Argent could see his face fairly clearly in the light from the binnacle and he appeared as satisfied as ever he had been.
“We’ve held our course, Sir. With this beam wind, there’ll be some leeway, but that I allowed for. I agreed our course with the Master of the Herodotus and I think we have cause for confidence.”
During the previous four days, whilst they waited for the correct tide, McArdle had visited the Herodotus. He had returned looking even more grim and disatisfied than usual and had gone straight down to his cabin.
Their position at dawn was vital, they had to sail straight out of the dark to take the island fortress by surprise. The first lugger had a Master’s Mate from the Herodotus and both she and the second would go ahead of Ariadne, to take the island and allow Ariadne to enter unhindered by the fort’s guns. McArdle spoke again.
“I calculate that we are one mile and a half awa’, Sir. The first luggers should move ahead.”
The luggers had sailed with all possible canvas set, almost on maximum speed, so, for the pair to pull ahead meant Ariadne slowing. Argent gave his orders to shorten sail and the first lugger drew up and slipped past and ahead, followed by the second. Eight bells had finished the “Graveyard” Watch and as the Starboard Watch re-ordered the deck from the sail change, Argent and McArdle walked to the forecastle with their telescopes extended. As the light grew they searched the half dark and, much relieved, Argent could clearly make out a dip between the outlines of two hills, about one mile distant, fine on the larboard bow. He spoke to McArdle.
“Is that St. Malo? Do you think?”
McArdle closed his telescope and turned away.
“Aye Sir. That’s that place. We’re there, sure enough.”
Argent felt the urge to slap McArdle on the shoulder, but, this being McArdle, the urge was necessarily resisted. He returned to his quarterdeck.
“Clear for action, Mr. Fentiman.”
The tide would be high, they would arrive just at the beginning of its ebb, but not strong enough to stop them sailing in, but in full spate later to bring them out. Argent followed McArdle back to the quarterdeck, acknowledging the respects of his topmen, most saying Captain as they raised their knuckle to their forehead, they were tense and those not veteran plainly afraid. When Argent regained his quarterdeck he could see the two luggers far ahead, under all sail, making maximum speed through the growing light. Down on the gundeck his men were stood to their guns. All was prepared, nothing to do now but await their own arrival. The dark of dawn was lingering, but Argent could now see the first island, it would be even clearer to the luggers, now two cables, four hundred yards, ahead. He extended his telescope and focused on the fort, it began with a low wall, but the gun embrasures were on a wall above and inside that. The Marines would have to carry both walls to silence the guns.
Coaster rig was common throughout the Channel and the Atlantic, so two luggers coming out of the gloom wouldn’t necessarily be identified immediately as foe. Argent hoped that this would get them a measure closer before the alarm was raised and he trained his telescope on the two vessels; no redcoat could be seen, they must be lying on deck. He looked beyond them to the island itself to see a small quay on the entry channel side. The luggers steered straight for it, dropped their sails and immediately several gangplanks fell onto the stonework, to be soon covered by running Marines, many carrying ladders and grapnels. Suddenly, a rocket shot skyward. The alarm had been raised, but the Marines were ashore. Argent responded.
“Set all topsails and topgallants.”
The topmen had been waiting, most already in the rigging and, within a minute, the sails had dropped and seconds after that sheeted home. Ariadne surged forward and past the fort, coinciding with the Marines being already over the first wall and scaling the second to take the guns. Blue-coated figures could be seen through the embrasures above them, running to their stations. The sounds of musketry immediately followed.
Argent hurried to the forecastle. Ariadne was now in the harbour, with her own lugger, chosen because she was fastest, full of Marines and doing its best to keep up. The daylight was now full and his gaze swept the harbour to find La Pomone. Where Grant had indicated, she wasn’t, merely a collection of small merchantmen, anchored safely in the Roads. Argent looked to the wharves on the right; nothing. Over to the left, and there she was, berthed against a quayside, bows in, stern out. She was moored out of the tide. Cutting her out was impossible, she would need to be freed from her moorings and then towed out into the current, which would need at least three longboats, fully manned. All that could be done was to damage her. Argent ran back to his quarterdeck and seized the loudhailer. He jumped into the larboard mizzen shrouds and shouted across to the lugger alongside.
