So Near So Far (30 page)

Dark as it was, Delancey followed Jacquemard's directions without much difficulty, coming at length to the track which had led from the road to the camp site. A post marked the spot but the sign, whatever it had been, was gone. The ground here was deeply trampled and rutted by the horses and gun carriages. It had been strewn with furze and bracken earlier in the year but now the ground was dry and hardened. A camp site likely to be occupied again would be guarded against trespass, surely, by two or three invalids provided with a tent? Or was that the wild guess of a seaman who, in reality, knew nothing about it? He should have had an army officer with him but the Admiral did not want that. His intelligence of the enemy must come from a naval source. Somewhere ahead of Delancey there was a noise in the darkness which he could not at first identify. He presently realised that sheep were grazing there. Did this provide proof that the camp site had been abandoned? It did nothing of the sort. When a new regiment appeared the sheep could be driven off. Then he came to a gate, flanked on either side by a stone-faced bank and hedge. The gate was new
and far narrower than the gap in the earth bank. The space had been filled in with a railing. All the carpentry was solid and well put together, made to last. But the gate was just too narrow for a gun carriage or army wagon. He could see from the ruts that the military traffic had used a wider space. He could also see that the gap in the bank had been widened, no doubt while the camp existed. Now the soldiers had gone and the peasant owner of the field had returned. He had made money out of the soldiers, one might assume, selling them eggs and milk with an occasional rabbit or chicken. Now the artillery had gone and the sheep were back. Had the troops been expected to return, the gap would have been stuffed with uprooted thorn bushes. But the peasant had made a proper gate and fence. His land was once more his own. To be exact, this was the peasant's assumption, based on what information he could get. The peasant could be wrong and soldiers, Napoleon included, have been known to change their minds. But here was as good evidence as he was likely to find and it was strengthened by his discovery of a similar gate on the other side of the field. Beyond that again his way lay downhill through another and rather dirty field which had been too well grazed by horses—it was horse-sick, to use the expression he had heard—and here he came across a barn under construction; another solid and permanent-looking structure, the whole site smelling of sawdust and pitch. Here was something to clinch the opinion he had already formed.

“The peasant was well compensated for the use of his land. He has spent the money on a new barn and new gates.”

Delancey was thinking to himself and was hardly aware of saying that last sentence aloud but Northmore replied at once:

“But didn't the peasant need the money to live on?”

”He didn't get it until the troops left.”

“Then how did he live, sir?”

“He went to work for somebody else whose labourers had been conscripted into the army.”

“It seems likely enough, sir.”

“It is still fiction. But I am still ready to report that the camp site has been abandoned, and given back to the owners.”

“Is that proof, sir, that it will never be occupied again?”

“No, it is no proof of that. But what proof could we expect to find? We can provide what seems to be proof of present intention. We can never offer our assurance that present decisions will not be reversed. Our task has been performed, Mr Northmore. I can report that the great invasion is not to take place this year, nor probably next year either. To make this report, however, we need to stay alive. We are now heading for the coast and we need to re-embark there in darkness. Time is short and there is just a hint of morning in the sky. On either side of the creek where we landed there is a French battery within half a mile. There will be sentinels posted and patrols going to and fro along the cliffs. We shall have to slip between them, and Mr Xenophon, following a different route to our left, will have to do the same.”

“But won't the French patrols have seen the gunboat, sir?”

“She will have been pulled up under those overhanging rocks. We shall be in more danger when we put to sea.”

The path lay downwards and they found themselves sheltered from the wind by the rising ground on either side. Somewhere ahead of them, as they knew, the path they were on would intersect with the cliff path which would cross the stream on their right by a footbridge. This was where they were most likely to meet with a patrol. The danger was real enough
but Delancey took comfort from the fact that he wore a French uniform and could speak French with fluency, although with a provincial accent. Even Northmore knew enough to say “Oui, mon Capitaine” with reasonable confidence. It struck Delancey that Mr Xenophon, whose mission was an afterthought, was not disguised in the same way.

Descending the path towards the creek where they had landed was not as simple as the ascent had been. It was all too easy to trip over a loose stone and start a miniature landslide. Time was short, moreover, and a cock could be heard crowing at a distant farm. It would soon be morning, their gunboat exposed to the French artillery. How to combine speed with caution? Then, pausing for a minute's rest, they heard the sound they had been dreading: the tramp of a patrol approaching from their left. They must quit the path and find somewhere to hide.

Delancey had hardly reached this decision before there was a musket shot, followed after a pause by two or three more. The patrol had seen or heard some movement but none they had themselves made, for the shots had not been fired in their direction. It was clearly Mr Xenophon and his men who had run into trouble. They were armed only with pistols and loaded sticks and would be at a disadvantage when confronted (and outnumbered) by muskets and bayonets. While Mr Xenophon's two men might well be thought expendable, Mr Xenophon could not be replaced. It would be a disaster if he were killed, a worse disaster if he were taken. To judge from the sound of firing, which had died away for the moment, Mr Xenophon was still on the landward side of the cliff path. He had probably been about to cross it when the patrol appeared. The likelihood was that the firing would attract another patrol from the other direction. Turning away from his own line of retreat,
Delancey reached the cliff path and, telling Northmore to follow, marched towards the area where the patrol must be. He made no further efforts to avoid noise. Why should he aim at stealth? He was a French captain of artillery seeking to discover what the noise was about. He feared at first that he would miss the patrol but he presently saw that one of the Frenchmen carried a lantern. At least one of the men had remained on the path while the others had gone uphill to deal with the intruders. As Delancey approached the lantern a young corporal assumed the “on guard” position and shouted a challenge.

“Friend,” replied Delancey, pressing on. “All right, Corporal, all right, all right! Where have they gone?”

