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  He ordered the helmsman to keep closer to the wind, lengthening the distance between the Merlin and the convoy. He noted with satisfaction that his ship lay between her opponent and the centre ships of the convoy, all rather bunched and overlapping. With perhaps half an hour to go, he gave the order to clear for action. The drum beat to quarters, the guns were run out, the decks were sanded and the gun crews numbered off. Waring took command of the port battery on this occasion and began to make estimates of the rapidly lessening range. Waring was at his best on such an occasion, his confidence an inspiration to his men, his crude jokes welcome to the older seamen, his fearlessness a good example to the young. “Wait until we have the frogs within range,” he shouted. “They’ll be beaten before they’ve finished dirtying their breeches!”

  Commanding the other battery was Mather whose manner was different and probably less effective. He talked to each gun captain in turn and had a word of encouragement for those who had not been in battle before. On the quarterdeck Langford was telling his gun crews they would have a good view of the battle, far better than men could have on the main deck. They were also more exposed but he said nothing about that. On the forecastle Northmore was extolling the virtues of cold steel: “Soften them with gunfire, I say, and finish them off with the cutlass! They never dare stand up to us, man for man!”

  As Delancey made his rounds, with Topley and Stock at his heels, he could sense that his men were spoiling for a fight. Stripped to the waist with kerchiefs tied over their ears, they hid their fears under a loud bantering of talk of prize-money, bets being taken on how long it would be before the French colours came down. Delancey talked little but said a word of reassurance to the youngsters, to the powder monkeys who had to fetch the cartridges from the magazine. “Don’t keep the gunners waiting, lads!” Topley, he noticed, had a useful air of nonchalance but David Stock was white-faced and frightened. “It’s the waiting you’ll find hard, boy. You’ll feel better when you hear the guns!” God knows whether that was true but the child managed to show a sickly grin in reply.

  The sloop and corvette were converging at great speed and Delancey could not but admire the lines and the rig of his opponent. She was a fine craft and her white sails curved beautifully against the dark grey clouds behind her, a graceful vessel but temporarily in the wrong navy. Even as he watched, regretting what had to come, there was a flash from the corvette’s forecastle, a puff of smoke quickly dispersed downwind, a distant jarring sound and a splash in the sea between the two opponents. It was a sighting shot and proved what Delancey knew, that the enemy was out of range. He made another quick tour of the port battery, having a word with the men as he passed. They were tense now, each at his post, each gun captain with the lanyard in his hand.

  By the time he had regained the quarterdeck the moment for battle had come. He drew his sword and called out: “You may open fire, Mr Waring.” The deck reeled under him as the guns thundered. A minute later, after the smoke had cleared, the corvette was hidden in her turn and the sound came of shot flying overhead. A hole appeared in the Merlin’s foretopsail and a jagged strip was torn from the main course. Just as he had expected, the French were firing high.

  It was not until then that a look-out man slid down the rigging and reported a second sail beyond the enemy. Delancey thanked the man absently and sent him to join the forecastle gun to which he was stationed. Looking to windward when the smoke allowed, he glimpsed the other corvette, visible now from the deck and heading for the convoy. Meanwhile, the Merlin’s gunners were firing into the corvette’s hull while the French continued to fire high, gradually reducing the Merlin’s sails to ribbons. As a result, she began to lose speed, falling astern of her opponent.

  This was the moment for which Delancey had been waiting. Giving the order to tack, he put the helm hard over, crossing the corvette’s wake and giving Mather the order to open fire. The starboard broadside crashed out with the guns at maximum elevation, loaded alternately with chain- and bar-shot. Raking the corvette, these whirling missiles played havoc with sails and cordage. Urged on by Mather the gunners reloaded and fired again, this time with grape-shot. Delancey tacked again, putting the Merlin on the same course as her opponent but now to windward of her. The corvette had lost speed through damage to her sails and the Merlin was able to keep level while Mather hurried from gun to gun, checking elevation and aim. After the third broadside, grape-shot again, he ordered all gun captains to concentrate on the corvette’s mainmast shrouds, using the chain-shot only.

