Devil to Pay (24 page)

“I see that our patriotism does us the greatest credit.”

“Indeed it does. We put to sea when things are at their worst.”

“But the question is, sir—when will the Spaniards declare war?”

“Now
that
is what many folk would like to know. But Mr Early is a farsighted man—very farsighted indeed—and he suggests the Spaniards will not actually declare war until after their annual treasure fleet has reached Spain, probably towards the end of September. We shall be at war with Spain, he believes, on about October the first.”

“Is a privateer commander allowed to act in intelligent anticipation?”

“Ah—that's the point I was coming to. A prize taken in time of peace will not be condemned,
unless
—mark me well—she reaches a British port
after
war has been declared. I have known an instance of a prize-master taking eight weeks to reach Plymouth from Ushant.”

“The result of adverse winds.”

“Undoubtedly. I have now to ask by what date the
Nemesis
will be ready for sea?”

“On about May 25th, sir.”

“As late as that? But I know that you sustained some damage in March—more even than you knew at the time. You can't
always
avoid gunfire—we know that. But there is still talk along the waterfront about your capture of the
Bonne Citoyenne.
That affair remains a classic, as one might say, of privateering tactics. It certainly made your reputation in St Peter Port!”

“Beginner's luck, sir! It brought me volunteers, though, and I was able to replace old Le Vallois and a few other useless men.”

“You certainly have a good crew now. Well, you know what the position is and can guess what the owners want. Be off the Spanish coast by the middle of August. In the meanwhile we suggest you cruise on the French coast between Rochefort and the Spanish border. Gain intelligence from every possible source, gain the earliest news of war with Spain and strike hard before the Spanish are ready.”

“You set me, sir, an exceptionally difficult task.”

“Mr Early admits that in his letter. It is a task, he says, for an exceptional commander.”

It was under these orders that
Nemesis
put to sea. Delancey's was certainly a difficult mission, since early success would lessen her chances of survival. Each prize-crew detached would weaken the crew still on board; more so in officers than in seamen. Cruising in the Channel, Delancey had been able to return to base at intervals, recovering his prize crewmen or recruiting others, but men sent home from the Gulf of Gascony were lost for good. Given any ordinary measure of success the
Nemesis
would be desperately short-handed before the date when the war with Spain was expected. Delancey pointed this out before he left Guernsey, obtaining leave to enrol two more officers and ten more men. This he managed to do, strengthening his crew by one more midshipman, an ensign of marines, four more seamen and six more landsmen. With any more men aboard it would have been impossible to provision the ship for six months, as was obviously essential. His only remedy for the inevitable loss of men was to recruit from captured ships, thus diluting his crew with men he could not trust.

Mr Jeremie made his speech (the same one) to the ship's company on May 28th and Delancey put to sea that evening. He was off La Rochelle by June 16th and took his first prize a few days later.

This first success involved a long chase and the Frenchman yielded only to gunfire. Even when the chase had hove to there was some resistance to the boarding party. After a few minutes of hand-to-hand fighting the French captain finally surrendered, giving up a ship of only very moderate value. Delancey sent her home with some misgivings, doubting whether she had been worth the trouble. Two more prizes struck to him in early July, one of them fairly valuable, and then he fell in with a brig called the
Thomas Jefferson,
flying the tricolour when first sighted but with American papers of registration which were produced with a flourish after Delancey had taken possession. What she was really doing remained obscure but her disreputable crew included several Englishmen and two men (the master and mate) who claimed to be, and possibly were, American. With some misgivings Delancey enlisted seven men altogether, three of them apparently English. Of his original crew of 62 he had already lost 21. He now detached six more after battening the brig's crew below hatches. This left him with 35 men to which number he added this doubtful reinforcement. His only remaining officers were his first lieutenant and marine ensign. Shorthanded even to navigate the ship, he was still less able to fight an action. He could take another prize, however, provided she made no more than a token resistance.

It was off Bilbao in early August that Delancey fell in with the British sloop
Scorpion
(16), commanded by Captain Mannering, who promptly signalled for the captain of
Nemesis
to come on board. Delancey obeyed, though not in uniform, and found himself faced by a stern-looking young officer who thought poorly, it would seem, of privateers.

“What have you taken, sir?” was his first question after the routine queries had been answered. Delancey told him and went on: “As for this last prize, the
Thomas Jefferson,
I could form no opinion as to real purpose of her voyage.”

“What was her cargo?”

“Naval stores and provisions, sir; canvas, cordage, tallow and tar.”

“She would be bound, in that case, for Cadiz. There is a French squadron there, blockaded by our own ships. Your prize would represent an attempt to carry French stores there under the American flag. This has been done quite frequently.”

“Then the French and the Spanish are already in alliance, sir?”

“There is no treaty so far as I know but they are allies in practice.”

“Dare we attack Spanish shipping, then?”

“Certainly
not,
sir. No state of war exists.”

“But war might begin at any moment?”

“Undoubtedly, sir. Act over-hastily, however, and I may myself apprehend you for piracy. It is surprising to me that privateering is allowed. I shall certainly discountenance any attempt to disregard the law as it exists.”

“I quite understand, sir. May I ask whether you have yourself taken anything?”

“No, I have not. We recently went in chase of a lugger but she turned out to be British. She was undoubtedly smuggling but I let her go.”

“Was she the
Dove
by any chance?”

“Yes, that was her name. You know the craft?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Sam Carter's lugger.”

“We saw and spoke with her off Bayonne. Smuggling, privateering, trading with the enemy! I despair sometimes of victory when I contemplate the number of my fellow-countrymen who take no part in the war.”

