So Near So Far Read online

“And then the smoke will blow into your eyes and dirty your linen. I’ll look at this steamship but I shall say nothing in its favour. I prefer ships with sails.”

  “So do I, darling. We mustn’t stay too long with your aunt and uncle. They don’t have too much money.”

  “I know, dearest. So I have been giving money to my aunt without my uncle’s knowledge. We’ll go soon after we have seen the Charlotte Dundas and make our way to Bristol. Do you think we shall be at war again soon?”

  “By next year, I should think.”

  “Then we shall be in London again by the end of this year…. Do you still love me?”

  “But of course, darling!”

  “Why don’t you prove it?”

  They talked no more that night about marine engineering.

  Delancey first saw the Charlotte Dundas on a date in early July. She was at Lock 20 on the Forth and Clyde Canal and Mr Symington was already there, the furnaces stoked and a thin column of smoke ascending from a tall funnel into the windless air. There were several artisans at work on the engine, one with an oiling can, and two boatmen forward, keeping well away from the noise and dirt. On the road opposite the lock there were half a dozen carriages drawn up with grooms holding the horses’ heads. Some of the gentlemen to be seen were casual visitors but two, standing by the gangplank, were evidently there by invitation. Symington presently came ashore to greet them and then extended his greetings to Mr Sinclair and Captain Delancey. Introductions followed and it appeared that Symington’s other guests were Mr Fulton and Mr Williams. Fulton’s accent was plainly American. Mr Williams was obviously from the less fashionable part of London. Both were engineers and both were fascinated by the Charlotte Dundas. Fulton was tall and handsome, aged 37 and a man of culture, accustomed to good society and known (Sinclair had whispered) to the Duke of Bridgwater himself. Williams was an older man, aged perhaps 45, and probably unknown to anyone of consequence. Unlike Fulton, he looked like a man who could work with a spanner or even with a shovel. Symington, a little older than Fulton, was an eager-looking inventive person, keen to talk about steam navigation to anyone who would listen. The group collected round him and stared down at the queer-looking vessel in which the engine had begun to vibrate. She was of no great size, the machinery occupying the stern half of the vessel and leaving little room for anything else.

  “Pray step aboard, Mrs Delancey,” said Symington. “Come gentlemen. If you go forward in the bows you will find that the smoke all goes astern.”

  They went aboard and forward as advised and felt the vessel shaking under them as the engines worked up to a higher speed. Disturbed by this sensation Fiona held Delancey’s hand tightly. Then the engines stopped abruptly and the vibration ceased. Joining them, Mr Symington explained that there was a minor adjustment to be made. It would take no more than a few minutes. He pointed out, in the meanwhile, that there was an east wind, blowing almost directly down the canal. He would take the Charlotte Dundas into the teeth of the wind. “We have sails,” he went on, “and we use them if the wind is favourable, as it will be on our return. With a headwind like this, we shall hoist no sail but rely solely on the engine.” Within a minute or two the engine restarted noisily and the vibration intensified. “I’m frightened,” whispered Fiona, and Delancey’s arm tightened round her waist. “There’s no danger,” he assured her as the mooring ropes were cast off their bollards.

  The boatmen pushed the craft away from the wharf and she began to sidle into the middle of the canal. The stern-wheel started to revolve and the canal banks slowly slipped past. The vibration increased and the sound could be heard of more coal being shovelled into the furnace. The smoke all went astern as Symington had predicted and the passengers went further aft to see the engine at work. It was an impressive sight and the paddle-wheel’s action, beating the water into froth, was as novel and exciting. An engineer pulled a lanyard and there came a hooting noise from near the funnel, which alarmed Fiona still more. Now far astern, the grooms could be seen trying to calm the frightened horses on the quayside. A great adventure had begun but the novelty had worn off in half an hour. The speed, which Symington estimated at four miles an hour, was impressive only in being against the wind, and when the craft went about, hoisted sail, and began the speedier return voyage, the smoke drifted more forward than aft. Passengers tended to choke and cough, Fiona brushing the soot off her dress and everyone being rather relieved when they were back at Lock 20, dirty but impressed. When the engine had been stopped, Mr Symington made a little speech:

