Dead Reckoning (3 page)

Delancey had met Sir Home Popham in London, calling on him as etiquette required. He was received with a cordiality which was also dismissive and he saw little of the Commodore, therefore, until he arrived at the George. As from that time Delancey began to realize that Sir Home was a most unusual character. He was known chiefly in the service as the inventor of the telegraphic signalling code which had just been adopted. By a little inquiry, however, Delancey established the fact that Popham had commanded an Austrian Indiaman, had served ashore under the Duke of York, and had been knighted by, of all people, the Emperor of Russia. He was active and clever, as most seamen had to admit, but some old and peevish officers questioned whether he was reliable. He impressed Delancey as very much a man of the world, moving easily among the great and regarded among them as an authority on matters scientific.

“Glad to have you in my squadron,” said Sir Home to Delancey. “I should like you to meet my other officers: Captain Donovan of the
Diadem,
the ship which wears my pennant, Captain Josias Rowley of the
Raisonable,
Captain Byng of the
Belliqueux
. . .”
They all bowed to each other and the Commodore explained that the squadron would include four sail-of-the-line, a 50-gun ship, three frigates, a sloop, and a gun-brig. These would have to escort a fleet of transports, in which troops would be embarked, and there would also be a large convoy of merchantmen. They were to be joined presently by Major-General Sir David Baird, a fine soldier with long experience in India. Did Delancey know the General? Delancey did not, except of course by reputation. Sir Home went on:

“When his name was mentioned to me by the Prime Minister I ventured to say that he could not have made a better choice. Now, like everyone else, you will be wanting to know the object of our expedition. Well, I must not tell you! No one is to know other than the General and myself. Security is all important and we count upon the effect of surprise. I hope, by the way, that your ship has been issued with signal flags of the latest pattern?”

The supper party which followed was a pleasant occasion and Delancey gained a very solid respect for Josias Rowley, who seemed to be an admirable officer in every way. About Popham he could not quite make up his mind. He found himself guessing at the expedition's object. With a Commodore and some obsolete 64-gun ships there could be no naval battle in prospect. No attempt was to be made, then, on enemy territories in Europe. But why a sepoy General? Then he remembered that Baird had served at the Cape of Good Hope in 1795 when it had been captured during the last war. It had been handed back to the Dutch as a result of the peace treaty and now the time had come to take it again. Baird and Popham knew the Cape already, so did Rowley and Byng. Yes, it would be the Cape, the ships and men being carefully chosen and the
Laura
added to the squadron as an afterthought, being destined for the East Indies after the
Cape was in British hands. He thought it likely that the squadron and convoy would sail in separate divisions and reassemble somewhere on the way to the Cape. Would the Dutch put up much resistance? He hardly thought it possible. Given the choice between French and British control they would probably choose the latter, knowing pretty well what to expect.

When able to rejoin Fiona, Delancey told her that he had been well received by Sir Home Popham.

“He sees himself as a great man, on a level with ministers and general officers. He is certainly clever, diligent, and attentive to the welfare of his own men. He does his best to prevent his seamen using bad language—I wonder with what success? I have been told that he is a Fellow of the Royal Society and I can well believe it. He was very civil to me.”

“So he should be, my love! He must have noticed how well you look in your new uniform, made this time by a fashionable London tailor.”

“He could look at nothing else, being consumed by jealousy. He would have done better, though, to see you in the gown that you are wearing. What stuff is it?”

“A sprigged muslin, dear—what else?”

“Some people would think it scarcely decent.”

“It is meant to be only barely decent.”

“On decency I insist. Remove the gown this instant! . . . How does it come off?”

“Very readily, my love. I'll show you . . .”

They were never more in love than at this time, aware as they must be that their time was short and that their separation might be long. There were moments when Delancey would mutter something about quitting the service but Fiona would not hear of it. She was the more cheerful of the two, doing her best to
hearten him. He must remain, she insisted, the gallant captain she had fallen in love with—unless, indeed, he could return from the Indies as an Admiral.

“You forget, love, that I not long since became a post-captain! It will be enough for me if I return from the Indies with both arms, both legs, and nothing essential lost.”

