Free Touch and Go by C. Northcote Parkinson

French man-of-war. Which was it? Not for the first time in his service career, Delancey was glad to think that it was not for him to decide.
    An hour later the
Merlin
was close in to the harbour entrance and Delancey was studying Valletta at fairly close range. To starboard, he could see, was Fort St Elmo, the seaward end of the peninsula on which the city was built; a towering fortification under the French flag. To port, as he knew, were the other cities: Kalkara, Cospicua, Senglea, defended by Fort St Angelo. Everywhere the cliffs were crowned by honey-coloured battlements. The harbour was completely landlocked and heavily defended by hundreds of cannon. He had heard that the place was impregnable and he could well believe it. But how could a relief convoy enter the port? There was only the one entrance to Grand Harbour and a British squadron to watch it.
    The problem would have been simpler if the French had control of a second port or more of the island. But this was the gauntlet they had to run. Their only chance was to send enough men-of-war to engage Troubridge in battle, followed by merchantmen who could slip into harbour while the battle continued. Or could Decrès make a sortie to cover the convoy’s approach? The difficulty about that would be one of timing. Delancey went in as far as he dared, being finally checked by a single shot from Fort St Elmo. It was wide but provided proof that the sloop was within range. Delancey at once gave the order to tack, needing no second hint, and no other shot was fired. The French clearly had no ammunition to waste.
    Aboard the
Culloden
again, Delancey was hospitably entertained at the Commodore’s table. There was no sign of Pozzo, nor was his name mentioned until after dinner when Sir Thomas took Delancey aside and motioned Lieutenant Revell to join them.
    â€œTell Captain Delancey what we know now about your prisoner.”
    â€œWell, sir, I told him at first that we should send him back to Valletta. He then tried to kill himself but was prevented. I took this as proof that he is really a deserter. I then established by questioning that his story about his feud with the family of Bonaparte is rubbish. He left Corsica as a young child and knows very little about the island except from hearsay. He was no longer Aide-de-Camp to Admiral Decrès at the time of his desertion. He had been caught drawing rations for a coxswain who had actually died. This led to dismissal from the Admiral’s staff and to a month as duty officer in the forward position. He was worried, I think, lest some other indiscretion should come to light, earning him further penalties. So he bribed a fisherman to take him and that skiff (which he stole) to the island of Comino. He was not seriously trying to reach Italy. His intention all along was to give himself up as a prisoner of war. I do not see him as a heroic character.”
    â€œAnd what about the expected relief attempt?”
    â€œI think that story may be true. It fits in with other intelligence reports.”
    Delancey was relieved to hear this, glad to think he had not been entirely wrong and that Pozzo was the deserter he claimed to be. He would, nevertheless, be more cautious another time.
    â€œI should be interested to know,” he said, “why a man who had lied about everything else should tell the truth about the expected relief.”
    â€œWell, sir, it is a matter of opinion. You should know, however, that he now denies the statement he made to you. He says that you starved him into saying something about the French plans. He realised that the interrogation would go on until he provided you with some information. He says now that the information he gave you was false.”
    â€œI think it was true and that he is lying now. He was under pressure, as he says, and those few facts were forced out of him. Yes, I agree with you: his subsequent denial adds weight to the information he gave at