So Near So Far Read online

  The fog seemed to be clearing, affording a view of perhaps two cables ahead, but there was nothing to be seen or heard. An hour passed and Le Page made preparation for lowering the two boats should the emergency arise. For his part, Delancey joined the lookout in the bows, watching and listening intently. More time passed and then, suddenly, he heard the surf and saw a white line across the cutter’s bows. Turning aft, he shouted “Hard a-starboard! Quickly!” The helmsman obeyed and Le Page hurried forward to join him, as the cutter swung broadside to the shore.

  “Look!” said Delancey. “At least we know where we are!”

  “What d’you mean, sir?” asked Le Page.

  “Can’t you see the whiteness beyond the breakers? That is the shell beach on Herm—couldn’t be anywhere else for a hundred miles around. We were heading straight for it and would have been wrecked in another two minutes. We should have been as certainly wrecked had we turned the other way. Now tack, head north-east for half an hour—we must clear the Bonne Grune—then head due west and we shall be in the Little Russel and so on course for St Peter Port.”

  Now that their position was clear the fog began to lift, affording glimpses of Herm and, soon afterwards, of Guernsey itself. There, presently, was the Brion Tower and Vale Castle. The cutter made more sail as Fiona came on deck and there was even a passing gleam of sunshine to prove that all was well. Forward, a group of seamen had gathered round a four-pounder which presently saluted Castle Cornet, from which the saluting battery replied, amid a chorus of protest from the seagulls. Delancey had the sense of homecoming which he always had when entering St Peter Port. The red roofs climbing the hillside, the tower of the town church, the ramparts of Castle Cornet on its island, the masts of the shipping, the distant glimpse of Fort George—all these had formed the background to his boyhood. It was good to be home, better to think that he actually owned what was no longer a ruin, best of all to remember that his bride was with him. Sail was reduced until, finally, the cutter glided into the anchorage under her jib alone. The cable slid through the hawse-hole, the anchor struck bottom, and the voyage was over. The boat was now manned which would take them ashore. “Thank God for that!” said Le Page, and Delancey replied “Amen.”

  Chapter Seven

  “VENGEANCE”

  THEY STAYED on arrival at the Golden Lion and dined there on the following day. As they sat down to dinner a number of men recognised Delancey and came over to greet him in French. He replied in the same language, presenting them to Fiona as Nicolle, Henri, Michel, and Jean-Pierre.

  “Michel,” he told Fiona afterwards, “is a smuggler in quite a big way of business. During the war the others there were privateersmen, Jean-Pierre being the most successful of them. Now we are at peace they must be doing something else. Or perhaps they are merely hoping for a renewal of the war. The younger privateersmen will never have had another trade. I myself commanded a privateer at one time. That was back in 1795.”

  “After the time we first met?”

  “Yes, a year or so later. I was given the command of a privateer called the Nemesis. I was lucky enough to capture a French merchantman called the Bonne Citoyenne. It was that prize which enabled me to purchase Anneville.”

  “And what happened to the Nemesis?”

  “She was caught by a French corvette and driven ashore by gunfire. I was lucky to escape from Spain, where I was prisoner, and owed my life to a smuggler called Sam Carter, who is master of a lugger called the Dove. You will meet him some day for we have remained friends ever since. We have often supped together here at the Golden Lion. This is where the privateersmen used to meet and exchange information, making plans and agreeing sometimes to work together. If they meet here still, and it looks as if they do, it will be to talk about old times. They have made a fortune, some of them, and you can see their fine houses along the Grange or in Clifton. I was not a privateer captain for long. I went back to the Navy and was here again as a lieutenant, supping here when off duty and whenever I could afford it.”

  It was thus on a fine day in early October 1803 when Fiona had her first sight of Anneville Manor. She saw a granite building, hidden from the road, slate roofed, with deep window embrasures, showing a hint of battlements and the roof, beyond, of what had been the chapel. There had been little attempt at gardening, the immediate surroundings looking wild and unkempt. Across the field a glint of sunshine revealed a silver inlet of the sea.

