The Guernseyman Read online

  Selected Historical Fiction Published by McBooks Press

  BY ALEXANDER KENT

  The Complete Midshipman Bolitho

  Stand Into Danger

  In Gallant Company

  Sloop of War

  To Glory We Steer

  Command a King’s Ship

  Passage to Mutiny

  With All Despatch

  Form Line of Battle!

  Enemy in Sight!

  The Flag Captain

  Signal–Close Action!

  The Inshore Squadron

  A Tradition of Victory

  Success to the Brave

  Colours Aloft!

  Honour This Day

  The Only Victor

  Beyond the Reef

  The Darkening Sea

  For My Country’s Freedom

  Cross of St George

  Sword of Honour

  Second to None

  Relentless Pursuit

  Man of War

  Heart of Oak

  BY PHILIP MCCUTCHAN

  Halfhyde at the Bight of Benin

  Halfhyde’s Island

  Halfhyde and the Guns of Arrest

  Halfhyde to the Narrows

  Halfhyde for the Queen

  Halfhyde Ordered South

  Halfhyde on Zanatu

  BY DEWEY LAMBDIN

  The French Admiral

  The Gun Ketch

  A King’s Commander

  Jester’s Fortune

  What Lies Buried

  BY ALEXANDER FULLERTON

  Storm Force to Narvik

  Last Lift from Crete

  All the Drowning Seas

  A Share of Honour

  The Torch Bearers

  The Gatecrashers

  BY JULIAN STOCKWIN

  Mutiny

  Quarterdeck

  Tenacious

  Command

  The Admiral’s Daughter

  BY JAN NEEDLE

  A Fine Boy for Killing

  The Wicked Trade

  The Spithead Nymph

  BY DUDLEY POPE

  Ramage

  Ramage & The Drumbeat

  Ramage & The Freebooters

  Governor Ramage R.N.

  Ramage’s Prize

  Ramage & The Guillotine

  Ramage’s Diamond Ramage’s Mutiny

  Ramage & The Rebels

  The Ramage Touch

  Ramage’s Signal

  Ramage & The Renegades

  Ramage’s Devil

  Ramage’s Trial

  Ramage’s Challenge

  Ramage at Trafalgar

  Ramage & The Saracens

  Ramage & The Dido

  BY FREDERICK MARRYAT

  Frank Mildmay OR The Naval Officer

  Mr Midshipman Easy

  Newton Forster OR The Merchant Service

  Snarleyyow OR The Dog Fiend

  The Privateersman

  BY V.A. STUART

  Victors and Lords

  The Sepoy Mutiny

  Massacre at Cawnpore

  The Cannons of Lucknow

  The Heroic Garrison

  The Valiant Sailors

  The Brave Captains

  Hazard’s Command

  Hazard of Huntress

  Hazard in Circassia

  Victory at Sebastopol

  Guns to the Far East

  Escape from Hell

  BY JAMES DUFFY

  Sand of the Arena

  The Fight for Rome

  BY JOHN BIGGINS

  A Sailor of Austria

  The Emperor’s Coloured Coat

  The Two-Headed Eagle

  Tomorrow the World

  BY R.F. DELDERFIELD

  Too Few for Drums

  Seven Men of Gascony

  BY JAMES L. NELSON

  The Only Life That Mattered

  BY C.N. PARKINSON

  The Guernseyman

  Devil to Pay

  The Fireship

  Touch and Go

  So Near So Far

  Dead Reckoning

  The Life and Times of Horatio Hornblower

  BY DOUGLAS W. JACOBSON

  Night of Flames

  BY DOUGLAS REEMAN

  Badge of Glory

  First to Land

  The Horizon

  Dust on the Sea

  Knife Edge

  Twelve Seconds to Live

  The White Guns

  A Prayer for the Ship

  For Valour

  BY DAVID DONACHIE

  The Devil’s Own Luck

  The Dying Trade

  A Hanging Matter

  An Element of Chance

  The Scent of Betrayal

  A Game of Bones

  On a Making Tide

  Tested by Fate

  Breaking the Line

  BY BROOS CAMPBELL

  No Quarter

  The War of Knives

  Published by McBooks Press 2001

  Copyright © 1982 by C. Northcote Parkinson

  First published in the United States by Houghton Mifflin Co., 1973

  First published in the United Kingdom by John Murray Ltd, 1982

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the publisher. Requests for such permissions should be addressed to McBooks Press, Inc., ID Booth Building, 520 North Meadow St., Ithaca, NY 14850.

  Cover painting: A Naval Engagement by Philip James Loutherbourgy.

  Courtesty of Spink & Son Ltd., London, UK/Bridgeman Art Library.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Parkinson, C. Northcote (Cyril Northcote), 1909–

  Guernseyman / by C. Northcote Parkinson.

  p. cm.—(Richard Delancy novels; no. 1)

  ISBN 1-59013-001-4 (alk. paper)

  1. Delancy, Richard (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—History, Naval—19th century—Fiction. 2. Napoleonic Wars, 1800–1815—Fiction 4. Guernsey (Channel Islands)—Fiction.

