So Near So Far (20 page)

“They are merely out to reconnoitre,” said Delancey to Mather, “but there are enough to serve our purpose. Signal
Pauline
and
Panic
to make more sail.”

When
Pauline
drew abreast of the frigate, Delancey hailed Le Couteur.

“Go in now but don't close with the gunboats until they begin to withdraw. Good luck!”

The
Pauline
and
Panic
drew ahead and the noise of the bombardment intensified, probably because the bomb-vessels had opened fire. Flares were being used by both sides and it seemed that the Rear-Admiral was attacking with vigour. It could be assumed (or at least hoped) that the French gunboat commanders were looking towards Wimereux and would take no notice of
Pauline,
a stray fishing boat.

“I can make out their recognition light,” said Mather at last. “Red over two white.”

”And our craft,” said Delancey, “have now hoisted the same. I could wish now that a shorter time had been allowed for the bombardment.”

“Yes, sir, but bomb-vessels always take an hour to find their target.”

“That's true.”

At long last the distant thunder of gunfire died away and a man in the foretop reported that the gunboats were on their way back to Boulogne. Now the flares became infrequent and it was more difficult to see what was happening. Delancey decided to give Le Couteur some closer support.

“Make more sail, Mr Mather,” he ordered, and the
Vengeance
heeled a little before the westerly breeze. The decks were already cleared for action but now the men stood to their guns and Delancey made his tour of inspection. He foresaw no immediate action but took the routine precautions. When he returned to the quarterdeck he was unable at first to see what was happening. Then a flare lit the scene and he could see, for an instant, that his plan had miscarried. It looked as if
Pauline
had taken the last gunboat but the other five had gone about and were going to the rescue. There was the sound now of gunfire and musketry and Delancey realised that
Pauline
was no match for her opponents and might be taken in another twenty minutes. The time had come to intervene and he did so by lighting a flare and firing a gun, enough to show his presence. In the light, however, of a second flare he could see that
Pauline
was still under attack, the French evidently hoping to recapture their gunboat before the frigate could come within effective range. The only consolation was that
Panic,
which could be glimpsed well north of the
Pauline,
had sensibly kept out of the
firing and might not even have been seen by the enemy. The next obvious move in the game was for the
Vengeance
to steer so as to cut off the gunboat's retreat. But this would have attracted the fire of the shore batteries—and, in any case, the capture of gunboats was not the object in view. Delancey crowded on more sail and opened fire with his bow chasers. Although the range was still extreme the effect was immediate and the gunboats began to pull away from
Pauline,
using their oars rather than their sails to facilitate their escape to windward. The clouds had drifted aside and a half moon lit the scene enough to show that
Pauline
had the captured gunboat close alongside and that
Panic
was tacking towards her. All firing in the area had died away but it seemed, as the distance lessened, that
Pauline
had sustained some damage, as might seem inevitable. She was hove to and her crew's only visible activity was in attempting to repair her rigging.

As the frigate came within hail Le Couteur, using his speaking trumpet, reported that his craft had been hulled in two places and was leaking. “I submit, sir, that we abandon the operation and return to port.”

“Is the captured gunboat undamaged?” asked Delancey.

“Yes, sir,” replied Le Couteur. “We have her crew below hatches.”

“Very well,” said Delancey. “Keep your prisoners on board and return to base. Leave the gunboat with me.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The relief was obvious in Le Couteur's tone of voice, backed up as it was by the sound of the pumps at work.

“So that is the finish,” said Mather, not without a trace of satisfaction.

”Why so?” asked Delancey, rather coldly. “Well, sir, we have no means now of saving the crew of
Panic.”

“On the contrary, we have the captured gunboat, Mr Mather.”

“Yes, sir, but you said yourself that an extra gunboat—seven now instead of six—would cause alarm at once.”

