The Rifle officer thought at first glance it would be unsuited to the rough and tumble service expected of a service weapon. He did wish to see the rifle in action and begged Mullins to bring it with him.
It would be necessary to stop at Mullin’s gun maker in London to have more balls made up. Mullins explained one of the weapon’s peculiarities to Captain Drover.
“After I brought the rifle back home, I took it in to town to have my gun maker examine it. While the rifle was accurate enough, the balls, even wrapped in the thinnest patch, were still tight fitting in the bore, and after a few shots without cleaning, were almost impossible to ram home.”
“Mister Brewer had some ideas which he wanted to try and I gave him free rein. He reamed out the old rifling, enlarging the bore a trifle, then rifled it with a faster twist. He made a new bullet mold which cast an elongated bullet. The bullets, when run through a sizing die, were of a diameter which would slide easily down even a moderately fouled bore.”
“Upon firing, the soft bullet expands to fit the rifling and is amazingly accurate at long distances.”
Drover wondered, “Have you ever used it in action?”
“I have indeed, and a few enemy have fallen before it. However, when commanding a warship, I generally find myself too busy to snipe at the enemy. The rifle spends most of its time in my father’s gun room.”
Eventually word reached the officers that the riflemen were now on the march from their barracks to Portsmouth, so it was time to make their farewells to Doris and Alfred and board the coach.
It being a fine day, Captain Drover prevailed upon Mullins to ride on top of the coach with him, armed with the long rifle, so they would be in position to engage any highwaymen that might appear. None did though, and they rattled into Portsmouth without firing the weapon.
Mister Morison reported receiving frequent messages from the admiral wondering when Falcon was to sail. The situation was explained several times and just this morning word had reached them the riflemen were on the march, hoping to reach them by the next morning.
Falcon’s captain spent the rest of the day going over the ship with the officers and petty officers, examining every facet of the ship. The ship was old and not suitable for extended service in bad weather, but Mullins thought she would serve for this duty.
The soldiers they were awaiting finally marched to the quay and the lighters were busily bringing them and their equipment aboard. While Mister Morison was overseeing their berthing arrangements, Mullins took his steward into town to purchase more cabin stores. While Jackson was stowing purchases into the hired cart, Mullins saw a man at the counter that seemed familiar to him.
The fellow wore a threadbare old blue coat, suggesting he had something to do with the sea and was bargaining with the bored clerk over some tobacco. When the stranger saw Mullins staring at him, a faint smile appeared momentarily on his face and he came forward. Suddenly Mullins recognized the man. He had been an agent of the British Admiralty when last they met and Mullin’s ship had transported him to France with the objective of assassinating General Bonaparte, as he was known at the time. The plot had not been accomplished and Bonaparte was still alive, causing trouble in Europe and abroad.
With a start, the man’s name came to him and he called out, “Mister Dooley, let us adjourn to the public house next door and have a drink.”
Dooley raised his hand and quietly said, “Captain Mullins, if it’s all the same to you, I would prefer that my name might not be called out in public.”
Speaking more quietly, Mullins answered, “Very well, Mister Dooley. I’d still like to have that drink, though.”
Once seated in the crowded pub, Mullins wondered softly what Dooley was up to these days. He replied, “At the time you called out Captain, I was wondering how I was to get out to your ship away out in the harbor.”
“Well, Mister Dooley, that is an easy problem to solve. You will come with me, in my gig.”
Dooley shook his head. “Captain, it would be better if I am not noticed. There are some people looking for me. I saw one an hour ago. I look different now than I did when this man knew me, but I fear that if he has reason to examine me more closely, he might make the association.
Mystified at this secrecy, Mullins said, “Let us try this idea on for size, Mister Dooley. I will now return to my ship. Once there, I will send back my cox’n and a party of men who will be looking for hands who have overstayed their liberty. Holding and his party will seize you as a delinquent seaman and march you out of the building to the beach, where you will be put into their boat and pulled out to HMS Falcon.”
Dooley nodded slowly. “Yes, that will work, Captain. Several other gangs have come through since I have been here, looking for overdue seamen.”
“I will tell them to avoid damaging you too much, Mister Dooley. I cannot wait to hear your explanation.”
Finished with Dooley, Mullins purchased the remaining stores he required for the coming voyage and returned to the quay. Jackson was there and loaded the purchases into the gig.
Chapter Three
A few hours later, Ron Dooley was sitting in a chair in Captain Mullin’s quarters, nursing a mug of hot grog. He appeared to have been in a fight since Mullins had last seen him and appeared somewhat battered.
“Now then, Mister Dooley, we are safe enough here. None of the men on this ship save ourselves were on HMS Aurora, on which we sailed together several years ago. If we keep our voices low, the sentry at my door will not be able to hear us, or I can send him away, should you prefer. What seems to be the difficulty?”
Dooley began, “Captain, I have been informed of this mission to Brittany in which you are involved. As in the last time we met, I am working for an intelligence operation connected with the Admiralty. In fact, I was the agent that alerted officialdom to the proposed threat. For two years, I have posed as a Prussian businessman attempting to obtain contracts to supply the French forces with grain.”
