a heavy shower of rain as he walked over to the Barco de Vela tavern and asked boldly for Señor Davila. A short dark man of prosperous appearance detached himself from the group by the window and Delancey quickly claimed him as an old friend.
“Señor Davila! How good to see you looking so well! The saints have you in their good keeping, I can see.”
Davila looked puzzled for a few seconds and then quickly guessed what part he was supposed to play.
“My dear friend! How good to see you and what a pleasant surprise! Join me by the fire while your cloak dries. A glass of brandy, perhaps?” Davila steered Delancey over to a corner where they could talk in French without being overheard.
“Captain Delancey? What a relief to see you! We had almost given you up for lost.”
“You are working with Sam Carter, señor?”
“We are in business together and I expect him here tomorrow or whenever this gale stops blowing. The Dove has been here but had to put to sea again. Señor Carter was inquiring after you at a village just to the north of here. He left Señor Alvarez with me—a very useful man. He and I will look after you. I should add that it is greatly to our interest to see that you reach the Dove in safety. What I want to know is this: are you being followed?”
“I think it quite probable.”
“Then you must go to a place I know in the country just south of here. You must go as soon as possible and remain hidden until the Dove returns, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the next day.”
“Very well, but how do I get there?”
“You shall have a guide.”
Davila went quickly to the front door and came back with a young man called Marco.
“This is my groom and he knows the way. I shall come and visit you after dark. Go now, please, and quickly!”
Delancey and Marco hurried back to the cart and Hodder, following Marco’s directions, drove out of Léon by a minor road which twisted up the hillside. They were barely in time for Marco, looking back, muttered, “Soldiers!” Delancey glimpsed a troop of cavalry drawn up on the quayside with an officer dismounted outside the Barco de Vela tavern. It looked as if the hunt was up and Delancey guessed that the rear-admiral, for one, might be in an ugly mood after the loss of his baggage. The inhabitants of Léon would be unwilling to betray a smuggler with whom they did business. They would not be as tolerant of an English spy and the place was far too small for Delancey’s arrival to have passed unnoticed.
Hodder whipped the horse into a gallop when the road flattened out and an hour later took a lane, as directed, on the right which presently dwindled into a mere cart track. There were no peasants in sight and Delancey sensed that they were approaching a desolate part of the coast. The track ended at a ruined and roofless cottage, beyond which the cliffs fell steeply to a storm-swept tangle of rocks. There was a high wind still which carried with it the sound of the breakers. The hiding place was well chosen but it was not a place from which to embark. When the cart stopped, Marco told Delancey that this was a place of safety, visited by no one. It was unlikely to be safe very much longer but Delancey did not think that he had been seen on the way there, certainly not since quitting the road. A general search of the countryside would disclose his whereabouts in the course of a day but no such operation was to be expected, not at least with the small force so far available. Delancey had seen no more than a single troop, just over twenty dragoons, adequate for making an arrest but quite insufficient for scouring the country. He and Hodder were safe at least for the time being and could make themselves comfortable.
Marco said adios and left them, walking back the way they had come, and Delancey set about building a shelter for the night. Choosing a windward corner of the ruin, he and Hodder cleaned it of loose stones and rubbish. Demolishing the cart, they used its wheels for two side walls, its floor for a roof and its shafts to make a temporary stable for the horse. Finally, Delancey lashed some timbers together to make a frame for his lanterns. After dark it would be at least technically possible to signal the Dove. Whether any signal would be recognised was also problematical for Sam was no man-of-war’s man and Mr Evans’ knowledge would be as limited. Looking seaward, Delancey could see one or two sail in the distance but they were most probably fishing craft or coasters. If the Dove returned it would be after dark. One thing was certain, however, he and Hodder would have to embark at Léon; and yet how were they to pass through a town where their descriptions had most probably been circulated and where troops were hunting for them?
That evening Señor Davila appeared, having walked out from the town. He was accompanied by José Alvarez whom he introduced as his business partner. They brought with them meat, bread, butter, cheese and a bottle of wine. Sitting with them as they ate by their hidden camp fire, Davila drank a glass of wine and gave them the news. First of all, he said, the cavalry had been sent in pursuit of them; an officer and 24 troopers. The lieutenant was young and inexperienced and had gleaned little information at the Léon inn and nothing at all at the Barco de Vela tavern. He had told people that he had been ordered to arrest a couple of spies but the seafaring folk disbelieved him, thinking that he was really searching for contraband—of which the place had plenty. So far as the soldiers were concerned the people of Léon had seen nothing, heard nothing and knew nothing. Unfortunately, however, the garrison commander had followed up his cavalry troop by a whole company of infantry under a captain called Miguel de Passamonte. Since his arrival in the late afternoon he had taken the cavalry under command and intensified the search.
“He is not another boy without experience, then?” asked Delancey.
