In infrequent pauses in the torrent, the seamen could sometimes glimpse the shipping moored in harbor. Dooley, sitting next to Mullins in the sternsheets, pointed to a corvette moored ahead of them, a cloaked watch stander peering at them from the quarterdeck.
“Mullins, that is ‘Jeune Fille’, a private ship of war owned by a consortium of owners here. She has been successful in taking some British shipping. Her captain has retired and I understand the owners are trying to find a new captain.”
“Ron, will she have her crew on board?”
“I doubt she will have more than an anchor watch. Her owners will not want to pay hands to stay on board and swill wine every day.”
Mullins called a few of his men back and explained his plan. “We will come up on her portside and have one of our French speakers explain we must come aboard to rest. As soon as we hook on, we will swarm aboard and take control, trying to keep the noise down as much as possible. Get some men aloft to make sail and be ready to cut the cable. I will take the helm. As soon as our sails fill, we will make our way out of the harbor, towing our boats behind.”
The boats drew near the moored corvette in the driving rain, while her watch stander eyed them curiously. One of Dooley’s men, a rebel Frenchman, shouted they were from an inbound ship caught in the storm. Most of the words were blown away, but enough were understood that a coil of line was tossed over from the corvette’s deck.
Once alongside, the boat crews swarmed up the sides of the ship, to the amazement of the man. His shout brought up a few men from below, but by then forty men were on the corvette’s deck, preparing her to get under way.
A headsail hauled up, brought her stem around just as her severed mooring cable splashed into the water. With reefed fore and main tops’s set, the ship worked her way out to sea, against the gusting wind.
Passing near to a shore battery, there was no sign of the departure being noticed. Mullins suspected their sentry was sheltering in a doorway, trying to keep out of the rain. He decided he would not like to be that sentry when the corvette was seen to be missing.
Once away from the land, they next had to return to the original landing beach. One of the natives aboard piloted the corvette into the strait between the offshore island and the coast. On the way, they passed the remains of Falcon, now badly broken. She would be a source of firewood for the locals, Mullins thought. Certainly, she would never sail again.
Chapter Nineteen
Standing off the original landing beach, Mullins sent boats in to shore. He still had the original boats from HMS Falcon, as well as a pair taken with the corvette. Dooley went in with the landing party and soon a few people were ferried back. These were slightly injured men who had been sent back to the beach to hopefully make contact with their rescuers. They had a mount with them, so Dooley took the horse and made for the barn.
Soon another rider appeared, reporting the remaining people were on the move, with the badly injured and ill being transported by wagon. This party was being escorted by the few sound members of the expedition remaining on land. Dooley sent word to the ship that they needed no more people to assist, they would either arrive with what they had or they would not.
Hours later, the advance guard appeared on the road. The sick and wounded followed right behind this party, and the rear guard followed behind. The first boatload of survivors to reach the ship reported a strong detachment of French troops was following closely behind the rear guard, and there has been several clashes this far. It was feared the enemy troops might prove too much to handle when the party reached the beach and had to carry the casualties across the sand under fire.
Until this time, Mullins had little occasion to examine the armament of his new ship closely. Taking the time, he did it now, and found the corvette was armed with eighteen long eight-pounder guns. Below, in the magazine, there was a limited supply of bagged powder for the guns as well as a good supply of powder in kegs. In the racks by the guns was ball shot, with plenty of grape loads below.
The next half-hour was spent telling off the gun crews and appointing a gunner. The badly wounded Gunner Welks had perished during the retreat but one of his mates was present and ready.
The first of the wagons came over the rise, accompanied with the popping sounds of musketry. The much-reduced rear guard followed closely behind. Some men, sick or injured, limped and staggered behind this group.
A scattered group of enemy skirmishers trotted on either side of the track, occasionally one would fire a round at the retreating men. Mullins, when he first observed them as they crested the hill, immediately thought their plan was to keep the fugitives running until they were stopped on the beach.
There was little to be done with this scattering of skirmishers at the moment, but the body of infantry following behind might be a different story. Unusually for some of the enemy units Mullins had witnessed, these maintained their formation, and drummer boys tapped out the step. Seen from a distance, they presented a fine picture as they marched in unison, but he knew, when their quarry was stopped at water’s edge, the volleys of musketry would begin crashing and the men being pursued could be reduced to piles of torn flesh and shattered bone.
A word to his messenger sent the lad running to every gun on the port side, to point out the target. The order to fire was given early, since the men were new to these captured enemy guns, and it was expected there would be many misses with these first shots.
A crashing broadside would have been the most dramatic, but firing over his own people’s heads, as they were, he feared a careless or hurried gunner might send a ball into their own men. With each gun firing independently at intervals, the strike of each shot could be determined and correction made as necessary. The first two guns drove the little balls over the head of friend and enemy. Immediately after, the drums began beating the charge and the enemy troops broke into a run. The next ball drove head-high at the running men, and Mullins saw one soldat’s head removed instantly. Curiously, the body of the soldier seemed to run on a few steps before it fell.
