The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1)

by Georges Carrack

  “Acting Lieutenant Burton, get yourself up there and have a look. Come down when you can tell us exactly what she is.”

  Even though Dinning had included the word ‘acting,’ Neville felt a chill run up his back on hearing the title. For the first time, he wondered what it would take to sit for lieutenant. He had the time he needed now, and he probably knew his lessons better than most. He would inquire. “But, right now, I’d better think about what I’m doing, or we might not be back at all.” He mumbled to himself as he swung out around the futtock shrouds.

  “Oh, Mr. Clough, it’s you again. How are you today?”

  “Fine, Sir. No, a bit nervous maybe, this close to France. She’s there, Sir. Can’t be very big. Looks a sloop of war, mebbe, but I think not a fisherman.”

  “You’ve a fine eye, Mr. Clough,” he said, looking through his glass. She is, indeed, French Navy. We’ll just have her come alongside. Don’t be calling out in English before she’s under our guns, or you’ll answer to Lieutenant Dinning.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  Neville slid quickly to the deck on a backstay, knuckled his head to Lt. Dinning, and said, “Sloop of War sir; perhaps sixteen guns and eighty men. May I suggest, Sir?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ll hail them when they get close enough. My French may sound a bit funny to them, but it shouldn’t set them off. I’ll tell them we’ve damage and to come alongside. Hell’s bells, Sir, they can see we had a fire. Oh, we could start the pumps, as well; turn them out to landward side, Sir. That boat will come along seaward and hide our action from shore if anybody’s there watching. They may be suspicious, but if the marines jump to the swivels at either end and line the rails with muskets as soon as she touches, then open the ports and run out the lower deck guns and throw the grapples. They should strike if they aren’t fully daft. We’d blow them off the water just for sport. They shouldn’t smoke it early, Sir. Our uniforms are similar to theirs, without the hats, and the ship is French as Frogs. They probably even know her. You and Lt. Goss just stand up and wave as they come closer.”

  “Well spoken, Lieutenant,” commended Dinning.

  “Let me say this,” added Lt. Dinning. When they come alongside and we throw the grapples, tell the swivel gunners and all the musketeers to play it cautious. No shooting until I command it. We can’t risk a general melee. There are too many of them, and they’d get quick help from the prisoners.”

  The light onshore breeze governed the slow approach of the sloop. It would also mean there was no way for it to escape quickly. In the half hour it took the sloop to sail up to them, they worked quietly below to prepare their trap. Neville knew what the French prisoners were experiencing below, and also that little could be heard either by them or from them. They could hear the steady clunk of the pumps, as he had, but probably naught else.

  Neville proved to be correct about the water jet from the pumps determining the side they chose for rafting along. The smaller vessel coasted slowly toward them, brailing up the mainsail about a quarter cable behind and coasting forward on their jib.

  “Hallo!” called Neville in French. “Good evening.”

  “You had a big fire, I see. A battle? But why do you stop here?” the captain asked as the jib dropped. The noise of the sail being taken in was not great, but enough to delay an answer and bring the two that much closer.

  “Because, Captain, we need your vessel. NOW!”

  As four English seamen jumped up on the rails and threw their grapples across the six feet of open water that separated them, the lower ports sprung open, leaving the French sailors staring directly into the barrels of thirty-two-pounder cannon.

  One Frenchman stepped on the rail with his sword to cut a grappling line. He was immediately shot down by a quick marine on the forecastle.

  “Gentlemen, look there!” yelled Neville (in French). He stood up in full view with his arms outstretched and pointing to the swivel guns at either end of the ship, both aimed down into the sloop. “Surrender, in the name of our King, or we will fire!” At this, he raised his sword.

  A musket fired from below, and a ball whistled past Neville’s leg, but it didn’t set off a general attack. The man was bundled to the deck immediately by his compatriots. The French began dropping their weapons and raising their hands. The rhythmic clunk of the pumps stopped. It was almost dark, and as quiet as Neville had heard in months – the only noise being the lapping of the water between the hulls, followed by the thump of the two ships coming together. The wind was gone completely.