  “You have seen, madam and gentlemen, what the Charlotte Dundas can do. What you must understand, however, is that we are in the very early days of steam navigation. There are many problems still to solve but I myself have no doubt that steam is the thing of the future. The first use of the steam vessel will be to tow sailing ships in and out of harbour when the wind is contrary. Think of the time wasted and the mounting expense when an outward-bound merchantman is wind-bound, perhaps for weeks at a time. Later, and perhaps within our lifetime, there will be the man-of-war fitted with an engine, able to progress in a flat calm or against a contrary wind. Then will come the merchantman under steam herself. What you have seen today is just the beginning of a revolution in nautical history!”

  He was applauded, congratulated, and thanked, his passengers then making their way, in conversation, towards where their carriages were waiting. After saying goodbye to them, Symington made his way back to the engine. Delancey, making a quick decision, asked Fulton and Williams to have dinner with him and Fiona at the Burnside Inn, which would be on their way back to Dumbarton. The two gentlemen accepted and the party foregathered for a simple meal, in which haggis was the main feature apart from boiled mutton. All the talk, inevitably, was about steam navigation, Fulton taking the lead: “It is in America,” he maintained, “that we shall see the most rapid progress. We have great distances to cover, with rivers and lakes affording our only means of transport. Here in Britain the distances are small and you already have a good system of roads.”

  “Very true,” said Delancey, “but our immediate problem is how to thwart the designs of Bonaparte. Shall we apply the steam-engine to the purposes of war? It seems to me, I might add, that the basic idea in this invention is simple enough. You take the steam-engine, familiar to Cornish miners, and apply it to the waterwheel, the ordinary mill device with the process reversed. It takes no genius, surely, to think of that. The real problem is to design and construct the actual machinery, making each part with sufficient accuracy and fitting the piston to the tube. But suppose the engineering problem solved, how do we apply the machine to the war at sea?”

  “First of all,” replied Fulton, “its use must be confined to small craft in coastal waters. At the end of the last war, Napoleon had collected a vast number of vessels in which to ferry his army from France to England; a distance from Boulogne of, shall we say, thirty miles? These craft still exist. Should the war be resumed, his first idea will be to think again of invasion. He is a soldier and that is how his mind works. Now, were you, Captain Delancey, to have a steam-vessel, perhaps of twice the tonnage of the Charlotte Dundas you could attack these invasion craft during a dead calm when they would least expect it. The effect on their morale would be out of all proportion to the actual damage done. Suppose, however, that you had a dozen steam-vessels, the French would have to abandon their whole idea as something too hazardous to contemplate. I see no reason why a dozen such vessels should not be built.”

  “Is it as easy as that?” Delancey asked. “How many men do we have who can build an engine? How many engineers are there in this country?”

  “Very few, I grant you, but they can be trained, and it would all take about a year.”

  “I agree with that, Mr Fulton,” said Williams. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. Our difficulty must be to convince their lordships of the Admiralty, and we shan’t have done that until the war is over. Now my plan is to build a steamship of my own and
show the Royal Navy what it can do—at sea, mind you, not on a canal. I have a shipbuilder friend at Woolwich who can do the construction of the vessel and there are engineers in London who can build the engine. I don’t mind revealing to you gentlemen that I am in touch with one of the greatest inventors of all time, Joseph Bramah himself, a genius of our age. With the help of these gentlemen known to me, I can give Britain a naval superiority over every other country in the world.”

  “But that we already have, Mr Williams,” said Delancey sharply. “What more superiority do we want?”

  “Why, Captain, we can have superiority, in addition, over wind and tide!”

  “Well, gentlemen,” said Fulton, “I have plans, too, but have had little encouragement from your Navy Board. I shall have to offer my inventions to Bonaparte.”

  “Would you not rather assist us against this tyrant?” asked Delancey. “Do you want to see him rule the world?”