“That is quite possible but it is a risk we must take. The operation will proceed as planned but with this difference. I shall now take command of the captured gunboat, with Mr Syvret as second in command. You will command this ship in my absence.”

“But, sir, this is near suicide! Your life is too valuable to throw away on such a hazardous mission. I beg you to send me or another officer.”

“I said, Mather, that I could never order anyone else to go in alone. Well, I hold to that. So the task falls to me.”

By now the
Panic
was within hail and Delancey ordered Northmore to follow the French gunboats into Boulogne according to plan. “One change, however—you will no longer be brought out by
Pauline
but by the captured gunboat which will be on your heels. Off with you and make all speed you can.”

Northmore needed no exhortation and it was left to man the remaining gunboat, hastily arming the seamen as they jumped into her. Syvret followed and then Delancey himself. The moon was now hidden again and it was in almost complete darkness that the gunboat headed after her consort. Both vessels had the correct recognition lights and those borne by the last French gunboat were just visible, at half a mile, from
Panic.
The weakness of the arrangements, which there had been no time to remedy, was that all the French clothing which the captured gunboat's crew should have been wearing was on its way back to Deal in
Pauline.
Wasting no lamentations on that subject, Delancey turned to Syvret and asked him abruptly whether their craft had a name.

“I have seen no name, sir, and have concluded that she is merely Gunboat Number 379.”

“It is time she had a name. We are both from Guernsey, Mr Syvret. Where is your home there?”

“My father has a house in the new part of St Peter Port—Hauteville.”

“The fashionable quarter, eh? Very well, then. We name this craft the gunboat
Hauteville.
Her task is to rescue the crew of the explosion vessel
Panic
after the fuses have been lit. Have you been in battle before, Mr Syvret?”

“No, sir.”

“Then your future will depend a great deal on your conduct tonight, above all on your presence of mind. Should I be wounded, you will find yourself in command with many lives depending on your skill and timing. What about your own pistols, to begin with? Have you checked their priming?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Do you think we have lessened the distance between us and
Panic?”

“I think we have, sir, and I think we should.
Panic
has a cargo and we don't.”

“Correct. Unluckily, we lost time at the beginning, owing to the damage sustained by
Pauline.
Never mind, we are going to succeed.”

To find the entrance to Boulogne harbour was unexpectedly easy even on a dark night, the pierheads being marked by lights. The
Panic
headed confidently for the gap and
Hauteville
followed, but now at little more than a cable's distance. Where things went wrong was in the very harbour mouth. Delancey heard a confused noise—with shouts and two or three pistol shots—and guessed at once what had happened. The French had detailed some boat to row guard and
Panic
had fairly collided with her. He had known all along that there could be a guard boat, but hoped that the French might have forgotten what was, in fact, an obvious precaution.

“Pull for your lives!” Delancey rapped out the order and then added,
“Panic
is in trouble. Pull!”

Adding to the sense of urgency, he drew one of his pistols and saw to it that young Syvret did the same. Ahead in the gloom
Panic
seemed to be more the centre of argument than conflict. His guess was that she had already been taken. She looked the part at any distance but not at close range, with her bulging tarpaulin amidships and her reduced number of oarsmen. He wondered how young Renouf's Alderney French was being accepted. The boy was fluent enough but his accent would be peculiar. The babble of voices grew louder as
Hauteville
closed on the scene and Delancey could see now that the guard boat was alongside
Panic,
both vessels motionless. He guessed that
Panic
's men had been heavily outnumbered. Wrapped in his boat cloak, he stood up as the gunboat swept alongside the explosion vessel, the coxswain telling his men to back water. Without hesitation, Delancey jumped on board
Panic
and thundered (in French):

“What is going on here?”

It was Renouf who replied in the same language: “We have been stopped, Captain, by this officer, who evidently knows nothing of our mission.”

Renouf was facing a young but burly French officer whose sword was drawn. Just beyond them lay Northmore, perhaps knocked unconscious (or perhaps dead?) as a result of the first encounter.

