Lt. Ford's Marines were already firing, the first rank kneeling and the second waiting to fire 'til the first rank had discharged their muskets, catching the French soldiers at long range, not doing much to harm them, but quite a lot to daunt them and make them shrink back to their rear, and cram themselves elbow-to-elbow, as if that was shelter, even as their officer and their sergeants were shoving and cursing for them to open up their formation.
When the heavy round-shot howled through them, and when a cloud of loose-spaced grape-shot—a thousand or more balls—spattered sand and dirt round them, hammered bodies, smashed musket-butts, tore off limbs and heads, and cut a few of them in two at the waist, they simply melted away . . . dropped to the ground as if they'd never been there! The survivors, a sad few number, dropped their muskets and ran round the western end of the battery and took off in terror, leaving their formerly elegant officer on his knees, his sword broken, and his entrails spread before him as he vomited up blood on his white facings and waist-coat.
Lt. Ford's Marines and sailors gave out a great, jeering roar, and began a quick advance on the battery, muskets held extended, with fresh-ground bayonets winking wicked in the sunlight, at the "Quick." Before the boats had gotten back alongside under the now-silent mouths of the guns, they were in the battery, behind the walls, and into the courtyard, then appearing atop its firing platforms. To the east, Lt. Noble's men appeared atop that wall, too, with British colours waving bravely, even if the flag was only a small boat-jack mounted on a boarding pike.
"Hold fire, hold fire!" Lt. Adair cautioned his gun-captains, "Don't hit our brave fellows, yonder!" Flintlock strikers were taken away from the vents, discharged guns were re-loaded with single solid shot, and the guns were run in and bowsed down securely.
"Well, damme," Lewrie heard a faint, disgusted voice say. Lieutenant Urquhart, Midshipman Grace, and Midshipman Carrington stood on the larboard gangway's after end; looking as downcast as tots who had discovered lumps of coal in their Christmas stockings.
"Lots t'do yet, Mister Urquhart," Lewrie encouraged. "Ford and his lot can stand guard, up the point, whilst you and your lads place the explosive charges, and blow this place to flinders, hey?"
"But of course, sir," Urquhart replied, eyes almost glazed by how quickly the battery had fallen; no glory for him, poor fellow.
"Do you and your party man the boats, sir, and see to the loading of the powder kegs and fuses," Lewrie directed. "Quickly, Mister Urquhart. We must get under way and support the cutters, should they have run into trouble."
Lewrie looked out over the larboard bows, scenting for a threat, but Erato's and Mischief's guns had also ceased firing, and both brigs were shortening their stern cables and preparing to get under way, too. Abeam to larboard, nearly four miles across the Gironde, Commodore Ayscough's two-deckers had come to anchor just off Fort St. Georges, guns pounding by broadsides, deck at a time, and were wreathed in gunpowder smoke. Now and then, a stab of flame revealed a surviving French artillery piece responding . . . almost lost in the hot iron sparkles as the place was being pounded into ruin by heavy, impacting shot. The sound of 24-pounders and 32-pounders bellowing came faint cross the river, an over-the-horizon, stuttering series of thuds and thumps, and the echoey rumble of distant thunder.
Half an hour later, and the kegs of black powder had been slung over the side into the boats, and Lt. Urquhart and Marine Lt. Devereux and their people could at last debark.
"Signal rocket, sir!" Midshipman Dry announced, pointing with an extended telescope cross the point. "A single one, sir . . . no opposition found."
"Very well, Mister Dry. Mister Adair, clear away, the larboard gangway, and reply with one signal rocket," Lewrie ordered, extremely pleased that no French warships were in the bay North of Le Verdon . . . but, chiding himself for thoughtlessness. If Lt. Bartoe in HMS Penguin had found opposing forces, Savage's, reply would have been fired whilst the kegs of gunpowder were still on deck, and he winced and sucked his teeth to imagine how large the blast would have been, if only a trickle of powder had caught a spark, for wooden kegs could never be completely spill-proof!
"Ready to proceed, sir," Lt. Gamble told him at last, touching the brim of his hat in salute. "Hands to the after capstan?"
"Suits me right down t'me toes, sir," Lewrie said with a grin.
