Prior to the action, the recently-captured corvette had been afflicted with fever, which had come aboard on a foray onto the Spanish mainland. Nearly half of the crew had died, the only person of officer status surviving was a young cadet who assumed command, assisted by an older seaman.
This young man had surrendered his ship to Stalwart without a shot being fired due to the lack of men and ammunition.
Now shamed and embarrassed, the cadet had attempted suicide once he was in custody in Kingston. A sympathetic British officer had talked with the young man and assured him that he would remain on parole here, and doubted the French navy would hold him accountable for the loss of the corvette.
In return, the lad mentioned some papers he had removed from the quarters of his dead captain and hidden away on Robespierre when he surrendered. The garrison commander was now closeted with some of his officers as they attempted to determine the usefulness of the documents. Since Mullins was here on Admiralty orders, it was thought that he might wish to be present when the papers were translated.
Mullins left at once, being taken to the garrison headquarters. Major Mitchell, in charge of this examination, said the cadet claimed to be unaware of the contents, saying that he just wanted to safeguard them for his superiors back in France.
Several of the officers’ present were fluent in French, but it was thought better to have an official translator from Government House to have a first look at the papers.
Hours went by, while Mullins sat idly by listening to barracks gossip. Then, a major of foot appeared, his arms holding bundles of packets.
Placing them on the table, he began by saying most of the papers were normal ship’s records, useful but not especially important. “However, among them are some orders coming directly from Bonaparte in Paris. They are dated almost two years ago, but charge the former captain of Robespierre to scout the former French islands of the Caribbean and determine where an effective assault might be mounted by an invasion fleet.”
From the young man’s account, the ship spent much of that time navigating between the various islands, obtaining supplies surreptitiously from loyal citizens on captured French islands. When supplies were not adequate, armed raids against small towns on the Spanish coast were sometimes successful.
After fever came aboard, the former captain elected to return to France, but of course perished before he could take the ship home.
Mullins spent the remainder of the day closely examining the papers and arranged with Government House to have copies made of the documents. He would take one set of the copies back on his frigate, while others would be sent by other means, in case of mishap. He learned it would take another week for this to be done, so he went back to the frigate and called his department heads.
“Gentlemen, long before it could have been expected, I believe we have found the information we have been sent to acquire. I expect to sail within a week. You should all go over your own department and determine what might be needed before we sail. Please make your needs known to the first officer.”
Mullins had hoped to take his prize back to Britain, believing the ship would bring more at auction there, but he learned the governor wished to keep it for the island’s defense. From the commander of the garrison, he obtained a young Maroon slave, who had been involved in a slave insurrection, and might well be executed. Visiting the lad, he found him to be in sad condition from beatings as well as being badly mal-nourished.
He explained to the captive he was willing to take him aboard his ship as his servant. While he would then be a Royal Navy seaman, bound to the ship until released, he would not be a slave, but could begin life as a freeman once this war was over.
The lad agreed and said his name was Cromwell. His mother had been a house slave to a planter outside the capital, but financial reverses caused the owner to put his servants up for sale when she was just a girl. Terrified of the possible consequences, some of the slaves escaped, taking the girl with them.
The band of escaped slaves joined up with a tribe of Maroons back in the wilderness in the center of the island. These Maroons were the descendants of escaped slaves from years before, making their living by hunting, growing food crops and occasionally raiding nearby plantations.
The girl eventually married a warrior of the tribe and had her child. While the child was young, still just a boy, a militia unit stumbled upon their village at a time when many of the warriors were away on a raid. Those Maroons who survived the attack were sent back to Kingston for disposition. After it was determined the adults were too wild to be sold as slaves, many were shipped to Nova Scotia, where they were far from their jungle surroundings and, it was thought, would not have opportunity to harm anyone.
Being young and healthy, Cromwell was held back and sold to a merchant. After repeated disagreements with his owner, the boy emulated his mother and fled, joining another band of Maroons. He lived with these people for several years until this band too, was taken by soldiers. He would bring a good price as a field hand, but one of the officers kept him away from auction and used him as a house servant.
The boy was wild though. No amount of beatings could correct his behavior and the officer began to realize he was not suited to be a house slave. Because Cromwell had not gone through auction, the officer had no proof of ownership and was not able to sell him. When Captain Mullins brought his captured corvette into port, Cromwell’s master decided the simple plan would be to merely send his slave to the navy. Thus, he ended up in Mullins’ hands. It was explained repeatedly to Cromwell that he was not a slave, but a sailor like the other hands. Just as soon as this war was over, he would be a free man like the other seamen would be.
Untrained for any other duties, he became Mullin’s personal servant. It had been a plan to train him into some useful specialty, but as soon as the ship set sail, the lad became violently ill. Mullins felt certain the former slave would never develop his sea legs, but Cromwell proved him wrong. Once out to sea, Cromwell began to improve and by the time they were halfway across the Atlantic, the lad was running up into the tops with the other ships’ boys. At that time, Mullins released him from his servants’ duties and turned him over to the captain of the foretop to train as a topman.
