by David O'Neil
Peter replied. “He is no killer indeed, that judge would not listen, I take my chances and if I hang ‘tis because I earned it, but Adam is no killer, and he does not deserve to hang. It’s why I took the chance to run, better the bullet than the rope.”
“Leave your brother here, he will be looked after. I will make sure he escapes the rope, but you must take your chances, you cannot stay, you are too well known and my husband would have to arrest you and return you to be hanged. Without you, your brother has a chance of life; with you he will assuredly die. Do you understand?”
Peter Tregarth bowed. “I will leave the country and take my chances, perhaps America? Thank you, Lady Barbara, for everything.” He turned, put down his glass, and walked out of Tamar House and his brother’s life.
Barbara turned and walked through to the study. Robert was standing by the fire, smoking the long pipe kept there. He raised his eyebrow in query. Barbara nodded. “He has gone; perhaps to America, perhaps elsewhere. I believe he has gone for good.”
Robert nodded, put down his pipe and held out his arms, Barbara snuggled up close.
“I’m glad to be back.” She kissed him. “I knew you would let him run.”
“You know me too well. I should have arrested him, but I don’t like the hypocrisy involved in this smuggling trade. The sooner I get back to proper sailoring, the better. Will the young man survive his fever, d’ye think?”
“I believe the Doctor thinks so, he certainly has a chance here.”
“Good! I’ve an idea that young man could be saved, away from the influence of his brother. Let’s go to bed.”
Barbara giggled. “Who do you think I am, sir, some doxy to be……” she saw his face and ran out of the room laughing.
***
HMS Roister was scudding along across the small waves under a blue sky spotted with small puffs of white cloud. The foc’sle was occupied with hands enjoying a make and mend.
The feeling of relief throughout the ship was reflected in the skylarking on the foc’sle and cheerful smile on the face of the master, renowned for his habitually lugubrious expression. Even the midshipmen grouped around the master were happy to be back at sea, as he explained some of the arcane mysteries of solar navigation. At the lee rail Abel Jackson was conducting a class in the finer points of deflection whilst shooting at moving targets; the occasional crack of the rifle punctuating his lecture.
The surgeon John Sweet came on deck and walked over to Robert. “May I have a word, sir, in private?”
Robert nodded and stepped below to his cabin. “What can I do for you, John?”
“Its Adam Tre.-Tamar.” He blushed and apologised. “He is ready to take his place in the crew; I am happy he has recovered completely from the fever and is fully fit once more. I would suggest he would be better occupied on the quarterdeck rather than in the rigging. He raised his hand, I know he was a fisherman, but he is educated, he can read and write.
?I think he would be wasted as a seaman, he would be useful as a clerk or using his sailing experience as an officer of some sort, perhaps master’s mate, he is too old to be a midshipman.” He stopped and took the seat offered while Robert looked thoughtful.
After a few minutes Robert spoke. “Do you know who he is, or rather was?” At the surgeon’s nod he continued. “Now we are away from that damned Preventive work what you suggest is actually possible. I would not have recognised him, and apparently the crew haven’t, so I think I will take your advice and be guided by your recommendation, what shall it be?”
John Sweet smiled. “I think fresh air is what the lad needs; master’s mate, it is. I’ll send him down with the master.”
“Send the master first please, Doctor.” Robert opened his Journal and made a note.
The coast was visible as a line of white surf to port. The ship sailed through the passage between Belle Isle and the Presqu’ile de Quiberon; it was nearly midnight though not really dark.
Roister crept towards the beach at St Guildas-de-Ruys and backed her sails less than a cable offshore. The longboat was lowered and commanded by Midshipman Dawson who whispered to the waiting men to give way. Alan Dawson had filled out, his fair hair had been tamed and trimmed and his bronzed face had thinned and matured over the past few months.
As the boat neared the shore the men rested on their oars and waited while a lantern was shown briefly; on the beach the reply was seen and the boat resumed its progress. The figures from the beach waded out and boarded the boat, carrying their bags.
