THE GLORIOUS FIRST: The first fleet action of the French Revolutionary War (The Jack Vizzard Chronicles Book 2)

by M Howard Morgan

  ‘If the Colonel Commandant is correct, Vizzard, then England must surely prepare for war with France. Pitt cannot ignore this. The damned Frogs are stirring up rebellion in Holland, which will affect our trade there, and this news can only cause agitation in the country.’

  Squires pulled some papers from his bag. ‘The Commandant received orders yesterday to add to our division – we are depleted as you will know – but there is also word some important intelligence is to come from Paris, ‘of the utmost importance to the King of England.’ It seems the government have an informant anxious to be in England without delay.’ He looked meaningfully at Jack. ‘I have instructions an attempt must be mounted by the Portsmouth Division to locate this informant, and return him safely to London.’

  Jack Vizzard now had an inkling of why he was present. The Major’s next words confirmed his fears.

  ‘Colonel Souter has the view you are a suitable officer to lead such an expedition, to locate this man, and escort him, alive, and with whatever documents or information he seems so anxious to bring us.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I did suggest this was a dangerous activity, it will need a landing on the coast of France, and the risks are great.’ He pulled another document, ‘whether you like it or not, Vizzard, this is the Colonel’s written order… oh, and confirmation of your promotion to First Lieutenant. Congratulations.’ Squires’ face was impassive.

  For the second time during the morning, Jack was startled. Of course; the Corps could not have a lowly Second Lieutenant landing on the coast of France on a clandestine mission for the government.

  ‘I would have preferred to have shared this honour I must be candid about this. However I am assured none of the senior officers available to me have the necessary, ah… attributes to undertake this duty,’ Squires added.

  ‘Ahem.’ Captain Powlett had sat silently during the Major’s discourse, and now felt bound to contribute. ‘I have any number of junior officers suitable for such a task, Major Squires. However, I understand my orders are limited to providing a suitable vessel and crew for the, how shall I put it… the expedition.’

  Powlett appeared irritated, the rivalry between the two Crown services evident in his manner, but was also mindful of his own orders for more ships to be commissioned and officers and crews found for them. ‘We have a fast cutter available; at least she will be in a day or two. I have a suitable man in command of her. How many men will you be taking, Mister Vizzard?’

  Jack hesitated, and looked to Major Squires.

  ‘The Colonel and I thought a platoon, Vizzard?’

  Jack half inclined his head, as though signifying agreement. ‘Where am I to find this informant, sir? Will the arrangements require me to travel inland any distance?’

  ‘Colonel Souter expects further information tomorrow, or the day following, but at present, the intention is you should meet this gentleman near Cherbourg, but then use your discretion as to whether to return to Portsmouth or possibly another port.’

  ‘Then I would prefer to keep the force small, sir; a dozen at most. I will also want Sergeant Packer.’ Jack added.

  Squires smiled. ‘The Colonel expected you to ask for him. You served together in New Holland, I understand?’

  ‘Yes sir. He is a first class soldier and is familiar with my methods.’

  Jack’s mind went back in a flash to the business in Cape Town during the voyage to New Holland and the lessons he had learned there. It was his first action and he had lost a man, for which he had blamed his lack of forethought, planning and execution. ‘He has the necessary experience and ability, sir.’ He added for emphasis.

  ‘I doubt there is any officer in the Corps with the requisite experience for such a task, but I take your meaning, Vizzard.’

  They talked for another half an hour, on the detail of the supplies and equipment needed, the expected duration of the landing and of the limited information of the destination. Jack requested a chart of the area for study.

  ‘Then if you lobsters have completed your business, I would be obliged if you would allow me to complete mine. I have plans to prepare for your excursion!’

  A chair scraped on the wooden floor as Major Squires rose and Jack followed, with a nod to the naval officer, and left the room behind Squires.

  At the steps, Squires halted and turned toward Jack. ‘This may be a bloody business, Vizzard. The message we have is our man is on the run, and the revolutionaries may now know his intentions. It could be damned bloody if you are caught.’

  ‘I recognise the problem, sir, but have no intention of meeting the French at close quarters!’ He grinned boyishly, his breath clouding in front of his mouth.