  “It is really a coastal fortification,” explained Delancey, “but the present Governor has a plan for reclaiming all the land to the north of us. The Vale is now an island, connected with Guernsey proper by the bridge at St Sampson’s. Sir John means to change all that, much to the annoyance of the fishermen.”

  “But what is his object?”

  “He has to defend the island and he has no means at present of rushing his artillery to the north-west corner of it. He wants firm ground and he wants a good road and I can’t blame him. We shall be the losers to this extent, that we shall be further from the sea. We shall gain in being able to keep a carriage. We shall also gain in having easier access to St Sampson’s for shopping.”

  “Let’s look at the house from the direction in which it faces,” said Fiona, and then presently clapped her hands and exclaimed, “It is like a miniature castle in some romantic novel. No, it is more like a castle on the stage. It is far prettier than I thought it would be!”

  “The coach house is detached on the left, then there is the gateway and courtyard and the main building, then the kitchen under the battlements, and, last of all, the Chapel of St Thomas. It is said to have been built in about 1300 but there may have been earlier buildings before that. I have tried to make the place habitable. It has a roof on, for instance! But there will be a hundred things you will want to put right. I have directed operations from a distance and the builder has not always done what I wanted. There is only the one servant at present, the woman who acts as caretaker, and the garden is little better than a wilderness. We shall have years of work to do!”

  “And you’ll run away to sea and leave me to do it! Well, never mind. That means I shall have my own way about everything. And one thing I’ve decided already. It is no good aiming at formality here. The style must be rustic and gothic, a planned disorder—don’t you agree?”

  “That is my own plan in so far as I have had one.”

  “Good! Now let’s go inside.”

  Old Mrs Mahy met them at the main entrance with greetings in the local dialect, which Delancey was able to return, and they looked at the hall, the kitchen, and the dining room with its great fireplace and furze oven.

  “At last,” cried Fiona, “I have a home of my own.”

  Delancey’s next care was to call on Sir John Doyle, the Governor, and make his presence known to Sir James Saumarez, to Captain Savage, and to many old friends, not forgetting Sam Carter. Convinced as he was that a renewal of war was certain, he ensured that Fiona should have plenty of good neighbours, people who would care for her while he might be at sea. Three months of activity followed, and the Delanceys finally spent Christmas in their own home. It was a happy time for both of them and Delancey had intense pleasure in watching the perfection of Fiona’s manners and the good impression she made on all her acquaintances. It was, as he had guessed, her training as an actress that had prepared her to play any part, and now she played to a nicety the part of a senior officer’s wife. She could have been a great lady with equal ease but she knew, by instinct, that she could give offence by being too grand. She knew her position to within an inch, being always kind as well as polite, simply but correctly dressed for every occasion, remembering everyone by name and being properly deferential to all who might regard themselves as senior to Delancey. She regarded it all as a game and one of which she must know the rules before she dared laugh at them. To watch Fiona’s artistry on every social occasion, whether she were hostess or guest, gave Richard an intense pleasure which was destined to be his for as long as th
ey were together. He never saw her make a mistake.