“For much of this time I have alerted Admiralty of my findings by messages written on very thin paper which was folded small and inserted into a large button on a fisherman’s coat. This fisherman would go out with the others and upon meeting up with a British cutter tasked for the purpose, would give the information to the cutter’s captain.”
“Recently though, this fisherman has gone missing. Whether he was lost at sea or his activities were discovered by the French, are unknown. Maybe French intelligence suborned him and he has steadily been disclosing our efforts to them all along.”
“At any rate, I felt it was time to return home.”
Mullins was uneasy about discussing his plans to Dooley, a man he had not seen in a few years. Dooley however, could produce orders allowing him to discuss the circumstances of the planned raid with Captain Mullins. Every day, an hour or more was set aside for Dooley and Captain Mullins to discuss the opportunities to disrupt the French preparations.
Early on, Captain Mullins brought in Captain Drover and Mister Morison, both of whom were informed of the current plans. Sailing Master Evans was also included in some of the discussions. Early on, his charts covered the furniture so the others could gather around them to make their plans.
An area of coastline near St. Malo was to be their area of operation. The French authorities had fortified an encampment near a small port where conscripts to the French armies were assembled, given a little training, supplied with arms and travelling rations before being sent marching to join a French military force. Periodically, recruits were withdrawn from the training programs with one or two veterans to shepherd them on their way, as well as giving them a little more training on the march.
General Renaud, the commander of this training encampment, was frustrated with his work. While men junior to him were winning glory for themselves and France all over Europe, he was left to decay in this wretched posting, wiping the noses of new conscripts.
This new plan had come to him late one evening while he was toyi
ng with his latest mistress. She was an Irish woman, fleeing from retribution after a failed rebellion. With her father and lover both executed by British redcoats, she was furiously preaching against the British occupying forces to whomever would listen.
As animated in her lovemaking as she was in her rhetoric, General Renaud gained a few ideas from her in the bedroom. The lovely Brighid was sure a small number of French soldiers delivering muskets to the shores of Ireland, could recruit a vast army of Irish patriots to wipe their soil free of the hated redcoats. Of course, the general knew much more of military matters than the young woman in his bed, but still, she had a point. While very unlikely that a force such as his mistress advocated could cause great harm to Britain’s army, still it might cause important disruption.
Many of the conscripts in his facility would never make good soldiers. If they were sent on to French armies in the field, they would merely consume rations and eventually expire from one of the numerous maladies soldiers were prone to. But if he could get a thousand or two across to Ireland, match them up with some fervent Irish revolutionaries, who could know what might be the result? He had thousands of obsolete and captured muskets in store along with a quantity of condemned powder awaiting remanufacture. Although admittedly substandard, these munitions could well serve dedicated revolutionaries.
Any men and materiel supplied to the rebels across the Channel could deliver returns far above the very minimal costs involved. While this adventure must be carried out without the knowledge or blessing of the emperor; if it were successful, then it would be time to step forward and claim the laurels. If as possible, the mission would be a disaster, it was unlikely any blame could be attached to himself.
Weapons could be supplied to the Irish with few questions to be answered later. As for the men, they would hardly be missed. Their muster records could be lost and it would be as though they were never born.
Transport could be a problem, however. With ships of the Royal Navy as thick as fleas along the French coastline, shipping was becoming scarce, indeed. One possible solution was the use of fishing boats. For some reason, the British cruisers did not often prey on these vessels. There were quantities of these craft based in small coves all over the Brittany peninsula.
Snap raids by his troops could seize necessary boats and arrest their crews. All he would need to do to obtain their services would be to inquire if each crew would rather transport a boatload of soldiers across the Channel, or would they rather be conscripted into one of the Emperors’ legions?
It had taken enormous amounts of work to alter the records to deceive the inspectors who frequently came snooping around. All that he was waiting for now, was for the Emperor to win another of his battles.
In the excitement afterward, he could order his boats to sail.
While General Renaud was awaiting a victory by his master, HMS Falcon, finished with the embarkation of the riflemen, set sail. The voyage to their destination had resulted in the incapacitation of most of the troops from sea sickness.
After reaching their area of operation, Mullins cruised offshore for a few days to get an idea of any problems that might await them. During these days, many fishing boats were approached out of sight of land. While some of their crews were sullenly hostile, most were friendly enough, especially when they found these English were willing to pay hard money for the fish they bought.
One morning, Falcon sailed around a headland jutting out from the Brittany coast. Behind this headland was a narrow passage leading through some rocks to a landing. Fishermen tied their boats to a stone jetty serving a tiny village. When the local fishermen returned home from a day out fishing, they would land their catch on the jetty where it would be processed by those villagers remaining on shore. Today, there were few boats sailing out to fish. Most had been seized by Renauds’ troops.
A few tents had been erected, but most of the soldats were now living in the villagers’ huts. Oil for lamps was an expensive commodity these days, and most of the villagers as well as their ‘guests’ retired early to save the expense of light.