  Major Squires’ grey eyes drilled into Jack’s as though exploring, seeking an uncertain reception. His voice lowered, ‘The Colonel told me a tale of a certain duel he seems to think took place in New South Wales. It is one of several rumours which have come to his attention.’

  Squires looked enquiringly at Jack, who merely fixed him with a benign smile.

  ‘Really, sir? It is of little or no surprise to me. Sydney Town was awash with the wildest speculation when I departed for England.’

  ‘You should be aware, Vizzard, Colonel Souter holds you in high regard. I hope his successor will share his view.’

  Jack’s eyes widened. ‘His successor, sir?’

  ‘Of course, you would not know. Harry Innes assumes command next week. Fine man is Harry. A fighting man, Vizzard. Just the man we need for the difficult times I fear lie ahead. He will attend the Colonel’s retirement dinner on Friday. You will probably miss it, which is a pity. I will get word to you as soon as I can, but for now, I believe you have preparations to make.’

  Major Squires donned his hat, Jack doing the same. ‘I will see you in barracks later, and will have your promotion posted in Divisional Orders. Well done, Vizzard.’

  He strode off in the direction of the guardhouse, leaving Jack to wonder at his good fortune – he now had another shilling a month – and to contemplate the onerous task ahead. He walked to the barracks with a slower, measured pace and in a more sombre mood.

  Chapter 2

  He arrived in the barracks nearly thirty minutes later, and found several officers in animated conversation.

  ‘Vizzard, there you are. Have you heard the news? Pray, come join us.’

  The loud voice belonged to Captain-Lieutenant Matthew Varlo, the officer commanding Jack’s company. An ineffectual officer, he was old for his rank. He beckoned to Jack to take a seat, pouring Madeira wine into a glass. A broadsheet paper was on the table in front of Varlo.

  ‘There, the damned French have done it. They have executed Louis and such barbarity must surely send the cat amongst the pigeons, don’t you think?’

  Jack gazed around at the others. ‘I believe it will, sir, and I will give you my opinion, if I may. The country will be outraged and Pitt’s government obliged, I would suggest, to better prepare our forces. The Navy is prepared, however our own Corps must be augmented, in my submission. We will need a larger force if war is on the horizon. I for one feel France has shown its new colours and is bent on acquiring territory.’

  Jack had followed the reports in the London papers of the events on the continent. He was alarmed at the violence perpetrated in the name of reform. Around the table several nodding heads indicated agreement.

  ‘Is it your opinion then war is likely, even inevitable?’ asked another officer; First Lieutenant Dick Adamson, seated opposite Jack. A smart, intelligent officer with a patrician manner, he looked for promotion and trained hard to improve his martial skills. He frequently sought out Jack as a partner for sword practice, readily acknowledging Jack’s superiority in combat.

  Jack looked at him, tugging on his right ear, as was his habit. ‘I believe it does, Dick, and I tell you why. The first duty of a government is to protect its people - its national security if you will. England will wish to protect the Netherlands and the trade in the Scheldt. Prussia will be
self-serving, Austria would like either the Netherlands or Bavaria; it minds not which. I believe Pitt will have to seek some alliances because the Army is in no fit state to fight a campaign on the continent; it would be hard pressed to defend our own shores. The major task will fall to the Navy… and to us.’

  Varlo stared at him. ‘You seem to have a good understanding of the situation, Vizzard’ He stretched back in his chair, so it balanced on only the two rear legs. ‘How do you see the Corps in all this mischief?’

  ‘I do hope we can lunch soon, I grow hungry!’ He paused while a ripple of laughs rolled around the table, ‘the Navy will have the brunt of it, and it can but mean more employment for the Corps, be it on ship, or on shore. I fancy we will see a deployment to the West Indies, to protect our own interests there; and to see if one or two might be taken from the French!’

  ‘Hear hear, Vizzard. I for one agree with you. A drink then, to the Corps and damnation to the French!’ Varlo raised a glass, imitated by the others, as Jack rose.

  ‘Now perhaps we can eat. All this talk of war does nothing to ease my appetite!’