Back in the
Nemesis,
Delancey decided to work northwards again, disappointed as he was in having no news of war with Spain. Once war had begun, he realized, the pattern of future conflict would turn on the orders given to the Spanish admiral at Cadiz. Would he sail for Toulon or Brest? What would the British Admiralty give for intelligence on that subject? He realized that couriers must be passing between France and Spain and that the despatches they carried might well give the date on which war was to be declared; as also, perhaps, the plan for cooperation between the French and Spanish fleet. These couriers would have to pass along the coast road in approaching the Spanish frontier. Had he, not Mannering, been the captain of the
Scorpion,
he would have landed a party of men and intercepted the next courier to come along. If his crew had not been so weakened, he would have been tempted to do it himself. It would be worth a fortune to know in advance when the war with Spain was to begin! It would be worth another fortune to the admiral blockading Cadiz and would even give a momentary advantage to George III. That last thought he had to dismiss, remembering that his employers were little interested in the outcome of the war as such. For all he knew Mannering might have seen the same opportunity as he had perceived and was about to seize it. Mannering was not the man to discuss his plan first with any privateersman he might chance to meet. The fact remained that there was a chance for someone to show initiative and score a considerable success. There was no such opportunity, however, for the captain of the
Nemesis.

It was on August 19th when Delancey was summoned urgently on deck by Tracey, his young first lieutenant. Without saying anything, Tracey pointed westwards and handed Delancey his telescope. There was a sail there and Delancey had no difficulty in recognizing its type. “A French corvette,” he said briefly, returning the telescope, and asked Tracey why he himself had not been called sooner.

“There was a squall, sir, and she was hidden until now.”

Delancey realized that this could be true. It was blowing fairly hard towards the land with low cloud and a rising sea. It was dirty weather for the time of year and the
Nemesis
was steering almost due north under reduced canvas. To leeward was the flat coastline with a hint of white where the waves were breaking. Delancey decided at once to hold his present course knowing that he would be trapped against the land if he went in the other direction. His best hope of escape lay in the coming of darkness but many hours would pass before sunset. If the weather cleared, moreover, there would be a moon that night. As against that there might be another rain cloud and with it the chance to manoeuvre unseen. Delancey wondered whether to clear for action and decided against it. There would be time for that later. For the moment his better plan would be to make more sail. With the topgallants set the
Nemesis
heeled further over and seemed at least to be holding her own. More than that was not to be expected because the French ship would be better manned. Soon afterwards she too made more sail and seemed now to be gaining.

Watching the corvette, Delancey saw her hit by another squall. His opponent was lost to view in the rainstorm and Delancey gave orders to wear ship. This was quickly done, putting the
Nemesis
on the opposite course, but the manoeuvre brought her nearer to the shore. It was something of a gamble, in any case, as there was no escape southwards, but it might throw off the pursuer and gain an hour for the pursued. As Delancey weighed the possibilities the squall came down on his ship with a shriek. She heeled over with her lee bulwarks almost under water and then slowly righted herself. Five minutes later the sky cleared to windward, revealing the corvette on the same course! Her captain had guessed correctly and the
Nemesis
was now in a worse position, having gained nothing. Delancey swore quietly and wondered what to do next.

The clouds had gone and the sky to westwards was bright and clear, giving every promise of a fine evening. Delancey still wanted to escape northwards but wearing again would bring him still closer to the shore. If he tacked, on the other hand, he would find himself even closer to the enemy. He was still trying to make this decision when disaster struck. Quite suddenly his mizen topmast broke just above the mizen crosstrees and collapsed in a tangle of rope and canvas. Delancey balanced the sail area by handing the fore-topsail and, given an hour or so, could have jury-rigged his mizen. But there was no time for that.
Nemesis
was crippled and her opponent was closing in for the kill.

Short-handed as he was, Delancey managed to cut away the wreck of his mizen topmast, putting the tangle over the side. Then he cleared for action, doing what he could to encourage his gun-crews. Young Tracey was doing his best and the marine officer, Brehaut, was resolute and active, but neither, as Delancey knew, had been in battle before. His crew were a very mixed collection of men, weakened by the better seamen being chosen to man the prizes. There was no question of fighting to the death, for the men would never do it. All that anyone could do in this situation was to damage his opponent and then haul down his flag. Having reached that conclusion, Delancey thought again. He would do better to wreck the
Nemesis
than allow her to fall into enemy hands. He gave the helmsman a new course which could only end with his ship wrecked in the shallows which fringed the low-lying coast. That done, he prepared to give battle with all the guns he could man. The French corvette came up with her prey, shortening sail when nearly on the beam. At musket shot range, she opened fire and Delancey replied with a broadside from his port battery and the firing then became more or less continuous. The privateer's fire was not particularly accurate but it served to keep the corvette at a respectful distance. A proper plan for the Frenchman would have been to close the range and finish his opponent by boarding. No attempt of this sort was made and the action continued for half an hour. During that time the fire from the
Nemesis
was gradually slackening. Two guns had been dismounted, a number of men had been killed or wounded and there were finally only five guns still in action. At that point the action suddenly ended, the corvette backing her topsails. Both ships ceased fire and a few minutes later the
Nemesis
ran aground, her foremast and mainmast going over the side at the moment of impact. Delancey knew that he had finally lost his ship.

There was still a heavy sea and the privateer lifted two or three times, moving further on to the sand and coming down again with a sickening thud. The timbers gaped after this, admitting about five feet of water and beginning the process of disintegration. Waves broke heavily over the ship's waist as she sank lower and it was obvious that her hull would fall apart in a matter of hours. The corvette had anchored a half mile to seaward and the activity aboard her suggested that the French were about to lower a boat. Seeing this, Delancey called his men together on the forecastle, now the driest place, and thanked them for putting up a good fight.