Quarterdeck

by David O'Neil

  “Keep her as she goes, Mr. Harris.”

  The Master’s Mate, Daniel, acknowledged with a quiet, “Aye, sir.”

  “Join me in a glass, Mr. Lewis. We will be some time on this course before we raise the Island.”

  “A pleasure, sir.”

  The two officers went below to the stern cabin, and Daniel breathed a sigh of relief, allowed at last to sail the boat unsupervised, for a while at least. He had no problem with Mr. Keats. He was learning his job well and seemed to be shaping into a good officer. It was just that like this he had time for his own thoughts, without waiting for orders that may or may not come at any time. Meanwhile the cutter flew through the grey Channel waters, toward the distant loom of the Isle de Batz.

  The plan called for the cutter to be in sight of the harbour by the approach of night. Keats decided that they should sail past the entrance as evening approached, for a view during daylight. Then, to reverse course and sail back for a closer look with the approaching darkness behind them. Then having taken a good look, to make all speed to rendezvous with the HMS Vixen as early as possible, just in case they needed the extra time.

  “Well, we need not have worried. It seems all is as it was. I swear they have not taken the cargo from the Indiaman. She is still as low in the water as ever. From the looks of the frigates most of the men must be ashore or at stand easy. Apart from the deck watch, there appears to be nobody about.”

  Harris approached.

  “Yes, Mr. Harris?”

  “Sir, we have two Frenchmen in the party here. What if we launched the dinghy and me and the two Frenchies went to have a look around? We could meet you here when you come back with the raiders, sir?”

  Keats thought for a few moments. “Damn good idea, Mr. Harris. You do realise that if you are caught, it could be the chop.”

  “Best not to get caught then, sir.”

  “Very well, get ready. We’ll drop you when we turn.”

  Harris went and collected the two loyalist members of the crew, and called the bo’sun to launch the dinghy to take them ashore.

  ***

  Daniel rowed the small boat easily into the harbour at Roscoff. His two passengers idly chatted in French as they passed under the stern of the frigate closest to their route. Harris glanced up and read the name picked out in battered gold letters across the stern. Guerriere. He knew that meant warrior. The other frigate was Justine. The name was just a name as far as Harris was concerned. He could not make out the name of the corvette. It had swung with the eddy and the name was not visible. There were only a few men on the Indiaman, armed with muskets. It seemed to Harris that it might mean the crew were still on board.

  He drew the dinghy alongside the quay with an expert flourish, and seized the landing ladder to hold the boat steady allowing the two Frenchmen, to climb on to the quay.

  There were groups of people standing around and talking on the quay, so the men separated and joined different groups. Both listened. Daniel seated in the boat was aware of the excitement from the noise coming from the many groups on the quay above him.

  The two men returned to the boat fairly quickly. As Daniel rowed away across the harbour they told him the news. It seemed that the crews of the frigates had been arrested for mutiny. They had been ordered to escort the Indiaman and its cargo to Le Havre. Both crews had refused. They say the British fleet has returned. The second man said one of the group he was with mentioned the meeting between two British ships. “I think perhaps they saw Vixen meeting with the sloop from the fleet. Added to the voyage here from Brest in the terrible storm, their officers have little experience. The ships were damaged, and they have just managed to effect repairs.”

  “Did they say why they did not unload the Indiaman here?”

  “Yes. It seems they have no lighterage here to handle bulk cargo. They had kept the crew on board to help sail her onward. Now there is confusion and trouble.”

  “Good. So now we go as fast as we can. As soon as we get beyond the harbour, we’ll raise the mast and make all speed following the Angelique.”

  ***

  As they rounded the end of the breakwater both Frenchmen called out, “She is here. The Angelique is here.”

  Daniel redoubled his efforts with the oars as the cutter bore down on them.

  Back on board he reported to Lieutenant Keats. “Sir, the two frigates have no crews aboard. The men have been taken ashore under arrest for mutiny. The crew of the Harlech Castle are being held aboard at present. She has not been unloaded as they have not the lighterage here.”