Nearing British waters, they came upon a brig-rigged privateer vessel in the process of looting a merchant ship she had just taken. Early after sunrise, the weather had been poor with intermittent rain showers limiting vision. Emerging from a heavy shower, there they were, the brig beam-to-beam with a ship, her people transferring goods to the privateer.
Mullins took his frigate right at the pair, the brig cutting loose from its prize just before the impact. As they crashed together, boarders from Stalwart stormed the privateer, to meet its crew in hand-to-hand combat.
Mullins had not really intended to seek out such a bloody fight. Normally he would have stood off and pounded the victim until she struck, but there had not been time to study the proper tactics for this occasion. One minute, they had been enduring a violent storm, hoping not to be taken aback or pooped, blind as a bat. Next minute, they were in the clear, about to fall upon this brig. After the battle, it was found the brig carried as many men as the frigate. The fight could very easily have gone the other way.
Warships destined for a long cruise, could sail with a limited number of men, because of the problem of carrying sufficient stores. Since this brig intended to dash out of harbor, seize her prey quickly and dash back into harbor again very quickly, she could take on more hands before sailing.
On this occasion, the Stalwarts’ hands that originally boarded the brig, were cut off for a few minutes when the ships drifted apart. Among them was the young Maroon, armed with a cutlass. Surrounded by heavily armed boarders, he spun like a dervish taking out the enemy around him. Some of the privateer’s men seemed confused. These were not professional seamen, but often casual hands taken aboard just before sailing for use as boarders.
These hands were not paid sala
ries, just a share of the prize money gained. If no prizes were taken, they earned nothing. The privateer captain would normally never willingly attack a warship, since he would likely incur more loss than gain. The usual merchant vessel could often be taken by a mere show of force.
In the present case, the privateer captain had little choice. While engaged in loading aboard some valuable booty from a prize he had just taken, this enemy frigate had come upon him unexpectedly. His only hope of saving his own ship as well as the prize was to overwhelm the enemy with his large crew as they boarded.
Had so many of Stalwarts men not been trapped aboard the brig, Mullins would have stood off and used his guns until the enemy struck. With men trapped aboard however, he would not willingly lose them. The fighting instantly turned vicious, with sometimes several men attacking a single enemy. As many as three men opposed Cromwell at one time. The difference was, he had, during his days with the Maroon tribes, learned from experts the art of fighting with edged blades. These opponents had little or no training in the art and merely tried to smother their enemies with numbers.
The lad had a pile of dead and wounded bodies at his feet when Stalwart came alongside again. A stronger force swarmed over the rails to take charge of the brigs deck, and the end was near.
After they docked back, in Portsmouth, he was offered the option of serving for a short time as his captain’s servant in his own home. Cromwell declined the offer and asked to remain with his new friends aboard ship.
As for himself, he had to call on the First Lord and disclose what he had learned in Jamaica.
Chapter Nineteen
Ron Dooley had gone ashore in his friend’s boat. They had joined the normal fishing fleet close offshore and followed it into port. While with the fleet, they deployed their net and managed to pull in a small catch, to the amusement of some of the boatman’s old friends.
Once ashore, Dooley had a good meal in the local inn, where he spent the night. Next morning, he donned rough clothing and set out on foot, in the direction of Cherbourg, only to be stopped by a pair of gendarmes at a checkpoint on the edge of town. He had papers identifying himself as a Danish dealer in salt fish, who hoped to begin a business supplying the French naval ships in this area. The gendarmes at the roadblock were looking forward for their overdue relief, and were not overly vigilant.
The policemen examined Dooley and his belongings casually. They had been instructed by their new corporal to detain any merchant from Prussia and to be suspicious of any other traveler with a foreign accent. This fellow certainly did have an accent, although being native to the area, they thought almost every traveler they encountered had an accent of some kind. This person was from the north of France, they initially thought.
This man’s papers though, said he was a Dane from Bornholm, certainly not the Prussian their corporal was looking for. Dooley continued onward for another ten kilometers, when he met a traveler coming from the other direction who reported another checkpoint a few kilometers down the road. Inspecting a crude map that had been furnished him back in London, he saw there was an abrupt curve in the road ahead.
Noting the expected position of the checkpoint, he saw if he left the road and kept going straight through fields and forest, he could rejoin the road later, avoiding another inspection.
He was rather confident in his disguise and credentials, but felt it better to avoid un-necessary examinations. The detour slowed him right down and it was well into the afternoon when he rejoined the highway, shortly thereafter coming to a small hamlet at a crossing over a large stream. A little cafe had a few tables outside its front door, and he saw two men sitting at one table, eating.
