Quarterdeck

by David O'Neil

  “I received a message by Semaphore with instructions.”

  “Abbe, M Portet you would have discovered had you asked Madam Alouette, is a gross pig, who wished you to keep the girls here so that he could select which ones he would rape personally, and which others he would allocate to his murdering bunch of brigands. Your own fate if you remain here will be execution. The crime will be for harbouring escaping émigrés. Your older monks will probably share your fate, and young ones will probably suffer the same fate of any women to be found here. Am I clear? Do you understand, Abbe? M Portet, I repeat, is a disgrace to France and the world. I suggest you clear this place of all humanity until he has been and gone. Use the horses you have and leave, as far away as possible. You can return later when they have gone.

  “If he gets within range, I will kill him. So, Abbe, I hear the girls coming. I will wish you farewell and good luck. Be warned. For the sake of your monks, if not for yourself.”

  Martin turned and joined Alouette as she swept the group of chattering girls through the hallway and out into the yard. The horses were standing waiting, as were two large wagons. The men were happily assisting the girls into the wagons.

  Martin signalled the men to mount-up, and helped Alouette onto the lead-wagon seat. He said, “Portet should catch-up, if we allow him to.”

  Alouette smiled, “I will take a musket, I think, when that happens.” She took his hand in hers and kissed it. “Dear Martin, I should have guessed it would be you.”

  Martin smiled. “Who else would it be?” Then he turned to the two poachers who stood awaiting instructions. “Godden! Keep your two horses. When Portet arrives let us know how many men he has and how far he is behind us. I think we will arrange a surprise for him. Do you understand?”

  Godden grinned. “Sir, I understand. It will be a pleasure. From what I hear it is time this man was sent on his way like! You may depend on me, sir.” He nudged his horse and disappeared into the cover of the trees.

  Turning to MacLean, Martin said, “Lead out and scout the road ahead. I do not want any nasty surprises with our present cargo!”

  “I understand!” MacLean said. Wheeling his horse he rode over to Peters and passed over the rein of his lead horse to him. Then with a wave he also disappeared into the trees where the road entered the huge woodland area that lay between Parthenay and the coast.

  Chapter 6

  Ambush

  The two wagons, escorted by the mounted men of Martin’s command, made their way through the woods following the road back to La Rochelle. The people they met stood aside warily as they saw the uniforms of the party.

  The excited chatter of the girls gradually died down as the sheer boredom of their slow progress over the rutted surface of the road began to make itself felt. Even the flirtatious looks between the older girls and some of the younger men lost interest as the boredom and discomfort set in. Three hours after they had set out the party stopped for a break, and the riders swapped saddles, and the wagon horses were changed.

  While this was happening the artillery wagon arrived with its escort.

  The girls stretched their legs and made giggling excursions into the trees to carry out calls of nature. They were then shared between the three wagons which gave them more room to stretch out. The party moved onwards after an hour. By late afternoon they were at Allonne, where they took over the premises of the Marie to accommodate the girls overnight.

  Godden appeared when they had been moving for an hour the following day.

  He re-joined the column and reported on the situation to Martin. “The party under Portet is about an hour behind me. There are twenty men with him. They look like brigands to me.”

  Martin asked about the Abbey.

  Godden shook his head. “The abbot was there on his own. They shot him!”

  Martin looked grimly at Godden. “He had no chance. The leader, Portet, I suppose, shot him before he finished speaking.”

  After looking around the area thinking, Godden coughed and said, “If I might suggest it, sir. There is a spot. I passed it about ten minutes ago. Looked about perfect to me.”

  MacLean returned from his place ahead, realising the wagons had halted. Martin sent him off ahead with the wagons and six of the French sailors.

  Alouette insisted on joining the ambush party as they returned to the spot suggested by Godden. “You need as many muskets as you can find. I’m a good shot as you know, so there’s an end to it.” She took her musket and mounted one of the spare horses.

  Between Godden and Martin they sorted out positions for the ambush of the followers. Peters took charge of the back-up group of four who were stationed to stop anyone who got through the main ambush.

  Ensuring everyone had ammunition and some cover, they settled down to wait.

  The noise of the closing column gave advance warning of their approach. “I’ll fire first. Then choose your target and don’t let any escape.”

  Martin settled down behind the log he had selected and lined his sights on the bend in the road ahead. Next to him lay another loaded musket. His sword lay unsheathed by his hand.

  The leader of the column clattered around the bend and Martin fired. Not waiting to see the man fall he picked up the other musket and fired once more.

  Then he was on his feet sword in hand, running to intercept the staggering figure he recognised as Portet, who was unwounded but his horse had been killed. He had been unseated and tumbled to the ground. Seeing Martin, he drew his own sword and struck out at his attacker. Martin parried his blade and lunged. The sword missed his body but ripped Portet’s coat. Martin was just able to recover in time to evade his opponent’s blade, but he tripped and fell back on the ground. Portet raised his own blade to deliver the coup-de-gras to the hated British Captain.

  Martin waited helpless to stop him.