“What is this, young man?” roared Delancey. “What do you think you are doing? Why have you attacked a French gunboat? Why have you wounded a brother officer? What will the Emperor do when he hears of this? Are you insane? Have I to put you under arrest?”

Taken aback, the French enseigne de vaisseau began to explain that the gunboat looked suspicious, was not typical of her class.

“She is different, you say? Of course she is different! We have just captured her from those English pigs, these murderers and madmen! Try to stop us and you will face a court martial! Take your sacred boat to hell out of this before I ram the craft down your throat! The English are up to some filthy trick with craft like this, made to look like ours. There may be a whole flotilla of them! Can't you see that the Admiral must know of this at the earliest possible moment? Can't you understand that our mission is of the utmost importance? Can't you understand anything? Stand to attention, imbecile! Put your hat on straight. Try to look like an officer even if you have to behave like a fool! Go back to your miserable boat and look out for the enemy. Take yourself off before I shoot you for mutiny.”

The Frenchman was overwhelmed by mere force of personality, muttering apologies and scrambling back into the
guard boat, followed by his men. Delancey gave him no time to recover his dignity but yelled after him: “Don't just sit there in your sacred boat! Back to your proper place! Move! If I so much as see you again I shall have you back on the lower deck.”

The boats had drifted to a point within hail of the pierhead on the starboard side and a voice could be heard from overhead, someone (an artillery officer?) asking what the disturbance was about. Delancey bawled a reply which seemed to serve its purpose:

“Some half-wit son of a fishwife has tried to prevent our return to base. All is well now—no cause for alarm. I think the enemy have been driven off. Their attack on Wimereux came to nothing.”

Speaking now to Renouf, Delancey told him to proceed up harbour and then, shouting to Syvret, told him (in French) to take command of
Hauteville.
Northmore, it was obvious, was in no state to command
Panic,
the crew of which had been weakened by the loss of two men wounded in the recent skirmish. This made the task no easier but they were past the main defences and it remained to enter the inner basin with the nonchalance of seamen who were based there. There were many craft anchored in the river but
Panic
attracted no further notice, the oarsmen rowing steadily and the coxswain holding close to the starboard side of the channel.
Hauteville
followed at a respectful distance and the boat being towed by
Panic
seemed to be in good order, with one man in charge of her. Renouf assured Delancey that flint, steel, and tinder were all ready but that they planned to light their linstocks from a lantern which they had concealed but lit. The youngsters were excited but seemingly unafraid.

Several hazards remained, the first being the possibility—perhaps the likelihood—of there being some sort of guard set on the entrance to the inner basin. There might even be a watchword. Granted that difficulty were overcome (supposing it existed) the other hazards would follow the lighting of the fuses. There might be men at hand who would extinguish them. There would certainly be a hue and cry after the explosion took place. What were their chances of escape? Remote? One of the worst risks would be from their own grenades. If they survived all that, the escape down the river would be aided by the ebb tide and the general confusion. Watching for the expected opening to starboard, Delancey wondered whether he had ever been involved before in such a mad enterprise. It was his own plan and events—the loss of Le Couteur and Northmore—had finally left him to execute it himself. This was just as well in one way. No one else from the
Vengeance
could have bluffed his way past the guard boat. But would another such bluff bring him safely back to the frigate? After the explosion the French would be in a very different mood, furious with themselves and with each other, ready to shoot anyone at sight. To reach the target had not, so far, been too difficult. To withdraw after the blow had been struck might very well prove all but impossible.

Just when he had begun to wonder whether he had overshot the entrance the quayside to starboard suddenly ended and two lights could be seen marking the passage, which was all too narrow from the British point of view. Glancing back, it was just possible to glimpse the faithful
Hauteville,
keeping her distance. Reassured on that point, Delancey told his coxswain to steer for the middle and then, as the
Panic
went in, the challenge came from the starboard side.