A Treacherous Coast

by David Donachie

  ‘Call me when we weather Cape Ferrato, Mr Pearce.’

  Which he did, not long after the crew had eaten their dinner, to be immediately ordered out to sea. This time Digby stayed on deck, relieving Pearce, who could go below to a broiled chicken shared with the marine officer. When he came back on deck he noticed Digby close by Mr Dorling, the young ship’s master, with much concentration aimed at the slate on which their course and speed was recorded.

  This held until daylight began to go, at which point HMS Flirt was put once more on a course level with the shore, and Pearce and Edward Grey were called into the tiny cabin to join the captain. Digby, seated, ran a finger along a map of the shoreline, the digit followed by the two officers left to stand on opposite sides of the desk.

  ‘I have orders to reconnoitre the shore between Monte Boroni and the Cape Ferrato peninsula.’

  ‘To what purpose, sir?’ asked Grey.

  ‘The road to their forward lines runs along the coast at the head of the bay and the commodore thinks it might be vulnerable to attack at a point they would not expect us to even consider, it being so close to the main base of operations.’

  Having been looking at the charts all day and knowing their destination, Pearce had a very good mental image of what Digby was talking about. He also knew that if it meant going ashore, this was not a duty that fell to a ship’s commander but to his inferior officers. On HMS Flirt, Ivor Conway, being so young, that was him, with Grey and his marines as support to the chosen members of the crew.

  ‘I take it you will stand off and we will be going in by boats, sir.’

  ‘Why would we do that?’ was the brusque reply.

  ‘On the grounds that the French may have defences, if not on both sides of the bay, then certainly on the heights of Monte Boroni.’

  ‘We have no knowledge of that.’

  ‘If they have, sir, the entrance to the bay is no more than a quarter of a mile land to land. It does not require heavy ordnance to defend it – field guns have the range, and those I seem to recall as an article that the French have in quantity as well as good men to ply them.’

  ‘While we may catch them napping. What information we have points to a rabble, not an army in the proper sense.’

  ‘How good is that intelligence, sir?’

  ‘As good as our Austrian allies can make it,’ came the terse reply.

  ‘Monte Boroni is a perfect spot to mount defensive cannon.’

  ‘Which is what we are here to find out. Of course, if the duty seems to you too arduous, or should I say dangerous, Mr Pearce, you are always at liberty to decline it.’

  Digby had a smile on his face when he said that, but it was not one of affability; the smirk spoke instead of a test and it took Pearce a little time to fathom a reason. He was being challenged, he knew that, and in front of a witness. If he declined the task, Digby could have him removed, with an accusation of being shy providing the reason. Under that cloud, Pearce would struggle to get a court martial in which he could air the things he would want said.

  ‘I see you have spent a fruitful afternoon in contemplation, sir.’

  ‘It could be said I have been thinking of the good of the service.’

  About to put out a rude reply, Pearce remembered Grey was present, not hard given his proximity. It would not serve to involve him in what was about to turn into a quarrel.

  ‘So you intend to take HMS Flirt into the bay?’

  ‘I do, and with those on board who will be obliged to accept my authority. You spoke of boats, Mr Pearce, I am happy to provide you with one, if you so desire, in which you can stand off and observe from a place of safety.’

  ‘I seem to recall, sir, that when last called into action you were the man in need of a place of safety and that was to protect you from your own folly.’

  ‘Oblige me by departing the cabin, Mr Pearce. Lieutenant Grey and I have matters to discuss, but I will require that you put your disinclination to follow my orders in writing.’

  ‘What I will put in writing, sir, is my suggestion that it would be safer to reconnoitre the shore using the ship’s boats and add that it is an expedition I am willing to lead. I will also note that to expose the ship in a place of which we have no knowledge of the state of the defences is folly. I will now go and put quill to paper, while asking Mr Dorling to append his name as witness.’

  Which was as good as saying, ‘It will be you facing a court martial, matey, not me.’ And Dorling, being the master and appointed by the Navy Board, was in a very strong sense outside the terms of Digby’s authority, enough that he could not be intimidated.

  ‘Mr Grey?’

  Digby had fixed the marine with a determined look and the nature of the question did not need to be explained; he was being required to provide an opinion. Grey was young, brave and it could be said after the way he had behaved in the Gulf of Ambracia, capable of being foolhardy, he having stretched his orders somewhat. But Digby was putting him in an intolerable position, virtually demanding his support with the implied consequence of refusal. It was a look-to-your-career moment.

  ‘Sir, I do not wish to question your judgement—’

  ‘But you reckon boats a better way to carry out the task?’

  ‘I do, sir. I cannot see the sense in risking the ship.’

  Digby did a complete volte-face then, though he allowed himself a short period of contemplation before acceding to what Grey had said. This had Pearce marking him as a damn sight more devious than he had hitherto thought possible. Digby had never intended taking HMS Flirt into a bay where, if the enemy had placed a set of batteries, she could be reduced to matchwood. It had just been a ploy to pin his premier with the stain of cowardice and in his own written hand. He fully expected him now to abandon the whole enterprise. He was wrong.

  ‘Very well, boats it will be,’ Digby said. ‘I take it, Mr Grey, you will not object to serving under Mr Pearce?’

  The ‘Of course not, sir’ was too enthusiastic for Digby and made him frown. When he spoke to Pearce it was with his eyes firmly lowered to avoid contact.

  ‘Then he will lead and choose which hands to take with him. That will be all, gentlemen, given you have only two bells, by my calculation, to prepare.’

  Outside, Grey pulled at John Pearce’s sleeve and spoke in an agitated whisper. ‘What in the name of creation is going on with you and Digby? We have had too much of this.’

  The marine was taken further along the deck to a place where Pearce could speak normally, having to avoid as they did so the men on deck putting the ship on a reverse course.

  ‘That is a question you should pose to him, Edward, not me.’

  ‘I reckon to have done myself enough damage for one day in the cabin by questioning his intentions.’

  ‘I must ask you why you did not demur.’

  ‘John, what he was proposing was folly and I knew that as well as you.’

  ‘He knew it to be folly, also.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Nothing that would make sense, Edward. But I thank you for your support.’

  ‘I did not support you, John, but myself and my experience. When it comes to action, I can do no other than side with both common sense and proven ability. I recall the risk Digby took in the Adriatic. In his cabin, I wondered if he still carried his damned death wish.’

  Pearce laughed softly. ‘Be assured that it is gone or he would now be sharpening his sword. He wishes to live long enough to raise an admiral’s flag and that dream is what animates him. Now, let us get together those we’re taking ashore, for we have, as our captain said, little time.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The town of Nice, recently taken from the Duchy of Savoy and known to be where the French commanders were quartered, was visible due to the number of cooking fires lining the beach, no doubt those of soldiers who had camped on the long strand of pebbles, which formed one of the major open indentations along this shore. A proper harbour had recently been constr
ucted at its eastern end, but that being in darkness, these flickering flames formed just about the only point of reference by which they could enter the deep bight of Villafranca, which lay just to the east.

  Pearce thought it somewhat like the action off Genoa: a cloudy sky, only occasionally clearing, cutting out much of the star or moonlight and, as soon as the boat passed beyond the western outcrop enclosing the eastern quay of Nice harbour, little to steer by, bar a few pinpoints of lit lamps. Some of those were night-fishing boats, which, raised on the stern and having the virtue of a constantly bobbing movement, could be identified and avoided.

  The illuminations used as a guide were those on the ramparts of the fortress of Monte Albano, which overlooked the town of Villafranca – faint certainly, hung braziers elevated enough to act as a distant beacon, their purpose to light the glacis below the walls and protect against a surprise assault. There was the occasional breakout overhead as the cloud thinned enough to allow a modicum of penetration, but only very rarely did that extend to a full clearance.

  The ship was out to sea and now invisible, lanterns extinguished – again a replica of Genoa – and the only thing by which the main body of sailors, ahead in the cutter, could normally fix the pinnace carrying Grey and his marines, was by the small flashes of white water created by the slowly dipping oars. Pearce had to assume the same applied in reverse but he could not see for himself, he having taken up station in the prow. Ivor Conway, having near begged on his knees to be permitted to come along, had the tiller and was set to respond to any whispered order sent back.

  Despite Digby’s instructions regarding the road to Italy, which did indeed run along the shore at the head of the bay, the man on the spot had a different aim than just landing and fixing whether it was possible to cut that route of supply, not easy given the presence of that formidable fortress, as well as other bastions in the hills to the north. Much was known about this bight; some fifty years previously a British fleet had fought an action in support of a Sardinian army contesting possession of Villafranca with the French, who had landed but been driven off.

  The main defences might be nearer the head of the bight, but nothing could enter these waters if they faced fire from shore-based cannon at the narrows. Ships’ boats could be splintered and sunk by small ordnance, while not even a ship-of-the-line would be safe from serious damage given the lack of room to manoeuvre. That said, once through into the wider bay, in generally calm and deep waters, capital ships could trade fire with fortress- and land-based cannon on relatively equal terms.

  The bight had for centuries been a safe and much-used fleet anchorage and trade hub, the construction of Nice harbour reducing its importance. Yet no great intelligence was required to see that Villafranca and the surrounding land, held for even a brief period and blocking supply, would place the Army of Italy, already struggling for regular supplies, in extremis, the possibility of which was no doubt what Digby had been sent to establish.

  ‘Two flashes on the lantern, Michael.’

  O’Hagan obliged as the message, the shutter opening twice, was passed back to Conway, the previously issued command being to use both oars and tiller to turn, he hoped, due west, a call over the stern made to ensure Grey and his marines did not just row on. Quite apart from the uncertainty brought on by darkness, Pearce, who was acting from memory, seeking to make a landfall to the north of an outcrop, called on the maps of la Ponti di Madonna.

  A slight break in the overhead cover allowed him to see the wavelets breaking on the shore, these having first been audible as a hiss running over soft sand. There would be people living on such a shore, the same as those dwellings he had seen as they had sailed along from Vado Bay: peasant folk who existed by fishing, but not, he thought, fighters and besides, many would be out seeking to fill their nets. If those who were not heard anything, he hoped they were of the kind to stay within their slender walls.

  As the keel eased into the sand, the oars were raised then put aside as men eased themselves into the water to drag the cutter up the beach. It was not necessary to go far, for in the Mediterranean, with its lack of a serious surge, the difference between high and low tide was small, while the coast hereabouts shelved sharply.

  It was all muted calls and hands on shoulders to get the thirty-strong party up the beach to a place where Pearce reckoned it safe to unshade the lantern and ensure everyone was present and accounted for. Other lanterns were produced to be ignited from the one Michael held, before they too were shaded, to only be used sparingly, when absolutely necessary, to make movement possible.

  ‘Mr Grey, as already stated, I require you to hold the beach with your Lobsters. Should we be in trouble we will be forced to run, and those boats may well be our only hope of survival.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Pearce looked for displeasure in that response yet if it was there it was something he failed to detect. He had decided before setting out not to arm his sailors with muskets, first of all due to a lack of familiarity, added to the fact that they were useless in what he anticipated unless loaded and primed. With that, in darkness and stumbling, came the very strong risk of one going off in the hands of whoever was carrying them, so cutlasses, knives and clubs would serve. The marines would have their muskets but be static, ready to slow down anyone in pursuit should Pearce and his party be forced to flee. If it was not seen as glorious, it was nevertheless reckoned wise.

  Then it was anxious eyes on the sky, waiting for either a break in the clouds or that thinning previously experienced, which would allow them to find the path that led off the beach – there had to be one for the locals to use – to hopefully then come across those that traversed the lower reaches of Monte Boroni. It happened eventually, not that progress was either easy or quick.

  The side of the hill was covered in thick scrub on which it was too easy to become snagged, given the narrowness of the tracks. If unshading lanterns for short periods was a risk, it was one that had to be taken often as they progressed first up a steep slope, before finding another path heading towards the promontory. They were on that for half a glass of sand, Pearce reckoned, before anyone spoke.

  ‘Smoke, John-boy, can you smell it?’

  He had not, but by sniffing the slight onshore wind Pearce eventually picked it up, not that it told him much. This was a part of the world where the locals liked to be warm and they were most of the year. To such people what he and his men thought of as temperate might feel like chill, so it could be no more than the fire in a peasant hut, there being no sign of the source. Just then the cloud cover thickened, which forced them to halt and wait, the men told to rest where they could.

  ‘We’ll be in a fine pickle if John Crapaud discovers us stuck out here bare-arsed.’

  This was whispered by Charlie Taverner, never one to hold back on an opinion, a voice John Pearce knew of old. The quiet reply was familiar too, being from Rufus Dommet.

  ‘They’ll run if they smell your stink, Charlie. Who needs muskets when a fart from you will serve?’

  ‘Belay that talking,’ croaked Conway.

  ‘Beggin’ your indulgence, sir.’ That came from Rufus, and if it flew in the face of the instruction, it was enough to satisfy the midshipman.

  John Pearce was looking across the narrows, to where a few twinkling spots of domestic light were visible, thinking the whole notion of coming ashore in such small numbers hare-brained. Come to that, a full assault by large forces was not much of an improvement, given who would be tasked to carry it out.

  In any wardroom conversations in which he had participated, and there had not been that many in which he was ever a full participant, the general opinion was straightforward. The best way to deal with the Army of Italy was a full-out assault on their defences, albeit the King’s Navy would have it carried out not by the forces presently engaged but by a few regiments of British Foot Guards.

  The waters beneath him began to shimmer slightly, Pearce able to see the break in the coming cloud cove
r long before it reached his stationary party. He called out to be ready to move, wondering how much the noise of them getting to their feet, their hissed exchanges and jocose insults would carry. His heart came near to stopping when he heard a loud scream, that was until he realised it was not to his rear, but from up ahead.

  ‘Still, everyone,’ he shushed, before calling out to Conway, who came close, Pearce bending to talk in his ear, only to be faced first with a fearful question.

  ‘What in the name of the devil was that, sir? It sounded like some fiend.’

  Saying he had no idea was the simple bit; wondering whether to respond to the palpable tremble in the youngster’s voice, even when he was speaking so softly, was more of a problem. Being out on a night such as this, engaged in something clandestine and dangerous, was affecting him, so how much more was it playing on the mid? He had been eager enough at the prospect of action. By the sound of it, the reality he was finding terrifying, which would not serve.

  ‘Steady yourself, Mr Conway, it was not some banshee, but a human.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘And flesh and blood we can deal with!’

  ‘Sir.’

  If the tone was yet unsteady, it had to serve; there was no time to include Conway’s nocturnal terrors in his calculations. One single call was all Pearce had to go on and the direction was far from fixed. There was something up ahead and it was yet to be established what and who that was.

  ‘I require you to stay here and take command of those I leave with you.’

  ‘Command, sir?’

  The tone of Pearce’s voice hardened; if he had sympathy he required composure. ‘It is what you joined the service to do, Mr Conway. If you wish to be an officer, you must carry yourself as one.’

  ‘I will do my duty, sir,’ came a soft croak.

  ‘Which is all that can be asked of you. I am going forward to see what I can find, though it could be damned little in what light we have even now. If I encounter trouble, it will be up to you to judge whether to come to my assistance or make an immediate return to the boats.’