So Near So Far (26 page)

“But don't the enemy see them coming?” asked Delancey.

“Not if we distract their attention,” replied Moffat patiently. “The catamaran barely shows on the surface and could be mistaken for a piece of wreckage. It is thought advisable, nevertheless, to give the enemy something else to think about. I would myself recommend the use of Congreve rockets. I should remind you, Admiral, that tidal currents run fast on the French
coast round here. Catamarans can drift at five to six knots. Apart from the damage they may do, their morale effect can be decisive.”

“No doubt of that,” was Delancey's comment, but he added, more quietly, “the French, besides, may die of laughing.”

“It is easy to sneer,” said Moffat sharply. “I have no doubt that laughter greeted the first man who wished to replace the bow and arrow by the musket. There must be progress, sir. We cannot reject all that is novel because it is new.”

“I crave your pardon,” replied Delancey, “and I am sure that we shall all benefit from your experience. I wonder, however, whether it might be possible to use a captured French gunboat to tow the catamaran?”

“Others have had the same inspiration,” said the Admiral. “It seems that we have recently captured one of their craft, complete with crew, near Ostend. I have had instruction to make use of her if the opportunity should offer.”

“What type of craft is she, sir?” asked Moffat.

“She is of a class the French call their bateaux cannonières, a lugger armed with two guns. She is smaller than what they call a prame, bigger than a peniche. Strangely enough, the men on board her, seamen and soldiers, were perfectly convinced that they had all but conquered England already. They saw themselves as prisoners for a few weeks, due for release by the Emperor himself.”

“Is it true, sir, that Napoleon is now at Boulogne?”

“We have heard that,” replied the Admiral, “and we are inclined to believe it. If he plans to direct the invasion in person—as he surely must—this month would be the best time for it. If he is not at Boulogne now he must be due there very shortly.”

There was further discussion and it soon became clear that Moffat was to direct a catamaran attack on the Boulogne flotilla with Delancey to cover his withdrawal. The craft captured would tow the catamaran, flying the French flag, to a position just out of range of the French guns, after which the deadly device would drift further inshore on a rising tide. The chosen date was 19 July, on which day the squadron appeared off Boulogne,
Vengeance
hovering three miles offshore and
Sparrowhawk
going in to cover the approach of the captured bateau cannonière, which was to come round the headland to the south. The plan seemed to Delancey hazardous in the extreme and especially so in daylight. Would the bateau cannonière be accepted as friendly by the shore batteries? She was not fired upon, as things turned out, but the situation was complicated that afternoon by a rising wind and a heavy sea. The French flotilla in Boulogne roads was gradually dispersed as the smaller vessels ran for Etaples or St Valery-sur-Somme. The launching of a catamaran had become extremely difficult but, apart from that, the target vessels were insufficiently concentrated. With great reluctance Rear-Admiral Knight cancelled the attempt by a signal from
Antelope
to
Vengeance
which was repeated to
Sparrowhawk.
The volunteer crew in the bateau cannonière began to head seawards again, having presumably left their catamaran where the French might possibly trip over it. Watching the fiasco through his telescope, Delancey wondered whether a catamaran would explode on collision or only after a jerk of the lanyard? What he was never to realise until long afterwards was that the 19th/20th was actually a turning point in the war.

It was, in a way, a horrifying scene. It was blowing hard from the north-north-east and big seas were crashing on the shore with spray tossed high against the dark land and leaden
sky. The gusts of wind rose to a shriek and the
Vengeance
pitched and rolled in sickening fashion as Delancey focused his telescope on the French landing craft. All order among these had been lost, some of the larger vessels working to windward, most of the smaller craft running down wind for Etaples, others again running to anchor off Boulogne. At Delancey's elbow, Mr Mather was studying the scene.

“And all this happens to the poor devils before we have even come to close range.”

The French craft were in fact under distant fire from three gun-brigs which were able to go further inshore than the
Vengeance.
It did not appear that much damage was being done by this desultory cannonade but it was enough to discourage the movement to windward.

