Idly, Phillips noticed the bosun having a loud exchange with one of the seamen over by the prisoner’s enclosure. Walking over, he asked the bosun to lower his voice. With the barest hint of a smile on his face, the bosun walked away. Phillips followed him, and asked what the commotion was all about.
“Sir, we were just putting on an act to fool the Frenchies. I was trying to make them think I was chewing on Wilkes’ arse because he didn’t try to put out the fire. We want them to think the fire destroyed the signal book.”
“Boats, the French will never believe that, anyway it will all come out with that officer’s court martial.”
“No Sir,” argued the bosun. “That was the point. Lieutenant Andrews told me the French officer just informed his people he kicked one of the barrel staves until it got loose, and started leaking a little. Then one of the gunners said he lit the oil using a musket cartridge and the embers of his pipe. That reminds me, I had to promise Seaman Wilkes a good drunk when we were back on the ship.”
“Bosun, you want me to get your seaman drunk do you?”
“Yessir, we just wanted to get these soldiers thinking the signal book was destroyed. Wilkes said he wouldn’t do it unless he got a good drunk out of it. He’s the one who really lit the fire. Sir, what do you want done with those fishing boats in the bay?”
Previously much too busy to notice the small fleet of fishing and coastal trading vessels in the bay, he now saw a half dozen of the craft. All seemed of a size to suggest they might be seaworthy in the waters of the Channel.
He asked the bosun, “Do you think those boats could reach Portsmorth?
“As long as it weren’t blowing a right gale, Sir”.
“Bosun, I want you to take command of one, the others by people that you are confident of. I want to take all these prisoners on board them and ferry them to Portsmouth.”
As seamen were taking charge of the captured boats in the harbor, a Royal Marine private came running up breathlessly to Lieutenant Andrews, and reported. Andrews, in turn approached Phillips and announced, “Those troops we saw on the coast road yesterday must have made an early start today. Our outpost reports a body of men approaching. About a hundred men all told. Corporal Bentley reports they are probably conscripts. They are coming down the road in a mob, their equipment all ahoo. They should be here in an hour or so.”
“Very well Lieutenant, you know what to do. Let us give them a rousing reception.”
One body of men was put to work putting out the remains of the fire that had destroyed the hut. Others fastened drag ropes to the gun carriages of the battery’s guns, hauling them out to command the road. The bundles of brush that had formed the rear defenses of the battery, were pulled out and placed to help protect the guns from an infantry assault.
Captured French ammunition was laid out to the rear of the guns. As expected, most of that ammunition was ball, meant to be utilized against British warships, but there was an ample supply of grape, and even a few canister rounds. These last consisted of metal cans filled with musket balls. When fired, upon exiting from the gun’s muzzle, the remnants of the can would fall away, freeing the musket balls, which then spread out, much like the charge in a shotgun.
Phillips ordered the four guns loaded initially with grape. This could do devastating harm to unprotected infantry at a cable’s length. Canister was to be loaded next, when the enemy could be expected to have advanced.
Phillips looked around to see what he might have forgotten. The fire had died down to just a few burning embers. He had ordered it not be dowsed completely. While he watched, a seaman cast a few sticks of firewood on the remaining coals. The approaching troops might well regard it as a watch fire. The flag pole in the center of the battery compound was bare, but a Marine stood by, ready to run up the flag.
All appeared to be well, when the troops came around a slight bend in the road. No one would call it a military column. It was basically a mob of men. Some wore some semblance of uniform; others wore the garb they had worn when they were snatched from behind their plow and told they were now soldiers of France. Phillips noticed with relief that most of the men carried muskets. Had they been unarmed, he would have had much difficulty firing on unarmed people.
As the troops approached, an officer began shouting orders. A drum began to rattle, and some of the enemy troops seemed to be making an effort to get in formation, and into step. Lieutenant Anderson, commanding the defensive positions, mounted an upturned barrel when the enemy came within grapeshot range. He nodded to his sergeant, and the ship’s Royal Marine complement rose as one man from behind the barricades where they had been concealed, up till now.
The enemy troops plodded on, mechanically. The commander of the French troops stared at the bare flag pole, perhaps wondering at the lack of the Tricolor. After noticing the red coats of the Marines, drawn up in formation, Phillips could imagine the confusion in the man, trying to puzzle out what unit these soldiers in red coats might belong to.
Anderson said something to his sergeant standing beside the barrel. A boat ensign rose up the flag pole, and a private handed up his musket to the officer. Anderson pointed the weapon at the road in front of the enemy column and fired. The lead ball struck up a gout of dirt directly ahead of the leading men. An order from the sergeant brought up all the Marine’s muskets to the ‘Present’ position. Still, even in the presence of the British flag, and a detachment of armed Royal Marines, the enemy plodded forward.
Anderson, Phillips could see was perplexed. He did not want to fire upon troops that were unaware of their danger, but did not see how he could make the situation more clear.
Phillips took over. Addressing the gun captain in charge of the nearest gun, he said, “Miller, as soon as the leading elements reach that dead snag, fire at the head of the column.”
