by David O'Neil
So it was not until the evening while seated at the table with Lady Jane and Sir Charles on either side, facing her beloved husband that she announced that she was pregnant. The stunned silence that followed this announcement may have signalled anything, but the joy of her husband’s cry and obvious delight of her guests made it quite clear that her news was welcome.
As they prepared to leave for the Ball, Jennifer spoke to Martin explaining why she had waited to make the announcement. Martin looked at her smiling. “My darling, of all the women in the world, you and Jane are the important two in my life. How could I ever object to your consideration for the lady who has been mother to us both? I am delighted that you are happy, though a little concerned that I may be absent for the birth. Come, let us get this Ball over so that we can enjoy being together in the privacy of our own bed.”
Jennifer giggled. “You make me blush, sir, with your comments. But let us hurry as you say, and spend as much time together as your career allows.”
The departure from Portsmouth had been without ceremony. The frigate was one of many coming and going from the busy harbor, and thus HMS Diane slipped off to sea without creating a ripple.
The course almost due east from Selsey Bill, followed the south coast of Britain. The lights of the various towns along the coast came and went with the miles as the ship progressed on her way to the Boulogne area.
In the Captain’s cabin of the Diane there was a discussion about ways and means being held between Martin and David Thacker, Lieutenant, currently on leave from the Prince of Wales own. The green tunic and overalls displayed his membership of the Rifle Brigade. In the corner of the cabin behind his chair was his weapon of choice, the Baker rifle, never far removed from his person.
He was on board by invitation. Having recovered from the injuries he had received in Spain he was now awaiting transport to rejoin his Regiment, apparently somewhere in Portugal.
Having become acquainted with Martin, he had agreed to lend his support and expertise to the task of abducting Albert Portet.
Both of the others were accustomed to the French mainland. Both had accompanied Martin in his excursions ashore in the Mediterranean.
They were expected to connect with the frigate HMS Phoebe which had brought raiding parties for the attack on the boats assembled in Boulogne for the invasion of England. She was accompanied by a gunboat, HMS Whitby and two captured brigs stuffed with combustibles to be used as fire-ships.
The snatch party would be carried ashore in one of the fire ships and collected just along the coast by their own longboat.
Martin, David, Paul and Pierre would have in addition the services of Carter and Raul Chavet, who had arranged transport and some diversions if needed. But most important, he had located the whereabouts of Albert Portet, the target of their undertaking.
At ten that evening they embarked on the fire-ship Cayenne, a schooner of 75feet length. The three man crew agreed to drop them off at the ‘plage’ beside the entrance of the harbor. The longboat would collect them from the beach.
The ship was left under the command of Lieutenant Reed. It was all they could do to make sure that the purpose of their mission was disguised by the burning of the boats.
The noise had started by the time they reached the beach. The plage stretched north in the dim light cast by the town lights. In the harbor there was the crack of muskets and spurts of flame as the arsonists set to burning boats. The Cayenne sailed in on her last voyage, the flames appearing from her hold as she made for the two moored frigates lying beside the entry to the inner harbor.
Martin saw the strike as she hit the first of the moored ships, and rush of fire climbing the tarred rigging of the Frenchman, as the hungry flame jumped to the second ship in the rising wind.
The snatch party followed the lead of Raul Chavet as he strode briskly and openly to the street above the beach where the carriage waited. All managed to squeeze in and the carriage set off on the road to Wimereux. Just a half mile from the port the carriage stopped. Chavet got down and approached two people leaning, smoking pipes beside the sea wall.
After a short conversation he rejoined the party. To Martin, he said in French “Portet is still in his house.” The carriage moved on and turned inland, stopping beside a copse of trees where there was room to conceal it in a glade screening it from the road.
“Now we wait.” Chavet smiled grimly. “Check your weapons, my friends. This man is ugly and vicious. But he is not a coward and we could have a fight on our hands.”
A man appeared as they dismounted from the carriage. “He comes.” Was all the man said.
In the distance the noise from the raiding parties at the port could be heard and the occasional spurt of flame and smoke highlighted the area. The sound of hooves on the track could now be heard clearly. Martin placed his small group along the line of the road, then he stepped out to stand in the path of the riders.
Two men, Portet and another they did not recognize.
The two pistols Martin pointed was enough to stop the riders and the two men were quickly subdued and bundled into the carriage. Martin and Chavet rode the two horses as they made their way back to Boulogne. The town was in turmoil, the harbor full of burning boats, while musket fire was concentrating on a group a men hiding behind a stack of boxes and protecting them from the attack that was taking place. There seemed to be a lack of firing from the defence position. So Martin turned to Chavet, “Let us take the pressure off the survivors, shall we?” To David Thacker he said, “Look after our friends here. Carter stay with the lieutenant. If Portet tries to get away kill him!”
“Let’s go,” he said to the others and they ran quietly down the pontoon until they could see the attacking force. At least a dozen soldiers were loading and shooting at the defenders, keeping them from the boat bobbing alongside the quay across the open ground between them. Martin’s men lined up and opened fire on the soldiers. Three fell immediately. Others were reloading and at least one raMr.od clattered against the stones of the quay, having been left in the barrel when the shot was fired.
