Free Touch and Go by C. Northcote Parkinson Page A

first.”
    â€œIf we accept that reasoning,” said the Commodore, “we have the point of departure, the commander’s name and the approximate date. I don’t accept Pozzo’s statement that the convoy will sail together. I should assume that the convoy will be in two divisions, possibly in three.”
    â€œHave you decided, Sir Thomas,” asked Delancey, “how to deal with the situation?” He knew as he said it that he had spoken out of turn.
    â€œIt is not for me to decide,” replied Troubridge, shortly. “The decision rests with Lord Keith, who is quite as experienced as you or I. You did well, however, to bring us that prisoner and better still to question him before he had recovered from the shock of capture. Back to Gozo now and remain there until your supply ships are ready to sail.”
    Once more in his own cabin, with the
Merlin
at her old anchorage, Delancey thought that the new century had so far been kind to him. An action was to be expected and he might play some part in it. He had already perhaps done something to influence the British deployment. As against that, he had made two mistakes, the first in his interrogation of Pozzo, the second in this last conversation with Troubridge. The moment he had asked the question he realised that he should not have done so. Would it count against him? On the whole he thought not. But he must never again speak out of turn. This was something to have learnt.
    He opened the general chart of the Mediterranean and plotted the obvious course from Toulon to Malta. Perrée’s alternatives were two. He could follow the coast of Italy, pass the Straits of Messina and approach Malta from the north, or else he could go south of Sardinia and through the Sicilian Channel, making his approach from the west. He pondered these alternatives and decided, finally, that the simpler plan was the best. Whatever route Perrée might choose he would finally have to enter Grand Harbour and there, just out of gunshot, Lord Keith would be waiting for him. To waylay the French convoy outside Toulon was a theoretical possibility but there was no time for that. No, the entrance of Grand Harbour, the position where the
Merlin
had drawn the enemy’s fire, was a focal point towards which all routes must lead.
    In a few days’ time the Malta convoy would have sailed. At much the same hour Lord Keith would be approaching from the opposite direction. Lord Nelson might also be on the way and heaven knows what other ships had been ordered to the same rendezvous. For the convoy to reach Valletta, the first necessity had been to keep the plan secret. With secrecy lost, Delancey could not see that the relief attempt could have the slightest chance of success. But the French must have foreseen the dangers. Their plans must surely involve the convergence of several squadrons; one to give battle, one to lead the pursuit away from Malta and a third to make a dash for Grand Harbour.
    Some such plan might succeed against an opponent endowed with plenty of enthusiasm. It might just possibly succeed against Lord Nelson. But he was not the Commander-in-Chief. The man to be outwitted was that stolid Scotsman, Lord Keith, whose place—Delancey guessed—would be in the harbour mouth; a position from which he would not be lured by any alarm or excursion. Studying the chart and surveying the battlefield, Delancey came to what he thought might be a valuable conclusion. In warfare, he pondered, one of the worst mistakes is to be too clever. The next few weeks, he guessed, might prove the truth of this.

Chapter Four
T HE M ALTA C ONVOY
    T HE ORDERS from the Directory were clear and emphatic. Valletta was to be relieved by a squadron and convoy which would land there three thousand troops with ammunition and supplies to last the garrison for another ninety days. The gallant General Vaubois must not be left to his fate. Something must be done for the honour of