  * * * * *

  In Castle Street, across the road from the grammar school, Helena Squires was entertaining half a dozen ladies, all wives of serving officers, with the exception of Margaret D’Aubant and her mother. She was particularly pleased with the house; she and the Major were the first occupants, the building work only completed before Christmas last. The rooms still carried the odour of new paint, which Helena tried hard to disguise with bowls of pot pourri, and vases of lavender.

  Heavy velvet curtains aided to keep the cold January air at bay, the ill-fitting windows in need of some adjustment if the draughts were to be removed. The walls were covered in a pleasing flock patterned-wallpaper, with a tasselled border, in a deep burgundy which complemented the curtains. A large rather plain open fireplace crackled with unseasoned logs the Major had diverted from the barracks, wisps of smoke slipping from beneath the mantle, rose to the ceiling in a silent wave. An unlit ornate silver candelabrum reflected the dancing flames.

  Helena Squires was no beauty, having a plain complexion and a neck which was overly large and extended for her rather small head. Cheeks, unfashionably rosy, were veined on close inspection, and her hair, a chestnut brown, was inclined to grey and hung a little untidily about her face. What she lacked in facial attractiveness however, found compensation in her eyes, which radiated a good and contented nature. She enjoyed entertaining, and was fortunate to enjoy a wide circle of friends.

  ‘Mary my dear girl, welcome, welcome,’ she enthused as a young Marine orderly announced Mary’s arrival. ‘Please do come and sit with me. Is this your daughter? She is quite lovely, my dear. May I suggest you sit by the window child,’ she directed Annie, who looked displeased.

  ‘I am so happy you were able to join us. Allow me to present my special friends; Catherine Spencer, wife of Lieutenant Charles Spencer; on the right by the fire is Margaret D’Aubant – her husband is a merchant in the town.’ The ladies named inclined their heads, without speaking. ‘And here we have Maude Prater – her husband is a most important official at the Navy Board, my dear.’

  ‘I am delighted to have made your acquaintance.’ Maude Prater spoke softly, and with genuine warmth.

  ‘Finally, but by no means least, I am pleased to introduce Rachel Varlo, wife of Captain-Lieutenant Matthew Varlo, who commands your own husband, I believe.’

  Rachel Varlo smiled. ‘I am so pleased to meet you at last, Mistress Vizzard. I have heard something of you. Lieutenant Vizzard is always so anxious to return home to you, so my dear husband relates.’

  ‘Thank you. I am similarly pleased to have been invited.’ Mary responded to the various introductions and took a seat next to her hostess.

  As though summoned by some silent signal, the door to the spacious room opened, the same sour-faced orderly standing aside for an elderly maid to enter, pushing before her a trolley, bearing on it a selection of small cakes and sweetmeats, tidily arranged on Wedgwood Jasperware china platters. Two large teapots from the same manufactory promised refreshment, and the maid poured tea into small cups.

  Watching the maid carefully, Helena spoke to all present. ‘I have wanted to meet so many of you for some time. I do believe the Corps is akin to an extended family, and it seemed appropriate while the men are busy playing their games of soldiers, we should become better known to each other.’

  Rachel Varlo agreed. ‘I am certain it is an excellent idea, Helena. There are all manner of reasons for us to meet socially. We must support our menfolk. It is expected of us.’

  Margaret D’Aubant felt less certain, but chose not to air her thoughts at once. Her husband was profiting from the expansion of the King’s forces, and she enjoyed a good life as a result; however, she also believed associating with the wives of mere soldiers was beneath her station. She expected her husband to receive some honour from the King. He had paid handsomely for the Admiralty contracts, and had been encouraged to believe some noteworthy honour would be bestowed on him soon.

  ‘I er, I mean to say your idea is an excellent one, Helena.’ Mary offered, a little shyly ‘My husband spends most of his time in the barracks, and would spend more I am sure, if I permitted him.’ She carefully raised the cup to her lips, hoping she would not spill any of the contents.

  ‘Take comfort in the knowledge Jack Vizzard is extremely well spoken of my dear girl,’ said Rachel Varlo. ‘My husband cannot speak too highly of him, and tells me he is viewed as an ascendant star in the regiment.’