  “I am a citizen of a country which is neutral, sir, but remember that we owe our independence to France. Our traditional alliance is with the French and our traditional opponent is King George. We did not grow to national manhood with any prejudice in your favour. No, sir. But I have treated you more than fairly. I have offered my help and it has been rejected. You may think that the steamship is a simple device and so it is, but what would you say to a craft which can travel below the surface of the sea?”

  “I should say fiddlesticks!” replied Delancey. “The thing is impossible.”

  “No sir, it is not impossible, and I am prepared to prove it. I have built just such a vessel and called her the Nautilus.”

  Chapter Six

  THE “STARLING”

  THE DELANCEYS’ visit to Bristol was a great success. Rachel, his sister, was still the respected wife of Alderman John Sedley, the West India merchant, and still lived at her old address in Queen’s Square. Her children, however, had all left home by now and even the youngest daughter had married. There were nine grandchildren all told, and peacetime had brought greater prosperity to the whole family. Rachel and Fiona became great friends at once while Richard was introduced to several of John’s associates, all merchants of note, some of whom he had met during his previous visit in 1798. The Delanceys were pressed to stay for a long visit but Richard explained that Fiona had still to see her new home in Guernsey. “I have a small estate there,” he explained, “a place called Anneville Manor. I have been making it habitable over the years, making improvements as I could find the money, and the time has come for my wife to see where she is to live and meet our neighbours. I had thought of travelling to Southampton and sailing from there.” This was a reasonable plan but fate decreed otherwise. At a dinner party, the Delanceys met a young naval officer called Le Page, who commanded a cutter called the Starling. He was under orders to sail for Portsmouth but he was a Guernseyman and had a premonition that he would be compelled by weather conditions to seek shelter in St Peter Port—the home, as it happened, of the girl he hoped to marry. In a convivial mood, he offered the Delanceys a passage, an offer which he confirmed on the following day, and the opportunity seemed too good to miss. All was arranged and Le Page was paid something for the use of his cabin. The Starling had been sent on some errand to Ireland and was making a leisurely return to her home port. Lieutenant Le Page was a breezily confident youngster who evidently did not expect to be questioned too closely about where he had been and why. The cutter herself was an almost new craft and in very good order. Fiona, for one, looked forward to the voyage and to seeing Anneville. Delancey himself saw that favourable winds could well make this the quickest way of reaching Guernsey. As against that, contrary winds were to be expected in a voyage during which the original course would be south-west and the subsequent course nearly due east. It was to be hoped that the cutter could keep close to the wind, as might be expected of a vessel with her rig. As for distance, he would guess that the nearest route to Guernsey would be about three hundred miles as a seagoing steamship would steer (supposing that such a craft existed). With reasonable luck, the voyage could be done in three to five days. The cutter, incidentally, had not come up the Avon to Bristol but was at anchor in the King Road, a sensible precaution against being windbound.

  Sailing before daybreak on a September morning meant a long pull in the ship’s boat on the previous evening but Delancey saw to it that Fiona was warmly wrapped in a boat cloak over all. Le Page’s quarters, which he had lent them, were necessarily cramped but a coasting voyage had at least the merit of involving fresh food on the table, with milk even on the first two days. Although Delancey was on deck to watch the cutter sail, Fiona was wisely asleep and woke only off Ilfracombe to have, presently, a distant view of Lundy on the starboard bow. The wind was fair for Land’s End and seemed to have settled in that quarter, foreshadowing a tedious beat up Channel.

  Delancey came to the conclusion, meanwhile, that Starling was navigated by a young man of rather less than ordinary intelligence. He should at least be familiar with the approach to Guernsey, which was a consoling thought, and he had a reasonably good crew, weakened however by the sickness of the boatswain who had been left ashore, but his own experience was limited, and the Starling was his first independent command. Off Land’s End there was enough of a sea to make the cutter pitch and roll. The wind dropped later and Delancey decided to go on deck, where he found that the cutter was on the starboard tack with no land in sight. There was so dense a mist that no observation was possible. Le Page now had the ship’s bell rung at intervals but there was no answering sound from any other vessel. Although heading up Channel in one of the busiest highways the Starling seemed to be alone in the world. She sailed on slowly as night fell. By the morning what had been mist had turned to fog.