  The enemy were firing back, aiming high as before but surprised perhaps to find that the British were doing the same. Grape-shot came tearing through the canvas above Delancey’s head and there was a crash forward where the foreyard had come down in the slings. The mizen-mast was hit and splinters of wood wounded three men at one of the quarterdeck guns. Two more on the forecastle were wounded and one of the ship’s boats was smashed by a stray shot. The two opponents were fighting at about two cables’ distance and Delancey was careful not to close the range, partly to avoid heavy casualties and partly to give his grape-shot sufficient spread. With guns firing independently the noise was shattering and continuous.

  At long last, however, and after what seemed hours of fighting, the expected result was achieved. The corvette’s mainmast went over the side. When the last of the weather shrouds had parted, the unsupported mast broke off about eight feet above the deck. Fire was now concentrated on the foremast shrouds, save that the quarterdeck guns fired grapeshot still at the enemy’s mainmast stump, discouraging the efforts of the men sent to clear the wreckage. Five minutes later the Merlin’s foremast went, followed by her main topmast.

  There was a frantic scene forward where Northmore was coping with chaos, half his men trapped under the fallen canvas and others entangled with the rigging. The boatswain went to his aid and axes whirled, severing the tangled shrouds and letting the foremast drift clear. Amidships there was a scene of similar confusion with Mather directing the efforts of his men. Delancey sent Langford to help him and Copley to assist Northmore. Stock he sent to ask the carpenter whether the ship was leaking. For the time being the action was over, the two vessels drifting apart, rolling and pitching in a choppy sea. All firing ceased and parties of seamen began to deal with the damage. The Merlin would not be under sail for another half hour at least.

  Telescope to his eye, Delancey was trying to see what had happened to the other corvette. He could see that the merchantmen were hove to around a central cluster of ships. There was no gunfire and the Lapwing presently detached herself from the remainder and made sail, close-hauled, towards the Merlin.

  Frantic efforts were being made on board that sloop and her opponent, knotting, splicing and fishing the wounded spars.

  Had they been alone the advantage would have gone to the first under sail. In fact, however, the frigate would arrive before either could be ready for action. While Delancey watched, the Lapwing took up a position athwart the corvette’s stern and fired a single gun. The tricolour was hauled down instantly and the action was over. Young Stock made a gesture, pointing to Delancey’s left forearm and his captain noticed, for the first time, that the sleeve was soaked in blood. Before he could do anything about it the Merlin’s first lieutenant came aft, red in the face, almost apoplectic with rage. He was hatless, with his coat torn and his sword missing.

  “Look, sir,” Waring yelled, beside himself, “that corvette should have been prize to us! We could have brought her to close action! We could have destroyed her at pistol-shot range! We could have fired a double-shotted broadside and boarded her in the smoke! Now all the credit will go to the Lapwing—yes, and all the prize-money too! I protest, sir! I beg leave to ask for a transfer. What sort of warfare is this? How will it read in the Gazette? I am ashamed, sir, to have taken part in such an action!” All this was bellowed in the hearing of half the men on deck. Delancey’s thundered reply was just as audible:

  “Silence, sir! Stand at a
ttention when you address your superior officer! Where is your hat, sir? Fetch it and report back to me.”

  Waring, who had been in the thick of the fray for over an hour, had every excuse for being hatless but Delancey used the point of etiquette to bring the man to his senses. On Waring’s return, now able to salute properly, Delancey spoke as loudly as before.

  “Now, Mr Waring, you are to take fifteen men on board that corvette, batten her crew below hatches, hoist our ensign over the tricolour and take station astern of the convoy. Is that understood?”

  “But I submit, sir, that the corvette struck to the Lapwing.“

  “So she did, but I had previously agreed with Mr Holroyd that she should be ours and that prize-money in respect of this and the other prize taken shall be equally shared between his ship and mine.”

