Devil to Pay (38 page)

“Can you sing something in Spanish?”

There was a bewildered silence and finally Hodder whispered, “I know the tune all the street boys were singing in Cadiz but I don't know the words. Something about ‘Hasta la vista, caro mio.'“

“Right,” said Delancey. “We are both drunk but I am the more drunk of the two. Keep your gun out of sight under your cloak. Give me your right arm to prevent me falling. Ready? Then off we go!”

Waving his bottle in his right hand, Delancey staggered out on to the square. Hodder simultaneously began singing “Caro mio” and was joined by Delancey in drunken parody. They swayed together and nearly fell over, recovering sufficiently to repeat all that Hodder could remember of his song. They made a horrible row between them; enough, seemingly, to disarm the immediate suspicions of anyone placed in ambush. “Hasta la vista!” sang Delancey as they reached the middle of the market-place, and it was there that he dropped his bottle with a crash and tinkle of broken glass. “Caro mio!” roared Hodder as he once again saved Delancey from falling. Still singing and staggering, they covered another dozen paces and came at last to the upturned boats on the quayside. Sitting on the keel of the nearest, Delancey was able to look about him and see what their vocal efforts had achieved. One or two windows had opened but were closed again now that the singing had subsided.

Delancey continued to talk loudly in Spanish but, moving on to the next phase of intoxication, slid to the ground and remained there. Under cover of the boats he began to crawl silently towards the far side of the harbour, the quayside to which the
Dove
was tied. Hodder followed as quietly and they found themselves in the shadow of the last and stoutest of the upturned boats. There was another fifty yards to the angle of the basin and, once that corner was turned, a good hundred yards to the
Dove
's gangplank, with the two sentries pacing the cobbles in the foreground.

“What do we do now?” asked Hodder in a whisper. “Wait!” replied Delancey, watching the sky. The sky was not cloudless and it seemed to Delancey that it was only a question of time before the moon was hidden. Five minutes of relative darkness was all he wanted but the clouds that drifted across the sky seemed to avoid the moon of set purpose. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and eventually the church clock struck the half hour. At long last a useful cloud appeared on what seemed the right course. It came nearer and nearer and finally obscured the moon.

Delancey rose to his feet and set off at an ordinary walking pace, with Hodder at his heels. He was seen at the same instant by the nearer sentry who challenged him. To make matters worse, the cloud which had momentarily helped them turned out to be a tattered fraud. They were clearly visible and the sentry, taking no chance, fired his musket in their direction.

The result was a shouted order from the far side of the marketplace and the rapid appearance of soldiers who shook out at once into extended order. Seeing no alternative, Delancey doubled back to the upturned boat, took cover behind it and whipped out his musket. Hodder dropped beside him as in their rehearsal and the battle fairly began.

Delancey's first musket shot took effect and the advancing line wavered. His next pistol shot missed but caused hesitation again, the next musket shot hitting a man who collapsed with a groan. The whole line fell back into the shadow of the buildings, where an officer's voice could be heard, probably telling his men to load. Then there came a scattered volley, most of the bullets going high but some thudding into the boat's timbers.

There was another shouted order and a more resolute advance but Delancey's first shot would seem to have wounded the sergeant, his second only just missing the officer. Two more shots were enough to bring the advance to a halt, driving the men back to the shadows from which they had started. It looked to Delancey as if the men had never been under fire before.

While he waited to see what they would do next he heard a burst of firing in the distance. The feint landing was being ambushed, which would at least keep the other troops busy for the time being. It was bad luck having this opposition in the town centre but there were only about twenty men and a probably inexperienced subaltern. There was no further assault but his immediate opponents began to fire independently from where they were.