“Miguel de Passamonte? No, señor, he is an old soldier risen from the ranks, a man who knows his trade. His patrols are ready to ask who is known and who is a stranger. It is all most unfortunate, señor. Until today this was a peaceful town with no real difficulty over anything. A man could do business without fear of gossip. Now all is upset and we have begun to distrust each other. Passamonte is at the Barco de Vela tavern this evening and who knows what may be revealed by men who have drunk too much? You and I were seen there together, remember. Frankly, señor, I don’t know what to do!”
“May I suggest that we take one problem at a time? The first one, I think, centres upon the Dove. Dare we bring her into port? I assume that you have the means of warning her to remain outside?”
“Yes, there is a signal arranged. I think, however, that she can enter harbour safely under the French flag. The customs officers are friends of mine and it is to them that Passamonte will address any questions he may want to ask about the Dove. She will be safe but Passamonte will place sentries on the quayside. The lugger will be watched, of this we can be certain.”
“Very well. The next problem concerns the extent of Passamonte’s knowledge. How much does he know?”
“He knows that you have been in the town. He is certain, I should say, that you are not there now. He will conclude that you are somewhere in the vicinity and he will assume that Léon is the place at which you mean to embark. His plan will be to wait and watch.”
“But how does he know that I am to embark here? I might well go on down the coast and attempt to reach Gibraltar. I may yet have to do this and I should regard it indeed as the obvious plan.”
“I agree, señor, but Passamonte is not concerned with what happens at Tarifa—that is another officer’s responsibility. His orders confine him to this place and he must assume that this is the point at which you intend to leave Spain.”
“So my best plan might be to go farther south . . . ?”
“But other garrisons will also have been warned and you would not, elsewhere, have a friend ashore.”
“You think that Passamonte will look on the Dove with suspicion?”
“Yes, but not to the point of interference. She will be the bait, her gangplank the point at which the trap is to close.”
“I wonder that she has been able to linger on this coast: visiting this port more than once, I assume?”
“She has been here three times already and her visits are profitable to me and to my friends. At sea she is protected on this occasion by a British frigate, the Medusa, which keeps almost out of sight.”
“The Medusa? Captain Morris?”
“I don’t know the captain’s name.”
“How does the frigate keep in touch?”
“The Dove has been lent a set of signal flags and a midshipman who knows the code. She also carries rockets and blue flares to light in an emergency.”
“Good! What other ships are there in port? Anything of interest?”
“Only the Aguila, supposed to be fitting out as a ten-gun privateer, but the owners could never find a crew for her.”
“One other question: is there another landing place, outside the actual harbour?”
“There is a sort of creek on the north side called the Playa Blanco where one can land on a calm day but it is extremely dangerous in any sort of sea—impossible, for instance, on such a day as this has been. Fishing boats are sometimes repaired there.”
“Good! With the wind moderating I think that we shall be able to leave Spain tomorrow night. During the next few hours I shall try to signal the Dove. If Señor Carter knows that I am here he will bring the lugger into port tomorrow. When he does that I want you to go aboard, give him my kind regards, explain the situation and tell him to expect me aboard just before the beginning of the ebb. What hour would that be?”
“At half-past one in the morning.”
“Then I want you to bring the signal midshipman out here, disguised as a Spaniard and bringing with him a rocket, his flags and code. I want to communicate with the Medusa from here.”
“Very well, señor—all that is possible, even under the sentry’s eye.”
“Thank you for all your help, Señor Davila, and not least for the supper. The crisis should be over in two days’ time and you should be back in business.”
“What I have done is nothing. My reward will be to know that you are safe. Forgive me if I leave you now.”
“You can reach home without being challenged by the sentries?”
“Oh, yes, señor. I know this town well and have good friends in every street.”
“Goodnight, then, and thank you!”
“Goodnight, señor, and God keep you safe!”
After Davila and Alvarez had gone Hodder asked Delancey whether he thought the Spaniards were to be trusted. He himself was more than doubtful. “I don’t like the look of Davila, Captain. I don’t like the look of him at all. These dagoes are all alike, sir, each one no better than the last. He would change sides any day if he thought it would pay him.”
“I daresay; but in this case it wouldn’t pay him. He is in business here as a smuggler’s agent, he and Alvarez working with Sam Carter. Sam is therefore the man he dare not antagonise—and Sam is a friend of mine.”
“I hope you’re right, sir, and I hope you regard me as a friend, too. My life has not been all that respectable, as you know, or will have guessed, but I’ve learnt something in these last few weeks, I don’t exactly know what. But I want England to win, sir, and I admire the way in which you never waver from your purpose. You are a gentleman, sir, and can trust me as you would your own boatswain or gunner. If we have to fight our way out of this, I’ll not give in easily.”
“I know that, Mr Hodder—and thank you. It’s time now to signal the Dove. God knows whether she is in sight!”