  Waring’s mouth was agape, his finger to his mouth like an abashed schoolboy. His lips moved convulsively before any sound came, and then he stuttered:

  “Very gug-good, sir . . . I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Let me remind you of another circumstance. When you take command of that corvette, please ask yourself whether your task would have been made easier by our having riddled her with gunfire at point-blank range. I am giving you the temporary command of a jury-rigged corvette. Would you rather have had a blood-stained bundle of firewood?”

  “No, sir.” He opened his mouth to say more but no words came.

  “One other thing, Mr Waring. You are disappointed not to have captured that corvette by boarding. Why? Because a spectacular victory would have led, you think, to your promotion. I want you to realise that such a dramatic scene would have cost me twenty men killed or wounded. Why should I throw men’s lives away to gain promotion for you; or for me either? We have captured a man-of-war fit for service, undamaged below the hammock nettings, and it has cost me five men wounded. That is a price I am ready to pay. Your idea was to pay a far heavier price for something which would by then have been worthless. I won’t do it, Mr Waring. I won’t do it. And nor will you if you value your future in the service.”

  By the time that the crestfallen Waring had taken over the Malouine from the midshipman who had been sent to her from the Lapwing, Delancey had signalled for Holroyd to come aboard. A friendly meeting followed on board the Merlin.

  “Congratulations, Captain Delancey! Two captured men-of-war and both of them fit for the service!”

  “Thanks to your co-operation, Mr Holroyd. Did the Mouche give you any trouble?”

  “Only in trying to escape but her attempt didn’t answer. She was trapped among the merchantmen, who solidly blocked her way. So she hauled down her colours and I sent a prize-crew on board.”

  “My hope is that the Mouche will be taken into the service, with you as commander. I shall make the recommendation to Rear-Admiral Fothergill.”

  “Thank you, sir. May I express my own hope that you should be made post into the Lapwing?”

  “There is no vacancy, Mr Holroyd, while Captain Doyle is alive. I think, however, that Mr Waring might go to her as first lieutenant.”

  “A good idea, sir, if I may say so. I am sorry to see, sir, that you are wounded.” Holroyd was looking at Delancey with real anxiety. “You should see our surgeon, sir—I’ll send him over. We can’t afford to lose you, sir; we all think you have a big future in the service. This recent action did you credit, if I may say so.” Holroyd was a rough character and Delancey was touched to see his real concern.

  “No surgeon needed, Mr Holroyd. This is a mere scratch—I never noticed it. Thank you, however, for your good wishes. You deserve to command your own ship and should do so with distinction.”

  Teesdale appeared now at Delancey’s side, carrying a basin, sponge and bandages. He helped his commander off with his coat and sponged the cut, applying a bandage to the forearm. He looked anxiously to see whether Delancey had any other hurt. His look of hero-worship was shared by David Stock, who was holding the coat with its tattered sleeve. But Delancey was still talking to Holroyd.

  “I shall have to ask you to put up with Waring until you go to your first command. He is not without some useful qualities . . .” He paused for a moment, choosing his words, “He might be a useful officer in some ship or other . . . but not, I think, in mine.”

  Chapter Three

  THE SIEGE OF VALLETTA

  “Captain Delancey is here,” murmured the flag-lieutenant. “Show him in,” replied Rear-Admiral Fothergill. “I only wish I had better news for him.” Delancey entered, bowed and stood at attention. He thought that Fothergill looked tired and old, perhaps disappointed over some expected appointment. Or was he disappointed on Delancey’s behalf?

  “Good-morning, Delancey. Do please be seated.”

  Sitting down, Delancey looked round the sparsely furnished office and saw that a chart of Malta and Gozo had been pinned to a board behind the Admiral’s chair.

  “I regret to tell you that your very creditable action off Sicily has not gained you the promotion you deserve. As you know, Captain Doyle recovered sufficiently to take the Lapwing back to Plymouth. She was condemned after survey and broken up. Doyle retired and Mr Waring is now employed by the Transport Board. Their Lordships did not consider an action against an inferior force could justify more than one promotion, that of Mr Holroyd.”