Delancey wondered now what the sentries were doing, well placed as they were to attack him from the rear. Looking back, he saw that they were both crumpled on the quayside, their muskets fallen beside them, almost as if killed by their friends' fire. There was no sign of life on board the
Dove,
the lugger being apparently deserted. Firing continued, both near and in the distance, but the battle seemed otherwise to have reached stalemate. Just after the church clock struck two the situation changed suddenly for the worse. The firing was desultory and mostly ineffective but one bullet hit the sternpost of the boat they were using for cover, sending splinters of wood in all directions. Hodder uttered a groan and Delancey could see that his breeches and stockings were soaked in blood. Tearing the sleeve off his own shirt, Delancey tried to bandage the wounded thigh but not very successfully. Hodder was out of action and probably bleeding to death.

“Don't worry about me, Captain,” said the wounded man. “Give me your musket and I'll hold them off while you board the lugger. I'm finished anyway and your life is worth saving.”

“I'll come back for you. Keep firing while I go to fetch help.”

At this moment Delancey had little hope of reaching the
Dove
alive but he suddenly became aware of new developments somewhere on his right. There was the sound of cheering and a fresh outburst of small arms fire. Alongside the
Aguila
there had appeared from nowhere a ship's longboat. Men were swarming over the privateer and were already pushing her away from the quayside. The soldiers on the far side of the market-place were now firing at the captured
Aguila
although not very effectively at that extreme range. The subaltern must have realised this because he made another attempt to make them advance. He fell, however, to a shot from Hodder and his men took cover again, remaining where they were until the battle was over.

Delancey, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, ran to the angle of the harbour basin, swerved left past the two dead bodies and sprinted down the quayside to the
Dove.
Sam Carter appeared at the gangway, musket in hand, and the rest of the crew, similarly armed, lined the ship's side, cheering, as he jumped down to the deck. They were about to cast off but Delancey stopped them, pointing back to where Hodder was still in action. “Save him!” he shouted breathlessly and led the way back to the upturned boat.

They came too late, for Hodder had been hit again and died before they could lift him up. At this moment a frantic figure pelted across the open to join them, the soldiers being evidently too surprised to stop him or even pick him off. It was Alvarez, who said, breathlessly, “Take me with you—can't stay here—not after
this!”
For their final dash to safety they divided into two parties, to shoot and to move alternatively, but it was hardly necessary, their immediate opponents being demoralised and almost silent.

As soon as they had regained the
Dove
the gangway was dragged inboard and the ropes cast off. Slowly and silently the lugger began to slip out of the harbour on the ebb, her sails gently filling to a breeze off the land.

If the
Dove
was silent, the town was a scene of pandemonium. The cutting out of the
Aguila
had not been difficult but she had few sails to set and nothing useful to hand. She was now under fire from another direction because the dragoons had returned from their fruitless mission and had marched towards the sound of battle. They were dismounted and firing from cover along the south side of the harbour basin, adding to the difficulties of the boarding party

To the north of the basin there was a sudden outburst of firing as the infantry came back from the Playa Blanco creek and appeared along the quayside which the
Dove
had left. The crew of the lugger returned this fire as the distance lengthened, Delancey and O'Keefe both trying to pick off Captain Passamonte but without success. The
Dove
might have been badly damaged by this new fusillade but the thunder of cannon was now added to the crash of musketry Seeing the flashes outside the harbour mouth, Delancey realised that the frigate had opened fire with her broadside to cover the withdrawal. As the southern quayside was swept by grape shot the small arms fire slackened and almost ceased. The next broadside had a similarly discouraging effect on the dragoons. Several houses were now on fire and the smoke drifted seawards, mingling with the gunpowder fumes. Some of the streets were fitfully visible in the light of the flames and Delancey glimpsed the distracted citizens, some passing buckets of water and others attempting to barricade the streets against an expected landing. Gradually the firing died away and the battle was over, the town disturbed only by the crackling of flames and the complaints of the inhabitants. The light of morning revealed an empty sea, some blackened ruins, a hundred broken windows and a score of bodies awaiting burial. Voices were raised against the British whose conduct, all agreed, was tantamount to mere piracy Vain, however, was the search for Señor Alvarez who had vanished as if he had never been.