Delancey had hoped to find a tree from which he could hang his pattern of lanterns, a tree which, bereft of branches, could be used as a mast. All the trees in sight were stunted oaks, however, the best of them effectively masked by others. In the end he chose a sturdy bush on the very cliff top from which his frame could hang on the cliff face, not an ideal arrangement but one which ensured that the signal could not be seen from any other direction. He and Hodder now arranged six of their eight lanterns in a framework, making a pattern which was (or had been) the Channel Fleet recognition signal. The lanterns were lit and the whole clumsy device was lowered gingerly down the cliff at a point where projection hid it from either side. Over the next hour or two Delancey hauled the frame up for a few minutes at a time. The signal might or might not be understood but it would at least be recognised as a signal. Hours passed without a reply and it was not long before dawn when Hodder called out, “Look, sir!” and pointed to a distant blue flare which showed for an instant and vanished again. Delancey pulled up his framework and rearranged the lanterns, adding two more and using all eight to form the letter “D.” He hoped that this would tell Sam everything. There was an answering flare and no further signal from either side. Delancey and Hodder lay down to rest.
They woke in broad daylight to breakfast on what remained from yesterday’s supper. Afterwards they walked northwards to a headland from which they had a better view of Léon. The wind had dropped and there, sure enough, was the Dove! She was about to enter the harbour in daylight and there, far seawards, was another sail, evidently that of the Medusa. The sight of these distant sails had the emotional impact of a miracle. To have exchanged signals in the dark had given him reason to hope but actually to see the Dove again brought tears to his eyes. He brushed them aside impatiently and then found that his hands were trembling as he levelled the spyglass. He realised with a sort of shock that he had not really expected to escape from Spain. God knew that the chances were still against his survival. But there was the Dove and his spyglass, when finally focused, showed her sails being lowered as she sidled up to the farther quayside. He could just see a rope being made fast to a bollard in the north-east corner of the harbour. That would be Evans, that speck on the forecastle, not recognizable at this distance but placed where the chief mate should be as the vessel was hauled into her berth. Here were petty criminals risking their vessel and their lives to rescue a friend. . . . He realised that Hodder was talking.
“There’s a sight, sir, to do me a power of good. I’m no seaman, as you know, but it’s a tonic, as you might say, to see the old Dove again.”
Delancey could not reply but turned his spyglass on the Medusa. There was little he could see but he remembered something about her. She was a fifth-rate of 36 guns and would measure something over 900 tons with a length of 145 feet or thereabouts on the gun-deck. She would mount eighteen-pounders, he thought, and could have been built at Buckler’s Hard. Or had she been taken from the French? Morris he had heard mentioned as the previous captain of a sloop; a sister ship, he thought, to the Calypso. He pictured for a moment the ordered routine on board. Her crew would number 264 and Morris would have made them into seamen by now. They would just have finished holystoning and washing the decks. The brasswork would have been polished and the ropes coiled down. Now the pipes would call “Up hammocks” and soon it would be eight bells and time for breakfast. There had been a time, years ago, when he had resented the inexorable pattern of the naval day’s work. Now the mere sight of these distant sails gave him a sense of homecoming. He had lacked for so long that sense of security he had derived from other men about him who knew their tasks and would do their duty. For the first time since he left the Royalist he was feeling homesick.
As there was nothing more to do they returned to camp where they were joined before midday by Señor Davila and José Alvarez, bringing with them some dinner and also, in disguise, the signal midshipman from the Dove, carrying his flags in a bundle. This youth was a red-haired character called O’Keefe, in whose presence Delancey again felt a sense of exile. Had it been weeks or months since he had spoken with a man-of-war’s man? He forced himself to give all his attention to Davila who was full of news and anxiety. Handbills had been printed now with a description of the two spies as wanted men and an offer of a reward for information which might lead to their capture. There were soldiers everywhere and the Dove was being closely watched. Sam Carter sent his greetings and said that his lugger would be ready to sail after dark and at a minute’s notice. O’Keefe professed a knowledge of the current system of numerical signals. To the burden of flags, shared with Alvarez, he had added several rockets. “One wouldn’t do,” he explained, “to convey a message. Without a sequence of colour they are meaningless.”
“You address me as ‘Sir,’“ said Delancey.
“Beg pardon, sir,” replied O’Keefe. “But the signal asking for assistance is a red and a blue. That would best serve to bring the Medusa to within flag-signalling distance.”
“Very well, Mr O’Keefe. Prepare the rockets for firing and get ready to use the bush as your mast.” He explained that the hoist would hang down the cliff face, weighted by a stone.
Davila expressed his alarm: “But the rockets will be seen from Léon, señor! We shall have the cavalry here within the hour!”
“Not if Alvarez here does his part. The time has come, Señor Alvarez, for you to give information to Captain Passamonte. Tell him, when you return to Léon, that the men he is hunting are at some hiding place on the inland side of town—you don’t know exactly where. When their friends, camping here, see the vessel that is to rescue them—a schooner, now in the offing—they will fire certain rockets. That is the signal for the two fugitives to come here at nightfall. It is also the signal to the schooner, which will come in after dark and send her boat into the Playa Blanco, the creek on the north side of the harbour. Tell Passamonte that his best plan is to surround this place just before sunset, allow the fugitives to enter and then close in on this ruined cottage at two in the morning, capturing both the spies and their accomplices ashore. Simultaneously he should lay an ambush at the Playa Blanco creek and be ready to fire on the boat which comes in with the last of the flood. If the spies are taken you claim the reward. If they should not be caught here they will be caught at the landing place.”