“It will be enough for me if you return
soon!
”

When the
Laura
was nearly ready for sea, Delancey was given sealed orders. He was to escort a group of West Indiamen down Channel and break the seal on reaching a certain latitude. “To the
West
Indies?” Fiona exclaimed, “But that is surely to go the wrong way? No one has provided their Lordships with an atlas!” Delancey had to explain that nearly all the outward-bound trade must set off in the same direction, separating only when the South Atlantic had been reached. There was little risk of interception because the French fleet which had been lately at sea was now back in Cadiz and blockaded there. “There let it stay!” said Fiona but Delancey doubted whether it could stay there for long. The French ships could not be supplied at Cadiz and so would be forced to sea, where Lord Nelson would be waiting for them. There would be a battle and this should hasten the end of the war. On this note the two lovers parted, Fiona standing at the Sally Port and Delancey saluting her as his gig pulled away from the stair. She was still there, a forlorn figure, still waving, when the gig passed behind some anchored ships and was lost to view.

“It's dreadful, this part of it, ma'am,” said a middle-aged woman, addressing Fiona. “My husband is boatswain of the
Hercules
and has been mostly at sea these twenty years. I am used to being without him but I never get used to this moment when
the ship sails. I'll feel better in a day or two. It'll be the same with you, ma'am, you'll see.” Thus consoled, Fiona presently went on board the Guernsey packet and set off for the island which was now her home. She would not worry, she told herself, she would not grieve nor complain of loneliness. The more she was occupied the more quickly the time would pass. In a year or two—perhaps, for all she could tell, in a matter of months—the
Laura
would be back in Portsmouth. It was her cue—as they used to say on the stage—it was her cue to be very brave indeed. Back in Guernsey she laid ambitious plans before old Carré, her gardener, who advised her to hire some extra staff. So a boy called Pierre was recruited and was the target for much abuse from the cook and the indoor maids. By the time of Richard's return, Fiona told herself, it would be a home and garden to be proud of.

On a cold and foggy day in November Fiona heard the church bells ringing in the distance and supposed that there must be tidings of victory. The servants heard rumours but more reliable news was brought later in the day by old, bronzed and white-haired Captain Savage. As soon as he was shown into the drawing room, he came out with it:

“Good and bad news together, ma'am. The French and Spanish fleets have been all but destroyed in a battle off Cadiz but Lord Nelson was hit, shot by a musket-ball and died soon afterwards. No victory as complete was ever known, ma'am!”

“Thank God that Richard wasn't there!”

“He would rather have been present, depend on't, ma'am. But frigates play little part in a general engagement. He will gain more credit, I dare say, where he is. Have you heard from him yet?”

“No word yet, Captain Savage. He sailed as one of a squadron
‘on a particular service,' under the command of Sir Home Popham. He could be at the North Pole and I none the wiser!”

“My guess would be that he is at the Cape of Good Hope. I heard some rumour of it and that would seem to be the most likely place. There were troops, you see, under General Baird, which could only mean that a landing was intended. We took the Cape before and gave it back to the Dutch. I fancy that we'll take it again and decide, this time, to keep it.”

“Let's hope that we take it quickly and easily and that the Commodore sends the
Laura
home with his dispatch. But how sad about Lord Nelson! He was well liked and so much the hero! Poor Lady Nelson!”

“Lady Nelson? Ah, yes—Lady Nelson, to be sure. A sad day for her and indeed for all of us.”

“But surely this victory should hasten the time when peace is made?”

“I dare say, ma'am. But you must remember that the Emperor Napoleon, as he calls himself these days, has still the upper hand in Europe. We have not defeated him on land.”

“Oh, dear, I suppose not. So you think the war will go on for many more years?”

There was no resisting the appeal of the girl's tearful eyes.

“I expect Napoleon will tire of it and decide to live at peace with his neighbours.”

“Wouldn't that be good news? He must see in the end that fighting does no good and that it is better to be friends.”

“Yes, to be sure. He'll see reason before long, depend on't. Then we'll have Richard home again, he and many others who have been at sea for so many years. It would be good to be at peace again.”