  “Well done, Harris. We will make all speed to meet with the Captain and let him know of this.”

  “Excuse me, sir. I was happy to see you here, but surprised.”

  Keats smiled. “Fortuitous, Harris. We lost the fore jib. Replacing it took enough time. Then the lookout spotted you returning across the harbour, so I decided to wait. It seems that was a wise decision.”

  The cutter was heeling to the wind, her keel cutting the water spurning the waves.

  ***

  Because the Vixen and her consorts had made better time than anticipated, they were heading to close the gap with the returning cutter.

  The news was passed when everyone met. Martin decided that they would sail into the harbour and board both frigates directly from Vixen and Boscombe, leaving the Indiaman to the Pelican and Angelique. The harbour batteries would be bombarded by both frigates on entry. While the cutting out was occurring. Martin guessed that the port was ill-prepared for an assault judging from the remarks made by the Master’s Mate, Harris, and the opinions of the two French seamen who had accompanied him.

  The Vixen led the ships into Roscoff flying a tricolour. The flag was replaced as soon as they were in the harbour itself and the port broadside guns were flaming at the rather crude embrasures mounting the battery protecting the harbour. Coming alongside the Guerriere the boarding party overran the deck watchmen and started setting the sails. A cable passed to the Vixen assured that the prize swung up to the wind promptly. Martin ordered the starboard broadside to prepare and brought the ship about, to leave harbour dragging the prize round behind her. The sails filled on both ships and the first gun fired from the battery on shore. It drew fire from the entire broadside in return.

  Boscombe hauled Justine around in similar fashion, and all four ships started for the harbour mouth.

  Pelican met opposition from the prize crew still on board. The intervention by Angelique whose people boarded from the other side of the ship, made the difference and the prize crew were overcome.

  Lieutenant Keats fought his way through the remainder of the French seamen aboard, and made his way below to release the captive crew members. The crew swarmed into the rigging. While Pelican and Angelique added their guns to the bombardment the Harlech Castle got under way with the assistance of Midshipman Gibb and a reduced party from the boarders.

  By now there was musket fire from the jetty, in addition to six pounder gunfire from a party of artillery men who arrived on the quay at that time. The stern chaser, long twelves from Boscombe scattered the horse drawn guns with her second shot. Vixen cleared the jetty of musket fire with a shattering salvo of grape shot. This not only cleared the jetty of living targets it smashed the walls of the buildings lining the jetty.

  The British ships and their prizes left the ruined harbour to the sound of the cries of the wounded and the crackle of burning buildings. The guns of the town were silenced.

  ***

  At the rendezvous with the fleet, the prize crews were sorted out. The three prizes sent off to Portsmouth. The members of the expedition were well pleased with their night’s work. All would benefit from the sale of the prizes. The Indiaman was a special bonus. She was loaded with a valuable cargo, which would fetch more than the combined value of all three warships.

  For the blockading fleet, the excitement of the incident soon faded into the background of boredom entailed in the continuous cruising back a
nd forth blocking the access to and from the Port of Brest. The only craft to gain relief from the daily grind was the cutter Angelique, and HMS Bella, the smaller of the two sloops attached to the fleet. Both were dispatched with mail and orders to and from the fleet to one of the south coast ports, normally Portsmouth. Martin was kept in regular touch with Jennifer through their regular letters.

  It was because of the regular communication, that the eventual relief for HMS Vixen came about.

  The flag for Vixen’s Captain to repair on board broke at the masthead of the flagship as the two ships came close. Martin was called by Lieutenant Brooks, who advised him of the summons. As he came on deck struggling into his better jacket, Brooks told him. “The Angelique came alongside the flag and passed up mails, scarce half an hour ago. The panic began soon afterwards. I think it was only then, they noticed that we were here.”