“But what will happen to me when the plan fails?”
“It won’t entirely fail. The soldiers will find proof here that there has been a camp, with the embers of the fire still warm and with signal halliards still attached to this tree. And there will be a boat making an attempt to land at the creek you indicate. There will be proof enough that you gave the right information.”
“How am I supposed to know all this?”
“From information received. This spot is known to you and you can guide the troops here.”
“And what do you really intend?”
“I expect that some plan will occur to me. I shall certainly avoid being here after sunset!”
After Davila and Alvarez had gone, taking the horse with them as a farewell present, Delancey discussed with O’Keefe the messages he wanted to convey to the Medusa. His first object was to request her presence off the harbour mouth that night, his second to tell her about the Aguila, his third to ask for a feint landing at the Playa Blanco creek at two in the morning.
“Begin with the word ‘submit,’“ said Delancey, “for Morris is senior to me.” With Hodder posted as lookout on the land side, he began to work on the problems of signalling. With some difficulty these were solved, words having to be spelt out, and finally, an hour and a half after Davila’s departure, the two rockets were fired. There was only a moderate breeze and there was at first no sign of reaction from the Medusa. It eventually became clear, however, that she was closing the land under all plain sail and would be able to receive signals in another half hour.
“Send up the first hoist now, Mr O’Keefe,” said Delancey “It will help her to see where we are.” He paced impatiently up and down, leaving O’Keefe to watch with his telescope for any response. It seemed hours before the young man was able to call, excitedly, “Signal acknowledged, sir!”
When the signals had been made O’Keefe was told to make his way back to the Dove and explain the situation to Sam Carter. “In his place,” Delancey concluded, “I should send a boat to the Medusa after dark with you in it to enlarge on his written message.”
Meanwhile, at the Barca de Vela tavern, Alvarez was in conference with Captain Passamonte, a grey-haired and grim-faced veteran, whose first reaction was one of skepticism.
“Why didn’t you come to see me before?”
“I have only today received the information.”
“From whom?”
“I promised my informant not to reveal his name.”
“Why did he talk to you?”
“Because he knew that I would honestly share the reward with him.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“My informant is engaged in other activities which he would not like to have known.”
“In other words, he is a smuggler. Why should I trust him? Why, for that matter, should I trust you?”
“Me, Captain? I am well known here. Ask anyone! Ask the collector of customs or the harbour master. But why, anyway, should I deceive you?”
“I don’t know. I won’t act on your information, however, until this signal is seen, this flare or rocket or whatever it is. When that is reported, I shall be more confident.”
Alvarez reflected wryly that he was trusted by neither side. He was consoled, however, by the appearance of the deputy collector of customs who looked into the parlour as if in search of a friend. Alvarez promptly hailed him and asked for his help.
“Will you tell the captain here that I am a merchant well known here and doing good business?”
“That you are, señor! You are doing as well as anyone and better than most. We all know Señor Alvarez, Captain; he is partner with Señor Davila who is highly respected in this town.”
There was some further conversation and Passamonte accepted a glass of wine with a hint of cordiality. The wine itself had no effect on him at all and Alvarez guessed that another gallon of it would have left him with as steady a hand, but his air of distrust was slightly modified. It all but vanished, moreover, when news came of the rockets being seen. It was his lieutenant who brought this intelligence, having evidently run from the breakwater:
“Two rockets fired from the coast to the south of the town, sir; a red and a blue.”
“Thank you, Tomas. Did you see the vessel to which this signal was made? A schooner, for instance?”
“No, sir. There is a ship out there but very distant, impossible to identify.”
“Strange,” commented Passamonte, “I was led to expect a schooner.”
“You forget, Captain,” said Alvarez, “that the rockets were fired from cliffs which rise two hundred feet above this town. Anyone posted there can see much farther than we can.”
From this point Passamonte appeared to be convinced. Taking his lieutenant outside, he issued orders for the night. Of his infantry about half (that is 43) would take up positions after dark round the Playa Blanco creek. Of the remainder, twenty would patrol the outskirts of the town in groups of four and the lieutenant, with 22, would continue to guard the harbour.
“I have been given information,” he explained, “that the two men we are seeking will try to embark at two in the morning from the Playa Blanco creek. That is quite possible for two o’clock marks the turn of the tide, the beginning of the ebb. There will be moonlight then and it is vital to keep our soldiers out of sight. I shall lead that party and see that the men are neither seen nor heard. I shall send the cavalry out after dark with this man Alvarez as guide. They are to surround the camp from which those rockets were fired. The spies we have been sent to arrest should be taken either there or at the Playa Blanco creek. But I still have my doubts about this information we have received. It came too easily.”
“I don’t quite understand what you mean, sir.”
“This information was given me. I prefer the information I have had to extract.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“So I have my doubts. The story I have been told may be intended to draw us away from the harbour at the moment when these spies are to embark.”
