So Near So Far (31 page)

“Thank God you're safe, sir!”

“Have you seen Mr Xenophon?”

“No, sir, he came in that lugger—” Topley pointed to a second craft drawn up near the gunboat, “—and went ashore with his two men. We have not seen him since.”

“Two men are missing from that French patrol—do you know where they are?”

“One was killed, sir. His body lies to the left of the path. The other escaped, heading more in the other direction. I'm afraid our musketry was indifferent, sir.”

“It was atrocious. It remains, however, to find Mr Xenophon. Have you a flare in the gunboat? I think we shipped two or three of them.”

”Yes, sir.”

“Light one. I want Mr Xenophon to see that the coast is clear.”

“Even with a man unaccounted for, sir?”

“He is the sergeant, I think, and the man I wanted. Hurry up with that flare.”

A minute or two later the whole landscape was lit as if in daylight. Low on the hillside to the right of the path three figures could be seen, two of them carrying a fourth. Delancey, now standing beside the gunboat, grabbed the speaking trumpet and shouted, “Come on, Mr Xenophon! The way is open but daybreak is near. Hurry!” Turning to Northmore, he added “Send a petty officer and two men to help carry the body—I think it is the sergeant's.”

The next ten minutes seemed to last about a century with the sky growing lighter all the time. At long last, however, Mr Xenophon was on the beach, followed by two seamen carrying the sergeant. “He met with an accident,” Mr Xenophon explained, regaining his breath. “He'll recover in an hour or two.”

“All aboard!” ordered Delancey. “Hoist the tricolour and hoist a recognition signal—say, three lanterns in any pattern. Come with us in the gunboat, Mr Xenophon, but tell your men to get the lugger afloat and make sail after us. Now let's see how quickly we can have this gunboat afloat and under sail. Move, for God's sake!”

Within minutes the gunboat was through the breakers and Delancey, watching his men make sail, had time for a few words with Mr Xenophon.

“Well, sir,” he said, “we can bring our government the news for which ministers have been waiting. All plans for invading England have clearly been cancelled.”

”I agree,” replied Mr Xenophon “and I hope that you will be given full credit for this exploit. You can surely expect the command of a larger frigate. After all, you have taken prisoners on French soil.”

“Shall we learn anything from them?”

“I doubt it. They won't know anything.”

“I am glad that we were able to save Jacquemard. He is a good man.”

“Yes, but no longer of any use. He will be told to lie low until the war is over.”

“Good. I hope they will be safe.”

“My regret concerns that creature Fabius.”

“Mine, too, Mr Xenophon, but don't grieve too much. His day of reckoning will come. I believe that somewhere, somehow, I shall meet that man again.”

The sails filled, the gunboat gathered way, and Delancey stood by the helmsman, telling his men to man their guns and prepare for action. It was good to be at sea again and better to know that England—yes, and Guernsey—was safe from invasion for the time being. He would be given leave pending his next appointment and should be with Fiona in a matter of days or weeks. He had loved her as a child, loved her as an almost disreputable actress, and now loved her as a senior officer's wife and one who looked and behaved as if she had never been anything else. As a lover, at least, he knew himself to be the most fortunate of men. He also had the luck to be the bearer of good news for the Admiralty. He had fairly earned a better command.

It grew lighter every minute but the first hint of daybreak had been accompanied by a faint but freshening westerly breeze. The gunboat was under sail with creditable alacrity and the
lugger followed but Delancey presently made his men heave to. When the lugger came ahead of the gunboat Delancey told the men to keep their boat ahead of his and not worry if fired upon. Mystified, the lugger's crew led the way on the course that Delancey had given them. Soon afterwards the lugger was fairly out of the bay where the landing had taken place and plainly in view of the French artillerymen. The cannon boomed on either side and French soldiers were already on the beach from which they had sailed and from which they were now out of small-arms range. But the scene was soon afterwards confused, from the French gunners' point of view, by the appearance of a gunboat sailing in pursuit of the lugger. Not only was the gunboat flying the tricolour, she was also engaging the lugger with her bow-chaser. Her broadside consisted of mere swivel guns but she swung this way and that so as to bring them into action. A lieutenant on the nearer battery of the two in action cursed in fury: “If only that sacred gunboat would take itself off we could sink the enemy!” It seemed to him that the gunboat's practice was appalling, the shot splashing wide of the target, but the gunboat herself was too often in his line of fire. Dancing with rage, he shouted to his sergeant that the idiot, whoever he was, seemed to be doing it on purpose. “The imbecile!” he bawled. “The sacred and useless pig!” As the swivel guns banged away the target was slowly passing out of range from the shore batteries. It could not be doubted that the gunboat would finally overtake her prey but without choosing to share the credit with anyone else. It was obvious that the gunboat, a far faster vessel, would have captured the lugger already but for wasting time with her ridiculous popguns. Seeing this, the lieutenant fairly shook his fist at the
gunboat and asked of an unresponsive heaven why the Emperor should waste money on his futile navy. In another hour the pursued and pursuer were hardly in sight. Leaving his men to scour out the cannon under his sergeant's direction, the lieutenant hurried to his tent and penned a letter of complaint. It was an eloquent letter, scribbled in the heat of the moment, and it led, inevitably, to the lieutenant's court martial.