The Odd-Job Man (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 7)

by Andrew Wareham

  “So, no fear of invasion now much before May of the year Five, husband?”

  “Certainly not, my dear, and, to be honest, I cannot see how it may be done at all. The first line of assault on the beaches must be executed by fifty thousand men at least – infantry and field artillery pieces. They must be followed by cavalry, several brigades of heavy and light horse; then must come all of the stores they need and one hundred thousand more of infantry. To load the first army must take a day, the barges coming into the quays and then going out to wait at anchor until all are ready, five hundred and more of them. Then they are to sail all night and assemble off the targeted beach in the dawn and then land all together. The barges must then sail back and load up again, passing the cavalry on their way. A barge that will carry one hundred infantry will be hard-pressed to load a dozen of horse – and they will need score upon score of such flat-bottomed vessels. They will be a week and more in getting their invasion across the channel and if so much as a dozen of frigates and sloops get among them then there will be butchery such as has never been known in past history. If even a score of fishing-boats, each equipped with a single carronade, manage to sail then they will lose thousands of men – and there are Sea-Fencibles in every port along the coast.”

  “Then why is there such fear of invasion, Frederick?”

  “The newssheets, perhaps? They have little to do with facts, after all. And the politicians tend to panic and wet themselves at the least provocation. Reality has very small contact with the lives of those who dwell in the high places in London.”

  “So what is the purpose of your squadron?”

  “Very little. That is one of the reasons why the First Lord has devoted only an ancient frigate and a few small vessels to it. I am to be active and to raise a cloud of smoke, literally one hopes, in order to amuse the politicians who have come to believe in their own fears.”

  When they returned to Portsmouth they found Captain Murray waiting for them.

  “Ah, Sir Frederick! Four days hence, sir, there is to be a convoy assembled off Havre-Grace and to make its way along the coast past Fecamp and the smaller ports to overwinter in the area of Abbeville. Primarily to be made up of the larger barges – prames, I believe them to be called – and to include a number of gunboats as well. I believe the theory is that the gunboats may serve first to bombard the invasion beach and then to protect it from attack by sea. There is to be a small escort of ships from the naval port – the nature of which will be determined on the day itself, one understands. There is a plan of deception, the Admiralty having been informed that a squadron is to escape from Brest with yet another landing force to descend upon Ireland. It is hoped therefore that the blockaders will all be waiting off Brittany, their tongues hanging out and panting.”

  “Four days? On Friday? Of a certainty?”

  “Very little in this life is certain, Sir Frederick, but it is highly probable. I would wish to accompany you, if I may, sir – I wish to examine the construction of the barges, if it be possible. It has been suggested that they have been designed in such a way that they may be of equal use on the Rhine and the other large rivers, such as the Meuse, so that in the probable event of the cancellation of the invasion they can be put to immediate and practical use. It may give an indication of just how serious Bonaparte’s intentions are.”

  Frederick was perfectly happy for Murray to join him – his intellect might well of value if there had to be sudden changes to their plan.

  “Just the five vessels, Captain Murray. Acheron, three sloops and Bluenose schooner to make the attack – there will be no landing, I presume, and therefore no use for the brigs and their Marines.”

  “There can certainly be no landing in the vicinity of Havre-Grace, Sir Frederick. There is an army camped about its shores and a fleet in the port itself.”

  They peered over the Admiralty charts of the whole coast, decided that it might be best to make their assault not so far from Fecamp. The winds could be expected to hold in the west and the barges would be too unhandy to beat back to Havre-Grace, would be forced to flee to the east, easily to be pursued and sunk.

  “Timing will be awkward, Captain Murray. One presumes they will leave port at dawn, take an hour or two, at least, to make up the convoy and then, empty, expect to make five or six knots along the coast till nightfall, then under reefed sail to potter through the night and be off the estuary leading to Abbeville at dawn or soon after. To give us time to do as much harm as we may, we need to descend upon them before noon, hoping to find them where they will be placed to our convenience. Do we know how many vessels there will be?”

  Murray had been unable to discover a figure, suspected it might depend on the number actually complete and ready to leave the yards on the day.

  “And the small escort, sir. Small in ships, or small in number?”

  “The implication of the report I was given suggests both, Sir Frederick. The French Navy is of a mind to pooh-pooh the whole concept of an invasion, certainly in this decade. The naval planners are much inclined to favour the incitement of insurrection in Ireland and Scotland, believing that both could be persuaded to rise against the English. With Dublin and Edinburgh in national hands, then armies could be sent to give ‘fraternal assistance’, as was done in America. Such being the case, they have no wish to take losses of ships and trained men in an invasion that is almost certain to fail, and they will send no more than a token escort out with the barges.”

  “I am surprised that Bonaparte will tolerate their disagreement with him. I had thought him to tend towards the despotic.”

  Murray laughed, agreed wholeheartedly.

  “He is but waiting his opportunity. One great failure – a defeat at sea would be the obvious example – and he will winnow through their Admiralty. Their men of an independent turn of mind will find themselves disgraced and dismissed, and no doubt ‘encouraged’ to commit suicide. I have no doubt that some several of their admirals will be discovered collapsed over a washing bowl, having decided in a sudden access of despair to use their shaving razors to slash throats or wrists. He is a desperate master to work for – generous with praise and title and coin to those who give him success, equally generous with punishment for those who fail him.”