“But I shall be there, sir.”
“Yes, you will be there. But I don’t want you or your men to be seen. I want two sentries on the quayside, ready to give the alarm. You and your men must be hidden but at a point from which you can see the sentries. Can you do that?”
“Easily, sir. I’ll use the warehouse that belongs to Alonzo Perez, ten yards up the lane from the quayside. You can almost see it from here.”
“You won’t see the sentries from there.”
“No, sir, the men won’t. But I’ll be in the house at the corner. I can see the sentries from there and when I go to the other window the sergeant can see me.”
“Very well. Go there after nightfall, two or three men at a time, walking as if they are off duty. Be ready to dash in if you see anything suspicious. We would prefer to have these two men alive but it won’t matter too much if they are killed. Use the bayonet and don’t fire unless you are fired upon. Send your orderly now to fetch Lieutenant de Garay.”
By the evening all arrangements had been made and Captain Passamonte was ready to send the cavalry troop on its way, encouraged by a scout’s report of the smoke being seen of a distant campfire. It was after dark before the troop marched but Alvarez, who rode with de Garay, was confident of the route. “We shall have them trapped,” he explained, “between your troopers and the sea.”
While Passamonte deployed his troops Delancey and Hodder lay hidden in a disused cow-house in the southern outskirts of the town. They were occupied in rehearsal. Having ascertained that Hodder had no experience of firearms, Delancey taught him the elements but then explained that he himself would be the marksman and that Hodder’s task would be to reload for him. With two guns and four pistols quickly reloaded, Delancey could maintain an almost continuous fire. Hodder could not become a good shot without practice in firing but he had all the manual dexterity which went with a lifetime’s experience in the picking of locks. He quickly mastered the sequence of cartridge, wad, ball, wad and ramrod, repeating the actions and improving on the time until even Delancey was satisfied. “If it comes to a fight,” he concluded, “they are going to suffer some losses.” If all went well, however, there was a chance of reaching the Dove without a battle. “If Alvarez has told his story convincingly, the dragoons will be surrounding our camp site and the infantry will be watching the Playa Blanco creek. The quayside should be almost unguarded.”
“Let’s hope so, Captain. But certainly that infantry officer was not born yesterday.”
“Hence this little rehearsal. Shall we try it once more? I’ll take this sequence: musket, pistol, musket, pistol, pistol, musket. You keep one pistol in reserve for your own defence. Right? Go!” The last rehearsal finished, they ate what bread and meat was left and lay down to rest until midnight.
When the town church clock struck twelve Delancey and Hodder began their slow approach to the harbour, planning each move from doorway to yard entry, from one shadow to the next. There was all too much moonlight for their purpose and they were alarmed at one stage by the persistent barking of a dog. Hardly had the dog forgotten them before they found themselves near a small church or chapel from which came, surprisingly, the sound of prayer. The windows were candlelit and Delancey guessed that it must be the eve of some saint’s day. He was vague about Catholic ritual but supposed that mass could be said at odd hours on particular occasions. He was grateful, however, at the moment, for a pious activity which might help to explain what he and Hodder were doing in that street.
While still deciding what to do next, Delancey heard in the distance the sound he had been dreading, the marching steps of a patrol. The soldiers were coming in his direction and the church offered the only hiding place. Beckoning Hodder and walking on tiptoe, Delancey opened the church door and slipped inside, Hodder closing the door after him.
The church was very dark apart from the candles on the high altar and there cannot have been more than six people present. He realised, nevertheless, that he and Hodder had to merge with their surroundings before the patrol arrived. There was no knowing whether they would look into the church but it was the sort of thing a conscientious corporal might do. “I’ll go over there,” he whispered to Hodder, pointing to a confessional box. “You kneel outside it as if waiting your turn.” A minute later he was ready to make his confession, muttering suitably to a priest who was not there.
But that was where he had made his mistake. A voice through the grille said, “Yes, my son?” and added the words for blessing. Racking his brains for material, Delancey began his first confession, beginning in Spanish and soon lapsing into French, half his attention on the footsteps of the patrol, which had halted at the church door. “I have grievously sinned, Father, by drinking to excess, by illicit traffic in evasion of customs duties, by looking with desire on women, even on those that are married, by—.” The church door had opened quietly and a corporal stood there, looking round the church. Desperate for ideas and realising that the known sins are all too few, Delancey plunged into a story of having cheated at cards and sold a horse for more than its value, having hopes that his mother-in-law would die and failing to give what he had promised to charity. The corporal had gone and the door of the church was closing. By now Delancey was at his wits end but he could hear the patrol marching away. “I told gossip falsely against a neighbour who is sick and whom I said is with child. I spoke in anger to a young boy who had failed in his errand. I have not been to mass for three weeks. . . .”
The confession ended rather abruptly and Delancey did not hear and might not have understood what penance was enjoined. Muttering something which he hoped was appropriate he rose and walked quietly to the door.
