Touch and Go (13 page)

“With the
Venturer
in convoy?”

“Oh, I can arrange that. I have reason to believe that one of these craft has on board some deserters from the garrison. I shall request you, in writing, to take them into custody.”

“And bring them back to Minorca?”

“Yes, but the chances are against your finding them.”

“But what news do you actually have?”

“None at all. They deserted, five of them, and are no longer in this island. I must presume that they left in some coasting vessel; of just such a type as those reported in Pollensa Bay. They may well be aboard one of them. Nothing, in fact, could be more probable. I shall act on that assumption.”

“And they might, of course, be killed while resisting capture?”

“Nothing could be more likely. Dine with me tomorrow and we can settle the details over a glass of port. I shall also invite the master of the
Venturer,
quite a decent fellow but rather lacking in experience. And, er, there is one other thing . . .” He hesitated a little with just a hint of embarrassment. “I have staying with me an elderly Oxford don, the Reverend Doctor Daniel Rathbone. Could you oblige him with a passage to Gibraltar? He could sail in the
Venturer,
of course, but he was tutor, it seems, to the present Lord Chancellor and came here with a whole sheaf of introductions, one even from royalty. You will find him a very interesting man, I give you my word, and one with influence.”

Delancey's distrust of the lean and hawk-faced Colonel was instinctive and immediate. He accepted the dinner invitation, however, and was glad to meet Mr Gosling, captain of the
Venturer,
before the other guests arrived. It appeared that Gosling had been a surgeon in the slave trade, having qualified at Liverpool Infirmary. He ended as master of a slaver after the other officers had died, and had since obtained his present command. He could be no older than about 24 but made up in confidence for what he lacked in knowledge. He complained about having no mate on whom he could rely, his first being no more than a promoted boatswain and his second a mere boy. When dinner was announced, Delancey found himself next to Dr Rathbone, a gnome-like figure with a mane of white hair, wizened features and a head too large for his very slight body and legs. However odd in appearance he turned out to be a good conversationalist and one whose chief interest lay in North Africa or at least in its classical history.

“I owe my antiquarian interests,” he explained, “to the late Dr Thomas Shaw, Regius Professor of Greek and Principal of Edmund Hall. You will, no doubt, have read his
Travels,
published in 1783.”

“And what, sir, aroused Dr Shaw's enthusiasm?”

“He was at one time Chaplain to the English Factory at Algiers. There can never have been a more inspiring teacher. Fired by his example, I have been on pilgrimage to Syrtis Minor and Hadrimetum, to Ithaca and to Carthage itself.”

“In what we now call Tunisia?”

“Yes, sir. My disappointment has been in failing to reach Numidia and more especially Hippo Regius. There, almost due south of this island, are the wonders of antiquity.”

“But surely there are more extensive ruins in Italy, in Rome itself?”

“Extensive, yes, but too often disturbed or hidden by later structures. There are cities in Africa, half buried in sand, which have been deserted by man since the time of St Augustine.”

Delancey, though no classical scholar, was able to show more than polite attention. The old man's interest in the ancient world was infectious and it gained him, on this occasion, a passage to Gibraltar. Delancey could say, in all sincerity, that he would be glad to have him aboard.

“And were we to sight the African shore,” sighed Dr Rathbone, “I could at least claim to have seen Mauritania from the sea.”

On board the
Merlin
again, Delancey felt that he had conceded a great deal and received little in return. He had, it is true, an excuse to raid Pollensa Bay, but he had only the Colonel's word for it that the operation would be worthwhile. As for the
Venturer,
he could foresee the greatest difficulty in making her keep station. He had a suspicion that Mr Gosling should have remained a surgeon and that the Colonel had more than had his fill of classical archaeology. He could imagine the practised ease with which Lord Cochrane would have parried the Colonel's request. He should himself have learnt the art—he supposed that titled folk were born with it . . .

