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  “We are forereaching on her,” said Mather, and Delancey could see that this was true. He would cross her bows in about four minutes’ time and at a distance of two cables. That was not, however, what he wanted for he would have to tack immediately afterwards and might even be caught in irons.

  “Helm hard up!” he shouted and then, “Steady as she goes.” and “Another flare, Mr Langford.” The Frenchman was now close on the Merlin’s starboard bow. “Tack!” he yelled and there was frenzied activity as course was altered and the yards braced round. “Helm’s a-lee,” called the quartermaster and “Another flare!” shouted Delancey. The Merlin had lost ground and was about to cross the French ship’s wake. Being now, however, on the same tack, Delancey could afterwards engage her from to windward, choosing his own range. Ten minutes later he judged that the moment had come.

  “Flare, Mr Langford,” he shouted, and then, “Fire!” This last order was addressed to the gun captain of the after carronade on the quarterdeck. Firing this weapon was the signal to the rest, who would fire as they sighted the target. There was no attempt to fire the guns simultaneously but even a ragged broadside heeled the ship over for a minute, making the last shots go too high.

  Then the helm was put up and the next flare revealed the French ship ahead of the Merlin at three cables’ distance and on a parallel course to leeward. The enemy guns fired at that moment but were poorly aimed. There was a simultaneous crackle of musketry, some of the bullets thudding into the Merlin’s timber. Delancey’s small-arms men prepared to reply but Delancey told them to hold their fire, since the enemy was out of effective range.

  Until the action began, the two sides had seen nothing of each other except by the light of flares but each ship was now faintly visible to her opponent. There was a battle lantern beside each gun and the glimmer from the ports could just be seen. Because of the smoke added to the darkness the gun captains could see less than anyone, but the French ship’s musketry marked her position, the sparkle defining the length of her deck. It was now Delancey’s duty, as he knew, to assess the weight of the enemy’s broadside. So far as he could make out, the French ship had nine ports a-side on her main deck, four a-side on her quarterdeck. It seemed, however, as if her midship ports were empty, leaving her with only five main-deck guns to the Merlin’s eight but with four on the quarterdeck to the Merlin’s three; eight all told against eleven.

  In calibre the guns on either side were probably much the same but the French ship must be cluttered with stores for Valletta. So, given a higher British rate of fire (which could be assumed) the enemy should be beaten in about thirty minutes. Calling for another flare, Delancey could see by its light that the French corvette was still heading southwards and that the schooner, still more distant, was doing the same. His immediate opponent was to be left to her fate while the other two (or three?) made their dash for Grand Harbour.

  Firing as blindly as they were, the guns on either side were slow to find their target. From being to leeward, the French guns tended to have too much elevation, some of their shot going through the Merlin’s sails but more of them going into the void. The first serious damage that Delancey saw was the destruction near him of a quarterdeck carronade. A shot hit the muzzle while the men were reloading, driving the piece off its slide and across the deck. The two men unhurt carried the other two below, one bleeding profusely and the other badly mangled.

  Other shots had penetrated the main deck where another gun had been put out of action and more damage had been done to the forecastle. Delancey assumed that his guns were at least as effective but a long time passed before he could see any actual damage. Then the Frenchman’s mizen-topmast went over the side, causing an immediate loss of speed. The Merlin went ahead of her opponent and Delancey was able to cross the Frenchman’s bows, firing a raking broadside and then crossing again to give her the other broadside. The French captain did not wait for any further treatment on these lines, preferring to turn into the wind and engage on more equal terms. The move was reasonable in itself but marked the abandonment of the enemy’s original purpose, which was to reach Grand Harbour. Delancey followed suit, coming into the wind at about two cables’ distance.

  Five minutes later the French guns fell silent. “A flare, Mr Langford,” shouted Delancey, and the whole scene was momentarily lit, revealing the fact that the tricolour had been lowered.