  Le Page had so far been very much in command but he was now worried enough to call Delancey into consultation. In the cabin he unrolled the chart and showed Delancey his pencilled calculations. “But where are we?” asked Delancey, and was shown a hesitant pencil mark in mid-Channel due south of the Lizard. “What was your last observation?”

  “When I sighted Land’s End.” Le Page pointed to a firm pencil mark with the bearing shown. “All since is by dead reckoning …” Delancey realised that the cutter’s estimated position could be five or six leagues out in any direction, and that she was certainly not in soundings. “If I were you,” he said at last, “I shouldn’t lay a course for Guernsey. I should make for Start Point and hope to sight it in the morning. Then you could approach the Channel Isles on a known bearing, and maybe meet with some fisherman on the way who might know where he is.” After some hesitation, Le Page agreed to this plan and Delancey stiffened his resolution with a glass of brandy. They both knew that Guernsey was the last place in the world to approach in a fog with one’s last position in doubt. There were rocks everywhere and a strong tidal current, some areas to the south-west and north-east being mere graveyards for incautious mariners. During the night the bell was sounded at intervals, no other bell was heard, and daylight revealed a fog which was thicker than ever. “If my calculations are right,” said Le Page bravely, “Start Point should be somewhere on the starboard bow.” Delancey studied the chart afresh and then summed up the position with finality. “We are lost,” he concluded briefly. “We have no idea of our true position.”

  More by luck than science, the Starling struck soundings that afternoon in 23 fathoms, which proved that they were somewhere on the English coast. Better still, the fog lifted for a few minutes and gave them a distant glimpse of Portland Bill to the eastward.

  “Now we know where we are,” said Le Page. “A course almost due south will bring us to Guernsey. If this wind holds we shall be there by noon tomorrow.”

  “But what about the fog?” asked Delancey.

  “It will probably disperse during the night.”

  Delancey could not accept this conclusion. Had he been in command he would have dropped anchor somewhere off Bridport and waited for the fog to clear
. But was he being over-cautious because Fiona was on board? As against that, Le Page was ready to take risks in order to reach his girl in St Peter Port. Lord St Vincent hated his officers to marry—as if their being single would make them sexless!—but sex was the force that could distort judgement and he could not swear that his own judgement was unaffected.

  The fog thickened again as the cutter headed south and Le Page plunged into calculations about the tidal current.

  “I shall keep well to the westwards,” explained Le Page. “It doesn’t matter if we pass Guernsey on that side. If we go too far to the eastwards we could hit the Casquets before we are in soundings.”

  This was profoundly true and Delancey agreed that it was better to err in that direction. He went below and did his best to entertain Fiona, reading to her until it was time for sleep. He was on deck at first light, only to find that he could see for no more than a cable’s length. The fog, although patchy, was persistent and the cutter was sailing on a course of south by west, sounding her bell at intervals and checking her speed by the log. As the day wore on, Le Page was increasingly worried. Turning at last to Delancey he said that his calculation of the distance run put the Starling actually beyond Guernsey on the chart and heading, therefore, for the French coast. Supposing, however, that Guernsey had been passed, he did not know on which side. Delancey took the chart below and studied it on the cabin table. “Yes,” he concluded, “if we were south of Guernsey we should be in well over twenty fathoms. I can’t believe that we have passed north of the Casquets—we should be aware by now of the Race of Alderney. If your calculation of distance is right we are about here, north of Sark.”

  Knowing these waters but ignorant of their own position, he remembered all the rocks which cluster around Sark and Herm.

  “Your best plan,” he said finally to Le Page, “is to go about, set a new course to the north-west or as near as the wind will let you, keep under easy sail, and listen hard for the sound of breakers.”