  ***

  The jolly-boat bobbed over the waves under the charge of Midshipman Harman. Martin sat huddled in his boat cloak, trying to ignore the bitter wind that seemed to seek every gap in his attire, sending an icy spear to remind him that he was vulnerable no matter how well he wrapped the cloak about him.

  He was piped aboard the flagship with the usual, if a little hurried ceremony, and happily ushered swiftly below to join the Admiral in the great cabin. The only other person present was Hardy’s flag Captain, Lord John Burke. Hardy waved Martin to a chair and Burke poured a glass of cognac, which he passed to a grateful Martin.

  Martin took a sip of the brandy, feeling it slip down through him like fire, the warmth spreading through him. He reinforced the effect with another sip before concentrating on the Admiral who put his empty glass down, and began to speak.

  “I understand you speak French, and you have some experience with dealing on a personal basis with the French in their own country?”

  “Well, sir. I do speak the language. When I was in the Mediterranean I took part in several excursions ashore collecting and dropping agents for our Government.”

  “Good. Yes. Good. I see.” Hardy was reading a paper in front of him.

  “Tell me. Do you know the Comtesse de Chartres? She seems to be some sort of agent for our people?” He looked up at Martin with raised eyebrow.

  Martin thought about it, then said, “I am not aware of the name, sir.”

  “Uses a pseudonym ‘Alouette.’ Does that ring a bell?”

  Martin relaxed. “That is a familiar name. I have delivered and recovered the lady on several occasions in the past, though I understood she was no longer visiting France.”

  “Seems she went back for a specific reason, and is in some trouble at the moment. A school, operated by nuns, had up until recently been left alone. Apparently one of the more notorious of the hoi polloi, a man called Portet, discovered there was a girl’s school full of children of the former nobility still unravished, and set out to put things right. This Alouette woman discovered the plot and got there first, got the girls away, but now is stuck in a place called Parthenay, fifty miles inland from La Rochelle. I have been told to do what I can to get the lady out. They have only mentioned the schoolgirls in passing, as it were. The lady is the important one.”

  He looked up at Martin who was looking surprised at the mention of the name Portet.

  “That is a name I did not expect to hear.”

  “Seems to be known in London also. He was on his way to Dartmoor Prison. He escaped on the way. This is the first they heard of him since.”

  Looking at the map that Burke had produced, Martin said, “Then this is even more urgent, than ever. Where is he coming from? Do we know?”

  “The Convent school was just outside Dijon. That is all I know. The nuns were not told where the girls were going. But it would not be difficult to guess, the general direction at least. After all it’s a big party. ”

  Martin looked at the area. “Knowing the lady, sir, I think it unlikely that she will move without the girls. Do we know how many there are?”

  “Thirty two, between 13 and 16 years I understand.”

  They will need some sort of carriages in that case. Can I ask for any volunteers who can speak French, especially Frenchmen if we have any?”

  Burke spoke. “We have dispatched the cutter around the fleet, with orders to collect any Frenchmen from the crews. I believe we have several among us.”

  “Good! That is most helpful, sir. I myself have three on board, and at least another three men who were poachers but never caught.” He smiled. “They seem able to find things wherever they happen to be, if you take my meaning, sir. If we can gather sufficient men, we have a chance, with a forced march, to get to the girls before the Portet does.”

  ***

  Martin found 24 men from the other ships in the fleet to add to his own three, plus two poachers and Peters. Dressed in an assortment of clothing they were a motley-looking crew but Martin had plans to do something about that. Just outside La Rochelle at Lagord there was an artillery unit with horse-drawn guns. The security was, as Peters put it. ‘Bloody disgusting.’ The platoon of gunners was billeted in a barn, the horses held in a second barn and paddock. The guns were all pushed into the open wagon shed. Only the commissary wagon was outside. The canvas tilt laced tightly at both ends, where the officer slept with a companion of his choice from the local area.

  Martin spoke to the men when Peters and MacLean, one of the poachers returned. They left Godden, the other poacher on watch.