  PR6066.A6955 G8 2001

  823’.914—dc21

  2001026668

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  Printed in the United States of America

  9 8 7 6 5 4

  GIBRALTAR

  Chapter 1

  THE GUERNSEYMAN

  THE SQUALL came out of the darkness without warning, the brig being laid on her beam-ends. Seamen clung frantically to anything secure and there came from below, just audible over the other noise, the crash of gear displaced and hurled to leeward. A long minute passed during which it seemed that the vessel was lost, and then, slowly, slowly she began to right herself, her masts rising jerkily skywards. Now began the thunder of the tattered sails, whether taken aback or torn to ribbons, with the wind’s shriek over all. In the darkness it was hard to tell what canvas, if any, remained and what other damage had been done, but the master, John Beecher, was on deck in a matter of seconds and bellowing his orders at men who might or might not have remained on board. Beecher tried to put the brig before the wind, chancing what dangerous flats might lie to leeward. Working fast, the mate and boatswain,
with the four deck-hands, had more than enough to do, even when joined reluctantly by the cook, the steward and a couple of boys. Both topsails had been blown out of the bolt-ropes but finally it was found possible to steer the ship under a close-reefed mainsail. There were hours of work to do and it would be daybreak before all had been even temporarily set to rights. The initial squall had become a westerly half-gale, gusting to gale force occasionally, and the wind still roared overhead, making a noise through which could just be heard the ominous creaking of the pumps. It had been a bad moment and danger was still far from remote.

  John Beecher was a Liverpool man, reared in the coastal trade, and had known these waters since boyhood. A voyage like this, from St Peter Port to Plymouth, from there to Cardiff, and now back to the Mersey, was ordinarily child’s play, the more so in that the Charlotte (120 tons) was a newish brig and recently re-rigged. He felt confident of making the Mersey but could have wished for a stronger crew. He had sailed originally with one man short and had then left one of his men sick at Plymouth. There was one steerage passenger on board, a youth from Guernsey, one too frightened and ill, he assumed, to be of any use. However, he now had a craft which answered to the helm and he might presently edge round towards his proper course. He would not try to bend another sail until daybreak which was due in another hour or so. With two men at the pump, freeing the vessel of the water that had gone down the hatchway—she was not leaking, he felt sure—and with the old cook nearly useless, he could spare only two men to clear up the remaining tangle aloft. The brig was proving difficult to handle, however, and he took the weather wheel himself, leaving Otteridge to assist on the lee side. As the other worries lessened he now became aware, for the first time, of the sound forward of a sail flogging itself to tatters. It could only be the jib, a sail he would need if he was to bring the wind abeam, and he knew all too well that the storm jib had already been split. Should he quit the helm and go forward himself? No, he dared not leave Otteridge alone and the mate, Mr Crosbie, was busy in the main-top. With some part of his mind he planned how to make a makeshift jib, using what remained of the fore-topsail or falling back, even, on a hatch cover. He had no sailmaker, however, and doubted whether it could be done in time. But how was he to hold his course without a headsail of some sort?

  The noise of snapping canvas died away abruptly and Beecher concluded, with annoyance, that what remained of the sail had gone overboard. Presently, however, an indistinct figure came out of the darkness and a voice at his elbow could be heard, shouting:

  “I’ve secured the jib, sir.”

  The voice was not one he recognised so the words must have been spoken by his passenger, the young Guernseyman.

  “What did you do?” he bawled.

  “Knotted the sheet, sir, and made it fast.”

  “Well done, lad. Are you a seaman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Will you join the crew?”

  “If you’ll repay me the passage money.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Give me my money back—MONEY BACK!”

  “Oh—very well.”

  “What shall I do now, sir?”

  “Relieve one of the men on the pump and send him to me.” The wind abated next morning and Beecher could see that his former passenger was pulling his weight. He was not a man but merely a well-grown boy. He was no seaman, whatever he might say. As against that, he was not quite a landlubber, either. Later that day, with the Charlotte on course for the Mersey in fairer weather, Beecher sent for the youngster and thanked him.

  “What is your name, son?”

  “Richard Delancey, sir.”

  “Is that a Guernsey name?”

  “Not really, sir. It is Huguenot, Protestant French.”

  “What is your real trade?”

  “I am to be clerk in a shipowner’s counting-house.”

  “But you have been at sea?”

  “In fishing boats, sir.”

  “Aye, lad, I thought as much. You’re used to boats but not to ships.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is your father a seaman?”

  “No, sir. He is a corn chandler. My great-uncle in Liverpool is a shipowner, though, and I am to work for him.”

  “Did you never wish to go to sea?”

  “I did, sir, but my two elder brothers were lost at sea and my parents did not want to lose me as well.”

  “Can’t say I blame them.”