  “Out!” commanded Neville. “Leave the weapons. Officers first.”

  The French clambered up a single rope ladder to the Formidable. Dinning and Goss asked the officers to assemble for a discussion aside, and all others were guided between rows of English seamen and marines to join their countrymen below. A few would be selected later to assist in the sailing of the sloop to England.

  “Wheew,” whistled Lt. Goss after the men of the sixteen-gun Espion, as she turned out to be, was secure below and the English officer group was together in their mess. “I think that was a very close one. Now we’ve got a smaller French ship, but she’s still too big to take to shore.”

  “Right you are,” said Lt. Dinning, “but we can revise our plan. Neville, this thing is all your doing, I think, so you’ll be the one to finish it. I’m giving you command of the Espion with Mr. Duckett’s help, one of the bo’sun’s mates, and twenty men. Perhaps another ten of the Frenchies. That should be enough to sail her home after you pick up your baggage from shore, whatever it is. We’ll do our duty and take this ship home, starting as soon as we raise anchor. You’ve an hour to pick your men, get aboard, and drop your anchor. One of your little boats will be perfect for the row in tomorrow morning. You’d best get to it. I’ll scribble something in the way of orders for you.”

  “Must it be Mr. Duckett, Sir?”

  “Sorry, but he’s who we’ve got. Besides, didn’t you say he was familiar with coastal packets?”

  “Aye, he is; and small ships. Maybe this will be his cup of tea. I’ll need a few more, Sir – some idlers.”

  “Such as?”

  “The sloop’s cook, quartermaster, and the carpenter’s mates. They’re not normally fighting men, Sir, but they can haul on lines. We’ll need a cook, even if only for two or three days. For that short time, we won’t need a cooper. A purser would be a joke. I’ll see if there’s a man who would serve as doctor.”

  Neville stood, suddenly realizing how tired he was. He felt a tide of energy inside himself to offset it, though. Command of a vessel! Unbelievable! A midshipman two days ago and a commander tomorrow. As much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t wait to begin. He fairly sprang for the door, asking Lt. Goss if he would be good enough to see that his sea chest got shifted to the sloop. Dinning laughed at that, and Neville hurried off to find Duckett on the quarterdeck.

  “Mr. Duckett, Lieutenant Goss will relieve you. Dinning’s given me the sloop, and you to help. We’ll go in tomorrow for our mystery guest. While we wait for Goss, we’re to choose crew of twenty. I’ll choose another ten French. I’ll start with Mr. Aubrey and Mr. Harden.”

  Half an hour beyond what Dinning had allowed them, the hammocks of twenty-five men lay in a heap on the sloop’s deck. All the men they would get were now aboard. Several were forward, dropping the anchor just as that of Formidable was being raised. Formidable would not go far this night, but would be ready to catch any morning offshore breeze, no matter how light, as it came up with the sun. Neville heard the topsails drop. He could see that Dinning had loosed the fore t’gallant as well, and it looked to be drawing a bit. Maybe they would move. Yes, there was the telltale gurgle of water around the hull. A clump of brown shore weed drifted slowly past the hull.

  The dusky rectangles that were Formidable’s sails took almost two hours to vanish into the starlight to the east.

  “We are on our own, Mr. Duckett; we truly are. Are you comfortable with it?
”

  “I am. It might be the small ship, which I know so well. I feel quite lost in that big eighty-gun monster, though it was what I thought I wanted. Once we’re home, perhaps I should put in for service on an unrated ship. I’d probably get it. Everyone I’ve met wants the big ships with a chance of glory.”

  It did not take much searching in the captain’s cabin to discover a liquor cabinet, from which Duckett and Neville took a bottle of brandy and two glasses. The cabin was not spacious, nor did it have a stern gallery. It was, however, larger than the lieutenants’ cabins in the ship they had just left. It contained the captain’s bunk, not a hammock, a small working table for a desk, and a private privy. Another hatch stood open above a table that would seat four with small stools. It was luxury beyond Neville’s station, to be sure.