Sitting at a vacant table, Dooley waited for the owner to come out to see what he desired. Dooley purchased bread, wine, and a cold roasted chicken, which he rapidly demolished. As he sat with his wine, debating with himself whether to remain here until dark or to press on, a mounted gendarme cantered up, dismounted, and approached the other two diners. Something about them caused the policeman’s hackles to rise and he readied his carbine while they produced their papers and laid them on the table. After a brief examination, he sharply ordered the pair to stand up for examination.
Dooley was anxious to leave immediately, but he knew suspicions would be raised if he did. Instead, he called for the café’s owner and asked for cheese and more wine. When a large piece of country cheese and a bottle of red wine were placed in front of him, he asked the proprietor to join him, explaining he could not eat that much cheese by himself.
Sitting there with his host, they discussed the tableau that was playing out in front of them. The proprietor was certain the two men being detained were members of a group suspected of stealing livestock in the area.
The gendarme had finished questioning his pair of suspects but his suspicions were not allayed. Calling over a pair of spectators, he had them hold his catch while he bound the protesting mens’ wrists.
By the time a wagon was engaged that would deliver the detainees to their destination, Dooley and his host had consumed much of the wine and become somewhat boisterous. After the prisoners had been loaded onto the wagon and securely bound, the gendarme came over to Dooley’s table and asked both men to identify themselves. The proprietor protested, saying Dooley was a good friend and certainly was guilty of no wrong against the Empire of France. He himself was a respected business man, as any inhabitant could testify. At length though, seeing the frown on the gendarme’s face, he rose and went into the café, with the police officer on his heels, to collect his papers.
When they returned, the gendarme, apparently forgetting about Dooley, went straight to the wagon.
As he watched the gendarme tie his own mount to the rear of the wagon, a sudden inspiration came to him. Believing he saw an opportunity to avoid future questioning, he said, “Soldat, I am travelling to Cherbourg. I have already come a long way and my feet are sore, they would rather ride than walk. If you are going in that direction, I would be glad to drive your team, while you watch over your guests.”
The policeman looked at him suspiciously and demanded to see his papers. Dooley was dismayed at the order, but pulled them out. They were examined carefully, then the gendarme said, “You had me worried for a minute. When I heard your accent, I thought you might be a man I am looking for. However, he is Prussian, while you, of course, are a Dane.”
Inviting Dooley into the wagon, they set out with the spy at the reins. Neither had much to say. The gendarme was concerned of what his corporal might say of his lack of success in locating the Prussian spy and Dooley was considering how he might get away from this police officer without arousing suspicion.
After passing through several other checkpoints without incident, toward evening, they came to a rather large village and the gendarme ordered him to pull up in front of a dilapidated inn. Unlike others Dooley had visited, this one did not have the usual assortment of loungers drinking wine and gossiping outside. Instead, a half dozen mounts were picketed in front, and a corresponding number of gendarmerie waited outside its door.
The gendarme in the wagon ordered Dooley out before reaching the inn, he did not wish his superior to know he had offered a ride to a civilian, a foreigner at that. Dooley picked up his bag and stood casually by while a pair of police officers came over to usher the prisoners into the inn, which was the local headquarters of the gendarmerie.
With all attention directed to this activity, Dooley sauntered casually away. Wandering off the road into the center of the village, he stopped at a shop and bought bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine. With no one paying attention, he made his way out of the back of the village onto a track that led into the country. A mile away, he found shelter in a hay rick, burrowing his way into the hay and eating his supper. After wrapping himself in his greatcoat, the hay kept him warm enough and he fell asleep.
HMS Stalwart came to her mooring in Portsmouth Harbor and Mullins left the ship to Mister Daniels, while he went ash
ore to report his activities and get further orders. An officious civilian in headquarters discovered a forgotten memorandum directing Mullins to report to London without delay when he returned, so Mullins was issued a travel warrant and sent on his way.
Spending much of the next day being directed from office to office in the Admiralty, he was finally sent to an official who was familiar with the mission on which he had been dispatched.
His report was received and he was brought up to date on events in the Frisians. The French had built up their strength on the mainland and had made another attack upon the island. This time a pair of enemy third-rate battleships had joined in the attack, but an old second-rate brought out of retirement, a formerly hulked ship, hurriedly manned and armed, had done its part to see them off, assisted by Centaur and Indominable. The enemy had left behind several hundred troops, stranded when their transports were captured or destroyed. Some intelligence of enemy intentions had been gathered, and more was now known of their plans.
Mullins was sent to meet with one of the Lords who assured him the news he brought from Jamaica, corroborated that obtained in battle in the North Sea. It now seemed certain the enemy hoped to secure the contested island, using it as a jumping off platform to launch their Caribbean mission.
Unfortunately for them, the capture of their scout corvette by HMS Stalwart cost them the intelligence that had been gathered. Whether they would continue with their plan was anyone’s guess.
Chapter Twenty
Dooley made his way to Cherbourg without further incident and met up with some acquaintances from previous days. With their help, he could negotiate a letter of credit and now had a supply of gold Napoleons to fund his activities.
HMS Centaur: A Charles Mullins novel, Sea Command 8 Page 13