  “Cease fire!” Delancey called to the gun crews near him and then repeated the order from the break of the quarterdeck, sending young Topley to carry the message forward. The guns’ thunder died away and the men cheered briefly, concluding that the battle was over. A distant sound of gunfire with flashes glimpsed to the southward proved that this was not entirely true. For Delancey, however, the immediate problem was to secure his prize.

  Sending for the boatswain and carpenter, Delancey called for a report on the ship’s boats. All, it seemed, had been more or less damaged but the carpenter could make the longboat watertight in perhaps an hour. Telling him to get to work on it, Delancey made a quick inspection of ship and crew, collecting returns of casualties and damage. Then Mather and Stirling joined him on the quarterdeck and Delancey issued his orders.

  “We have sustained more damage than I thought and there is a lot of work to do. Your task, Mr Mather, will be to have the ship ready to renew the action. Your task, Mr Stirling, will be to take possession of the prize, disarm the enemy, send all their small-arms back in the longboat together with the ship’s captain and officers, and have the prize fit to make sail by daybreak. As we have no boat ready, however, I propose to close with the enemy and cover her at short range before you take possession. The prize-crew will include Mr Northmore, a boatswain’s mate and twenty seamen, half from each watch, and all fully armed.”

  Orders were now given to wear ship, the foretopsail being braced round until the ship was under way. Then the Merlin sailed a neat circle, coming once more into the wind but now within pistol shot of the prize. All the guns were manned on that side and there was light enough to see that the French ship had been considerably damaged. From amidships on board the Merlin came the sound of hammering as the longboat was being repaired. She would be ready to lower in another fifteen minutes.

  At that instant the French ship fired her broadside. Her bulwarks sparkled with a volley of small-arms and the musket balls swept the Merlin’s deck. With a sense of shock, Delancey realised that he had fallen for the oldest ruse in the book. “Load with grape-shot!” He shouted to the quarterdeck gunners and then hurried down to the main deck, repeating the same order: “Grape-shot—fire at the enemy’s deck!” By the time he reached the forecastle, the carronade there was already being served with grape-shot.

  Dashing back, he called out “Small-arms men!” They were collected in the waist and he sent them up the foremast. “Clear the enemy’s deck!” he yelled after them. Then he sent Mr Northmore to the foretop with orders to direct their fire on the enemy’s quarterdeck. “Take three men to the maintop, Mr Topley. Issue them with grenades and try to reach the enemy’s deck.” The situation was extremely dangerous, as everyone could see. If Delancey tried to make sail, half his topmen would be killed or wounded. If he closed with the enemy his crew would be overwhelmed by superior numbers. His only course was to fight until the enemy surrendered.

  Raging along the line of the guns he called on his men to make the effort of their lives. “Come on, men,” he yelled, “it’s us or them! Fire and reload!” The deck was bedlam, the noise shattering, the smoke collecting in between decks and the musket-balls thudding into the timber. Back on the quarterdeck, he found only two carronades in action. “Bring another over!” He pointed to the carronades on the disengaged side and a group of seamen began to drag one of them across. Grabbing a musket and bandoleer and telling young Topley to grab another, he sprang into the mizen shrouds. Once in the fighting top, he fired a couple of shots and then told the youngster to carry on.

  A minute or two later he was on the f
orecastle again, helping to drag another carronade across the deck. “Grape-shot and canister!” he shouted as he scrambled down the ladder. “Teach the frogs a lesson!” For the next twenty minutes he tried to be everywhere at once, ending once more on the quarterdeck, sweating, dirty and hoarse with shouting. There were three carronades now in action and two small-arms men firing and reloading as fast as they could—one of them the cook and the other the purser’s steward. There was no one, he thought, left out of the battle. His men were giving of their best.

  The action ended as suddenly as it began. Looking across, Delancey could see that the enemy had again ceased fire. Someone amidships was waving a white cloth. The tricolour, which must have been rehoisted, was being hauled down. So much could be seen by the light of a fire which men on the forecastle were trying to extinguish.