On the ship the two visitors were brought below to Robert’s cabin
The taller man introduced himself to Robert. “I am Henri Duvall and I work for Lord Mills.” He held out his hand and showed a small badge. Robert took it and examined it curiously. He had been told about the badges but had never actually seen one. The engraved falcon was surmounting an escutcheon with the letters M of D standing for Mills of Dee, Lord Mill’s family seal. He returned it and sat down, inviting the two men to take the other chairs in the cabin. Lieutenant Billy Beaufort stood swaying easily to the motion of the long swell.
Henri spoke. “I have bad news. One of our most important agents is about to be arrested in Vannes. My source tells me that she has come under suspicion, having been seen by a visitor who believes he recognizes her from Paris under another name. The agent has sent for proof from Paris. When it arrives, Honore will be arrested; I cannot reach her to warn her, since she is being watched by the secret police who will recognise me.”
“Can I help in any way? Perhaps if I send a file of soldiers—can they be guided to her location? We can appear to arrest her and carry her off, bringing her here of course, or some other place of safety.
“Whatever we do will have to be decided quickly; I have to move the ship out of sight before morning.”
“Pierre could guide a group, but soldiers?” He indicated the other man. “Pardon, this is Pierre, he does not speak English, he is a staunch Loyalist and he hates the rule of Napoleon.”
“Mr. Beaufort, send for Captain Ullyet, please.” Robert turned back to Henri, “I can supply soldiers, how many would be suitable for this purpose?”
Henri thought for a moment. “Perhaps twelve, with an officer.”
As Ullyet came into the cabin he gave his orders. “Captain, I will need twelve French infantrymen and one officer who speaks French.”
The uniforms captured in the earlier action at Djerba Island were still held aboard and Ullyet swiftly produced eleven soldiers and one sergeant, himself. “I don’t speak French, sir,” he said.
Across the room Lieutenant Beaufort spoke. “I do, sir.”
“Very good, Mr. Beaufort. Get dressed and report on deck in ten minutes. Carry on, Mr. Ullyet.”
Ullyet turned to the Frenchman “Right. Mr. Duvall, perhaps you could tell me where we must go.”
The squad of soldiers marched through the flickering lights of the flambeau placed along the main streets of Vannes. The tramp of the marching feet echoed from the walls of the ancient citadel, their shadows black against the red walls following the troops growing bigger and smaller as the light breeze caused the flames to flare.
The civilian in the long cloak leading the party held up his hand and the officer called the men to halt. The civilian accompanied the officer through a doorway in the otherwise smooth wall. There was a wait of several minutes, the officer appeared once more and beckoned the sergeant, after a few words the sergeant gave instruction to the first two men, who passed their weapons to the men behind them and followed their officer into the building. They emerged a few minutes later carrying several bags and bundles, followed in turn by the civilian and the officer similarly loaded; a lady heavily cloaked completed the group. The whole party reversed their direction and marched back to the harbour with the lady in their midst and boarded the longboat awaiting them at the quay.
The crew of the longboat stepped the mast and, raising the sail, they began threading their way between the islands
of the Golfe de Morbihan, gradually making for the Pointe de Kerpenhir and the open bay.
The channel between Belle-Ile and Presque-Il-de Quiberon lay ahead. Though by now it was daylight; the mist that covered the bay area still concealed their progress.
They did not see the guard boat until it was quite close. The challenge called on them to stop and through the mist they saw the cutter lying in wait for them, Billy Beaufort in command of the party whispered to Ullyet. “Guns loaded, I hope?”
Ullyet’s dry reply brought a smile to face of the sergeant sitting beside him. “My rifles are loaded and ready for action, as always!”
Unconcerned, Billy nudged the civilian sitting beside him. “Tell him we are taking a prisoner to Lorient for interrogation. The road is full of traffic moving the grand army to St-Nazaire and it is quicker to sail.”