“Those gun-brigs afford no sort of a gun platform,” commented Delancey. “This weather does not suit them.”

“It doesn't suit me either, sir,” replied Mather. “I keep thinking that our masts will go over the side.”

“We'll ride more easily when we anchor.”

The motion did improve after the anchor had been dropped but the wind rose, if anything, towards evening. A passing gleam of light revealed a bay in which the storm-tossed landing craft numbered 27. With the flood tide Delancey stood in closer and saw that several of the craft were ashore west of Boulogne. Three others were wrecked near Portel, others being dismasted with heavy seas breaking over them. The wind whistled through the frigate's rigging and the scene was generally dismal.

“Boney must be watching this from the headland,” said Delancey. “I wish we were near enough to see him.”

“He might have stayed indoors, sir,” objected Mather as a
rainstorm beat down on the quarterdeck. “Who would blame him?”

“No, he would have to be on the headland,” said Delancey. “He must have had reports last night and earlier today, so many craft wrecked, so many men drowned, so many craft reaching St Valery-sur-Somme. He would have to come and look for himself. He would need to show, moreover, that he, for one, is not discouraged. He is there at this moment, you can depend upon it, and he must be wondering whether his invasion plan is practicable. What if it blew like this on the chosen day? He will have lost hundreds of men today. With actual invasion ordered he would have lost thousands and all this with little interference by us.”

“He will realise now, sir, what the Channel can be like.”

“This he must have known, Mr Mather. What he has learnt is what the weather can be like even in July. If there can be a gale like this in the height of summer, what could he expect in spring or autumn?”

“He has chosen, sir, to think again.”

“But he will not panic on hearing about the catamaran we have launched!”

O
FF BOULOGNE, Delancey, firmly braced between the gunwale and the shrouds, was watching the bateau cannonière struggle seawards in a wild sea with spray breaking over her. That she was in British hands was perfectly obvious to the French and Delancey saw that a three-masted prame was heading to cut her off. With twenty guns to the two mounted by her intended prey, the prame ran little risk of defeat. Accurate gunnery between relatively small vessels in such a sea was, of course, impossible, but here again the prame had the steadier gun platform of the two. The time had come to intervene and Delancey ordered Mather to make more sail and steer towards the prame. To rescue the bateau cannonière was really the
Sparrowhawk's
responsibility but that frigate seemed to be in difficulties with a broken spar. The depth of water was shoaling from nine fathoms to seven, from seven to five, and Delancey knew that he must allow for the lessened depth in the trough of the wave. Once in four fathoms he would be in range of the coastal howitzers, firing shell, and soon beyond that he might be fired upon by the coastal guns.

“We shall soon be under fire from the shore, sir,” warned Mather.

“It will not be effective at extreme range,” replied Delancey, “and we shall try to keep the prame between us and the nearest battery.”

”We may expect some help from the
Sparrowhawk,
sir, enough at least to make the batteries distribute their fire.”

“I can't make out what Moffat is doing.”

“He will be greatly disappointed, sir, to see the signal of recall. I fancy that he may have some idea of doing some damage before he withdraws.”

“But the bateau cannonière will have cut its catamaran loose, surely?”

“Do we know that, sir?”

“No, we don't. Who is in command?”

“I gathered, sir, that the launching of the catamarans has been left to a lieutenant from Jersey called Le Marquand—sent here specially from Plymouth.”

“I never heard of him.”

“I know of him by reputation. He is said to be especially keen on economy with naval stores.”

“Very praiseworthy. He has no previous experience, perhaps, of such an operation as this?”

“Probably not, sir. He is moving very slowly and that French vessel is overtaking him.”

Delancey studied the scene with a growing impatience. There seemed every likelihood of the bateau cannonière being taken before he could interfere. He was not yet within range and closing the distance would bring him under fire from the shore batteries. Moffat appeared to be fighting a war of his own and Le Marquand seemed to be paralysed. There was every likelihood of severe damage and casualties with nothing to show for it.