The following shots were fired low to strike the hard road surface yards ahead of the charging formation. Many of the balls ricocheted off the road surface and into the legs and lower bodies of the running men.
Now the wagons with the wounded reached the water’s edge. While some men scrambled or were carried into the waiting boats, other healthier men under the command of Dooley, formed line and awaited the oncoming enemy. His men had little training, and his concern was whether they would stand and deliver fire in the face of the charging troops. The enemy formation was no longer as perfect as it had looked just moments before. The hurtling balls had left gaps, but was still a long column of men. The only men in the column able to fire a musket to their front, were in the leading ranks.
Dooley though, had his men in a long front, in a single rank, each man with a clear shot at the enemy column. Normally, it would take months of constant training to convince new troops that the best way to survive a charging enemy was to stand fast in line and deliver steady volleys.
Here, backed up against a beach, with the enemy column at their throats, there was nothing for these people, but to stand and deliver fire.
The first volley was ragged and a bit early, but Dooley was concerned his men might panic in the face of the advancing bayonets. Fearing his people might be wavering, he ordered the early volley. Enough of the forward part of the enemy column fell to the ground to embolden the defenders. Dooley loudly counted out the musket drill and the ramrods clattered as the muskets were re-loaded. The weapons now recharged, the second volley crashed out just feet away from the defenders.
The slaughter was awful. Every man was able to deliver effective fire against the enemy. At that range, nearly every ball struck at least one target, and the charge was broken. With the continuing fire from the corvette, this was too much for the remaining troops and most scattered into the brushy hillside. The guns of the corvettes, now switching to grape, con
tinued their fire as long as targets were visible.
Those people still on the beach were loaded into the boats and taken aboard. Even the dead were taken on the ship, for a proper burial at sea.
On the way out, they met with a deadly pair of ships from the blockade fleet, a third-rate and a heavy frigate, both warships of the Royal Navy. Had he been in a playful mood, Mullins thought he could have escaped both. In a somber mood though, he obediently hove-to at the liner’s peremptory signal and awaited the boarding party.
The commander of that party was a junior lieutenant with whom Mullins had previous dealings. Mullins thought this officer both supercilious and uncivil. When this officer began shouting orders to Mullins’ crew immediately upon boarding, he took pleasure in chastising this officer on his quarterdeck.
Obeying orders, Mullins was pulled over to the third-rate, where he became a guest of its captain. A day later, they met with Lord Keith’s fleet and Mullins was called over to the flag. Admiral Keith was uncommonly gracious to him, congratulated him on his prize but then reminded him he must face a court martial for the loss of HMs Falcon.
Mullins was asked to come aboard HMS Triumph as a guest while another officer was sent to bring in the prize.
The court martial was to be held in Portsmouth. Technically, Mullins was under arrest, but none of the officers on board seemed to think it necessary to remind him of that. Mister Jones came down from London to discuss his defense. Warned not to reveal some of the undertakings he had been involved in, he was assured the captains making up the court were fully briefed on his previous orders.
Normally an officer from the fleet would be assigned to handle his defense but unusually, an officer was sent down from London to defend him in court. Captain Gordon sat for hours in the wardroom with Mullins, discussing every entry in the log. Fortunately, Mister Evans had survived the last mission and had brought back his records.
Gordon explained there was interest over the reason Falcon remained in coastal waters after landing the munitions. He reminded Mullins the orders called for him to go back to sea immediately and return the next day to recover the boats and crews. Had he followed these orders, Gordon said, he would likely have not found the ship in peril.
Mullins carefully explained his reasons, citing his concern the landing party might be set upon by superior forces. His intention was to be able to provide support should it be needed.
Gordon informed him he should have little concern with the outcome of the court. Several Admiralty officials had said publicly that, while losing his ship as he did, he had captured a better one.
The people, Gordon said, were firmly on his side. The official Mullins knew as ‘Jones’ visited again, this time wearing the uniform of a rear admiral. He also told Mullins he had nothing to fear. “We must go through the motions”, he said. “but the outcome is almost certain.”
The flagship’s Marine officer came to Mullins’ quarters on the day of the trial to collect his sword. His own had been left behind and lost on Falcon, so he had to borrow from another officer. Later, the Marine officer returned to escort him to the great cabin, where the trial would be held.
In the row of chairs behind those participating in the trial, were a number of gentlemen, some in naval uniform, some in civilian dress. Mullins recognized a few of them from his numerous visits to the admiralty.
He saw behind the bench, a vice admiral, a rear admiral and five post captains. Two of the latter concerned him. There had been controversy earlier in his career when he was promoted prematurely, first to the rank of commander, and soon after to post captain. Many officers in the Royal Navy were incensed, believing these promotions were gained through nepotism.
There was some truth to these opinions, but Mullins had early on proved himself ready and some of his detractors had actually became supporters.