  “Much like the Admiralty, in fact, Captain Murray!”

  “You overstate the case, Sir Frederick, though not perhaps by so great a degree!”

  The westerly wind was still strong when they sailed on Wednesday morning, giving themselves time and to spare to beat up to their station. Frederick peered narrowly at the three sloops, could not fault their station keeping; each at the prescribed distance and exactly in their leader’s wake. Bluenose was well in the van, revelling in her freedom to act as scout and lookout.

  “Signal, sir, from Bluenose.”

  “Well, Mr Horner?”

  The senior midshipman, in charge of signals, Horner was in Frederick’s opinion slow at the job. He should have told him what the message was without being asked.

  “Flags unreadable, sir, because of the wind.”

  It was annoying but not so uncommon an event.

  “Make more sail, I think, Mr Hirst. Close Bluenose.”

  Hirst shook his head dubiously, was of the opinion, he ventured to say, that they was wearing quite sufficient already, bearing in mind the nature of the wind.

  “As she stands, sir, ‘twould take no more than a sudden gust to embarrass a t’gallant mast. If anythin’, sir, I would be more in mind to hand the t’gallants rather than think of spreadin’ more canvas, sir.”

  A master must be more cautious than his captain – it was his function to sail the ship, and to ensure that there remained a ship to sail.

  “Your opinion is noted, Mr Hirst. Now, if you would be so good, I would be obliged if you would mind my order.”

  Hirst grudgingly called for another jib and made a great show of ordering the boatswain to keep a party of seamen ready to strike it immediately at his command
.

  There was almost no gain in speed but Acheron pointed up a fraction better. Half a glass and the signal from Bluenose, still flying, could be read.

  “Sails, to windward, sir. Fishing fleet, inward bound.”

  “Acknowledge, Mr Horner. Too rough to fish further out to sea, would you suppose, Mr Gentry?”

  “Probably, sir, though it is possible that they were delayed by very good fishing. Perhaps they had originally intended to make their harbour for dawn.”

  Either was possible, and they had a few hours in hand.

  “Reduce sail, Mr Hirst, to a level conformable with conditions.”

  An unusual order, but displaying a willingness to placate the master, an olive branch as it were.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Mr Horner, ‘squadron to conform’ – let them have a little warning of my intention.”

  Unspoken was the feeling in all their minds that Blackbird would need the advance information if she was to hold station. There was no gain to humiliating her captain with a necessary rebuke for breaking the line.

  “Can we hold our course, Mr Hirst?”

  “If the wind shows signs of backing, sir, then we will need to tack at least once more. Should she hold much to this then we will make the French coast soon after dawn, sir.”

  Too early by four or five hours, time enough for a horseman to carry a warning to Havre-Grace. There was a semaphore system working along part of the French coast as well; Frederick knew that he should be aware of its location, but he was ignorant on the matter.

  “Captain Murray, have the French completed the semaphore stations they were building, do you know?”

  “Yes, sir. They have a line of them along their coast, broken occasionally by the Inshore Squadron of the blockade, sir, who have the habit of using their towers for gunnery practice when they find life too tedious. ‘Breaking Boney’s windows’, they call it, sir. Very amusing!”

  “Well… life on blockade can be shockingly boring. Month after month, at sea perhaps for two years at a time, food and water from the hovellers who come out every few weeks. Two days sailing from home, and never to see it nonetheless. It is killing work, sir, and the men must have some amusement in their lives. I am thankful only that I have avoided that particular service, and pray that I may continue to do so!”

  Murray had no comment to make; he suspected that the blockade might not be the best use of the navy’s ships and men, but the policy was laid down and could not be changed. To criticise would smack of disloyalty and achieve nothing at all; best to be silent.

  Frederick thought longer on the squadron’s course, decided that they must press to within a very few miles of the French coast before making a westing towards the Normandy shores. Later in the forenoon they could make their easting, comfortably on the wind to bring up on the rear of the convoy, provided it had sailed to time and was where it should be. He informed Gentry and Hirst of his conclusions, left the fiddly bits of detail to them.

  First Lieutenant and Master conferred, argued, swore and compromised and brought Acheron to where she should be, both inclined to be resentful of the task. Had they failed, then they would have been targets for blame; succeeding, Sir Frederick had placed his squadron in the proper place and would be given the credit. They had no doubt that the Commodore would make much of the loyal work and outstanding seamanship of his subordinates, but the glory would be his, even though the work was not.

  “Mr Horner, squadron to form line abreast to starboard of Commodore at one cable distant.”

  The three sloops nosed into position as the shoreline came into sight. The masthead lookouts shouted almost at the same moment.

  “On deck, small craft, a fleet of barges, sir. Led by two sloops, sir.”

  “Nothing bringing up the rear, Captain Murray. We would, of course, have seen an escort in such a position before the smaller barges. They will be obliged to tack and beat into the wind if they are to challenge us.”