“She’s off to larboard. Get across her stern and board. I’ll be near to tow you off. You’ve got five minutes, then away. Use your charges.”
The lugger was commanded by Lieutenant Sanders and contained Ariadne’s own Marines. Argent saw Sanders wave his hat, and he could swear that he was grinning. It seemed that Sanders had already seen La Pomone and had decided that course for himself, for with all canvas drawing, the lugger was already steering directly for La Pomone’s stern and all the Marines lined along the bulwark, their muskets trained over the side. He could see Ramsey in the bows, sword raised, shouting to his men. So brave a sight commanded a moment of his time, but then he attended to his own urgent concerns, as he heard McArdle confirm the Log entry with Fentiman.
“Ah’m enterin “Entered St. Malo at 5.10”, Sir.”
Argent heard Fentiman’s “Make it so”, then he issued his own orders.
“Mr. Ball. Get King into the starboard bow with a throwing line.”
Ball knuckled his forehead in acknowledgement and then shouted the order to King up in the foretop. Ariadne would be passing La Pomone at 80 yards range, give or take. The Frenchman’s stern would be unprotected long enough for one larboard broadside before the lugger came across to mask it. Argent called down to Bentley, overseeing the guns.
“On her stern, fire as you bear.”
The order was shouted up to the bows and the firing began to roll back to the stern as each Gun Captain waited for his gun to bear on the moored ship. La Pomone’s stern began to disintegrate and Argent thought to himself, “At least we’ve done her that bit of no good.” Then he attended to his own concerns, the anchor turn. An easy task, if he took all the room available, but they had to turn and then come to a stop just off the lugger, close enough to get a line across during the process. The anchor was lashed to the larboard side of the quarterdeck, with Fraser and two of his mates standing by with axes to cut the lashings. If they were going to get a line across to the lugger, Ariadne would have to swing left, to larboard, so that her bowsprit, as it swung round, would almost touch the lugger’s rigging. The last gun fired and at that point the French guns opened fire. The fort across the bay was over half a mile away, but 32 lb cannon could easily reach beyond that and would soon find the range, however, for now, the shot was falling some way off and sending up huge gouts of water. They could be 42’s! However, Argent’s biggest worry was the bastion on their side, two cables ahead, with three side embrasures looking straight at them, each framing a black, threatening gun muzzle. Then they fired. A 32lb ball sailed through the rigging, with a fearsome humm, parting some shrouds. Then two more, but thankfully taking the same course. The topmen swung through the rigging to make repairs.
Argent looked back to his left. Dwarfed by La Pomone’s masts, the lugger had crashed into the damaged stern and the Marines were swarming over and onto the Frenchman’s quarterdeck. Argent saw Ramsey jump down sword in hand, but he now had to fully concentrate on judging his vital turn. The time was right. He bellowed sufficient for them to hear in the foretop.
“Start all sheets!”
The sails went slack and Ariadne slowed rapidly in the ebbing tide.
“Let go.”
Three blows with the axes and the anchor wa
s gone.
“Down helm.”
“Down helm. Aye aye, Sir.”
The Quartermaster Zachary Short answered as if they were tacking the ship safe in the roads of The Channel, but Ariadne had enough momentum to swing away from the wind, just enough for the tide to catch her on her starboard bow and push her left. She moved sternwards with the tide until the anchor caught her and she began to traverse, swinging round like the arm of a crane. Ariadne’s bowsprit passed within yards of the side of the lugger, now empty of Marines. King, poised at the starboard bow as Ariadne turned with the tide, flung his line cleanly onto her deck, to see it seized by one of her crew, he then passed it down the outside of Ariadne to bring it to Fraser, still on the quarterdeck. It was attached to a towing cable coiled there, which the lugger’s crew began to draw in. Ariadne stopped with a lurch, her bows now pointing seawards, the anchor had held, but now their own stern was exposed to the bastion just further up the harbour; about 1 and a half cables behind them, an easy distance for trained gunners.