Not all though. There were a few on the captain’s list he considered to be unfriendly, and here were two sitting for his court martial.
The President of the Court began by reading the charges. Captain Mullins was charged with disobeying the orders which called for HMS Falcon to withdraw from the Normandy coast after performing a confidential mission. She was to return the next day to take on her boats and their crews he had left behind previously. Instead of withdrawing, the ship had remained in close proximity to the shore, where she met a French frigate of forty guns the next day. Forced into a shallow strait, Falcon tore out her bottom and was abandoned by her crew. The President of the Court explained the court was assembled to hear whether Captain Mullins had good reason for his actions.
Copies of the relevant orders were introduced and read to the court. Strangely, Mullins thought, Mister Dooley was not present and Mullins was told no testimony from any of his people that had been on shore could be heard. The evidence seemed to be all one-sided and damning. Without testimony from those involved in the operation on shore, the verdict could well be grim.
Mullins, convinced his fate had been sealed, ceased paying attention to the endless nattering, wondering what he was to do with his life after his likely dismissal from the Navy. His marriage, formerly on a rough road, might prove to be finished. Would he be able to explain his disgrace to his son when the time came?
After a pause in the proceedings, when all present took their chance to resolve any bodily issues, testimony resumed again. This time Mullins was surprised to see a familiar figure approach the bench to be sworn. This was the man Mullins knew as ‘Jones’, only he was wearing the uniform of a rear admiral. Mullins did not catch the name when he was sworn, but it certainly was not ‘Jones’.
Interested now, Mullins listened carefully as the admiral explained Falcon had been operating under secret orders from the Admiralty, said orders had been disclosed to the President of the Court and to the Judge Advocate. These orders took precedence over those issued by other authority and specified Captain Mullins was free to make his own decisions regarding his ship’s maneuvers.
After his testimony, the admiral left the ship and was no longer involved in the defense. The court was cleared and there was a long recess which Mullins passed by downing two glasses of port in the wardroom while his Marine guard watched curiously.
When finally called back into the great cabin, only the officers of the court were present, besides himself. The spectators had not been admitted, ‘for reasons of security’, it was stated. When ordered to approach the bench, the first thing his eyes caught was his borrowed sword, on the desk, its hilt toward him.
“Captain Mullins”, began the President. “It seems we must advise you the charges are not proven, and you are now free to go. I must tell you that certain members of the court wonder about certain unusual occurrences that have taken place in these proceedings. Again, ‘for reasons of security’, we must explain that our mouths are sealed and persons not familiar with the circumstances are forbidden to comment.”
Lieutenant Randall, from whom he had borrowed the sword, met him outside the great cabin door and recovered his expensive weapon. “Sir, I was that worried they would find you guilty and shoot you summarily. I might never have got my blade back, then!”
Chapter Twenty
Without a ship to retire to, Mullins spent the next week in an inn with Robert Brooks, while he took care of the paper-work that resulted from the loss of HMS Falcon. Only then, could he take passage on the mail coach to London to visit his family.
It was never possible to forecast the reception he might receive from his wife and this time he was pleasantly surprised when she greeted him warmly. Noticing Mary’s absence, he told his wife that Robert had stepped into the stable but would shortly be coming into the house to see his mother.
“Oh!”, Doris exclaimed. “She purchased a home with the proceeds from one of her jewels and now lives by herself, with a small staff to care for her. She seems to be a very busy woman these days, with several wealthy beaux who call on her constantly. To see her for a visit, I must send a messenger and make an
appointment.”
Mullins had not completely disclosed his court proceeding to Doris and she was not aware of the danger he had faced. He now could tell her he had lost the ship, and whether or not he would ever get another, only time would tell.
This was all very well with Doris and she immediately began accepting invitations to balls and routs, near and far. Mullins was forced to buy a carriage to travel to some of those not close by. He had no fears of financial difficulties, with his investments in the Funds, but he did not know how long he could stand the fast-paced life his invigorated wife now imposed upon him.
For the next several weeks, life for Captain Mullins consisted of constant appearances at one event after another. Somehow, it always seemed there was a senior naval officer present who looked down his nose at this presumptuous officer who had just emerged from a court martial after losing his ship under suspicious circumstances.
His protests of all this social activity to Doris mattered not a whit, his wife was confident that their presence at these events were important to Mullin’s career. Mullins began spending his days, whenever he could escape the social scene, lurking about the Admiralty, hoping a command vacancy might suddenly appear. Of course, when he returned home, he must face the sharp side of Doris’ tongue.
Robert Brooks too, was feeling the urge to return to the sea. For years, the main object of his life had been to locate his missing mother and get her to safety. Now that mission had been accomplished, it seemed to him that his mother’s life was full, with her new house and friends. There seemed to be little place for a Black stable hand in his parent’s life.
HMS Falcon: A Charles Mullins novel, Sea Command 7 Page 13