A minute later he and Hodder were outside and approaching the town centre. One patrol was now behind them but there might be others. That there would be sentries on the quayside was certain. As they came in sight of the harbour, the town church clock struck one.
Moving very silently, Delancey reached the end of the lane he had been following and looked across the open space which fronted the harbour basin on its landward side. On the other two sides the harbour was flanked by its stone-built quay with warehouses closely adjacent. There were fishing boats in plenty and against the nearer quayside a brig of some size, almost certainly the Aguila. It was nearly high tide with the waves lapping gently against the stonework. On the far side with a thrill of recognition he saw the Dove. Two sentries paced the pavement opposite where she was tied. No light showed in any building but the moon lit the whole scene with pitiless detail.
From a merely tactical point of view Delancey did not like what he could see. The open space, probably where the market was held, seemed all too open, offering no cover at all. Several boats had been dragged out of the water and lay at the quay’s edge but these were isolated and distant from where he was. If he went back and tried to circle left he might with luck come out near the Aguila but he would then have the harbour between him and the Dove. To circle right would lead him into the very middle of the town and probably into the arms of another patrol. If he could reach the boats on the harbour’s edge he could find cover behind them, being halfway towards the Dove before he would be seen again. He hesitated, weighing the risks and vaguely disquieted by the apparent absence of the enemy. The approach appeared easy—too easy to be quite convincing. His next move was settled for him by accident. Kneeling in the shadow of a doorway, he felt his shoe clink against something that moved. Looking down he saw that it was an empty bottle. It gave him a moment of inspiration and he turned to Hodder with sudden urgency:
“Can you sing something in Spanish?”
There was a bewildered silence and finally Hodder whispered, “I know the tune all the street boys were singing in Cadiz but I don’t know the words. Something about ‘Hasta la vista, caro mio.’“
“Right,” said Delancey. “We are both drunk but I am the more drunk of the two. Keep your gun out of sight under your cloak. Give me your right arm to prevent me falling. Ready? Then off we go!”
Waving his bottle in his right hand, Delancey staggered out on to the square. Hodder simultaneously began singing “Caro mio” and was joined by Delancey in drunken parody. They swayed together and nearly fell over, recovering sufficiently to repeat all that Hodder could remember of his song. They made a horrible row between them; enough, seemingly, to disarm the immediate suspicions of anyone placed in ambush. “Hasta la vista!” sang Delancey as they reached the middle of the market-place, and it was there that he dropped his bottle with a crash and tinkle of broken glass. “Caro mio!” roared Hodder as he once again saved Delancey from falling. Still singing and staggering, they covered another dozen paces and came at last to the upturned boats on the quayside. Sitting on the keel of the nearest, Delancey was able to look about him and see what their vocal efforts had achieved. One or two windows had opened but were closed again now that the singing had subsided.
Delancey continued to talk loudly in Spanish but, moving on to the next phase of intoxication, slid to the ground and remained there. Under cover of the boats he began to crawl silently towards the far side of the harbour, the quayside to which the Dove was tied. Hodder followed as quietly and they found themselves in the shadow of the last and stoutest of the upturned boats. There was another fifty yards to the angle of the basin and, once that corner was turned, a good hundred yards to the Dove’s gangplank, with the two sentries pacing the cobbles in the foreground.
“What do we do now?” asked Hodder in a whisper. “Wait!” replied Delancey, watching the sky. The sky was not cloudless and it seemed to Delancey that it was only a question of time before the moon was hidden. Five minutes of relative darkness was all he wanted but the clouds that drifted across the sky seemed to avoid the moon of set purpose. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and eventually the church clock struck the half hour. At long last a useful cloud appeared on what seemed the right course. It came nearer and nearer and finally obscured the moon.
Delancey rose to his feet and set off at an ordinary walking pace, with Hodder at his heels. He was seen at the same instant by the nearer sentry who challenged him. To make matters worse, the cloud which had momentarily helped them turned out to be a tattered fraud. They were clearly visible and the sentry, taking no chance, fired his musket in their direction.
The result was a shouted order from the far side of the marketplace and the rapid appearance of soldiers who shook out at once into extended order. Seeing no alternative, Delancey doubled back to the upturned boat, took cover behind it and whipped out his musket. Hodder dropped beside him as in their rehearsal and the battle fairly began.
Delancey’s first musket shot took effect and the advancing line wavered. His next pistol shot missed but caused hesitation again, the next musket shot hitting a man who collapsed with a groan. The whole line fell back into the shadow of the buildings, where an officer’s voice could be heard, probably telling his men to load. Then there came a scattered volley, most of the bullets going high but some thudding into the boat’s timbers.
There was another shouted order and a more resolute advance but Delancey’s first shot would seem to have wounded the sergeant, his second only just missing the officer. Two more shots were enough to bring the advance to a halt, driving the men back to the shadows from which they had started. It looked to Delancey as if the men had never been under fire before.
While he waited to see what they would do next he heard a burst of firing in the distance. The feint landing was being ambushed, which would at least keep the other troops busy for the time being. It was bad luck having this opposition in the town centre but there were only about twenty men and a probably inexperienced subaltern. There was no further assault but his immediate opponents began to fire independently from where they were.