The boats drifted closer and the crew of the cutter relaxed when they saw the uniforms of the men in the boat. The longboat crew had dropped the sail and it was out of the way of the riflemen as the boat bumped alongside of the cutter. The men in the longboat rose as one and boarded the cutter. There were no shouts, or shouted orders, just the sudden appearance on deck of twelve men pointing rifles at the cutter’s crew, swiftly followed by the crew of the longboat and the civilian with their lady passenger.
The surprise was complete and the small warship was taken without a shot being fired. Lieutenant Beaufort took command, the prisoners were sent below under the charge of the marines, the longboat was trailed from the stern of the cutter. With the course selected they made for the open sea and the ship awaiting them beyond Belle-ile.
The sea sparkled under the sun, porpoises leapt and played ahead of the two craft as they carved twin white paths through the blue water. HMS Roister and her recently acquired consort, the cutter Morbihan. In the great cabin on the frigate Robert sat facing Honore—who it turned out was Amelie Parker—as well as Pierre and Henri Duvall, Captain Ullyet and Billy Beaufort. All had coffee cups in front of them.
Chapter sixteen
“What you are saying is that there is a column of British prisoners being moved to Lorient from St Nazaire to be used for the building of a new dock in the port. With the escort for that same column will be three wagons carrying gold and silver bullion from the Americas plus a coach carrying a secret agent who has caused more trouble for us than any other.
?He is believed to be an English nobleman but—not surprisingly—his identity has been kept a closely guarded secret by his French paymasters, and is referred to only as the Ferret. He obviously has access to men in high places in the British Government and, since he is above suspicion, is trusted with information vital to the conduct of our campaign.
“What size would the escort for this convoy be? Have you any information?”
“So far we know of a squadron of Heavy Cavalry, about one hundred men in all, plus a platoon of infantry escorting the prisoners directly.” Amelie was quite specific. “The prisoners will be chained at the wrist but not at the ankle to make it easier to march, they do not expect any escape attempts. There should be one hundred and fifty prisoners in the column, being guarded by twenty-eight Infantry.”
Captain Ullyet rose to his feet. “The journey is about 120 Kilometres in all. I estimate at least six days march; the nearest place to the coast is Muzillac.” He pointed to the village on the map pinned up to the bulkhead. “I would normally suggest another place but in view of our means of escape by sea we have to consider it. I would prefer Plouhinec, here.” He pointed out another village close to Lorient. “But it is close to Lorient and I think they may opt to travel through Merlevenez. Here on the main road.”
Lieutenant Beaufort interrupted. “Just a minute, what about the Grand Armee? Are they not travelling through the area during the next few days? Surely the escort commander will wish to avoid the main roads while they travel through?”
A slow smile spread across Ullyet’s thin face. “I underestimated you, Mr. Beaufort. You are quite correct. With the army passing through, they must take the side roads and that gives us a distinct advantage for an ambush.” He went on to detail how the ambush would be laid. “The main question was who do we concentrate on, the bullion or the prisoners.”
“Prisoners first, I think.” Robert’s voice was firm. “That is unless there is some other reason, for the sake of the operation, that we have to dispose of the bullion first?”
“I agree the prisoners are the easiest target and we can get to them easier in the first instance,
“The way I understand the column to be formed is with the bulk of the cavalry stationed around the bullion wagons, the supply wagon forms part of this section, certainly there should be 50 troopers close escort, 20 in skirmish order scouting ahead for accommodation and camp areas, and the balance, perhaps 20 rearguard while the remainder patrol the entire column, outriders and so on. Remember this part of France has its share of loyalists and there is always the threat of ambush for the unwary. While this makes our job more difficult, it is not impossible. Since we have French infantry uniforms in our stores, we should first concentrate on replacing the foot soldiers escorting the prisoners.
“We can actually release the prisoners discreetly, hopefully without revealing our presence. Our main company, in our Green Jackets, will prepare an ambush for the troopers and wagons.