No alarms sounded when HMS Falcon hove to off the mouth of the inlet and began unloading her troops. Everyone went ashore, even those still sick. Once ashore, they would soon recover their abilities.
Captain Drover had spent much time with Dooley during their voyage, and Dooley had given the rifle commander the latest information he had. Dooley thought there would be less than one hundred recruits in the local enemy encampment when they arrived. Small parties of men straggled in nearly every day, but after they were given a few days’ rest, arms and some rations, they usually departed in larger bands, led by a few veterans every week or so. As Dooley understood General Renaud’s plan, when the time was right, departures would be halted until enough troops had accumulated to fill the boats available. Then, the invaders would sail for Irish shores.
Initially, the debarkation went well enough, with the first riflemen ashore deploying to a perimeter around the beach. Soon though, trouble arose when the heavier kit in the boats began to be unloaded. A villager, emerging from his hut to answer a call of nature, heard a clatter when something fell.
Curiously, he called out to find who else was about at that time of night. Receiving no answer, he raised his voice and one of the veteran sergeants overseeing the recruits came to his door to investigate.
A quarter moon that night provided enough light to disclose two boats nearing shore, laden with supplies for the expedition. A British petty officer on the beach took that occasion to berate a seaman, and the diatribe in the English language convinced the sergeant that something was amiss. Alerting his force by the expedient of firing his own musket at the intruders, the encampment was awake in an instant.
While cursing corporals and sergeants tried to get their soldats into some semblance of order, the British riflemen deployed in pairs about the village outskirts. Desultory fire erupted as troops on both sides began to fire at targets of opportunity. Little damage was done then, as few of the French had received weapons and ammunition at that time, while the British riflemen were handicapped by the darkness.
Finally, with all his men on shore, Captain Drover assembled about half of his force, had them fix bayonets and led a bayonet charge against the enemy force. The recruits, terrified by the bayonets and shouting, mostly fled along with the villagers. Many of them left their muskets behind and the Britons spent a little time the next morning breaking the locks off the weapons and throwing them into the sea.
Aside from some minor scratches, none of the landing force was injured, so Captain Drover led his people inland, away from the beach. He aimed to some heights to the east where he would be able have a good vantage point over the surrounding country.
Ron Dooley prevailed upon the captain to permit him to accompany the force. Drover was reluctant to allow a civilian to join his party, but Dooley persisted and the captain permitted him to join the force as an observer. Armed with a strange looking pistol that Mullins had given him a few years before and a naval cutlass, Dooley went to war.
Probably Captain Drover expected to see the older man fall out of the march from exhaustion. But the Irishman was hardier than many of his troops, some of whom had lost their edge during the weeks aboard ship.
Once in the broken ground in the heights, Drover felt his men were safe enough and could now take the time to explore the possibilities to bring harm to the enemy. Unknown to him, a troop of cuirassiers had arrived in the area the previous evening. The commander of this heavy cavalry unit was familiar with the area, and besides, his troops had accosted a youth tending his flock who had observed the English skirmishers. The lad knew well it would be much better if he willingly told what he knew of the enemy. He did so, but unfortunately was not able to convince the farrier sergeant who was interrogating him that he had told all of what he knew. By the time the sergeant was through with him, the broken youth was left beside the track to live or die as he would.
Unde
r cover of darkness, the horsemen could approach unnoticed the hill summit upon which the riflemen were positioned. Although difficult to approach without being seen by the alert sentries, the troop captain could lead his men to within a half-kilometer of the site. His men were all trained to fight on foot, so he dismounted half his men and sent them on ahead. The other half were ordered to wait until the troops on foot had approached their target, then on signal all, mounted and dismounted, were to attack in unison.
Although in broken country, there was a wide path where mounted men could attack in column, making it possible for the mounted heavy horsemen to crash through any defenses that might be present.
Ron Dooley was uneasy in this situation. While he respected the skills and abilities of the individual riflemen, he was dubious about the capabilities of Captain Drover. Over the course of several conferences, he learned the captain had never been in action with the enemy before and, in fact, had received little actual training. One of the sergeants was a veteran of the fighting on the Peninsula, evacuated because of a serious wound that was now healed. Sergeant Hodges was upset because Drover set few sentries about their position. It was only because of the sergeant’s persistence that a few fighting holes were dug for the forward sentries.
The signal announcing the enemy attack was a carbine shot fired by one of the dismounted troops nearing the riflemen’s position. This also alerted Drover’s men, many of whom had faced the enemy before. Their rifles were charged and fearsome wounds were inflicted upon the charging cuirassiers. However, many of the riflemen caught away from their concealed positions either died on the spot under the sabers of the cavalry, or fled into the brush nearby.
Their training then began to take effect though, and most of the riflemen formed into pairs or trios, hiding in cover until seeing a target. One man would fire, then was covered by his companion while he reloaded his rifle.
HMS Falcon: A Charles Mullins novel, Sea Command 7 Page 2