  The voice was cold and hard, and it stopped Portet in his tracks. Shocked, he looked up at someone behind Martin. “Remember me?” Alouette said and watched as Portet recognised her. Only then did she pull the trigger.

  The roar of the musket from behind him shocked Martin. Then he watched the red blot appear on the breast of Portet’s blue coat. The man staggered back trying to complete the sword strike, his arm dropping, without success. He collapsed to the ground, and Alouette spoke from behind Martin. “Bastard, burn in hell.”

  ***

  The ambush was a success. None of the riders had escaped. Three of Martin’s men had received injuries, none serious. All were treated by Alouette. It seemed to Martin that she had more to do with their eventual recovery than the treatment they received. The bodies were buried under an overhanging section of the slope. The horses were collected. The one dead horse, having been dragged off the road into the woods, was partially butchered by Godden, the remainder of the carcass left for the scavengers of the forest.

  They caught up with the column later that day and the three wounded were transferred to one of the wagons where they were pampered by the girls, much to the envy of those who had escaped injury.

  When they arrived in the vicinity of the Artillery base two days later, Martin called a halt while MacLean and Godden scouted the farm. They found their own men still in command of the prisoners, having fed well on produce from the farm and the local market, cooked by one of the prisoners. Because the unit were strangers in the area, nobody ever questioned the men in uniform who shopped in the market.

  Martin sent MacLean to contact the cutter, at the agreed rendezvous. Meanwhile he and Alouette went to work on the Lieutenant in command of the artillery platoon.

  ***

  Lieutenant Maurice Dumas was an amiable young man who found life in the army in his current position agreeable. He could feed reasonably well and never seemed to have trouble finding company to warm his bed. His section of the battery was unused up to now and he was beginning to believe that the army had forgotten him. Having posted his platoon here, he had been ignored.

  Sitting with the delightf
ul lady and the English Captain could have been awkward, but they were both pleasant company and they had actually made their position clear. They had rescued the girls from their convent and were removing them from possible harm here in France to England. He had no problem with that. After all he did not think the thirty-odd girls were going to alter the political structure of the current government. It was what was suggested thereafter that intrigued him.

  “Alouette has mentioned to me that your position could be difficult if it were discovered that your platoon had been captured and made prisoner, while men in your uniforms went to rescue these girls, and killed Portet and his brigands whilst they were at it. As we know Portet was a disgrace to France, but the people who used him are powerful. They have long memories, and they do not like mistakes or what they might decide is dereliction of duty.”

  As he thought about this Maurice felt the truth of this suggestion and his heart sank at the outcome of this episode. After all he had been in charge when they were captured. “But we are prisoners. You will take us to England?”

  Martin shook his head sadly. “We will not have room in our boats I am afraid. We will have to leave you here.”

  Maurice’s world suddenly stopped. Only too well did he know the attitudes of his superior officers. They, like him, were not professional soldiers. They were grocers and fishmongers, and they worried more about avoiding blame than protecting their juniors. The future suddenly appeared bleak and possibly terminal. “But what? why….?”

  Alouette raised her hand. “Lieutenant, I may have a solution to your problem.” She turned to Martin. “If I may?”

  Martin shrugged and nodded.

  Alouette turned back to Maurice. “Lieutenant, if the Captain returns the uniforms, and the horses, and leaves the extra wagons and horses that he has acquired, your men could possibly share the benefits of the sale of the extra items and, in so doing, forget we were ever here.” She gazed at the Lieutenant with the full intensity of her beautiful eyes.

  Martin watched as the young man added up the sum of what Alouette was saying.

  “I would not need to report anything about this incident!” Maurice murmured.

  “Exactly!” Alouette answered. She sat back and waited while Maurice Dumas examined the options.

  “Perhaps the Lieutenant is worried about the young lady he was entertaining when we arrived?” Martin suggested.

  “No!” That is not a problem. As you may have noticed there has been no enquiry from the village since you came. The lady concerned would rather her association with me was not broadcast. There are those who would inform her father and fiancé. She will continue to say nothing and I will inform her that it was an exercise carried out with another platoon.”

  “I presume that you approve of Madam Alouette’s suggestion then, Lieutenant?”

  Maurice rose to his feet. “I will speak to the men. I am confident they will agree with the solution you have proposed, Madam.” He saluted Martin and turned and left the room.

  MacLean returned and reported that the cutter would be ready that night and Martin, Alouette, the girls and rescue party settled down to wait the day out.

  Meanwhile Lieutenant Dumas paraded his men, and selected the horses for the guns, now recovered from the barn. Settling on the horses that they would be keeping was a matter that took time, but, having been selected, the platoon was mounted and paraded through the village of Lagord, for the benefit of the local population, and to allow the reunion between the lieutenant and his lady friend to be arranged.

  At the farm there was some unease at the possibility of betrayal. But as Peters reminded the men. “The soldiers had more to lose than we have. There has to be a lot of money involved in the sale of the wagons and horses, and the army is not going to forgive them all being captured so easily.”

  When the platoon returned the French cook prepared the evening meal, for soldiers, sailors and girls alike.

  At the rendezvous at midnight, the crew of the cutter were astonished to see the party return escorted by French soldiers, who lifted the girls into the boats so that they should not get wet, and then stood on the shore and waved the raiding party off.