A half an hour more to haul Savage to short-stays to her kedge, for Mr. Win-wood's worry of obstructions on the bottom had proven true, and one of the anchor's flukes had fouled on something. The tide had gone slack an hour before and was just beginning its long ebb, taking Savage sternward, about ready to tuck the cable under her counter, and possibly damaging the rudder. The weakly ebbing tide took the frigate like a folded-paper boat, though, aslant the wind, and quickly hoisting the spanker and the inner and outer jibs gave her just enough way to stand out from the beach into the river and re-orient the anchor cable round so they pulled slantwise, from dead astern to the larboard quarter, and, at last, the fluke was freed, the hands breasting to the capstan bars could almost trot about, and the pawls clacked rapidly, 'til the anchor was up-and-down again, and just coming awash.
"Now, get way on her, Mister Gamble," Lewrie said, with an impatient sigh of relief. Erato and Mischief had rounded the point long before, and only their tops'ls and top-masts were visible above the low land.
HMS Savage stood out into the river, wind abeam for a time and pointing her jib-boom and bowsprit at St. Georges de Didonne, making a mile Due East as stays'ls, the forecourse and fore tops'l, and the big main tops'l filled with wind. The continuous gunfire from Commodore Ayscough's two-deckers had subsided to a desultory thumping, the cloud of spent powder smoke had thinned, and, beyond HMS Lyme's bows, rowing boats were swarming shoreward like a colony of scuttling cockroaches. For all that Lewrie could see with his day glass, all return fire from the fort had ceased.
"Haul our wind, Mister Gamble," Lewrie said, now they had enough offing from Pointe de Grave. "We shall wear about to Sou'east by South."
"Aye, sir."
"And we shall finally get a good look beyond the river narrows," Lewrie gleefully exulted to one and all on the quarterdeck. "Much like followin' an ancient sea-chart into waters marked 'Here be dragons'!"
"Or, discovering the Land of the Lotus Eaters in a portion that bears the caution terra incognita, Captain," Mr. Winwood solemnly said. He might be making a quip, but with Winwood it was always hard to tell.
Once worn about, and a mile inside the inner river past Pointe de Grave, the Gironde widened to nearly six miles across, a vast glittering expanse. The small town of Meschers sur Gironde lay two points off their larboard bows, and Tal-mont, the hidey-hole for ships running the blockade, much on the same bearing, but further away. The shallow bay above Le Verdon was to starboard, and was disappointingly empty of shipping; only some light rowboats were drawn up on the beach by some small huts.
Commander Hogue's Mischief was off their larboard side, bearing down on a three-masted merchant ship anchored close ashore just above Talmont, one with no national flag flying at the moment, and the crew huzzahed her, for their frigate was "In Sight," and any money Mischief made off her prize, was she "Good Prize," that is, they would share, no matter if that resulted in less than a pound apiece.
Kenyon's Erato was just off the "dragon's muzzle," about to enter the small harbour of Le Verdon, and the three cutters were further South of her, angling almost Due West in pursuit of something. Even as Lewrie eyed them with his telescope, tiny puffs of powder smoke burst from Penguins bow-chasers, and the sound of her light guns came as a pair of distant dog-barks.
"There's nothing for us to do, sir," Lt. Gamble commented, one hand fretting fingers on the hilt of his sword. "No French warships, no prizes in sight to be taken, but for Mischief *'s . . ."
"Success doesn't always come with close broadsides, sir," Lewrie told him with a faint smile and a shrug of his shoulders. "Both the fort and the battery will be destroyed, and the French will w
ear out a thousand pairs o' shoes marching and counter-marching. And, whatever re-enforcements they'll have to send to prevent a second beating will be just that many less available to Bonaparte for any future adventures of his, God rot the little bastard. Met him once, ye know."
"Indeed, sir?" Gamble marvelled.
"Toulon, in late '93," Lewrie said, explaining how his temporary command of a razeed French two-decker, Zelé, fitted with two heavy mortars, had been exploded and sunk by Napoleon Bonaparte's guns, and how he and the survivors had made their way ashore to become Bonaparte's prisoners, 'til rescued by a troop of Spanish cavalry, and how he could not give his parole and keep his sword, not with French Royalist sailors helping man his artillery, and sure to be shot down instanter as traitors to the Revolution, right there on the beach. "The man still has my sword, damn 'is eyes. Besides, it would've cut rough, to live comfortably, waitin' t'be exchanged, while my people would've ended chained up in some French prison-hulk, starvin', and dyin' of sickness. But, I hope t'get it back, someday," Lewrie concluded, rocking on the balls of his feet with his hands in the small of his back. "Go to Paris, once we've beaten 'em, dig round in some palace, and find it.