Delancey wondered now what the sentries were doing, well placed as they were to attack him from the rear. Looking back, he saw that they were both crumpled on the quayside, their muskets fallen beside them, almost as if killed by their friends’ fire. There was no sign of life on board the Dove, the lugger being apparently deserted. Firing continued, both near and in the distance, but the battle seemed otherwise to have reached stalemate. Just after the church clock struck two the situation changed suddenly for the worse. The firing was desultory and mostly ineffective but one bullet hit the sternpost of the boat they were using for cover, sending splinters of wood in all directions. Hodder uttered a groan and Delancey could see that his breeches and stockings were soaked in blood. Tearing the sleeve off his own shirt, Delancey tried to bandage the wounded thigh but not very successfully. Hodder was out of action and probably bleeding to death.
“Don’t worry about me, Captain,” said the wounded man. “Give me your musket and I’ll hold them off while you board the lugger. I’m finished anyway and your life is worth saving.”
“I’ll come back for you. Keep firing while I go to fetch help.”
At this moment Delancey had little hope of reaching the Dove alive but he suddenly became aware of new developments somewhere on his right. There was the sound of cheering and a fresh outburst of small arms fire. Alongside the Aguila there had appeared from nowhere a ship’s longboat. Men were swarming over the privateer and were already pushing her away from the quayside. The soldiers on the far side of the market-place were now firing at the captured Aguila although not very effectively at that extreme range. The subaltern must have realised this because he made another attempt to make them advance. He fell, however, to a shot from Hodder and his men took cover again, remaining where they were until the battle was over.
Delancey, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, ran to the angle of the harbour basin, swerved left past the two dead bodies and sprinted down the quayside to the Dove. Sam Carter appeared at the gangway, musket in hand, and the rest of the crew, similarly armed, lined the ship’s side, cheering, as he jumped down to the deck. They were about to cast off but Delancey stopped them, pointing back to where Hodder was still in action. “Save him!” he shouted breathlessly and led the way back to the upturned boat.
They came too late, for Hodder had been hit again and died before they could lift him up. At this moment a frantic figure pelted across the open to join them, the soldiers being evidently too surprised to stop him or even pick him off. It was Alvarez, who said, breathlessly, “Take me with you—can’t stay here—not after this!” For their final dash to safety they divided into two parties, to shoot and to move alternatively, but it was hardly necessary, their immediate opponents being demoralised and almost silent.
As soon as they had regained the Dove the gangway was dragged inboard and the ropes cast off. Slowly and silently the lugger began to slip out of the harbour on the ebb, her sails gently filling to a breeze off the land.
If the Dove was silent, the town was a scene of pandemonium. The cutting out of the Aguila had not been difficult but she had few sails to set and nothing useful to hand. She was now under fire from another direction because the dragoons had returned from their fruitless mission and had marched towards the sound of battle. They were dismounted and firing from cover along the south side of the harbour basin, adding to the difficulties of the boarding party
To the north of the basin there was a sudden outburst of firing as the infantry came back from the Playa Blanco creek and appeared along the quayside which the Dove had left. The crew of the lugger returned this fire as the distance lengthened, Delancey and O’Keefe both trying to pick off Captain Passamonte but without success. The Dove might have been badly damaged by this new fusillade but the thunder of cannon was now added to the crash of musketry Seeing the flashes outside the harbour mouth, Delancey realised that the frigate had opened fire with her broadside to cover the withdrawal. As the southern quayside was swept by grape shot the small arms fire slackened and almost ceased. The next broadside had a similarly discouraging effect on the dragoons. Several houses were now on fire and the smoke drifted seawards, mingling with the gunpowder fumes. Some of the streets were fitfully visible in the light of the flames and Delancey glimpsed the distracted citizens, some passing buckets of water and others attempting to barricade the streets against an expected landing. Gradually the firing died away and the battle was over, the town disturbed only by the crackling of flames and the complaints of the inhabitants. The light of morning revealed an empty sea, some blackened ruins, a hundred broken windows and a score of bodies awaiting burial. Voices were raised against the British whose conduct, all agreed, was tantamount to mere piracy Vain, however, was the search for Señor Alvarez who had vanished as if he had never been.
Amidst the uproar of the bombardment the Dove had slipped out without hindrance, sliding past the deserted pier head and passing under the bows of the Medusa, half hidden in the smoke of her last broadside. Astern of the lugger came the Aguila with foresail and staysails set, towed by the longboat and apparently undamaged. Soon after withdrawing in her turn, the Medusa made sail for Gibraltar with the Dove and Aguila in her wake. On board the Dove Delancey was sound asleep until late in the morning being finally disturbed by Sam Carter, who told him that he was wanted on board the frigate. “There was an earlier signal,” he added, “but I decided to ignore it. To be more exact, I took your place.”
“How can I thank you, Sam?” asked Delancey. “You ran a great risk to bring me out of Spain. It could have cost you the Dove or your life or both.”