  “There are 24 men in the barn, plus the officer in the wagon. We need all the uniforms. We also need to be quiet. Try to avoid bloodstains!”

  I’ll deal with the officer along with you, Peters. The lady may need attention.”

  The grins among the others quickly disappeared when Martin reminded them, “Time is against us. We must succeed and we do not want people after us, for a while at least.”

  He signalled the approach by tapping Peters and then strolling across the yard to the parked wagon. The sentry was asleep, McLean lifted the musket from him, and with the man’s bayonet signalled him to be quiet and start undressing.

  Martin and Peters went to each end of the wagon. Martin cut the tie that closed his end of the cover. He then climbed onto the wagon and stepped inside. Pistol in hand, he nudged the man laying alongside a semi-nude girl. Peters entered the other end of the wagon as the man stirred and started to speak. Martin said in French. “Say nothing. Get up and leave the wagon.”

  The girl stirred and woke. Peters grinned at her as she grabbed the bedcover to cover her exposed breasts. Peters grabbed her dress and thrust it at her, then gestured for her to leave the wagon with her companion. Outside in the yard the place was filling with semi-clothed sleepy artillerymen.

  Martin’s men dressed in the soldiers uniforms. All the soldiers were bundled back in the barn. Godden and McLean with the help of three of the Frenchmen were busy saddling horses. Another pair brought round two horses and harnessed them to the wagon. All the spare horses were put on lead reins, made from cut-down gun harness.

  Leaving four men to keep the prisoners quiet, Martin and his party mounted horses and, with the other horses led, they set off followed by the wagon for the fifty-mile journey to Parthenay. By morning they had made over fifteen miles. They stopped at a river to water the horses and swap saddles. The wagon arrived as Martin decided to leave with an advance party. Leaving six men to follow on in company with the wagon. He took the other twenty men onward, switching horses twice before stopping to rest early the next morning for three hours. The party rode into Parthenay at midday, the horses tired but not finished. The switching of saddles as they had progressed had given them enough rest to keep them going.

  At the Abbey, Martin rode into the yard where he was greeted by the Abbot.

  “Ah, it is good you have arrived. The lady is impatient, and the girls restive.”

  “You were expecting us then, Abbe?” Martin asked curiously.

  “But, of course. You are Monsieur Portet?” The
man sounded uncertain, noting Martin’s uniform.

  “No, I am a soldier. Monsieur Portet is on his way. May I see the lady, please?”

  “Of course. Have your men water their horses and they will find feed in the stables behind the church.”

  Martin handed the reins to MacLean and followed the Abbot, followed in turn, by Peters.

  Alouette did not turn a hair at the sight of Martin. She curtseyed to him and said, “Can we continue our journey now you have arrived?”

  “Of course, Madam, We must rest the horses but we will leave this evening.”

  Tell me, Abbe (Priest), have you wagons to transport the girls?” He used the expression priest deliberately, as abbot he should have been addressed as Pere (Father), but Martin wanted it to be clear that he was in charge.

  “The wagons the girls came in have been attended-to. They are ready be used.” The abbot was sounding a little cooler by now, at the lack of respect being shown.

  McLean appeared and looked at Martin. Martin stepped away to hear his report. “The lads found the wagons the girls came in. They’re being harnessed now. There are plenty of horses in the stables here, so I took the liberty of swapping saddles from ours to theirs, and the leaders to their fresh horses as well. The monks there did not like the idea, but we convinced them.”

  “Well done, McLean. I’ll bring the girls.”

  Turning back to Alouette, he said, “Would it be possible for the girls to be ready to travel now?”

  Alouette smiled. “Why, sir. Of course. I will fetch them.” She bobbed a curtsey and went, leaving the abbot, grim faced.

  “What is this, sir? You are not waiting for M Portet?”

  “Tell me, Abbe. Have you ever met Portet?” Martin asked

  “Why, no But he is an important man.”

  “And he did ask you to keep the girls here until he arrived?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “And the horses were they also gathered for M Portet and his party?”