The first ball hit the taffrail and took off the head of one of the crew of the starboard carronade and sending splinters, large and small, flying across the quarterdeck. One hit Argent in the thigh, another, larger, pierced the chest of a Bosun’s Mate. Argent fell to the deck, not sure if his leg was broken or not. The second ball passed through the mizzen topmast spar for it to hang drunkenly down to starboard. The third passed right through the rigging to hit the forecastle bulwark where King had been standing. Argent raised himself on one elbow to turn to Gunner Tucker, stood close on the quarterdeck.
“Mr. Tucker, if you can do anything with your shrapnel, to those guns behind us, do it now!”
Tucker and his gunners had already partly anticipated the need and the quarterdeck carronades were already swung around to now be quickly elevated and, with that, they began the process of loading. This started with adjusting the fuses to make, what they hoped, was the correct length. Eli Reece and another Forecastleman had run to their Captain and raised him up, so that he could, at least, lean on the quarterdeck rail. They remained at his side and Argent looked over to Bentley stood down on the gundeck.
“Mr. Bentley. Open fire with the larboard broadside. Rapid fire at the bastion on the far side of the harbour. Rapid fire, cover us in smoke.”
Tucker’s carronades fired together. Each had been loaded with three shrapnel shells, and they exploded low and short, but the smoke from the explosions hid Ariadne from the three embrasures, at least temporarily. Tucker and his mates worked on the next fuses, whilst the carronades received their gunpowder charges, this time a little extra. Argent noted that some guns of his starboard battery were firing, one, two, and three, three being Morris’, had found targets beyond the lugger, and, at the far end, Evans and Wood, Gun Captains of 15 and 16, could see right down the quayside. They had agreed between them to load grapeshot to give the Marines some support.
This noted, that his ship was fighting in all directions, Argent looped his arm around Reece’s shoulders, whilst his mate took Argent’s waist.
“Thank you Reece. Help me to the larboard side, if you would be so good.”
“Aye, aye, Captain”, came from both, and they practically carried him to the rail. Argent looked across the full width of the harbour at the bastion opposite, through the gaps in the smoke. He called for his telescope and studied the affect of their own gunnery from the larboard battery. Some shot were hitting the stonework, but too few to make any difference, but by now Herodotus should be in action. He changed direction to look down the harbour through the thinning smoke and saw her in the middle of the harbour roads, stationary in the centre of the tide, but too far down. There had been some misjudgement somewhere, but nevertheless, trained back, her broadside would hit the bastion. Just as Argent thought this, she opened fire, as single guns in a rolling broadside, making huge clouds of smoke. He looked at the bastion, merely a few balls had hit, but at least some. More importantly, at least, as he saw it, Herodotus would draw some fire and in answer to this thought, some waterspouts erupted off her stern.
His own quarterdeck carronades fired again. This time the shells must have been over the bastion behind them, because he saw no explosions, but perhaps they were drowned in the smoke from the French guns at the embrasures. He looked at Tucker, who answered.
“That’s the longest fuse, Sir. I reckon it don’t matter if they lands to bounce around their feet!”
“Just so, Mr. Tucker. My compliments to you.”
Argent thought how ridiculous was the phrase he had just used to Tucker, then another ball from the bastion astern ploughed up planking from the starboard gangway, then ricocheted up and over the bows, parting some standing rigging, bringing his mind came back to his own predicament. His leg hurt and his ship was taking damage.
Then a signalman called out to him.
“Sir, signal from Herodotus, Sir. “Withdraw.”
In shock, Argent took himself to the larboard side, ignoring his limp, but still supported by Reece. What he saw, by looking down harbour, he looked on with horror. Herodotus was going, definitely moving seaward and out, already some way down the Roads, she’d cut her anchor, if ever it had held her. The fire from the main bastion still looked on her as a target, but soon all would be on him, but he could not abandon the Marines, now all aboard La Pomone and doing their best to wreck her.
“Acknowledge.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Then, under his breath.
“For all the damn good that will do.”
Reece and his mate carried Argent to the other side to look at La Pomone and what he saw gave some hope. The Marines were coming back over the taffrail and jumping down onto the lugger. One minute more and they could pull her away. Explosions were occurring on La Pomone and there were some fires. They had, without question, done some damage, probably significant.