  ***

  In the cabin on HMS Vixen once more, Martin indicated that there would be no mention in his report of the ‘entente cordiale’ which had prevailed when they departed the French coast.

  The Admiral had decreed that Martin should deliver his cargo of young ladies direct to Portsmouth where a reception committee would meet them and re-unite them with families and/or relatives.

  The relationship between Martin and Alouette was now a friendship akin to brother and sister, rather than as lovers. Both recognised this and in many ways it simplified matters between them. As Comtesse de Chartres she was at a social level which permitted them to meet on equal terms. Alouette had also decided that now she would no longer be making excursions to France. Future operations now being delegated to Colette, she would probably marry.

  The return to the fleet from Portsmouth was an anti-climax after the chatter and presence of the girls for the trip home. The turnaround in Portsmouth had not been lengthy, a matter of topping up stores and water, with the chance for a brief meeting for Martin, with Jennifer and Lady Jane, before they were back at sea, returning to the boredom of the blockade once more. The bundle of documents and letters they carried for the fleet, the only obvious sign that they had ever left.

  Chapter 7

  Silver

  “Angel’s catching us from astern sir.”

  They had been back with the fleet for several weeks, currently at the most westerly point of their beat, the weary beating back and forth was a depressing business for everyone Martin thought, wondering what errand had brought the cutter out to catch them.

  Martin turned and saw the fore and aft sails of the cutter Angelique sailing incredibly close to the wind, catching up, obviously with some urgent orders. He looked ahead, then astern once more. Lieutenant David Keats had remained in command of the cutter after playing his part in the action at Roscoff. Admiral Hardy had confirmed his appointment, and his rank as lieutenant. Now in command of his own ship he was called upon as messenger and liaison between the ships of the blockade fleet.

  As he drew alongside Martin had the Vixen brought up to the wind to give Keats a chance to pass his messages. Keats called across, “The French have entered Spain. They promised the King he can have Portugal. The troops are sent to support the King and help with the annexation of Portugal. So war had been declared, and we are supporting the Portuguese.”

  Martin sent over a bag of letters and returns, and watched the Angelique drop astern and spin about to commence her long trip back to the fleet.

  The long Atlantic swell lifted HMS Vixen high as she made her way west. In general the crew were pleased to get away from the boring grind of the blockade, charged with meeting the Santo António e São José, a Portuguese warship carrying a silver cargo from the Brazilian mines. They were approaching their rendezvous point to the north of the Azores.

  “Sailing up and down in all sorts of weather, waiting for something to happen, can be extremely boring.” Midshipman Neil Harmon said to his fellow Middy Athol Gibb.

  Athol Gibb, from Arisaig in the west of Scotland, smiled grimly. “For a half-grown man, you have a strange idea of what life is all about. You have food enough, and a bed for the night, aye and good strong clothes to wear in the bad weather. There’s little left for you to complain about, so you’re bored. Perhaps if you spent a little more time on your books, you would not have time for boredom.”

  “Mr. Harman! Foremast top, if you please. Take the large telescope and don’t fall asleep. Dropping off from that height could be painful.” The voice of Lieutenant Cameron interrupted the discussion and galvanized Mr. Harmon into action. “Mr. Gibb, since you seem to have nothing to do at the moment perhaps you would join me in some calculations to establish our current position on the patrol line.”

  With
a resigned sigh Athol Gibbs acknowledged the order, and went to check the log to begin the dead reckoning details for the approximate position of the ship. The noon sightings should confirm or condemn his reckoning. It did make it clear to him that it was not wise to hang about where the officer of the watch might notice him.

  He bent to begin his calculations when a cry from the masthead announced that there was a sail in sight.

  “Where away?” Cameron called.

  “Off the Starboard bow, to the west, sir. Topsails of a big ship.”

  “Mr. Gibb! Inform the Captain. There is a sail in sight…”

  “I am here Mr. Cameron. Is that Mr. Harmon aloft?”

  “It is, sir.”

  “Mr. Harmon, can you see if it is a war ship?” Martin called.

  They waited as Harmon watched. Waiting to catch the moment when both Vixen and the stranger were lifted up by the sea at the same time, allowing Harmon to gain a brief glimpse of the hull of the other vessel.

  “She is a ship of the line, sir.” He called, and there is another, no, two more sail showing now, and smoke over the water.”

  Martin turned to Lieutenant Brooks who had joined them on deck. “All hands, Mr. Brooks. Let us take a closer look. It sounds as if we may have made our rendezvous already.”

  “Aye, sir. All hands on deck to make sail.”

  There was a rush of feet across the deck as the hands leapt to their places, the rigging now alive with men removing the reefs allowing the sails to spread. The ship seemed to lift in response to the extra drive from the wind before heeling under the pressure of the wind.

  Martin looked up and turned to the Master, Jared Watson, “Studding sails, perhaps?”

  Jared Watson smiled, showing his several teeth. “Worth a try, sir. Worth a try!”

  “Mr. Brooks?”

  “Let them fly, bo’sun. Rig the studding sails.”