Two more men fell as there was no cover from the fire of Martin’s men. The others ran back down the quay away from their ambushers. “This way!” Martin called. “Let’s join our friends in the boat.”
Chapter seventeen
Escape
The party ran round to the waiting boat, joining the men from the raid and collecting the Lieutenant and the prisoners on the way. As they started to row their way out of the harbor a sail crossed the water at the other end of the quay. Their boat was under the command of a bosun from HMS Phoebe, Martin saw the sail arriving and grabbed the man whispering in his ear. “That’s trouble,” he said. The bosun said quietly, “Now what? We were supposed to be away long since, but I had three men adrift. Then we got pinned down by the soldiers. By the way, thank you, sir. I thought we were looking at French Prison till you came along. Who are you, sir? I don’t recognize you.”
“Commander Forest from HMS Diane. I’m here on different mission. Look, bosun we are going to have to play a game here, I think. Pull over to the quayside and tie up. Chavet, can you and Paul perhaps find some of the Tricolors that the soldiers wear?”
Chavet grinned and patted his knife. He beckoned Paul to accompany him and the pair disappeared along to the mainland end of the quay, where many of the wounded soldiers were still wailing and crying for assistance.
It would have been difficult for Martin to interpret all the sounds he heard around the moored boat but, certainly, the sounds from the soldiers diminished considerably by the time Chavet and Paul reappeared carrying several of the small flags, used by many as headscarves.
Martin gave several of the men in the boat the flags, some with the bloodstains an additional reminder of their origin.
“Now,” he said. “All the men with flags take and load muskets. Oarsmen take you places. The rest of you are prisoners. Only French speakers may talk, and only then to ask me for order
s. Understood?”
There was a chorus of replies from the men. The prisoners were gagged so that they could not give warning. Martin waited until the ship at the end of the quay had tied up alongside, then he quietly called, “Give way all. Silence now while we run the gauntlet.”
He looked at the eighteen men and the two prisoners, then at the moored sloop at the end of the quay.
“Bosun, how many men do you think on that craft?”
“Should be thirty, sir. But I reckon they’re less than that. She don’t seem to be well handled, so I’d guess her crew are mainly ashore.”
“That’s what I thought. Let us ask them to give a hand with the prisoners. When we get to her I’ll board and speak to their captain.”
The bosun smiled grimly. “Take care, sir. I think it might work. I’ll warn the lads.”
He passed down the boat whispering to the men as he went. Then from the bows he turned and Martin made out his nod, indicating they were ready.
“Hello, St Cloud,” he called in French. A head appeared at the stern of the sloop.
“Permit me to come aboard to speak with your captain. I am Lieutenant Roget of the Gendarmerie.
The boarding port was opened and steps dropped into place to allow him to climb aboard the small ship. The longboat tied up alongside in the shadow of the hull of the sloop.
Martin pulled himself clumsily aboard, playing the landlubber for the benefit of the seaman waiting to assist him.
“Thank you, young man,” Martin panted. “Busy night, heh?” His eyes were everywhere checking the three men on deck. “You seem a little short-handed. Everything happening at once, I suppose?”
His escort grunted and led him to the cabin at the break of the deck aft.
The captain was a scruffy sailor armed with a sword which had been acquired from some unfortunate officer. He looked about forty, with a dirty face and a permanent sneer on his face.
“What do you want, M’siu Policeman?”
Martin stared into the man’s eyes. “That is Lieutenant, Sir, to you! Get on your feet when an officer addresses you.”
The man looked uncertain but rose to his feet anyway. “I am captain of this ship.” He said aggressively.
“In what navy? I suggest you stop playing games, and take me to your captain I wish to speak to him.”
The man said “He is wounded and I am in command.”
“Where is he?”
The man turned to the seaman who had escorted Martin. Take this man to the …” Martin slammed his hand on the deck and drew his pistol. Pointing it, he said, “You take me to him now!”
The man looked at him, his eyes now scared. “This way.” Martin shepherded both men in front of him into another cabin where a man lay with a bloody shoulder in the berth. No one was attending him and he was muttering in delirium.
Martin waved the two men out of the cabin. “Why is no one attending your captain?”
Before the man could answer, Martin called Chavet. “Bring the doctor and the prisoners.”
The pistol stopped the comment that the so-called captain would have made. Martin had backhanded the man and the heavy metal had smashed into the sneering mouth, knocking the man to the deck.
The seaman grinned. He muttered, “Served the bastard right.”
Then the bosun, Chavet and the others were swarming aboard, followed finally by Lieutenant Thacker with the prisoners.
The seaman’s eyes widened at the sight of Portet, tied and gagged. Then he grinned. Portet was not a popular man in Boulogne.
There were four men aboard including the captain. The remainder of the scratch crew had been sent ashore to perform duties in dowsing fires and fighting off the attackers.
“Prisoners into the brig, and get someone to look at the captain in his cabin, he is wounded and needs attention.” Martin turned to the seaman still standing beside him. “Where did he get the sword?”
“He stole it from the captain. Then he used it on him.”
“Why?”