  As the rumours of war were heard more often, Delancey learnt, through Sir James Saumarez, that he was no longer in such disfavour at the Admiralty. It was the same administration, to be sure, but his treatment of Mrs Farren had been almost forgotten. The fact was that she had since made a very good match with the wealthy Sir Jocelyn Baxter, Bt.—a match compared with which her marriage to a mere naval officer (and one without post rank) would have been a disaster. Their lordships may have felt no great warmth towards Delancey but they had to admit that he had served with credit. He was, after all, the man who had destroyed that French 74, the Hercule, on the west coast of Ireland. It was more than everyone could boast! When they received his application in writing, with war now imminent, they appointed him, after some hesitation, to command the small frigate Vengeance (28) destined for service under Saumarez in the Channel. He clearly owed this appointment to Sir James’s recommendation and it brought him the post rank which put him, at last, on the road which might lead to high command. He would now be a full captain, no longer Master and Commander, the equal of an army Colonel. That main point gained, the fact had still to be faced that the Vengeance was not the crack frigate about which he might have dreamt. She belonged rather to a semi-obsolete class, the 28-gun Sixth-Rate ships, mostly built during the previous war, the latest in 1787 and the earliest—heaven help us!—in 1737. The typical ship in this class was the Enterprize built at Dept-ford in 1774, the ship from which many of the others were copied. The Vengeance was one of these and came immediately above the Vindictive in the Admiralty list—the Vindictive being (oddly enough) the Admiral’s house at Sheerness. Like the Enterprize, then, but built at Deptford in 1779, Vengeance measured 394 tons and 120 feet 6 inches on the gun deck, mounted twenty-four 9-pounders and four 6-pounders, and was established for a crew of 195. She was a good ship, over twenty years old, but was not to be compared with the newer frigates in the superior classes mounting 32, 36 or even 38 guns. Delancey had never seen her but he knew other ships of her class and had no illusions about his new command. He had been given what was left over after the more important posts had been filled. And what else could he expect, the most junior post-captain on the list? To Fiona he said, “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I must leave at once for Chatham.” Quickly changing his mind, he added, “No, I must go to London first and try to secure Mather as my First Lieutenant.” Changing his mind again, he went on, “I mean to say that we should go to London together—it will give us the chance to revisit Drury Lane.”

  “Very well, Captain sir,—no, I mean ‘Aye, Aye!’—but I am coming to Chatham as well. I shall see to it that your cabin is properly furnished. Now you are a great man, you must have carpet on the deck, a proper table, decent curtains, and a tablecloth to look the part. You must be prepared, sir, to welcome me aboard!”

  Leaving Mrs Mahy to look after Anneville Manor, the Delanceys presently set off for Southampton, for London, and so to Delancey’s old lodging in Albemarle Street. At the Admiralty it was obvious enough that war was now expected. Ships were being commissioned and manned, appointments were being made, and plans drawn up. Defence against invasion had been given an early priority, hence the bringing forward of ships destined to serve in the Channel. In one thing Delancey was disappointed. Mather and certain other followers of his were not immediately available, having been sent to recruit seamen at Whitehaven. It was agreed that Mather should join him later and he was consoled in the meanwhile by the appointment, on a temporary basis, of a one-legged officer called Atkinson, a useful man in the fitting-out process. The frigate Vengeance, when he first saw her, was still in dry dock under repair. She would be seaworthy, he was assured, but had never been famous for her speed. Faced by a French 36-gun frigate, she could neither win nor escape but she was in other respects a useful man-of-war. While Delancey talked with the dockyard officials, Fiona measured the captain’s cabin for carpets and curtains, demanding extra cupboard space with storm-proof racks for china and glassware. Back in London after their first visit to Vengeance they paid a call on Colonel Barrington, who looked at Fiona with more than ordinary interest.

  “So this is the young lady for whom you sacrificed the Admiralty’s favour! But for you, Mrs Delancey, the Captain here could have selected his frigate and chosen his station. Lord St Vincent would have been civil to him. Troubridge would have looked on him with favour. Markham would have sent him to a cruising ground where Spanish treasure ships are seen every day. He would have had a country estate and a town house, a seat in Parliament, and a host of influential friends. All this he sacrificed, ma’am, in order to marry the prettiest girl he had ever seen; a lass he glimpsed on the stage at Drury Lane and with whom he instantly fell in love. Yes, ma’am, it was a heavy price to pay…. But now I have seen you, I conclude that he was right and that I should have done the same had I ever had the chance! Ma’am, I freely admit that you are worth more than all the favours that could be offered by King or Parliament, by the Prime Minister or Lord St Vincent, by the Markham family or the Clapham sect. More than that, I give it as my opinion that a single kiss from you would be worth more than the Order of the Bath!”

  Fiona could take a hint and the Colonel had his kiss. He then proposed that the Delanceys should stay with him in St James’s Square, leaving their cramped lodging in Albemarle Street.