  “Cease fire!” called Delancey, and sent a man forward to repeat the order. A few more shots were fired from the fighting tops and another grenade exploded on the Frenchman’s deck. Then the firing died away and all was silent, even the distant gunfire having died away. “A flare, Mr Langford! And pass the word there for Mr Stirling—yes, and for Mr Corbin!”

  Preparations began once more for taking possession of the prize. The longboat, oddly enough, had sustained no further damage and was almost seaworthy. After being patched in a couple of places, the boat was lowered and manned. Delancey had a final word with Stirling. “We have found that these men are not to be trusted. We shall be ready to open fire again as soon as you fire a musket.” Delancey watched as the boat rowed across and was glad to see that the fire was being brought under control. In a quarter of an hour the boat returned with the French officers and a first consignment of muskets.

  The captain, it appeared, was a Capitaine de Corvette called Bisson, who first saluted and then gave up his sword. Delancey replied rather curtly, asking him why he resumed the action after his surrender. “No, no!” Bisson protested, “I had not struck my flag! It was shot away. When I realised what had happened, I hoisted another.” It was a lame story but not easy to disprove. Having sent his prisoners below, Delancey and Mather began putting their ship to rights. There were hours of work to do, beginning with a new collection of reports and going on to the replacement and repair of sails and cordage.

  Delancey had then to visit and condole with the eighteen men wounded. Of the seven men killed two had been petty officers, whose vacancies had to be filled. The gunners came to report on the expenditure of ammunition, which had been considerable, and the quantities still remaining. The carpenter reported that the ship was leaking and that there must be a shot-hole he had not yet located. A number of hammocks had been shot through in the nettings and more would have to be issued. There were reports to come in from the sailmaker, the armourer, the cooper and the cook. Bloodstains had to be removed from the deck—they were bad for morale.

  Then came Stirling’s report from the prize, named at last as L’Antelope, transport, armed with twenty guns and carrying a hundred and forty soldiers in addition to her crew. By comparison with the Merlin the French ship had sustained heavy casualties and a great deal of damage. With so many on board, however, she had enough men to man the pumps and was in no immediate danger of foundering. Repairs were urgent, nevertheless, and Stirling would have the French carpenters at work for the rest of the night. It was indeed a hard night’s work for everyone.

  Delancey made sail at daybreak, with his prize in company, and finally joined the Lion at anchor in the lee of Comino Island. The Gannet and Sirena came into the anchorage soon afterwards and Manley Dixon made the signal for all captains. Short of sleep as he was, Delancey had managed to shave, wash and change into a clean uniform. He now saw to it that his boat should be first alongside.

  “Good-morning, captain,” said Manley Dixon, looking as smart as his visitor. “Allow me to congratulate you on the part you have played in the siege of Valletta. I was less fortunate and have nothing to show for my night’s work. It remains to see how the others have fared. Have some coffee in the meanwhile. Steward!”

  Next to arrive was the sharp-faced and wasp-like Captain Farrant of the Gannet, tired, unshaven and cross.

  “I saw all your fireworks up north,” he explained, “and realised that you were in action. So I kept close in with the land, thinking that any French craft bound for Grand Harbour would do the same. Sure enough, there was a schooner, obviously French and heading south. I fired a red rocket and went in chase. She edged closer to the rocks, so close that she only just cleared the north point of Salina Bay. Then I opened fire with my bow-chasers and she ran straight into a reef—”

  “I know,” said Manley Dixon, “the Ghallis Rocks.”

  “That’s right, sir. Her mast went over the side and I could see that she was a total loss. By the light of a flare I saw that some of her crew were reaching the shore in a boat.”

  “You didn’t try to save the rest?” asked Manley Dixon.

  “No, sir, I did not. I wanted no closer acquaintance with the reef, being close enough as it was.”

  “I see. That accounts for the schooner. The craft that I sighted was something even smaller, a cutter. After drawing attention to herself she made off northwards. I did not follow and must suppose that she will reach Egypt.”