The man shrugged. “He is a thief. He was going to steal the ship. We were waiting for his men to report and take the ship out of port.”
“Why did you stay?” Martin was curious.
“I needed to leave. My politics are of another kind.” The man was determined and proud.
“You tell me, a member of the Gendarmerie, that you are a Royalist? “
The man laughed. “You are, I would guess, British, though you’re French is excellent. You command men who have no French. I guessed that you are of the raiders and are escaping. You have that swine, Portet, as a prisoner. I am right, am I not?”
Martin smiled, “I’ll see you in England. Meanwhile go with the other prisoners.”
“My name is Paul Cartier, and the signal to the tower is X flag.” He left and walked over to the other prisoners to be herded below.
“Get under way, bosun.” Martin ordered. To Carter he said, “Check the guns. We may need them before we get away.”
“Aye, sir.” Carter called two of the other men to help and began examining the six gun battery on the port side.
The sails rose on their yards and the ship started to slide away from the quay. A group of men appeared at the far end.
Martin called to Carter “I believe those men are pirates bent on stealing this ship. I cannot abide pirates. See if a gun will bear before we get out of range?”
“A pleasure, sir,” called Carter cheerily, and set to work on the after gun, calling for powder to go with the bag of pistol bullets that comprised grapeshot for specific use against grouped enemy. He had the gun loaded and ready by the time the ship was beginning to heel to the pressure of the sails.
“Fire when you are ready, Carter.” Martin said quietly. “Let us leave with a bang.”
The sound of the gun was loud and the effect satisfying scattering the pirate group into a bloody shambles. With the X flag at the masthead, the fort at the entry to the harbor, now re-occupied, ignored the St Cloud and she cleared the port without further trouble.
Contact was made with HMS Phoebe and HMS Diane just after dawn. HMS Whitby, the gunboat, had been lost getting too close to the defences the previous night. A stray shot had entered the barrel of the mortar mounted on the foredeck. The ignited shell within exploded prematurely. The explosion had been spectacular and had occurred when the raiders had been at Wimereux.
Martin resumed his command much to the relief of Lieutenant Reed.
The prize, St Cloud ,under command of a Midshipman was sailed to Portsmouth, in company with the Diane and reports sent immediately to Mr. Smith of the capture of Portet and the other prisoners. All were sent to London with Martin to be interrogated by Mr. Smith’s team of specialists.
The opportunity to join Jennifer in the London house was welcome and, although they had little time, at least they were able to enjoy each other for the three days Martin was in London.
As his twenty-third birthday passed and the birth of his child approached, Martin found his chances of being at home in time to meet his child diminishing. After several excursions in the channel, Mr. Smith released the frigate and HMS Diane was sent to join Nelson’s fleet in the Mediterranean. Later in the year the news of the birth of his daughter came by despatch with the other mail for the fleet. The time dragged through to the turn of the year and the long months of the Mediterranean winter. For the frigates there was the occasional opportunity to get away and perform detached duty, albeit short term, as the Admiral was always conscious of the need of frigates to keep his fleet in touch.
The resumption of the war had led to the renewal of the blockade of Toulon where Villeneuve and twelve French ships of the line were bottled up.
The problem of maintaining the blockade was made worse by the need to obtain fresh water and the supply and refitting of the ships where needed. This entailed a journey for the ships to the Isles of Magdalena, 200 miles away, and on occasion there were only frigates present to keep watch while the ships of
the line were refitting and storing.
Since this situation was worsened by the renewed declaration of war by the Spanish Government, there was the problem of looking in two directions for the blockading ships. Bonaparte was meanwhile expanding his army in the expectation of invading England. His collection of boats for the invasion had been renewed and protected. All he now required was a diversion and the weather to produce the right conditions.
From his place on the quarterdeck of the Diane Martin was becoming aware that important events were occurring.
The greatest problem he was facing personally was the grinding boredom of the blockading duty. The time dragged, passing slowly for the remainder on the year, with a series of competitions between ships where weather permitted, boat races and shooting matches between the officer and fencing matches and tuition for the less experienced.
The plans for the invasion depended on the French fleets at Brest, Rochefort, and Toulon breaking out to rendezvous in the West Indies. There, in the expectation that Nelson would follow Villeneuve, they would give him the slip and return East across the Atlantic to sweep the English Channel clear and escort the French invasion fleet across, to land in England.
Bonaparte’s plans went rather astray. The Brest fleet did not manage to get away from the blockade by Admiral Cornwallis. Admiral Missiessy managed to escape from Rochefort with some of his ships, during a storm. However when he reached the West Indies, and made a successful sweep through the islands raiding and gathering considerable loot, he failed to make the rendezvous with Villeneuve. The Rochefort ships returned home without encountering any British ships on the way.
Villeneuve sailed while Nelson was at Magdalena in January 1805. His ships suffered damage in a storm and they returned to Toulon. Nelson, having been warned by one of his frigates, sent Martin to search the eastern end of the Mediterranean under the mistaken impression that Villeneuve intended sailing in that direction. Unsuccessful in his search, Martin rejoined the Admiral in Palma, Majorca, where the fleet was storing and learned the Villeneuve had returned to Toulon.