  “One thing I will guarantee you, Mr. Duckett; I will not make a cock-up of this by taking too much drink tonight. We shall have one for our celebration, and another if we live through tomorrow, but no more. After this one, go have Mr. Aubrey – he’ll coxswain the boat – make sure the boat is ready for the end of the middle watch, and choose his six rowers. Be sure we have a cutlass for each man and four loaded pistols. I’m going to get a few hours’ sleep, and I suggest you do the same. You’ll stay aboard while I go in. I believe I know who’ll be there.”

  Neville was dreaming of sitting on a yard in a storm when he woke to being shaken. When a voice spoke, he snapped awake and stood, knocking his head hard on a low beam. He sunk to kneeling on the floor.

  The voice chuckled, and came again out of the dark: “It’s time, Suh. Eight bells of the middle watch have struck. Aubrey’s ready.”

  “Thank you, Mr. … ?”

  “Wilson, Sir.”

  “Yes, thank you Mr. Wilson. Are you coming?”

  “Nawsuh. I’m to help wi’ breakfast, Suh, and to fetch you.”

  The sloop’s gig was already in the water, with seven men sitting in it, and they were passing cutlasses down. There was no similarity to the Sans Pareil, or even the Castor. It was only about seven feet from the Espion’s rail to the boat; they simply handed things down.

  “In you go, Commander,” said another faceless voice, and he swung himself over the side, his head still thumping from being bashed against the beam. Commander, the man said! Unbelievable.

  “Ready, Mr. Aubrey.”

  “Shove off. Make way, all.”

  “We are to seek the second small bay north of the northern entrance to L’Orient. That must be it there. It’s quite a way, ain’t it, Mr. Aubrey?”

  “Aye, Sir. It’s a pity we didn’t re-anchor Espion closer to shore when Formidable left. It’ll be a long pull in and probably full light before we got there.”

  “If our man is watching, though, he’ll have plenty o’ time to get himself to where we’re heading.”

  Neville had brought a small glass and was studying the shoreline. “I don’t see anyone at all.”

  Twenty minutes passed. “There’s a man on the strand now. He’s walked to the center of our cove. It looks safe enough. I don’t see anybody in the bushes; nobody up on the dunes to the sides, either. Oh, wait … no, just a deserted fishing camp.”

  They rowed in close enough for Neville to study the man. He carried a brown satchel, as would a solicitor or a doctor, and wore a brown civilian gentleman’s coat. A smile came to his lips when he studied the man again from only a cable distant. He was curly-haired, stocky, and not too tall. He wore a cravat.

  The man walked toward them as the boat scrubbed to a halt in the sand. Two seamen jumped out over the bow and held the boat for Neville to disembark without jumping knee-deep into the water. Pretty water – clean and warm this time of year, with gentle wavelets lapping at the sand.

  While Neville strode up from the water, Georges set his satchel on the sand. Neville extended his hand in greeting, but Georges brushed it aside and put his hands on Neville’s shoulders. To Neville’s great surprise, Georges pulled him forward and kissed him on each cheek. “This is France, Mr. Burton, and that is a proper greeting from a Frenchman,” he said. “Welcome to my country, which I am sorry I have to leave. You look positively awful, Mr. Burton. Blood all over your dirty shirt and a sliced cheek; but, I’m pleased to see you. Let us go visit England.”

  Sliced cheek? What of that? He felt the right side of his face. Oh, this must have been a piece of shot from that swivel gun that went off in my ear. My hearing’s coming back slowly, though.

  The dumbfounded boat crew held the boat for them to re-embark, and then shoved it back until it floated free in the blue-green water. They swung it ‘round to pull for the Espion.

  The same morning offshore breeze that by now should be carrying Formidable away from the danger of the French coast was also to their advantage. It was filling in nicely. Five minutes later, the men stopped rowing and assembled the sailing mast. It had been a forty-minute row to shore, but the breeze changed that. The return was an enjoyable twenty-minute sail. Once on deck, Neville made introductions: “Mr. Duckett, this is M. Georges Cadoudal, an acquaintance of mine from the Sans Pareil.”

  “The Sans Pareil, Sir? I never saw him aboard.”