His own starboard guns, those five that could, were still roaring away at any target they could see. At Number Three on the starboard side, Morris had already sunk a small coaster with three aimed shots on her waterline, now there was a Signal Station that he was systematically knocking to pieces, his crew loading and running out with smooth precision. Morris had no complaints about Tooley. Evans and Wood had loaded solid to batter some buildings that contained French soldiers, who were firing at the Marines from the windows. Fynes was running up to the forecastle and then back down, trying to find targets for his three guns, including Morris’, Berry coming up to the quarterdeck for the benefit of his two. Bright and Bentley were encouraging their men to fire at maximum speed, Bright taking the place of a tackleman felled by a splinter.
Argent studied the lugger, surely these were the last of the Marines, then he knew they were when Ramsey came over La Pomone’s taffrail to jump down into his vessel. Argent turned to Fraser.
“Stand by, Mr. Fraser.”
No more Marines appeared.
“Now, Mr. Fraser.”
The sharpened axe chopped twice, the anchor hawser disappeared and Ariadne immediately began to drift downstream in the strong current. The towrope to the lugger snapped taught and Ariadne lurched, but the lugger began to leave La Pomone’s stern, her bow swinging round to follow. Tucker fired for a third time and this time explosions could be seen all over the bastion. His work had made some difference, but only to slow the rate of fire, men felled by the shrapnel could quickly be replaced.
Argent limped to the centre of the taffrail to look over the stern, Reece never leaving his side. Argent had to con his ship down the harbour, but now running the gauntlet of the opposite main bastion. Fraser, without orders, had prepared all plain sail, bar the Royals, dropped but not sheeted home, so, at present they hung limp. Argent couldn’t move himself forward, he couldn’t even stand on the leg, certainly not walk, and so he gave his orders so that Fentiman would hear.
“Sheet home.”
Whilst Fentiman relayed his orders along the deck, Argent spoke to the helmsman.
“Up helm. Take us out, Mr. Short.”
“Up helm and course out. Aye aye, Sir.”
Zachary Short moved the wheel four spokes, then held it steady.
Ariadne’s starboard broadside roared out. With the lugger away and coming around astern, La Pomone was cleared and the guns that had been forced to hold their fire gave her a double shotted farewell. Decking, planking and railings flew up into the air and within the ship fires continued. However, Argent had observed none of this. They were now within the fire arc of the front battery of the bastion they had just dropped shrapnel onto, it looked directly out over the harbour and, in addition, they were also heading directly into the fire of the main bastion across the harbour. This no longer had Herodotos as an opponent, she was going through the harbour entrance and was now well out of range. He turned to Tucker, to ask for some more shrapnel, but the roar of the carronades gave him an answer. The shells exploded above the embrasures that threatened them anew from astern. Argent yelled above the din.
“Mr. Tucker. Keep firing. Cover us with smoke.”
Both Ariadne’s batteries were roaring away and, in the noise, Tucker could do no more than knuckle his forehead. The bastion behind them fired, but it was wayward, this being their first volley, apart from one shot that hit the mizzen topmast, for it to descend to fold down and point at the quarterdeck, held by the rigging. A shower of blocks and splinters descended to be caught by the splinter net strung across. For that bastion the range was now lengthening, but to the main bastion, across the harbour, the range was shortening, soon it would be down to three cables, with Ariadne presenting her full length as a target. She was picking up speed, with her canvas perfectly set, but only slowly. Whilst, in that wind and alone, she could easily manage 12 knots, the lugger would do well to achieve nine. Sanders had set all sail and, without the tow, Ariadne would be faster, but the lugger slower. Argent would not leave the Marines to face the full fury of the bastion’s fire and, as that thought passed through his mind, the main bastion fired; Argent had estimated about 12 guns. Most were wayward, but all felt the shock through the hull of those that hit, and one crossed the deck to hit the starboard bulwark below the mainmast shrouds. The shrouds jerked outwards as their anchoring davits flew out over the sea, the water then being covered by the shower of splinters.
A Question of Duty Page 23