"Uhm . . . what is he like, sir?" Lt. Gamble asked, eyes wide with curiosity, and a certain amount of new admiration for his captain.
"Well, he's a short'un, a minnikin, and a fellow with an eye for gaudy uniforms, as I . . . ," Lewrie began to say, but Midshipman Dry cried out that Erato had just fired off four signal rockets; the signal that denoted French opposition in the village of Le Verdon.
"Alter course, Mister Gamble," Lewrie snapped, putting reveries aside, and stalking to the hammock nettings overlooking the waist and gun-deck. "Bring her round to Sou'Sou'west. Mister Adair! It seems we've more 'trade' for you, sir! Re-fit the strikers, and prepare the starboard battery for action."
"Four more rockets, sir!" Midshipman Dry reported, unable to be as stoic as a Sea Officer should be before the hands. "This time, it's from Penguin, sir!"
"What was it you said about nothing to do, Mister Gamble?"
"Nothing, sir," Gamble replied with an avid smile.
"Be careful what you wish for," Lewrie gently chid him.
Two very large guns erupted in the cove below the tiny seaport, the sound like the slamming of iron oven doors, followed by the barks and raspy Woofs! of the 6-pounders of all three of the cutters, as if they had formed line of battle to engage something substantial, powder smoke beginning to wreathe the cove, the British guns stuttering bow-to-stern as they bore. A minute later, Erato's 9-pounders bellowed, too, as she penetrated the harbour, A quick look showed her beam-on to the village and piers, a look that forced Lewrie to choose which fight he should support. "Depth in the harbour, Mister Winwood?" he demanded.
"Two fathom or less, sir," the Sailing Master said from memory, after all his months of glooming over his charts.
"Erato will have t'deal with things on her own, then," Lewrie muttered, peering intently through his telescope. "Aloft, there! Any French warships in the harbour?"
"Barges, sir!" the main-mast lookout shouted down, cupping hands about his mouth. "No warships! They's a gunboat South of th' port, firin' on th' cutters . . . three point off th' stah'bd bows! An oared gunboat!"
"Stand on into the cove, Mister Gamble. What's the depth there, sir?" Lewrie asked Winwood.
"Four fathom within five cables of the shore, sir," Mr. Winwood once more recited from memory, even before he could confirm that from a much-marked-upon chart spread by the binnacle cabinet. "But, it turns very shoal very quickly, sir. Even at the top of the tide, there isn't a whole fathom by three cables' distance."
"Warn us when you think we're close as we dare, sir. Leadsmen to the fore-chains, and have 'em sing out regular," Lewrie said, eager to get to grips with something besides dead stone walls.
But, by the time Savage had come to the aid of the cutters, it was apparent that her help was no longer needed. Penguin, Banshee, and Argosy had closed with a very old-fashioned oared galley, blasting off her sweeps with solid shot and grape, ducked out of the way of a pair of wicked 32-pounder bow guns, and had smashed alongside of her, crushing and splintering the last of her long oars to grapple to her. Men from all three cutters were swarming aboard the river galley, and the French Tricolour had already been hauled down and replaced by a British flag. Far off in the shallows, two small boats full of French sailors were rowing for the beach like the Devil was at their heels, and there were even a few more swimming to escape capture.
"My word, sir . . . an ancient lateener," Mr. Winwood said after a long look with his glass. "Good for going close to the wind in the Gironde, where the winds are mostly Westerlys, but their like has not been seen in real combat since Don John of Austria beat the Turks."
"Worth a penny or two . . . with a museum, perhaps?" Lewrie japed. "I very much doubt it, sir," Mr. Winwood soberly replied. "Mister Gamble? Swan us about into the river, again, 'til we may come hard on the wind, and stand in to see what Erato's up to," he ordered. "Sorry, Mister Adair. Have your gunners stand easy."
Erato no longer needed help, either, for Lt. Aubrey, his loaned Marines, and armed sailors were already ashore on the piers of the seaside village, and her guns had fallen silent. Close off the breakwater Lewrie could see other sailors aboard several large sailing barges near the jetties, and the only resistance seemed to come from within a maze of small shops and houses, and even then the expected, burning-twigs-crackle of musketry had subsided to an occasional pop.