“For this reason I suggest we attack late afternoon or early morning, when the sun will blind them, and while they are either jaded and tired or perhaps still only half awake. They will be confident in their numbers that they are safe from attack anyway so we should be able to take them completely by surprise. I do stress that we must make every shot count. The Grand Armee will not be that far away and confident though I am about our abilities, I do think an entire French Army may be too much, even for us.”
Ullyet sat down in silence as each of the assembled people absorbed what had been suggested. Finally, Robert spoke. “Thank you, Captain, I think you have laid out the situation clearly. Please prepare detailed plans so that the various parties can be informed of their part in the matter. On this occasion I will command the operation myself with you as second. Please suggest any other officers or men you will particularly need so that we can make proper arrangements.”
He rose to his feet. “Thank you, lady and gentlemen, we will meet again tonight for a final discussion. By the time we have the ship in position, we should be ready for the operation in two days, by which time our target should be in the right place.”
The people of Maguero were unaware of the creeping progress of the cutter that landed the platoon of soldiers just past the lagoon where the road on the coast turned inland. The entire platoon landed and formed up, and left unnoticed. The five-mile march to the crossroads at Plouhinec was accomplished in just over one hour.
The prisoners were lying huddled together round the signpost in the centre of the village. Six soldiers were wandering round, two were smoking pipes, the others stamped their feet to keep awake. Whilst they waited, a file of soldiers marched up, and the senior guard came to attention and called his comrades to fall in. The newcomers, led by a sergeant, halted and the sergeant ordered his men to take up position. He didn’t bother with the relieved guard, who, having gathered themselves together, shambled off to their billet in the village hall.
At the village hall the remainder of the platoon were all awake and as the relieved guards entered, several spoke up in disgust.
The incoming guards were relieved of their weapons and ordered to strip off their uniforms, which were added to the pile obtained from the others. The entire platoon were bound and gagged and seated against the wall of the hall. The leader of their captors, Captain Ullyet, had the bundled uniforms placed on a handcart and wheeled down to the assembled prisoners who were beginning to awaken. Ullyet spoke to the nearest prisoner and asked him in English, who was in charge among the prisoners, the man pointed to a big man, still asleep.
“Ee’s a master from an India
man captured three month ago. Ee looks after us all and can talk to the frogs in their own lingo.”
Ullyet walked over to the sleeping man and roused him by shaking his shoulder. The keen blue eyes stared at him for a moment. In English Ullyet quietly spoke to him. “Get the men up and go with the guards down to the shore please; outside the carpenter will unlock the main chain, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until we reach the ship to get the cuffs off.”
“Aye sir, with a will.” He rose to his feet and went round rousing certain men and talking quietly giving his instructions, the men started to form up, exclamations were hurriedly stifled. As the column started off back along the road towards the sea, they were flanked by two of their replacement escort. The carpenter, dressed in uniform like his companions, broke the long chain that ran through all the wrist cuffs so that as they marched away the long chain remained on the ground, to be gathered up by four of the men and dumped over the wall of the blacksmiths shop located by the green in the village centre.
The remainder of the platoon formed up and Ullyet told Pierre what he had in mind, using the services of the Dutchman Eckhart. The men marched off towards the Chateau on the other side of the village. It was here that the wagons and the carriage carrying the Colonel of the Cavalry and the spy were housed overnight. By this time, Captain Ullyet was making things up as he went along.
The troopers and their horses were camped on the lawn in front of the Chateau. As the platoon arrived at the gates, the two men on duty at the gate moved their horses to bar the way. Pierre, dressed as the infantry captain, ordered them aside. The troopers, with the arrogance of cavalry in the presence of infantry, were slow to comply but they did give way. With a whack, Captain Pierre laid the flat of his sword on the haunches of both horses causing them to rear up and jump aside, with the troopers frantically trying to control their mounts. He muttered “Cochons!” and stepped forward through the gates