  At that moment the captain of the Sirena was shown into the cabin, a far from presentable man from Naples; dirty, nervous, shabby and evasive. He was called Victor Ricasoli and was accompanied by a young man from Palermo who acted as his English interpreter and made the following report:

  “The captain says that he sighted a French frigate last night, one of the largest class, mounting forty-four guns. He made sail to intercept her after lighting flares and sending up a blue rocket. He fired several shot with his bow-chasers but the French avoided action, crowding sail to the south-east and away from Malta. The French frigate fired only her stern-chasers, which were eighteen-pounders, and the captain could see, through his night-glasses, that she was filled with troops. He presumes that she will make her way to Egypt.”

  “Thank you, captain,” said Manley Dixon. “That accounts for the second division of the French convoy: one ship taken, one schooner wrecked, one man-of-war and one cutter escaped. No single vessel has broken the blockade and Valletta should fall in a matter of months, following the last act of the drama.”

  “What act, sir?” asked Farrant.

  “The attempted escape of the Guillaume Tell.”

  Captain Ricasoli was the first to go, after paying the proper compliments through his interpreter. Farrant looked after him with a glance of contempt.

  “So the Sirena chased off a French frigate of the largest class! Fiddlesticks! I saw her only in the distance by the light of a flare but she was nothing more than a corvette of eighteen guns at most. The truth is that our Neapolitan friend let her go, a ship half the size of the Sirena. My guess would be that the Signori Capitano is not exactly spoiling for a fight.”

  “Be fair, captain,” Delancey protested. “Neither he nor his men have ever been in action. I doubt if they have even so much as fired their guns in a practice shoot. Would you yourself risk a night action with an untried crew?”

  “If need be,” replied Farrant. “I shouldn’t suppose that the French corvette would be any better trained.”

  “And yet she should be better than L’Antelope,” said Delancey, “a ship which left me with seven killed and eighteen wounded—two of them since died!”

  “I’m a little surprised, captain, that you didn’t go after the corvette yourself. You might have been made post if you’d taken her.”

  “Don’t you think Delancey knew that?” Manley Dixon asked. “He chose the transport because she was laden with vital stores for General Vaubois and L’Antelope is pierced in fact for twenty-four guns, being a bigger ship than the Merlin.”

  “Oh, well, I’m sure that Delancey had his reasons. I could do with some prize-money myself.”

  Farrant took his leave and Dela
ncey thanked Manley Dixon for his support.

  “Do you think, sir,” he went on, “that some officers will hold this against me? Or shall I be given credit for making the right decision?”

  “Neither one nor t’other,” Manley Dixon laughed. “The affair will be forgotten in a month; sooner, indeed, if anything more dramatic should happen. We have provided a mere prelude to the great moment when Valletta capitulates. And how else could the story end? For Bonaparte to hold Malta without a fleet in the Mediterranean is impossible. We may have hastened the capitulation by a month or so, maybe even by three months. We should be foolish, however, to claim more than that.”

  As an immediate sequel to this action Delancey was ordered to take the Merlin to Palermo for repair. He did so after landing his prisoners and wounded on the island of Gozo. During a week spent ashore in Sicily he wondered, for the hundredth time, how he could have made the mistake which cost so many lives. To think the battle won before it is over must be the most elementary blunder.

  He could find a little consolation, however, in two circumstances. First of all, his men did not blame him for anything. They cursed the French, to be sure, for a treacherous lot of landlubbers but they thought him perfectly justified in closing the range. In the second place, he knew that he had made the right decision when the French opened fire again. The alternative had been to make sail and withdraw out of musket shot but he reflected now that this would have been fatal. Casualties apart, it would have been bad for morale. As things were, the French had been fairly beaten and his men were all proud of themselves. They owed the victory to their own rapidity of fire, not merely to their captain’s cleverness (clever though he might be). Mather reported that the men were in good heart, cheered by the prospect of prize-money. In her class and for her size the Merlin was becoming a crack ship.