That evening, Delancey broke the news to Mather and Stirling, telling the latter that he would have to give up his cabin for the next few weeks. “We shall have trouble, I fear, with the
Venturer.
In the meanwhile, I shall make a raid on Pollensa Bay. It should take place at dawn the day after tomorrow. The attack, I suspect, could well prove a waste of time, for the coasters there may be in ballast. As against that, the operation should afford useful experience for our young officers, more especially if we bring the prizes out. You, Mr Mather, will direct: Mr Langford will lead, with Mr Northmore and Mr Topley each commanding a boat. We shall anchor the
Venturer
at a distance, adding to our appearance of strength. If there is serious resistance, I shall make the signal of recall. I don't want to lose men for nothing.”

Mather's face lighted up when he heard of the plan and Delancey knew that the others would react in the same way. It would be the sort of affair in which young officers would be given their chance.

Delancey made his approach to Pollensa Bay in darkness, the coast of Majorca just visible under a crescent moon. The
Venturer
dropped anchor on his signal and then the boat's crews were mustered and inspected. Under reduced canvas, the sloop drifted silently inshore with three of her boats towing astern. Mr Mather took his junior officers to the forecastle and studied the Bay as it opened. At length he lowered his night-glass and said quietly, “Well, they are there all right.” He handed the night-glass to Mr Langford, who passed it in turn to Northmore and Topley. “Well, gentlemen?”

“There are five coasters in all, anchored pretty close to the shore. Three of them are quite small vessels, lateen rigged. Of the other two, one is a bark and the other a brig.” Langford was confident so far. With a little hesitation he added, “I should guess that the brig has a cargo aboard. The others are riding light.”

“Have they seen us yet?”

“Probably not, sir. They should see us against the sunrise in another quarter of an hour.”

“So they should. But how are they armed, Mr Northmore?”

“The bark shows a broadside of seven gunports, sir, but some of them will be dummies. The brig shows six gunports but she is low in the water and her guns will be cluttered with deck cargo as likely as not. The smaller craft seems to be unarmed.”

“Anything else?” Langford and Northmore shook their heads but Topley looked through the night-glass again.

“I can see no shore batteries, sir,” he said at length, “but there are some light-coloured patches on the headland to the north. I wondered, sir, whether they might be tents?”

“Let's suppose that they are. What then?”

“We should keep close to the south headland, sir.”

“Just so, Mr Topley. Any other comment?”

“Well, sir,” said Northmore, “the Spanish could pitch their tents on one side and put their soldiers on the other.”

“They might, but they wouldn't. We know about our attack, but they don't. Let's not try to be too clever.”

Mather told them to continue studying the ground while he reported to the captain. Delancey listened carefully and gave an order to the helmsman.

“Very well, we'll keep to the south side of the bay. But that confounded brig lies to the north!”

“We shall leave her to the last. I notice, sir, that young Topley shows signs of promise. It was he who thought of studying the coastline while the others merely looked at the coasters.” There was a gradual lightening of the sky astern and Mather observed that the sloop must be all too visible.

“I know that,” said Delancey, “but the enemy will have the sun in his eyes when we pull out again and that is the dangerous time, after the surprise effect has been lost.”

Mather now ordered the boats to be manned while Mr Stirling backed the topsails. Langford went in Topley's boat,

Mather took the gig and Northmore the boat which would bring up the rear. A few minutes after they pushed off there came the distant sound of a bugle call. “That will be the alarm,” said Delancey to Stirling. The alarm it was but the Spaniards were slow to react.

“Odd that the bark has not opened fire,” said Stirling.

“How could she?” replied Delancey. “The bark is a merchantman and had no reason to expect an attack. Half her crew are still in their hammocks. Her guns are unloaded. Where is the gunner? Who has the key to the magazine? Has anyone seen the linstock? She won't fire a shot for another ten minutes.”

Dr Rathbone came on deck at this moment with his overcoat thrown over his nightshirt. White-haired, venerable but eager, the old scholar looked remarkably out of place.

“Good-morning, sir,” said Delancey. “We may be under fire presently. Perhaps you should stay below?”

“And never know what it is like to be in battle? No, Captain. I have the childish notion of playing the hero when I return to Oxford.”