Amidst the uproar of the bombardment the
Dove
had slipped out without hindrance, sliding past the deserted pier head and passing under the bows of the
Medusa,
half hidden in the smoke of her last broadside. Astern of the lugger came the
Aguila
with foresail and staysails set, towed by the longboat and apparently undamaged. Soon after withdrawing in her turn, the
Medusa
made sail for Gibraltar with the
Dove
and
Aguila
in her wake. On board the
Dove
Delancey was sound asleep until late in the morning being finally disturbed by Sam Carter, who told him that he was wanted on board the frigate. “There was an earlier signal,” he added, “but I decided to ignore it. To be more exact, I took your place.”

“How can I thank you, Sam?” asked Delancey. “You ran a great risk to bring me out of Spain. It could have cost you the
Dove
or your life or both.”

“What would they have thought of me in St Peter Port if I had let you die in a Spanish prison? No, Dick, we had to bring you out somehow.”

“And nobly you did it. I shall always be proud to claim you as my friend.”

Delancey washed and shaved, borrowed a clean shirt and had breakfast. While he did so the
Dove
went ahead of the
Medusa
and finally lowered a boat which the frigate could overtake. Delancey came in at the entry port where a marine sentry came to the salute. He touched his hat and stood for a moment to look about him. The deck was spotless, the guns exactly in line, the paintwork new, the boarding pikes glittering and the musket barrels bright. He made his way to the quarterdeck, touching his hat as immemorial custom decreed, and reported his presence to the officer of the watch. No immediate action could result for this, as he could see, was a moment when everyone else was preoccupied. The master, master's mates and midshipmen had brought out their sextants and were intent on taking a sight. The master reported when the sun reached the meridian, eight bells were struck and a boatswain's mate piped the hands to dinner. Only when the ceremonial finished could a midshipman be spared to take Delancey to the captain's cabin. Looking up at the taut curve of the sails, looking at the order maintained and at the faces of the men around him, Delancey knew that this was the service to which he belonged.

Captain Morris was known to Delancey as having the reputation of a fine seaman and a strict disciplinarian. He listened in silence while Delancey made his laconic report. “Of the party which landed with me,” he concluded, “all, I hope, escaped into Portugal with the exception of Mr Hodder, who was killed in action during the skirmish at Léon. I have reason to be grateful to Mr Alvarez, without whose help I should not be here to make this report. I can also speak highly of Mr O'Keefe who behaved very well while ashore. As for me, sir, I owe it to you that I am alive and in a position to report what I know about the Spanish admiral's intentions.”

Captain Morris replied thoughtfully and slowly, choosing his words with care: “I realise that what you have told me, in bare outline, is the story of an astonishing achievement, even when considered merely as a journey through enemy territory. The document you have intercepted must go at once to the commander-in-chief. It is not for me to judge its importance. Whether it prove to be vital or trivial you will have done what few other men would have dared attempt. I am proud to have had some part in covering your final escape from Spain.” Captain Morris paused and took up a piece of paper which was lying on his desk. “I have here a list of our casualties in yesterday's action. We had one lieutenant, four seamen and two marines killed, one officer and nine seamen wounded, two of them seriously. I want to add this, that heavier casualties than these would not, in my opinion, have been too high a price to pay for your safety.”

Delancey was too overwhelmed by this to say more than a lame word of thanks and protest.

Morris went on to deal with the wording of his gazette letter. “You will understand that my written report will cover only the cutting out of the
Aguila.
I shall say nothing about you, nothing about Mr Alvarez, nothing about the
Dove.
On these other aspects of the operation I shall report verbally to Rear-Admiral Griffin. I cannot do justice to you in any other way.”

“That, sir, is well understood.”

“My hope is that the Board of Admiralty will remember this dangerous mission and its successful outcome, doubly rewarding you on some future occasion for your part in some action of perhaps lesser consequence.”