  “On deck, ship-sloop is making more sail, sir. T’other one’s conforming, sir. Tacking, sir. Ship-sloop is a corvette of twenty guns, sir. Consort is of twelve. A count of fifty barges, sir, in four lines.”

  “Who is that aloft, Mr Gentry?”

  “Kavanagh, sir, ordinary. Came aboard as a volunteer, so it says in the roll, sir. A gentleman by accent, sir, come upon hard times, though he is still young. I do not believe the Irish surname, sir.”

  “He sounds clever. Could he be made midshipman, do you think?”

  Gentry scowled, shook his head; it was his function as premier to know every man aboard and he had already taken notice of Kavanagh.

  “Unreliable, sir. I would not trust the man an inch – he has no concept of loyalty, I believe. Was we to be taken, then you would find him volunteering to Frog service rather than be kept prisoner. In harbour it would be to run at the slightest temptation – not from any policy, but merely because it was the whim of the moment. He is bright enough, might make good, but he is shallow, sir, a creature to be blown by the winds of fortune.”

  “I wonder what wind blew him aboard us? Not to worry, Mr Gentry; we have no need of extra midshipmen now that Mr Airey has joined us.”

  The Port-Admiral’s candidate had joined an hour before sailing, an ill-defined pink blob of a ten-year old, inclined to be tearful at leaving his mama’s side.

  “I have seen more unlikely boys than he, sir. Very few, admittedly.”

  “I must agree, Mr Gentry. No doubt he will grow up – though what he will become, God alone knows!”

  “He is to have the larboard pulling boat, sir, from the davits. The leading hand of the boat, Abbott, is a reliable man and will no doubt keep him from drowning; he is willing to act as sea-daddy to the boy, will teach him the basics, supposing he is able to listen and learn. He is safe in his habits, sir.”

  Sea-daddies, older hands appointed in effect as nursemaids to the newest mids, were sometimes inclined to get too close to their young charges, occasionally resulting in nasty courts-martial. They were, however, very useful in showing the boys how to keep their uniforms in proper condition and how to adapt to the demands of the sea.

  “I trust he can teach him to keep his head out of the way of errant cannon balls and splinters, Mr Gentry. Too many of the mids tend to be killed too young for putting their heads up to see what is happening.”

  “Boys will be boys, sir, and they are better off too bold than the opposite.”

  “On deck!” They were interrupted by the look-out, his voice a little more urgent. “Corvette and sloop have taken a northerly heading, sir.”

  Frederick passed his telescope across to the red-haired master’s mate, Doolan.

  “Up you go, sir. Confirm that they are abandoning the convoy rather than seeking sea room to manoeuvre.”

  Two minutes and Doolan’s voice rose.

  “Packing on sail, sir and already beyond the point where they would tack, sir. They ain’t coming back, sir!”

  “Captain Murray, your opinion?”

  “Under orders to save their own skins, sir. The French do not wish to lose useful ships in the protection of barges for which they care nothing at all. The barges have been built by the Army, for the use of soldiers – and there is little of kinship between the two services, sir.”

  “Mr Horner! Señora to attack barges inshore, avoiding shore batteries as necessary. Blackbird to remain in three fathom water at least and to burn or destroy all barges. Robin, to sink and burn at will, choosing targets of opportunity.”

  The orders were acknowledged and the cannon began to fire, chasers at first as they came within range.

  “Mr Gentry, there is a line of slightly larger barges to the seaward of the convoy…”

  “Prames, sir, possibly the sort designed to carry cavalry or artillery. Might be they are the gunboats, sir.”

  “Then let us discover which. Captain Murray requires that we should capture one for the information of his department. For the rest, they must
sink or burn, sir.”

  Frederick shouted to Luscombe on the forecastle to fire at will; the long chasers commenced aimed rounds within the minute.

  Acheron closed rapidly on the prames; they were not designed for speed or to fight, broad in the beam and single-masted without topsails. They carried a maincourse and a pair of jibs, a suit that could be handled by fewer than a dozen sailors and was just sufficient to permit them to tack and hold a course, very slowly.

  “Ample for use on a wide river, Captain Murray. Ports for long sweeps, for use in calm, or for making their way against the flow of the river. Broad in the beam and shallow – they would sink in any sort of a gale, but would do very well on inland waters. They seem to be unarmed.”

  Frederick waited a few minutes, observing the practice of the chase guns and watching Captain Ross of Robin obeying his orders with cool efficiency.

  “Impressive, Mr Gentry. Half broadsides, port then starboard – these barges do not need more to finish them. There is a ship and crew that is well together, sir. Blackbird is doing her job as well, though more slowly than Robin. What of Señora?”

  “She is picking off the stragglers, sir, and those who have attempted to make a run for the shore. Very tidily, too, sir.”

  “Excellent! Marc, Jean, please to kill the steersman and then all visible hands on the prame to the starboard!”

  They were within half a cable of three of the larger barges.

  “By sections, Mr Andrews.”

  The twelve-pound long guns fired, eight and eight on the larboard broadside, smashing the side of their targets.

  “Light-framed, Captain Murray!”

  “Yes, sir. I presume that means they are not expected to stand up to sea-going conditions.”