“What would they have thought of me in St Peter Port if I had let you die in a Spanish prison? No, Dick, we had to bring you out somehow.”
“And nobly you did it. I shall always be proud to claim you as my friend.”
Delancey washed and shaved, borrowed a clean shirt and had breakfast. While he did so the Dove went ahead of the Medusa and finally lowered a boat which the frigate could overtake. Delancey came in at the entry port where a marine sentry came to the salute. He touched his hat and stood for a moment to look about him. The deck was spotless, the guns exactly in line, the paintwork new, the boarding pikes glittering and the musket barrels bright. He made his way to the quarterdeck, touching his hat as immemorial custom decreed, and reported his presence to the officer of the watch. No immediate action could result for this, as he could see, was a moment when everyone else was preoccupied. The master, master’s mates and midshipmen had brought out their sextants and were intent on taking a sight. The master reported when the sun reached the meridian, eight bells were struck and a boatswain’s mate piped the hands to dinner. Only when the ceremonial finished could a midshipman be spared to take Delancey to the captain’s cabin. Looking up at the taut curve of the sails, looking at the order maintained and at the faces of the men around him, Delancey knew that this was the service to which he belonged.
Captain Morris was known to Delancey as having the reputation of a fine seaman and a strict disciplinarian. He listened in silence while Delancey made his laconic report. “Of the party which landed with me,” he concluded, “all, I hope, escaped into Portugal with the exception of Mr Hodder, who was killed in action during the skirmish at Léon. I have reason to be grateful to Mr Alvarez, without whose help I should not be here to make this report. I can also speak highly of Mr O’Keefe who behaved very well while ashore. As for me, sir, I owe it to you that I am alive and in a position to report what I know about the Spanish admiral’s intentions.”
Captain Morris replied thoughtfully and slowly, choosing his words with care: “I realise that what you have told me, in bare outline, is the story of an astonishing achievement, even when considered merely as a journey through enemy territory. The document you have intercepted must go at once to the commander-in-chief. It is not for me to judge its importance. Whether it prove to be vital or trivial you will have done what few other men would have dared attempt. I am proud to have had some part in covering your final escape from Spain.” Captain Morris paused and took up a piece of paper which was lying on his desk. “I have here a list of our casualties in yesterday’s action. We had one lieutenant, four seamen and two marines killed, one officer and nine seamen wounded, two of them seriously. I want to add this, that heavier casualties than these would not, in my opinion, have been too high a price to pay for your safety.”
Delancey was too overwhelmed by this to say more than a lame word of thanks and protest.
Morris went on to deal with the wording of his gazette letter. “You will understand that my written report will cover only the cutting out of the Aguila. I shall say nothing about you, nothing about Mr Alvarez, nothing about the Dove. On these other aspects of the operation I shall report verbally to Rear-Admiral Griffin. I cannot do justice to you in any other way.”
“That, sir, is well understood.”
“My hope is that the Board of Admiralty will remember this dangerous mission and its successful outcome, doubly rewarding you on some future occasion for your part in some action of perhaps lesser consequence.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“There remains the question of your immediate posting. I know something of your recent career, being indebted for this information to Mr Carter, master of the Dove. I understand from him that you are at present without a berth. That being so, I am happy to offer you a lieutenant’s vacancy on board this frigate, replacing Lieutenant Halsted who was killed in the recent action. I see from the list that your position will make you next in seniority to the first lieutenant. You will understand that the appointment will have to be confirmed by the commander-in-chief, Sir John Jervis, but I venture to predict that he will do so on Rear-Admiral Griffin’s recommendation. May I ask whether such a posting is acceptable to you?”
“I am happy to accept your offer, sir, and I look forward to serving under your command.”
“I am glad to welcome you. There remains the question of Mr Carter and the Dove. Would he accept an appointment as master’s mate?”
“I think not, sir. He is too successful, I fancy, in his present trade.”
Later that afternoon the Dove was to part company, heading northward and leaving the Medusa to make for her rendezvous with Rear-Admiral Griffin. Sam Carter had dined with Captain Morris; Rothery (first lieutenant), Delancey (second) and Maltby (surgeon) being the other guests. Over the wine the captain sent his steward out with a written message, soon afterwards bringing the party to its close. “We must not detain you longer, Mr Carter—not with the wind fair for Ushant—but we’ll drink your health before you go.” Farewells were said as the topsails were backed and Delancey escorted Sam to his boat. As he did so he realised that the whole crew was manning the side. As Sam stood for a moment, amazed, the boatswain called for three cheers. Quickly Sam ducked down into his boat, and stood with his hat removed as the oarsmen pulled away. While the company still manned the side and the small boat dipped to the swell on clearing the frigate’s quarter, there crashed out the stately measure of a three-gun salute.
“Well!” said Rothery, replacing his hat. “He’ll be the first smuggler that was ever saluted by a man-of-war.”
“Perhaps we should do it more often,” said Delancey. “It is useful sometimes to have a smuggler on your side.”