  Neville noticed Duckett’s use of ‘Sir’ but, in front of the others, he made no comment.

  “When she was French, Mr. Duckett. Before she was English,” leaving Duckett trying to remember Neville’s past.

  “Georges, let’s go see what we can find for accommodations. We’re not very familiar with this vessel.” Georges, being quite familiar with the unusual, said nothing and followed.

  16 - “Homeward Bound”

  “Let’s leave this coast as fast as we can, Mr. Duckett. East by sou’east, if you please, and I remember my chart. I’ll be back on deck in a half glass. Breakfast after we’re away.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” Duckett said with an unexpected wry smile.

  Neville first gave a short explanation of his command of a French sloop. Then he asked, “Georges, the orders for Formidable were to sail her to Portsmouth. I’ve got nothing but this scrap of paper with the sketchiest of orders. No destination is prescribed, despite that Portsmouth was probably intended. We could take you wherever you’d most need to go. Where might that be?”

  “I need to visit London, so all the way in to Gravesend would be mangnifique.”

  “I think we can do that. If this were a bigger ship, I’d say ‘no’, but this one can tack close to the wind and manage shallow water. I’ll see if we have anyone aboard who knows that water, as well. Take that cabin I showed you and get some rest.”

  “Mr. Duckett, how’s it going?”

  “This is smashing, it is,” he answered. “See how close to the wind she goes, and how fast? We are nigh on ten knots with a breeze of not much more. We’ve got three aboard who are experienced at the helm. There are enough men for twenty-five on each watch, using our French friends as landsmen.”

  “Splendid, Mr. Duckett. Don’t forget that in a pinch, my friend Mr. Cadoudal can be used to translate.”

  Mr. Acton here was rated able seaman, but his mates put him forward to be your acting sailing master’s mate. He’s spent a few years on fishing boats rigged similar to this one.

  “Mr. Acton, very good to meet you. Where did you sail?”

  Acton stood proudly beside the helmsman, a great smile upon his rugged face, obviously enjoying both the fresh summer air and the feeling of personal success. “We fished the Channel, Sir, out of London south ‘round by the Downs.”

  “So you have the coast there in your head, then? Up the Thames, as well? How far in?”

  “Aye, Sir, but no farther than Gravesend.”

  “Gravesend will do nicely, Mr. Acton; carry on.”

  “Mr. Duckett, do I not remember that you served on a pilot cutter out of Sheerness, as well? As long as we have you and Mr. Acton, I doubt we even need the charts for the Channel between Ushant and Eastbourne. There to Gravesend should be child’s play.”

  The
y sailed well east of Ushant before turning north. In French waters, they were cautious to fly no flag at all until they were able to recognize an approaching ship, although they had seen no French warships. They were stopped twice by packet ships not much larger than Espion, which were captained by lieutenants not much older than Neville.

  “This is as it should be, Mr. Duckett, but it is proving quite frustrating to pass our own blockade.”

  “I agree. Let’s duck in close to the Cornish coast tomorrow and see if we don’t avoid the buggers. Our little sails will be very hard to see in the white horses of the western channel. Espion has a very French appearance but, if we have the Flad of Britain up as we work east, just maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

  Two more days saw them into the mouth of the Thames. “It has been over two years since I shipped out in the frigate Castor from Chatham, there, Mr. Cadoudal,” explained Neville as a quick glimpse of the yard presented itself up the river Medway after Sheerness. “It will take us another day to work upriver unless we get a very favorable wind. Playing the tides and current will be the way, and that duty best left to Mr. Duckett and Mr. Acton. I am pleased we could assist you but, after we put you ashore, I must take this ship to Portsmouth. Lieutenant Dinning will expect me there. He is probably already wondering why I haven’t appeared.”

  The tide being favorable, there was no waiting after Georges went ashore. No sooner had the ship’s boat been swayed up than Neville called for the anchor to be raised, and they were halfway to Sheerness before dusk. Foul weather beset them for the following two days, resulting in a full five-day passage to Portsmouth. A guard boat approached Espion as soon as she sailed into Spithead harbor. When close enough, they signaled for her to heave to and speak.