“Sparrowhawk,
sir, has lowered her longboat.”

“Why, for heaven's sake?”

“They may have had a man overboard.”

That no such emergency had arisen was soon apparent. There was a muffled report and a faint line climbed skywards from
Sparrowhawk
's longboat. It reached its apex and then plunged downwards towards the French prame, falling into the sea perhaps half a mile beyond her.

“Congreve rockets!” exclaimed Delancey. “Moffat's plan for distracting the French! Children playing with a new toy …”

“But why fire rockets from an open boat, sir? With the boat tossing as it is, any effective aim must be impossible.”

“You can't fire them from a ship, Mr Mather. They would be caught in the rigging and fall on your own quarterdeck. They never, in any case, hit the target. I wish Congreve were here to see that for himself.”

The wind was rising from the north-north-east, there was a threatening grey sky and the
Vengeance
pitched and rolled, shipping seas over her forecastle and lashed by the icy spray which flew over her decks. Delancey could see now that he was too late. The bateau cannonière was under fire and would have to surrender in a matter of minutes. Le Marquand was defending his craft with some obstinacy, using small arms as well as cannon, but he was heavily outgunned and outnumbered. Had he surrendered at the outset, as many a man might have done, he would have lost all chance of his boat being retaken by
Vengeance.
This he evidently knew and the resulting action was one that did him credit. His position would have been hopeless had other gunboats joined in the battle but they were intent on finding shelter. The prame closed with him, as Delancey could see, but the heavy seas made boarding impossible. At last the firing died away as the flag was struck. A few minutes later another sighting shot from the
Vengeance
went through the prame's sails, to be followed almost immediately by the frigate's
broadside. The prame would have to surrender both herself and her prize.

The capture of a prame was not important in itself but none had been taken before, so far as Delancey knew, and Lord Keith would probably be interested to see a specimen. Once fairly to leeward of the frigate's broadside, the prame duly struck her colours. A minute later the shore batteries opened fire, having been restrained so far by fear of hitting their own vessel. They had less compunction, it would seem, about hitting a French craft that had surrendered. The guns were firing at extreme range but they were correcting their aim, the shots coming nearer. They also had howitzers in action, far less accurate but more dangerous with a shell which sometimes, not always, burst on impact. Through his speaking trumpet Delancey told the French skipper (in French) to steer out to sea. By the same means he ordered the Frenchmen on board the bateau cannonière to surrender. He watched while they gave up their arms to Le Marquand and his men and then ordered the bateau to follow the prame. The splashes from the falling shot had crept nearer during the last few minutes and the frigate was presently hit by a plunging shot which went through the main deck and lodged finally in the hold, causing only minor damage apart from the shot hole. A shell burst somewhere astern and Delancey realised that his ship was in considerable danger. It was unnerving, he found, to watch the trace of the shells and guess where they would fall. He found that Mather was doing the same thing.

“Do you observe, Mr Mather, that these shells drift to leeward at the height of their trajectory?”

“Yes, sir. I would guess that the wind may blow even more strongly at that level.”

”So we might do better to edge into the wind?”

“But the Frenchmen will allow for the drift and may even allow too much.”

“You are right. All we can do is lengthen the range. I shall waste no time in replying to their fire.”

“We should be clear, sir, in about ten minutes.”

This was probably a good estimate but ten minutes can seem a very long period of time. The frigate was hit again, this time on the forecastle, and two men were wounded by splinters. No considerable damage had been done but at this moment a shell narrowly missed the bateau cannonière. Le Marquand soon afterwards made the signal that his craft had been damaged and was leaking.

“Make more sail, Mr Mather,” ordered Delancey. “Put the frigate to windward of the prame.” As the frigate passed the bateau cannonière, Delancey took up the speaking tube and gave a terse order to Le Marquand: