Distant Gunfire

by David O'Neil

  The noise roused the rest of the crew and a pistol fired and the clash of steel signalled a general melee on the crowded deck. It was lucky that many of the crew were ashore in Calais; otherwise the outcome could have been different. As it was the ship was secured quickly, and with the sails raised the ship gradually gathered way. The Leclerc called for the sweeps to be deployed and the long oars were pushed through the ports provided and the men laid on the sweeps driving the ship forward; at the wheel he directed the helmsmen to swing the head of the ship round to enter the channel.

  The noise began as a distant roar but it increased as the moving mass of figures waving torches came walking on to the end of the quay. There were ranks of soldiers marching six abreast leading the way, followed by a mass of civilians waving weapons of various kinds at the hated English raiders.

  Leclerc’s voice rose above the growing racket, calling to the men in the battery to form up on the quay. Whilst the gunner spiked the guns the remaining men formed two ranks across the quay facing the approaching enemy “Front rank load!” The order rang out and the ten men in the front rank loaded their cartridge “Rear rank load!” The second rank loaded their rifles. “Front rank, volley, fire!” The ten rifles fired as one and the front row of troops collapsed. The second volley caused the entire column to hesitate, stumbling over the bodies of the injured and dying men in their front. By the time the third and fourth volleys had been fired, the column came to a complete stop and the men pushing from behind suddenly realised that the forward ranks were being killed at an astonishing rate. There must have been over twenty men lying bleeding and dead on the quay, and the volleys were still coming every ten seconds.

  Once started, the panic quickly began to spread and the column melted away; the civilians and soldiers running back towards town to escape the terrible slaughter.

  “Cease fire!” Leclerc called. “Retreat to the ship.” The men gathered their equipment and dashed to the ship, now alongside the seaward side of the quay.

  The gunner ensured that all guns had been spiked. He had also placed a barrel of gunpowder under each of the ten guns, and stacked the rest around them and laid a fuse. “They’ll not be using these guns again, nor the embrasures” he chuckled, touching the slow-match to the fuses gathered on the ground before him. His report to Leclerc was breathless and he recommended immediate departure before the charges blew.

  “Right; all aboard lively now, is everyone here?” All the men were aboard including the wounded. So Le Corbeau, sails filling, made her way across the to the other battery to collect the remainder of the raiding party. Having created a similar arrangement of charges, the Gunner’s Mate gathered his party and followed Captain Ullyet and his men on to the ship. As they sailed out of Calais to rendezvous with Delft the first battery exploded with a tremendous roar, the second blew as they passed outer channel marker.

  “I reckon they’ll remember our visit.” Captain Ullyet commented quietly to Captain Leclerc with deep satisfaction. “The men and the rifles performed well.”

  “They certainly did, now let’s see what fish we captured with this ship.”

  The prisoners were lined up on deck between two lines of marines. There were four who were obviously officers, all trying to make themselves inconspicuous among the other men. Unfortunately for them, the other men were not cooperating and they were all four isolated from the men around them.

  Puzzled, Ullyet asked Leclerc why the men were not helping their officers. “It is because they are French navy. The men resent their officers because they do not share fairly when they take a prize, and many do not like the way the officers behave in action. They say the officers do not want prisoners so they kill any they take. The men say that if they do this, what happens to us if they are taken prisoner? They do not wish to die.

  “Is the captain here?”

  “Yes, he is Captain Marc Charles, that man standing over there.” He indicated a tall man isolated from the men around him, dressed in a black coat with the leather baldric still over his shoulder, the empty scabbard swinging at his side.

  “Is this the man you were looking for, Leclerc?”

  “It is. The man, who raided Guernsey, murdered my family; and burned down my home.”

  In the later questioning it was interesting to discover that the so-called ‘rule of the people’ boasted of by the leadership of the French people, was anything but.

  At his meeting with Robert following the cutting out expedition, Admiral, Viscount Malmby KB was quite seriously clear on the subject.

  “We have been aware that the movement in this country towards egalitarianism has taken a severe blow since the last series of executions in Republican France; and the declaration by Napoleon Bonaparte of his ambitions to the Chair as First Consul of France; has been a serious blow to the republican fraternity. They are becoming persuaded that their great experiment is not working.

  “As to the captive Captain Marc Charles, his piratical cruise through the Channel Isles was part of the official efforts of the French to impress us, to convince us that they still had some influence in the Channel waters.

  “It was of course a wasted gesture that we have swiftly demonstrated was futile. You may tell Captain Leclerc that Captain Charles has been convicted of piracy and is destined to hang this week for his crimes. He made the plea that as a French naval officer he should be treated as a prisoner of war; however the court decided that his conduct, and the fact that the raid was carried out under a neutral flag, placed him outside the protection of the rules of war and he will hang beside several others of his crew also individually convicted.”

  Malmby walked over to the bureau and poured two glasses of Madeira, one of which he passed to Robert. “I suppose you are now wondering what happens next?”

  Robert cleared his throat but, before he could speak, Malmby raised his hand to stop him, and spoke himself. “Your crew made quite an impact on the French, I understand they fired six times in one minute, and I hear that the efforts of your purser have been put to good use training men in field craft?”

  “Yes but…….”

  Stopped once more Robert listened to the Admiral. “Lord Mills has become interested in you and your crew of ruffians, he will be joining us shortly so I will take this opportunity to caution you. Lord Mills is a very dangerous man; he has the ear of the high and mighty both in government and at the Admiralty, plus a close relationship with Horse Guards. This means that he can make or break virtually anyone at the snap of his fingers. I suggest a long spoon sir, you understand? A long spoon….” He tapped his nose, looking at Robert keenly.

  Robert nodded “I understand, sir, but what does he want with me?”

  Malmby shrugged “Who knows? All I can tell you is that he has made it known he wishes to speak with you in secrecy, hence the meeting here rather than in some public place where it may be observed.”

  A knock at the door put an end to the Admiral’s comments and a neatly dressed man of middle height entered, waited until the door was closed, and then introduced himself as Lord Mills. He was thin-faced and gave an impression of repressed energy, like a wound clock. After a few conventional comments back and forth the Admiral asked to be excused and withdrew from the chamber.

  As the door closed the visitor clasped his hands behind him and walked over to the window overlooking Tower Hill. Robert noticed that he did not stand in full view of the window remaining where he could see without being seen. Mills spoke.

  “You will be wondering who I am, and why I am here? Am I right?”

  Robert nodded.

  “Well to take things in order, I am the country’s first line of defence, I occupy no known position, and I can do virtually what I like to whomsoever I like. I am here to possibly recruit you and your ship and crew to perform some tasks that are difficult to discuss for various reasons. In a nutshell I am in charge if intelligence gathering and I run a network of spies throughout Europe, two of whom you have already met.”


  “Lotte Mansfield and Amelie Parker!” Robert blurted out.

  “Precisely,” Mills cut him off. “Now, listen, I understand you have—some say misguidedly—trained your marines to perform a range of activities not normally associated with sailing a frigate. Rifle skills, field craft and the murderous methods employed by the American Indians and the woodsmen of that country to dispose of their enemies.

  “Not only the marine detachment, but the seamen also; my men are expected to fight hand to hand on deck against enemies, they are required to assault land targets as well. I consider they should have the best training I can give them. The rifles were discarded by the army, I have merely put them to use, and—in fact—if I can, I will obtain more so that the entire crew can become proficient in their use.”

  Chapter fifteen

  Lord Mills looked at him in astonishment. “Do I understand that all your men are trained thus, what of their officers?”

  “The officers also, I myself can now shoot accurately with the rifle and I can fire six shots within a minute sometimes seven!”

  “And the field craft—you have the officers crawling about in the undergrowth too?”

  “I certainly do. There is little point in training my men to be silent in approach if their officers cannot keep similarly silent.”

  There was a period of silence while Mills walked up and down the room, digesting this information. He stopped suddenly, turned to Robert and said. “Captain Graham, from what you have said it appears that I will need to rethink my plans. Please return to your ship and continue you activities with the Customs service. I believe that you should commence training Captain Leclerc to assume your current sea duties.

  “You will remain under the nominal command of Admiral Malmby but you will be directly responsible to me, this will permit me to keep you and your ship in the area and prevent the Admiralty from snatching you off to some distant part of the world for months on end. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir, but what of the normal promotion for my men? This is normally an Admiralty matter.”

  “You and your men still come under the command of Admiral Malmby. If promotions are merited or due, he will ensure they are awarded. Anything else?”

  “Yes sir, the rifles! I will need 100 more with the required ammunition of course.”

  “Very well, I will arrange it immediately. I will be in touch through the Admiral when I need your services; no word of this to anyone except you immediate deputy.”

  With that Mills, rather limply, shook hands and left abruptly.

  It was with some surprise and amusement that a puzzled Abel Jackson reported to his captain ten days after the discussion with the mysterious Lord Mills.

  “Sir, I have received a consignment of materials from the Admiralty, 10 cases of Fergusson rifles two cases of ammunition 1 case of maintenance equipment, and 24 bales of uniforms. I confess I expected the rifles but uniforms?

  Robert reassured him. “I have a memo from Lord Mills. ‘In view of the possible employment of the crew of Roister as irregulars, it has been decided that they be issued with suitable dress to ensure there is no suggestion that they be mistaken for outlaws or guerrilla forces. The uniform has been designed to be inconspicuous; the shade of green has just been suggested for a regiment of riflemen to be formed for the army. When operating on land as troops, the company will be designated Naval Infantry, part of the 1st Regiment, of the Rifles whatever they are called when formed. These uniforms should only be used overseas!’”

  In the precincts of the training base at Plymouth the crew tried out their uniforms amid great hilarity. The green tunics with their twin rows of dull black buttons and the black naval infantry badges with the large one superimposed, looked quite smart, and with the small pill box hat, also green with two black bands, the complete uniform from overall trousers to hat, the men looked like soldiers at least.

  Captain Ullyet, wearing the green jacket with his Marine badges suitably blackened, stood in front of his marine company—who stood at ease—demonstrating to the naval crew how the uniform should be worn, and how to conduct themselves when wearing it.

  Each man thus fitted, the suitably marked sets were gathered and packed in boxes and returned to the ship.

  The duties of the customs service still required the maintenance of patrols and it was whilst the freezing weather of November covered the moors with a white blanket that the news of the escape of the two Tregarth brothers was reported. The task of arresting them after their escape was for the law officers but their contacts in the smuggling fraternity made their escape a definite problem for the Preventive men.

  Since Captain Graham was able to depend on the men he provided; the success rate of arrest was formidable. The Tregarth brothers were known to have sworn to get Graham and his family for his part in their capture. Barbara was in London visiting friends and preparing for the birth of their first child. For this Robert was grateful. When the news of the escape became known he sent a letter telling Barbara to remain in London until the men were retaken. The letter passed Barbara as she travelled homeward by the mail coach in the opposite direction.

  Peter and Adam Tregarth had managed to elude pursuit so far, both crouched shivering in the ditch beside the London road a mile north of Bovey Tracey. Peter carried the musket taken from their escort when they broke away from their guards between the Assize court and the prison in Exeter.

  The Judge taking the Smugglers Circuit was an old customer, but he had not been friendly and he had been severe in his judgement. Despite Peter’s plea for his nineteen-year-old brother Adam, making it clear that he had not imperilled any lives, the Judge had still ruled that both men hang for their crimes. These included the murder of three Preventive Men and an unknown number of civilians, killed at sea and to keep their mouths shut on land.

  When they ran, the crowds had helped, interfering with the troops trying to recapture the escapees; unfortunately the people of Exeter were not willing to shelter the two men and that was why they were crouching shivering by the roadside.

  Peter was worried about his young brother Adam; he had picked up a fever in jail and was shivering badly despite having Peter’s coat on as well as his own. They had to get to shelter soon or Adam might not survive the night.

  The lights of the mail coach from London appeared across the moor, the jingle of the harness a cheerful sound against the rumble of the wheels grating and sliding over the sometimes slippery uneven surface. Almost without thinking Peter rose from his position in the ditch and pointed the musket at the driver. “Stop now!”

  The driver hauled the rains back and pulled the horses to a standstill. He looked down at the bedraggled man at the road side. “And what might you be doing here at this time of night waving that useless piece of artillery about?” The driver was a former soldier and was fully aware that the musket was soaked in the rain and would not fire. Peter felt a wave of helplessness wash over him, dropping the musket he said. “Please help my brother, he is very ill.” He indicated the crouched shivering shape in the ditch.

  At that point Barbara leaned out of the coach and saw what was going on. “Well, don’t just sit there, driver, help the man get his brother in the coach. And wake up that drunken guard to assist you. Come on, man, move!”

  The hastily awakened guard and driver lifted the shivering Adam into the coach, Peter climbed on top and the coach moved off once more.

  Within the jolting vehicle Barbara stripped the outer clothing from the feverish man, she turned to the other people in the carriage. “We must keep him warm or he will die, please pass over your spare blankets and coats.”

  The other passengers—a farmer and his wife and a young Ensign in the Dragoons—hastily passed over a blanket and the Ensign’s cloak. The man lay on the floor of the jolting coach until it started to rumble over the cobbles of the streets of Plymouth.

  Looking at the man, Barbara made her decision. “Coachman”, she called. “Drive straight to Tamar House,
this man must be helped immediately!” She turned to the others. “It is not far and I will be pleased to entertain you to refreshment at the house before delivering you to your destination.”

  The farmer’s wife beamed. “Why no trouble, my Lady, we’re only too glad to help. I’m sure this young man would not be put out either, would you sir?” The Ensign, who had sat admiring Barbara for most of the journey, stammered his agreement and the coach diverted to Tamar House and deposited the passengers and their luggage before clattering off into Plymouth once more.

  The Ensign helped Peter carry the sick man into the house while Barbara called for a room to be prepared. The housekeeper was swift to arrange things and the shivering man was dried off by the footman and put to bed in one of Robert’s nightshirts. The bed was warmed with hot stones wrapped in cloths, and a fire lit in the room. By the time the doctor came the man had begun to sweat.

  Peter stood, steaming, in front of the fire in the drawing room; the rum punch sent a warm glow through his body, and he relaxed for the first time that day. He shook himself, he must decide what to do. Adam was ill, and as long as he was not recognised he would be safe here. The doctor was not from the Cornish side and was unknown to them both, but anyone from over the river might see and recognise them, and that would mean the noose.

  The Ensign and the farming couple left in the carriage provided by Barbara with her thanks.

  In the drawing room she faced Peter. “I know who you are and I know you for a smuggler and a murderer. I also know that your brother was a fisherman and was only dragged into the trade because of you. I believe he is no killer.”