  “I quite understand, sir.” Delancey showed no emotion and had not, indeed, expected anything different.

  “I dare say that they would have been more impressed had your losses been heavier.”

  “It is more important to me that my men should trust me not to throw away their lives.”

  “You are perfectly right. I remember, by the way, that you were yourself slightly wounded.”

  “A mere scratch, sir. I never even noticed it until we had ceased fire. There’s hardly a scar now.”

  “I am glad to hear that it healed, anyway. Well, I couldn’t secure your promotion but I can give you a change from escort work. Your next convoy will be destined for Malta and I shall authorise Captain Ball to retain the Merlin for service there, at least for the time being. I don’t think we have sent you there before?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So the time has come to look at the chart.” The Admiral rose and went to the board behind his chair:

  “Here is Malta and here is Grand Harbour guarded by fortifications and overlooked by the city of Valletta—here. The adjacent island of Gozo has no harbour of comparable importance. But note the position of Malta, midway in the passage which connects the eastern with the western Mediterranean. Its strategic value is immense and Grand Harbour could be of great value to us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You probably know what the situation is. Malta, you recall, was taken by General Bonaparte on his way to Egypt. After the destruction of the French fleet by Lord Nelson at Aboukir the isolated French garrison in Malta was in danger. The Maltese then rose against the French, raising some ten thousand men under the flag of Naples. Muskets and ammunition for about twelve hundred of these were landed by Sir James Saumarez. So the French, numbering some three thousand men under General Vaubois, withdrew to Valletta where they are still besieged. A small French force at M’dina (he pointed to the chart) was massacred and a yet smaller French garrison, in Gozo (he pointed again) capitulated to us. We now have a squadron blockading Valletta and Captain Ball is ashore, giving what help he can to the Maltese.

  “Why doesn’t Vaubois surrender?”

  “Well, you must remember that Malta was Bonaparte’s own conquest. He has since become virtual ruler of France. So we may assume that Vaubois has been ordered to hold out.”

  “Can’t the Maltese storm Valletta?”

  “The city is virtually impregnable. The fortifications built for the Knights of Malta are of gigantic size and fantastic strength. Something could be done by a regular army under an experienced general with heavy artillery and a corps of engineers. Come and look at the chart. . . . Here is Grand Harbour, one of the
finest landlocked harbours in the world. Valletta occupies this headland, fortified across the neck.” The Admiral came away from the chart and sat down again.

  “Who commands the Maltese, sir?”

  “Some priests and notaries, one or two of their nobles; but none with any knowledge of war.”

  “So the stalemate is likely to continue?”

  “It would seem so. But the situation is damned awkward, made worse by the fact that the French have a squadron there—three sail of the line and three frigates with Rear-Admiral Decrès and Rear-Admiral Villeneuve. These are all safe under the guns of the fortress. We tie up as many ships to blockade the place. Apart from that, we want the harbour for ourselves.”

  “But the French must be starving.”

  “They are, more or less. But one or two ships have run the blockade with supplies and ammunition, the last being the frigate Boudeuse, in February.”

  “Would you suppose, sir, that they will try again with a larger force?” Delancey’s tone was optimistic.

  “That is their only hope but it is a question what force they can collect. In the meanwhile, we have a small garrison in Gozo, a squadron on blockade duty and our Maltese friends ashore. Our next convoy in October will consist of storeships laden with all that is needed to sustain the siege. Having escorted these ships on their passage you will relieve the Hornet, which is due for overhaul, and thus come under the orders of the senior naval officer, probably Commodore Sir Thomas Troubridge. The store-ships will return here escorted by the Hornet.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. When shall we sail?”

  “In about three weeks’ time. I forgot to tell you, by the way, that Mather is confirmed as your first lieutenant and that another officer called Stirling has arrived and will join you as second.”