Then the newspapers came with Collingwood's dispatch and
all the details of ships taken and men killed or wounded. It was the end of February 1806 before news came of General Sir David Baird's conquest of the Cape of Good Hope and there came soon afterwards two letters from Richard; one written from Madeira, the other written from Table Bay. The first read as follows:

December 14th 1805

My dearest Fiona—We are at this beautiful island and it has been good to go ashore after nearly three weeks under sail. Madeira is mountainous, the ground rising from the coast through vineyards and so through wooded foothills up to the high peaks which are volcanic, I have been told, in origin. With Fitzgerald and Mackenzie, our surgeon, I resolved to reach the summit. We were mounted on small, wiry ponies, each followed by a Portuguese boy with a stick. So steep was the way in places that I feared we should fall over backwards. When we dismounted, however, and paused for breath, I examined the poor beasts' hooves, which are fitted, I saw with iron spikes. Without these the ascent would have been impossible and even with them it was hard enough. The view from the top was sublime but I was nervous, I must confess, when we began our descent. My thoughts were of you, concluding that while it is creditable to have a husband killed in action, it is far less romantic to become a widow as a result of his falling off a pony in Madeira and so rolling down the mountainside. All was well, however, and we are enjoying fresh vegetables and fruit. I have also done the usual thing and shipped some wine for use during our further voyaging. The Indiamen ship wine here to sell, eventually, in England. Madeira that has gone to China and back is said to have matured
as if it has been six years in the cask, such being the effect of the ship's motion and the changes of climate. I shall bottle some of it especially for you.

On board the
Laura
we are getting to know each other and the crew is shaping well. Mr Mather is the perfect first lieutenant, Fitzgerald an agreeable messmate, and Greenwell does his best. Fitzgerald, I should explain, is Irish and from Wicklow, attractive in his manners and accent, quite a good officer but rather quarrelsome. Greenwell began on the lower deck and is a good practical seaman but nothing more. Sevendale of the Royal Marines is rather taciturn, but is, I suspect, a very good officer. Mr Ragley, master, is elderly and inactive. Soon after we dropped anchor here Sir Home Popham announced that there would be an examination for those who might aspire to the rank of lieutenant. The
Laura
had three candidates, Northmore having already passed, and there was a frenzy of last-minute poring over Hamilton Moore's classic work. The examining board was formidable but I think perfectly fair, with Byng of the
Belliqueux,
Edwards of the
Diomede,
and Josias Rowley in the chair. The result was very much what I expected. Topley and Stock both passed but the stolid Wayland, senior to both of them, failed in navigation and seamanship. My nightmare is to see all my good officers promoted and find myself left with men I cannot trust to prevent the ship falling overboard. One or two of the other midshipmen are promising but the rest are mere children. Northmore is signals officer and did well on the voyage hither from Portsmouth. Our seven West Indiamen were kept tolerably together and responded (eventually) to our suggestions about making more sail. I have a great deal of sympathy
for the masters of merchantmen. We impress all their best hands and then blame them for poor sail drill! I had them to dinner one day when we were becalmed and consoled them with plenty of wine. They voted me a very good fellow after that and I thought more highly of them!

Madeira is a delightful island, perhaps the most beautiful I have seen, but the mischief is that ships call here on the outward and never on the homeward passage. So I cannot entrust this letter to any ship bound for England but must trust to luck and hope to fall in later with some vessel going in the right direction. When it finally reaches you it will bring my kind regards to all our friends in Guensey, to Lady Saumarez, to old Savage, and to Sam Carter too if you should see him. Above all, it brings my love to you. You will probably have heard that men-of-war in Eastern waters have sometimes fallen in with a Spanish register ship bound from Acapulco to Manila, bringing riches to the captain and some useful sum in prize-money for every man on board. People may have pointed out to you that such luck as that may come my way and that we shall end with our town house in St Peter Port. You ask little in that way, I know, but I beg you not to heed those who predict for you so prosperous a future. Why do I say this? Because I am not one of those to whom good fortune comes easily. What comfort you have (all too little for your deserving) we owe mostly to my capture of the
Bonaparte
just before the last war ended. I was lucky then but years may pass before I have such another windfall. As for a treasure ship, we find that such a prize falls, more often than not, to the son or nephew of a Commander-in-Chief, an early-promoted youngster whose ship just happens to be there, by
the merest chance, when the Spaniard comes in sight. What little success I have I shall have to earn and perhaps deserve. As Shakespeare makes Henry V say: “We are but warriors for the working day. Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd, With rainy marching in the painful field . . .” He thus paints me to the life! Let no one persuade you, then, that I am like to return as a Nabob from the Indies. It will be enough for me if I can come back unharmed and with credit. One thing you may depend on is that I shall never throw men's lives away to make a name for myself. On this note I shall end but will write again from a different port of call, sending my second letter by the same ship, very likely, as will carry this.