“They are somewhere up there, Captain,” replied the corporal, pointing.

“That is where you are wrong, corporal. They crossed the path further back and headed down towards the sea. I just saw them as they disappeared. Three men in civilian clothes—smugglers, perhaps. Can you call the patrol back?”

“I can fire my musket. They will think that I have seen them.” The corporal fired in the air. “That will warn the sergeant.” Delancey drew a pistol and fired that in the air, telling Northmore to do the same. “The sounds of a skirmish,” he explained. “That will make the sergeant hurry.” All three weapons were now re-loaded and then Delancey asked the corporal his name.

“Lazareff” was the reply, followed by the information that he came from Le Mans and had never been in battle before. Delancey felt the urge to point out that he had never been in battle yet. He restrained himself, however, and thought quickly about his next move. It would be useful, he decided, to take a few prisoners for questioning. These men were the nearest to
hand. He would send them down to the creek where they would run into Topley's men. He himself would follow to prevent their escape. The danger in this was that he and Northmore would be fired upon by their own side. As against this, the chief merit in the plan was that Mr Xenophon would hear the firing, not directed at him, and would make for the beach by some route further to the left. A further merit lay in the chance of taking prisoners but this was very much an afterthought. These men guarding the coast had never formed part of the Army of England and would have no intelligence better than hearsay. He doubted whether young Lazareff, for example, would have much to say for himself. Some minutes passed and then the patrol could be heard approaching, with much stumbling, slipping, and swearing. It comprised a sergeant and four men, all rather short of breath. Following his practice, Delancey did not wait to be questioned.

“These men have escaped you, sergeant. They crossed this path ten minutes ago. I just glimpsed them as they disappeared in that direction. Corporal Lazareff fired his musket as a signal. If we follow up we shall trap these men against the sea. I think they are smugglers rather than spies. They can explain themselves, however, when they are caught. They were unarmed so far as I could see.”

Delancey was careful to stand in the light of the lantern, which showed up his uniform. He turned to Northmore and asked him whether he too thought that the men were unarmed. “Oui, mon Capitaine,” replied Northmore, part perfect.

“So we have no call to be heroic. I think, sergeant, you should go for a hundred paces along this path and then swing left down the hillside. The lieutenant and I will follow you. Right? Off you go!”

Delancey had not exactly given an order, uncertain as to whether the sergeant would obey an officer from another regiment, but he had authority in his voice and the sergeant did as he was told, taking the corporal with him but with the lantern now extinguished. With more clattering and swearing, the patrol disappeared into the night and Delancey, with Northmore, followed at a more sedate pace. He feared that there would be a confused situation with friends attacking each other and foes escaping in the darkness. He felt tolerably certain, however, that Mr Xenophon would now be able to escape.

The eastern sky was turning pale and Delancey began to see the gunboat as an easy target for the French artillery. However, the immediate problem was to reach the shore, remembering that the sound of firing might bring more French soldiers into the area, and that further shots fired would bring them at the double. The path they were following was no sort of highway but it was flanked by rocks and bushes, enough to ensure that the French patrol would keep to the way they probably knew. Looking at the lie of the land and listening to the now audible sound of the breakers, Delancey knew that he was not far above the landing place. Below him and rather to his right he now heard voices raised, no doubt the challenge and reply. Then there followed a single shot and, after a pause, a ragged volley. Then there was silence broken by the hurried footsteps of the Frenchmen in retreat. They had run into Topley's men by whom they would have been considerably outnumbered. The likelihood was that several had fallen and that those on the run would number no more than three or four, the predestined prisoners included.

Delancey and Northmore drew their pistols and waited patiently on either side of the path. The first man to appear
was a private soldier and Delancey shot him dead. The second, another private, lunged at Delancey with his bayonet. It was a clumsy attack, easily parried, and Delancey called on the young man to surrender. Surprisingly, the soldier threw himself again at Delancey with a fury which partly made up for his lack of skill. Slightly off balance, Delancey put the bayonet aside but found his opponent still ready to do or die. The butt of the musket swung upwards but missed and then the soldier, dropping that weapon, went straight for Delancey's throat. Delancey brought his knee up sharply but without much effect and he fell to the ground with his opponent on top of him. Pistol in hand, Northmore was afraid to fire for fear of hitting the wrong man, a danger made worse when Delancey rolled sideways to avoid being throttled. The struggle continued for a minute or two, the two opponents panting for breath but Delancey managed to free one leg and kick his opponent in the stomach. A minute later there was a shot and the Frenchman collapsed with a bullet through his head. Northmore dropped his smoking pistol and helped Delancey to his feet, asking anxiously whether he had been hurt. Recovering his sword, Delancey told the midshipman that he was unharmed and warned him to look out for the other Frenchmen. Having heard the shots and the voices, the other men approached at the double. First among them was the young Corporal Lazareff.

Telling Northmore to hold his fire, Delancey levelled his second pistol and told the young man that he was a prisoner. Lazareff obediently dropped his musket and raised his hands. His example was at once followed by the man behind him. No others appeared and Delancey concluded that the sergeant and another man had been killed at the outset. Northmore secured the two prisoners, using their own equipment to tie their hands,
and both he and Delancey reloaded their pistols. Then they resumed their march.

“I think,” said Delancey, “that the time has come to sing.” Without further preamble he started on the first verse of a sea shanty, the one called “Spanish Ladies”:

Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies,

Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.

For we're off to find soundings in the Channel of Old England,

From Ushant to Scilly ‘tis thirty-five leagues.

Unable to remember the second verse, he and Northmore sang the first verse again. Neither was particularly musical and the duet did them no credit at all. It served its purpose, however, for there was no firing as they scrambled down towards the shore. Topley's men would never fire on the singers of a shanty. Three minutes later Delancey was greeted by Topley himself, with evident relief.