  Beecher had nearly offered to take Richard as an apprentice but he lost interest in him after this, repaying his passage money but seeing to it that he earned his keep. He had, of course, much else to think about, and much to do before he sighted Bidston Hill. He was concerned, less immediately, about the news from the American colonies, where there had been fighting at Lexington in April, news of which had reached Liverpool in June. War seemed inevitable with all the inconveniences and dangers that must result, with the press-gangs active and with privateers at sea. One way and another, the outlook seemed bleak.

  More interest was shown in Richard by Mr Crosbie, the mate, who taught him some rudiment of seamanship. Some old seaman’s clothes, the gear of a man who had deserted, were found for the boy, and he was eventually complimented by the boatswain on his effort at a long splice. It had to be done again, to be sure, but it could have been worse, considered as a first attempt. Convinced for a moment that he had a natural gift for such things, Richard asked Mr Crosbie whether he would be allowed to stay in the ship. He was soon made to realise that there was no chance of this.

  “No, son. Not a hope in hell! Liverpool docks will be crowded with men out of work—real seamen at that, men who have rounded the Cape—and who would have a berth for a lands-man or little better? We are undermanned because two of our men went down with the flux but at Liverpool we can take our pick. No, my lad—your place is ashore.”

  “But why are all those seamen out of work, Mr Crosbie? Are things any better at Bristol or London?”

  “It’s the American trade—all brought to a standstill. There are hundreds of ships lying idle, rotting at their moorings. Seamen can be had for two a penny.”

  “But what of the other trades, Mr Crosbie? The slave trade? The West Indies?”

  “Look, son, the Atlantic is all one. A Liverpool ship carries trade goods to Africa, slaves from Africa to Virginia, tobacco from Virginia back to Liverpool. Take away the American part and the whole voyage comes to nothing.”

  “But won’t that ruin the Americans, too?”

  “To be sure it will. So they put to sea as privateers and make the picture worse!”

  Thinking this over, Richard came to the conclusion that his prospects in Liverpool as a clerk were no better than his prospects as a seaman. He doubted whether his great-uncle was the sort of man who would pay a boy to do nothing, not even his godson. But what hope had he of returning to Guernsey? As things were, he could not even work his passage. He was still pondering this prospect when the Charlotte came into Plymouth. Going ashore there he saw that reception centres had been formed where men were being urged to join the navy. He asked a bystander whether the press-gangs were out but was told that these were not yet needed. Sailors without work were joining as volunteers. The brig sailed again for Cardiff, where the same recruiting efforts were being made. There was only one business prospering and that was the preparation for war. Was that, he wondered, the business he should enter? Ancestors of his had been soldiers. Should he follow the same trade? But what knowledge he had was of the sea. Perhaps he should serve the king that way and end as a captain, perhaps as an admiral! He knew all too little about the service but he guessed that a man who entered on the lower deck would most likely stay there. He sought the advice of the second mate who expressed his horror. “The navy, my lad? That’s a service to keep out of! That’s the way to find yourself back on the beach without a leg or short of an arm. It may be all right for officers but it’s hell on the lower deck.”

  “But there are mi
dshipmen, surely, no older than I am and in line for promotion. How do they come to be chosen?”

  “Midshipmen! A useless and insolent lot of young lubbers, fit for the nursery but strutting on the quarterdeck! They are chosen by the captain, who takes money for it or chooses to oblige a friend. They come aboard as volunteers, first class, sometimes rated as captain’s servant, but all classed as “Young Gentlemen.” Their fathers make them an allowance through the captain—their pay being next to nothing. They are rated midshipmen when there is a vacancy. If I joined the navy—never fear, I won’t—they’d make me master’s mate. If you joined, you’d be volunteer second class.”

  “And how do they enter—the volunteers second class?”

  “They are shipped from the workhouse, the orphanage or charity school, never having volunteered or been told even what lies ahead of them. They have the worst life of any, the last to be fed and the first to be beaten.”

  After this conversation Richard felt more resigned to life in a counting-house. He felt still happier about it when the Charlotte came into the Mersey on Monday 28 August. On that sunny morning the port looked most impressive, the docks filled with shipping, the town extensive and the country pleasant on the Cheshire side. The pilot had been picked up off Point Lynas, however, and he brought news which was quickly repeated from man to man. There was trouble in the town because the crew of a ship called the Derby had been told that their wages would be reduced from thirty to twenty shillings a month. The seamen countered this by unrigging the ship. When some of them were arrested a large crowd of sailors—some thousands, the pilot said—had attacked the gaol and obtained their release. All business was now at a standstill and the more nervous merchants had fled into the country. As the Charlotte came into the Salt-house Dock it became obvious that the local atmosphere was tense. No work was being done, no ship was preparing for sea, no goods were being shipped or landed. There were groups of sailors on the quayside and a crowd of them collected in the Goree Piazzas, listening no doubt to one of their leaders. There was no actual riot in progress but it looked as if there might be trouble by nightfall. Nor was it clear that the Charlotte’s men would keep out of it. Once the brig was alongside the quay with sails stowed and topmasts sent down, the men went ashore in a group as soon as they had been paid. “They’ll end up in prison as like as not,” said the boatswain, shaking his head. “Some men can be taught only with a capstan bar.”