Moments later, the gun went off with a roar, and men dropped in the road. Anderson began shouting in French for the soldiers to lay down their weapons. Some of the soldiers did just that. Another sizeable contingent in the rear, dropped their muskets in the road, and ran toward the hills. With half the original number of troops in hand, the French commander got his remaining men under control, and charged the British position. The three unfired guns discharged their loads of grape at the enemy, followed shortly after by the fourth gun that had reloaded with canister.
The Marines began their drill. Anderson had divided his thirty men into three sections. Each section fired its volley separately and in sequence. The muskets began firing at those enemy soldiers still on their feet; each volley crashing out mechanically. The enemy commander dropped early on, felled by a ball in his throat. Those few still on their feet, saw the light and fell in the road along with the dead and wounded.
After the guns stopped, it was soon found there were no surviving officers of any rank among the prisoners. These were all newly conscripted men; being marched from depots to the army they were to join. Every prisoner of war was asked if he wished to return home. Most replied in the affirmative. Only two declined, saying the provosts would soon have them back in the army.
They were presented with two options. They could go to the hulks as prisoners of war, or they could join the ranks of Reindeer’s crew as Landsmen. Both accepted that option after being assured they would not be sent back to the mercies of the French army. To reduce suspicion among the rest of the captives, Lieutenant Anderson loudly accused the two of unspecified crimes and announced they were being arrested and transported to Britain. They were both bound and escorted to Reindeer’s launch under guard of four Marines.
Those other prisoners being sent back were taken to one of the small craft in the harbor being sent back. Those wounded prisoners deemed unlikely to survive until French medical people could reach them, were transported by boat to Reindeer for necessary treatment.
A train of slow match was led into the covered pit that served as the magazine for the former battery. One gun was loaded with a heavy powder charge and ball. Makin
g sure everyone was under cover; this was fired against the trunnion of the nearest gun. The trunnions were cylindrical protrusions cast into the breech of the gun. They were used to secure the gun to the carriage.
Without both trunnions intact, the heavy gun would fly off its carriage out of control with the first shot. The shot was effective; the cast iron protrusion was reduced to powder, leaving behind a divot in the breech. The other two guns were served in the same manner. The remaining gun was loaded with a triple charge of powder and the rest of the bore filled with balls. French bayonets were used to wedge the top ball, and earth was pounded on top. Again, with all personnel behind cover, the gun was fired by means of half a foot of slow match. When it went off, the breech of the gun blew out, which spelled the end for this battery.
The match leading to the magazine was lit by Phillips as the last man to leave the beach. The flotilla of boats was halfway out to the ship when the charge went off.
CHAPTER SIX
Crew Problems
On the way across the Channel, Phillips spent much time on his reports. As they sailed into Portsmouth harbor and banged out the salute, he wondered what the port admiral might have to say to him. There might be an argument that he had risked his ship and men on a target of little importance. Well, what was done, was done, and could not be altered. When the signal rose, ordering him to come ashore, he was at peace. The interview was an anti-climax. The politicos had an idea of what this victory over teeming hordes on the shores of France could be made into, and the Intelligence types were thrilled over the capture of the French Naval signal books. As soon as that capture was discovered by the powers that be, the seamen knowing of their capture were hurriedly carried off, to a ship sailing to India. At least, Wilkes had had his drunk, in the privacy of the Captain’s storage space, before leaving. Phillip’s steward was highly disgusted with the amount of vomit he had to clean up after.
Phillips was himself questioned closely over his actions while securing the signal book, and had to listen to his interrogators wonder how much the French intelligence officials were going to be able to find out. Phillips assured them the only Frenchman who knew the fire was not accidental was the officer commanding the former battery. In his opinion though, it would be unlikely for the man to admit his negligence to his superiors after being exchanged, since then he would have to face a court martial. More likely, he would go with the story that he had fired the building himself to destroy all signal information.
One persistent fellow wondered if the French might soon release Sarah from captivity in exchange for the details of the captured signal books. The minor official seemed to have convinced himself that Phillips would trade his secret to the French, in return for the release of his wife. He became so obnoxious that Phillips felt he must settle the matter.
“Sir; you are insulting my integrity and my wife’s honor. I am afraid I am going to have to ask a friend to meet with yours. I feel we should discuss this matter with either swords or pistols on the field of honor.”
There was a flurry of protests, and muted talk of sending him to the hulks. One protest mentioned it was hardly right for a professional man of arms, like Captain Phillips here, to challenge a peaceful civilian. A RN lieutenant present, mentioned, “Mister Sykes attended the recent parade wearing the colours of the Staffordshire Volunteers, of which he has said he is an officer. Perhaps he should not wear a sword if he does not know how to use one.”
After a temporary adjournment, a colonel in full regimentals came into the meeting room where Phillips had been placed. “Captain Phillips, Mister Sykes spoke in haste. He will shortly come forward and apologize to you in front of the gentlemen who heard his remarks. Will you accept that apology?”
“If he offers it in good faith, then I will. Otherwise I will do my best to kill him.