“But if you were to receive a mortal wound?”

“I should make history, sir. It rarely happens that a Doctor of Divinity is killed in action.”

Watched by those still on board the
Merlin,
the boats were pulling shorewards in line ahead. At a hail from Mather's speaking-trumpet they now fanned out, each boat offering only a single target. They had nearly reached the bark before the first gun was fired. Four other guns went off in a ragged sequence and without effect, followed by a volley of small-arms. Northmore's boat was steered, undamaged, for the enemy bows, and Topley's boat rounded her stern in the smoke, followed by the gig, evidently to board her from the shoreward side. Two minutes later her flag was hauled down. Small-arms fire continued, however, probably from the smaller vessels. Then the firing died away and the
Merlin
came slowly inshore, steering so as to place the bark between her and the brig. Delancey focused his telescope on the shoreline to the north.

“Is the battle over?” asked Dr Rathbone in a tone of disappointment.

“No,” replied Delancey, handing over the telescope. “Look at the vessel on the right.” The classical scholar focused with difficulty and then exclaimed: “Soldiers!”

“Just so—soldiers. Some along the shore and some being rowed out to the brig. Perhaps a company all told. Mr Stirling! Fire a gun and make the signal for recall! Lower and man the other gig. I'm going in.”

Fifteen minutes later, Delancey stood on the quarterdeck of the captured bark, which was, he found, the
Santa Catarina.
Mather, beside him, explained that he was about to obey the signal, having manned the three smaller vessels. He was reluctant, however, to leave the brig untaken, having so far not lost a man.

“We could capture her easily and at small cost,” he pleaded. “We can fire this ship's guns and board her in the smoke. We can take her in five minutes.”

Delancey had been studying the brig through his telescope, which he now closed with a snap.

“No, you couldn't, Mr Mather. You would lose ten men and I can't spare them. Her capture is out of the question. Tell me, though—with what cargoes are the smaller vessels laden?”

“Two are in ballast and one, the
San-Felipe,
partly laden with a few barrels of olive oil.”

“Is she, by God? Oil! And to whom did you give the command?”

“Mr Northmore, sir.”

“Tell him to come within hail. What have you done with the prisoners?”

“I have kept a few to help with the sails and have sent the rest ashore.”

“Very well, then. We shall quit this bay together in fifteen minutes' time. Get ready to hoist sail aboard this vessel and convey the same order to the two in ballast.”

At this moment the brig opened fire on the
Santa Catarina,
following up her cannon-shot with a volley of small-arms. Delancey took Mather's speaking-trumpet and hailed the
San-Felipe
during a moment's lull in the firing.

“Mr Northmore!”

“Sir?” came the distant reply.

“Put the
San-Felipe
on course for the brig, set her alight and return in the launch. Is that clear? Use
San-Felipe
as fireship to destroy the Spanish brig. SET HER ALIGHT!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” The young man would seem to have heard and understood the order, for the lateen sails were being set and the
San-Felipe
's cable was being cut. Using the light southerly wind, the coaster had begun her last voyage. Northmore could be seen forward with an axe, staving in a barrel. The launch was being hauled alongside. A few minutes later seamen could be seen tumbling into the boat with some alacrity and Northmore, still forward, was fumbling with flint and steel. Delancey wanted to tell him to use his pistol but there was now a continuous noise as the brig engaged this new assailant with musketry. It was probably a musket-ball which touched off the blaze for Northmore was evidently taken by surprise. Seeing the fire in the vessel's waist, he jumped overboard and swam back towards the launch.

“Make sail, Mr Mather!” shouted Delancey and there was frantic activity on board the
Santa Catarina.
She was no longer under fire and the Spanish gunners on board the brig, while aiming at the
San-Felipe,
were being enveloped in a drifting cloud of smoke. The Spanish cannonade was now at random and the withdrawal took place in good order, almost without hindrance from the enemy. Followed by the two other and smaller prizes, the
Santa Catarina
slowly left Pollensa Bay and headed for the open sea.