  ‘I thank you for the compliment, Rachel,’ replied Mary with genuine gratitude. ‘I know he has worked hard to master his duties.’

  ‘He conducted himself most honourably in New South Wales I am told, Mary.’ Helena smiled. ‘Governor Phillip’s despatches to Lord Sydney mention him more than a few times.’ She reached for an almond cake before continuing ‘I am cousin to Lady Sydney, a Powys before becoming a Squires – and was at a dinner at Frognal last year,’ she explained, nibbling delicately at the confection, before returning it to the side-plate.

  ‘Poor Governor Phillip; he had such weak officers to assist him. The boor, Ross for one I think Major Ross’s presence made him the more grateful for supportive officers such as Mister Vizzard.’ She hesitated then added, ‘There was talk of Major Ross being defeated in a duel?’

  At this, Mary coloured with acute embarrassment. She really felt uncertain of her company, and how much was now known of the episode; of Jack’s defeat of a bully, how much she could relate, when clearly Helena Squires already knew a good deal. It was a matter Jack for one preferred not to discuss at all. She had learned of it herself only from Lieutenant Dawes, and then because he, mistakenly, believed her to know of it.

  ‘I am aware there was bad blood between Jack and Major Ross. My husband felt it his duty to support the Governor’s aims for New South Wales, whereas the Major did not.’ She sipped at her tea, choosing her words with care. ‘As to a duel, I know only the common knowledge there was some altercation between the two.’ Her words lacked conviction and she knew it.

  Helena Squires wished to probe a little deeper. ‘Come now, Mary, why so coy? I am confident we would all of us be flattered to see our men fight for our honour.’ She laughed almost girlishly. ‘My information is your husband handsomely defeated the boorish Major in swordplay –“expertly done by a master my dear Helena, according to one who was present” – so my cousin related.’ She raised an eye, inviting a reply.

  Mary was at a loss. When she accepted the invitation to morning tea, there was no expectation her private life, or of Jack’s, would be subject to such interrogation, however well intentioned. Their time in New South Wales had been most cruelly endured. She, a falsely convicted criminal; Jack, her dear beloved husband, had unknowingly become her salvation. Destined for penal servitude for a crime of which she was wholly innocent, she and Jack Vizzard were reunited miraculously only on arrival in the newes
t colony of the English Crown. Yet, she had come to know an inner comfort, born of strength, of a resilience she never knew she possessed. She had matured quickly in the harsh environment of New Holland, losing her former innocence and finding an assertiveness she never possessed before.

  ‘He contemplated murder – Major Ross I mean of course. It was not proven, could never have been and Jack will not thank me for discussing these matters, however true they may be. Ross became insane I am convinced of it. Indeed, I believe he was unbalanced before ever the fleet left England. My husband is highly trained and eminently skilled in swordsmanship it is true; I have observed him at practice in the salon. He did defeat him in a duel, and for which gallantry I am so proud of him.’ She spoke defiantly, challenging her hostess.

  ‘My dear, I know the heartache such a business must have caused you. We shall speak no more of it, but allow me to say how much I – and others – admire your courage, and fortitude. Mister Vizzard is an example for all in the Corps to follow, or so believes my own husband.’ Again, Helena smiled, a warm smile of friendship, and Mary felt more at ease.

  ‘You are too kind.’ Mary answered with the feeling she had found a new friend.

  ‘Do forgive my curiosity, Mary, but it has been a matter of some speculation. You were, how may I say this...? Well, let me speak plain, a convict?’ Rachel Varlo had heard it spoken in discreet circles. ‘How did you come to be so? I also hear you received a Royal Pardon – is such truly the case?’ She found Mary a subject of the greatest interest. Rachel Varlo had learned of much whispering amongst some of the officers, and she felt emboldened to ask directly.

  ‘Indeed it is true. I was falsely accused of a calumny, of theft by a wicked evil man who gave Irish evidence at my trial, but my father-in-law, Sir Henry Vizzard,’ she spoke proudly, ‘after tremendous endeavours on my behalf, was able to establish my innocence and secure my freedom.’ Mary steeled herself, conscious of the interest Rachel’s questions had aroused amongst the ladies present.