An hour later, the individual in question slipped into the room, pale and shaking. “Sir, you must forgive me, I have never been threatened with death before.”
“And to you sir, it may be wise to remember that a gentleman does not allow his wife’s name to be bandied about by such as yourself. Now, you sir, do we fight, or do you apologize?”
“Oh, apologize sir, definitely apologize.”
A few days later, he was summoned by the port admiral again. This time the admiral himself apologized. I’m really sorry we put you through that, Captain. Fools like that Sykes fellow are what you have to put up with these days. Anyway, we are in debt to you for that signal book. We need to get you away from here and over to the French coast where matters are handled more honorably.”
As his party boarded the boat at the quay, a party of seamen pulled a little cart up, and a young midshipman in charge called down that he had a mailbag for the Reindeer. Did they want it aboard the gig, or should they get a shore boat and pull it out to the frigate?
Phillips knew some captains who would blast his bones, and insist on a shore boat to bring the mail out. Actually, the bag was small; he doubted it would weigh twenty pounds. At his wave, it was handed down into the boat, and stroke oar arranged it beside him. Once on board ship, Drummond took charge of the mail, and deputized a mid to sort the contents.
The Captain was in his cabin, His servant anxiously trying to insure the garments were hung up immediately to prevent wrinkles. He sputtered vigorously when he spotted a wine stain on the white breeches. This would need to be taken out with ammonia while the stain was still fresh.
Just as this domesticity was finished, the mid dealing with the mail, appeared at his door. Only one piece of mail for you, Sir.”
He had not been expecting one, what with Sarah being out of the country. All official mail, he had collected at the port admiral’s office. It was from that fellow at the goldsmith’s office.
Inside was a transcription of a letter his wife had written. It had been coded, decoded, and put back into some form of the English language. What Phillips was now reading was printed in childish capital letters, composed probably by someone who had learned his English rather late in life. In essence, the letter said Sarah had received the purse of freshly minted Napoleons; 20 Franc gold coins, and she had taken up residence in the home of a respected widow. M. Loesch, the Parisian goldsmith she had approached earlier, had advised her not to send any information of military matters to England. As long as her letters just dealt with the normal family matters of a family separated by two countries at war, it was felt the French authorities might not take too serious a view should any letter be intercepted..
Their children, Timothy and Abigail were learning French from their nanny, and their neighborhood playmates. Their lives were pleasant enough, but she could not wait ‘till the family was reunited back home. She was sorry for the misery she had put her husband through, and could not understand why she had done so.
Orders from the port admiral required Reindeer to sail when tide and wind permitted, but that was not the case at the moment. Next morning, he asked the young midshipman who wakened him, “Where’s the wind?”
“Sir, Officer of the watch says it’s a single reef topsail wind from the south. Master says it will stay at that ‘till noon at least.”
There was no getting out of Portsmouth with that. Calling his first officer over, he handed him a paper with the goldsmith’s name and location on it. “Mister Drummond, I am going to visit this gentleman. If anything stirs around the port admiral’s office, that looks like it may pertain to us, please dispatch one of the ship’s officers to collect me. I am wearing my number one rig, in case I may need to go directly to the admiral’s office. Have my gig wait for me off shore, so I can come aboard without delay, if necessary.”
Phillips was as sure as he could be that no urgent matter was likely to come up within the next few hours, so he left the ship and was pulled ashore. On landing, he gave the midshipman commanding the boat the strictest instructions that it should stay well away from the shore. “I want no man of your boat crew running. Are we understood?”
&nb
sp; He hired the first vehicle that came along, a light two wheeled chaise. The horse seemed to be in good condition, as was the chaise. After a rapid trot to the goldsmith’s business, the horse still appeared fresh. He told the driver, “I may need to go back to my ship soon. How much would you want to stay here and wait an hour?”
The driver thought an instant, and replied, “A shilling would do that, your Honor.”
Mr. Loeb was surprised to see him. After inquiring about possible problems, Loeb warned him, “Captain, unless there is an actual need, we prefer our principals distance themselves from our place of business. We can never know when a French agent may be watching, and we believe it better for all concerned to keep their distance.”
Phillips apologized, and wondered, “I will be at sea shortly, probably for half a year at a time. You can reach me by the Royal Mail, but at times there may be a several month’s delay before I get the mail. As it happens, I do have an officer aboard my ship that speaks, reads and writes French fluently. We will be patrolling off Honfluer and Le Havre for the time being. We will be seeing fishing boats every day. I propose to write my letters to my wife, have my officer translate them and give my translated letters to the captain of one of the French fishing boats to send to Paris in the French mail service.”
“My dear Sir, should you take that idea into practice, I am afraid I will have to sever our relationship. Your wife would be in deadly danger in Paris. You probably do not know the French mail service regularly censors both incoming and outgoing mail. However fluent your officer might be, it would be difficult to conceal the truth from the censor. Having said this, I must add that we normally have much faster service to Paris than does the regular government mail service. Our encrypted mail goes across by fishing boat to Honfluer. It is hidden aboard in the cargo of salted fish.”
Trafalgar and Beyond: A John Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 3) Page 4