  ”Had you been writing your memoirs, Delancey, or had you been a poet like, say, Wordsworth, there would have been some point in living near your publisher, but you, as a post captain, deserve a better address. Besides, you will be more comfortable here and this house is too big for a widower like me. You can use my carriage, too, for I seldom go out these days and the horses need exercise. Come, sir, I’ll take no denial! Come, ma’am, give pleasure to an old man by giving him a glimpse of youth and beauty. Let’s agree that you move here tomorrow!”

  Move they did and they were often to be the Colonel’s guests in the years to come. It was a good arrangement from every point of view and it gave the Delanceys some limited access to London society. They could not pretend to be folk of any consequence—wartime Captains in the Navy were thick on the ground—but they no longer arrived anywhere in a hackney carriage.

  Once thus established in London, Delancey decided to visit Mr Williams at Woolwich and see what progress he had made with his steamship. He knew only vaguely where she was being built but an inquiry on the spot produced a prompt direction “Oh, that lunatic craft! The Invention she is to be called, seemingly. She is on the slipway at Mr Earnshaw’s place—down the road and the third yard on the right.” There she was, sure enough, and no one objected to his looking around, even with Mr Williams absent. He could not help being rather impressed. The vessel was far bigger than the Charlotte Dundas and could measure perhaps a hundred or a hundred and twenty tons. Instead of a stern-wheel she was to have a paddle-wheel on either beam. The wheels were not yet installed but there was a housing for each which showed where they were to go. The engine had not arrived but it was plainly to occupy the midship section, with all the space aft given to coal. The masts had not been stepped but she looked rather like a bomb ketch with space forward for a heavy cannon on either bow and, a little further aft, a possible emplacement for a heavy-calibre mortar. All living accommodation was forward and the steering wheel was to be just forward of the funnel. Disliking the whole concept, Delancey was impressed in spite of himself. Given a French flotilla in a dead calm, a vessel like this could play havoc from a chosen range, steaming in circles round her wretched opponents. Twenty of them could bring Bonaparte’s plans to nothing. Williams was no fool and he was right to reject the stern-wheel, whatever the resulting strain on the engine. The Invention was a formidable weapon of war, and might be used in a dozen different ways. On a windless day she could tow a man-of-war into action and tow her out again. She could rescue a ship crippled in battle or assist in a fireship attack. Thinking of all these possibilities, he found himself becom
ing almost enthusiastic over the project. Then he went back to his earlier thoughts on the subject. What might be useful to Britain would be doubly useful to France. Nor did the Invention represent the limit of man’s ingenuity. If she were three times the size of the Charlotte Dundas, another steam-vessel could be twice the size again with engines proportionately more powerful and guns more numerous.

  He was still thinking on these lines when Mr Williams appeared in person, recognised him at once, and plunged into technicalities about the engines and steering gear. He also confirmed what Delancey had suspected, that the Invention was to be ketch rigged and was to mount a large mortar and two 32-pounder guns. The crew would number thirty and the engineers would number four. “Here,” he concluded in triumph, “is the man-of-war of the future.” Delancey had to agree, mentally consigning that future to some period after his own retirement.

  “I commend your patriotism, Mr Williams,” he said aloud. “You are spending a small fortune on a ship of no commercial value, with no chance of any return unless the Navy Board should purchase her.”

  “Well, sir, I am a patriot and would do all in my power to bring about Bonaparte’s downfall but I do not depend entirely upon that spirit of enterprise for which the Navy Board has never been famous. I shall apply, sir, for Letters of Marque. This vessel will sail as a privateer.”

  Delancey took his leave, after further compliments, and made his way back to London. At dinner that day he told Fiona and Colonel Barrington about his trip to Woolwich. He expressed reluctant admiration for the Invention, adding his devout hopes that she would prove a failure. The Colonel was more tolerant and could see such a vessel playing havoc among the French invasion craft. “But then,” he added, “a privateer would go after a different kind of game.”