Across the river, the tall pall of gunpowder smoke had mostly thinned and blown away up the Gironde, its large, wispy haze drifting over the chimneys and church spire of Meschers sur Gironde, where bells still pealed in alarm. Near "Mashers," HMS Mischief was standing out for the narrows, her prize close astern of her, and flying the Royal Navy ensign over a Danish flag. Lewrie pursed his lips, worried that taking a neutral, even one caught red-handed in enemy waters, and full of French export goods, would tie young Commander Hogue up for years in Admiralty Court, and end with the prize restored to her owners, with all expenses of the proceedings, and the years of the owners' loss while the merchantman was tied up in port in custody, on Hogue's shoulders.
I'd've burned her, and called it their fault, Lewrie decided; a drunken mate, an overturned lanthorn . . . woops! But, I doubt Ayscough will let him keep her past sunset, so all may be well.
If the Commodore didn't say anything, then he would warn Hogue, himself, and strongly suggest he let her go . . . after her cargo was put over the side of course. No sense in letting blockade runners profit.
"The cutters are coming out, sir," Lt. Gamble pointed out, "with the galley in tow. No value to her, unfortunately. Bless me if Erato isn't tied up along the piers, though!"
"Bring us up within five cables of the harbour mouth, and we'll send a boat in to find out what they're up to," Lewrie said, idling his way to the larboard bulwarks. "Fetch-to when in close, sir. It seems all the excitement is over, and there's no need for our services. Do you inform Mister Adair to secure the guns and stand down from Quarters . . . I haven't the heart t'be the one t'tell him it's over."
"Aye aye, sir," Lt. Gamble said with a twinkle in his eyes. By the time they had fetched-to, though, a rowboat was coming to them, with Erato's Second Lieutenant of Marines aboard. She had barely touched the main-chains when the young fellow scrambled up the side as agile as a teenaged topman. "Lieutenant Thurston, sir, perhaps you do not remember me," he said, doffing his hat in salute. "Lieutenant Aubrey begs me report, Captain Lewrie, that we shall be ashore a while longer. We've discovered nigh a ton of gunpowder aboard one of those barges we captured, and there's heavy drays in the village, and teams of oxen, so . . . Lieutenant Aubrey wondered if it might he needed at the battery . . . to help blow it up, sir! Take a few hours to load it all up, and take it to the point, sir, but there's no more opposition."
"My brief ends at the beach, Mister Thurston," Lewrie allowed. "But my First Of
ficer is already laying charges, and he might go ahead with the kegs of powder we've already landed."
"No worry on that score, Captain Lewrie," the young fellow said. "Lieutenant Aubrey sent a party of runners to Lieutenant Ford, on the point, and they will delay the demolition until our powder is added to theirs."
"Oh, a bigger bang," Lewrie chuckled. "Just at sunset, like a Germanic opera, I take it, sir? "
"Wouldn't know about operas and such, sir," Lt. Thurston said with a briefly furrowed brow and a shrug of indifference. "It will be spectacular, is all I know, Captain Lewrie."
"Much of a fight ashore, sir?" Lewrie asked.
"For a bit, sir, aye," Thurston explained with recalled relish. "Short, sharp, but all in our favour . . . there were about an hundred French infantry in the village, but we routed them right-sharply, and the ship's guns and swivels took the fight out of them." There came a few more faint pops from muskets, perhaps a faint, distanced scream as someone saw his death-wound, or got bayonetted, then it was quiet again.
"We've taken five barges, sir!" Lt. Thurston happily related. "Four filled with stone and mortar mixings, the last'un loaded with the powder, and the artillery pieces that were to go in the battery. Lieutenant Cottle says he'll scuttle or burn four in the deep river channel, but wishes to tow out the fifth as prize."
"I doubt a sailin' barge'd survive her first deep ocean storm," Lewrie speculated. "But, does Mischief's prize prove legitimate, they could be placed aboard her, and sailed to the nearest Prize-Court."
"Oh, goody . . . that would be excellent, mean t'say, sir," Lieutenant Thurston amended, blushing at his youthful slip. "Lieutenant Cottle bade me say that he will sail out with the barges, once we have the waggons on the way out of town, sir, and Lieutenant Aubrey's men to escort them. My Marines and our sailors will be coming back aboard Erato, soon as they set off."
"And what does Commander Kenyon say, Mister Thurston?" Lewrie enquired, mystified by the absence of his name in the proceedings. He join the Great Majority, pray Jesus? he thought, with imaginary fingers crossed for good luck.
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