Merriman and the French Invasion (The Merriman Chronicles Book 2)

by Roger Burnage

  Yelland had not stinted on his hospitality and Merriman returned to his ship after a fine meal of roast pork and dumplings followed by a selection of cheeses, all washed down with excellent claret.

  Mr Grahame turned up when the ship was almost ready. He knew all the officers except the new midshipmen and Lieutenants so few introductions were necessary and he was soon settled into a cabin. He wasted no time in getting down to business.

  “A pleasure to see you again James, how soon can we sail? Our first destination will be Wexford in southern Ireland.”

  “Tomorrow Sir, the last provisions are coming aboard now and then we have only to load with powder and shot from the powder hulk and we can be off.”

  “Excellent. I have people all over Ireland. Some of them have been roaming all over the south of Ireland disguised as tinkers and gypsies, trying to learn something of the plans the damned Irish must be making to help the French when they land, but the difficulty is in communicating with them.”

  “Have we any more intelligence from France about a likely date for the French to start their expedition and where they may try to land?” asked Merriman.

  “Not yet. But we know that the United Irishmen have appeared again and our information is that as soon as news of the French landing is received, they will start simultaneous risings in all the major cities in Ireland. Because of that the army must keep it’s garrisons strong enough to deal with that threat and can spare only a limited number of men from each to reinforce the garrisons in Cork and county Kerry.”

  “It’s certain that the place they will choose for the landing will be somewhere on the south west coast, but that being such a huge area it is virtually impossible to patrol it closely. Oh, the army is doing it’s best and has cavalry patrols out, but unless my people are very lucky and find out something, we can’t narrow the choices down very much.”

  Merriman returned to the deck to be able to pace up and down the quarterdeck. He seemed to think better when he was walking. The frown on his face was sufficient to keep everyone away from him on the other side of the deck. His mind was working furiously on what Mr Grahame had said last about not being able to narrow the choices down.

  “There must be some places more suitable than others, surely?” he thought, tugging at his ear, his unconscious habit when deep in thought. “To unload soldiers quickly and easily the French ships have to get as close inshore as possible which means deep water close inshore. Also they would need sheltered water to allow the use of boats, water sheltered from the prevailing winds.”

  Merriman had only the vaguest idea of what southern Ireland was like other than what could be gleaned from the Admiralty charts, but he knew that Ireland was a wet, boggy, green and windswept country. And after landing, the French would need to find some kind of road or track to be able to move easily. “But,” he told himself, “They were sure to have Irish rebels to guide them.”

  He became aware of a commotion on the larboardside gangway where stores were still being loaded under the dubious supervision of Midshipman Hungerford. A cargo net full of kegs of rum was being brought inboard and the hands on the ropes had contrived to bang a keg on the ship’s rail. The grinning men were trying to ensure that the keg would spring a leak so that in the confusion they could get their hands on the spirit. “Mr Hungerford,” roared Merriman, “Have that net hauled higher before swinging it inboard.” It was an old trick played by the hands when they found themselves supervised by an inexperienced officer. Knowing that Merriman was watching, the men finished unloading the net and the kegs were quickly passed below into the care of the Purser.

  Dawn was just breaking on the morning of departure when a freshly shaven Merriman, resplendent in his new Captains’ uniform with its single epaulette denoting that he had not yet served three years in that rank, nodded to the marine sentry on guard outside his cabin and climbed onto the quarterdeck. Even at that hour the ship was alive with activity. Men were scrubbing the decks, others aloft making final checks that all the running rigging was free, some men polishing brasswork with brickdust and doing the multitude of jobs necessary to prepare one of His Majesty’s ships for sea.

  To an outsider it must have seemed a scene of chaos, but to Merriman standing at the quarterdeck rail it was the very stuff of life and his eye missed nothing, as his officers knew all too well. In the growing light, details of other ships anchored in the huge harbour were becoming clearer as were the buildings of Portsmouth naval dockyard.

  This was it then, Lord Stevenage was ready, fully stored and with a complete crew. Merriman almost hugged himself with delight as he reminded himself yet again of how lucky he was and that very few captains could boast of a full crew in this the fourth year of war with France. With France, and with the whole of Europe it seemed, with Napoleon’s army taking more and more territory every day. France controlled most of the west bank of the river Rhine from Basle to the sea, Belgium, Nice and Savoy were in her hands, Holland was now her ally and Spain likely to follow suit. Italy was being overrun and Prussia and Austria were ready to make peace.

  “My God,” mused Merriman, “if the French get into Ireland we’ll be surrounded. Everything depends on the navy keeping them out.” A cough behind him jerked his mind back to his surroundings.

  “Beg pardon Sir, signal from Flag Sir, You may proceed.”

  “Thank you Mr Small. Acknowledge.” Midshipman Small was the signals midshipman under the watchful eye of Acting Lieutenant Shrigley.

  “Mr Laing, Let’s take her to sea. Tops’ls and jibs to begin with.”

  “Aye –aye Sir.”

  Merriman stood back and watched as Laing roared out the orders and the crew hastened to their allotted stations. Topmen raced each other up the rigging to cast off the sail lashings and other hands, chivvied by the petty officers, gathered in groups round the base of each mast and by the pin rails ready to handle the myriad of ropes needed to control the sails. Forr’ard, seamen thrust the capstan bars into the sockets in the capstan head, then spat on their hands, ready to lend their strength to hauling the ship up to her anchor, whilst a party made ready to wash the anchor to and lash it the cathead when it was hauled up.

  Suddenly, after the noise and bustle there was a brief silence and every eye was on the captain, waiting for the final word.

  “All ready Sir.”

  “Very well Mr Laing, proceed.”

  The men at the capstan bent their backs to the job and slowly the ship moved forward until Lieutenant Weston on the fo’c’s’le signalled that the anchor was free.

  “Sheet home the jib, handsomely now,” the orders came as the ship spun on her heel, “Meet her, meet her, now tops’ls, let go and haul.” A few brief moments of intense activity and the ship was under control and heading across the harbour on the larboard tack. A few hundred yards and then a change of course and they were heading for the entrance.

  Merriman watched as the shoreline fell away on either side until the ship began to feel the rollers beneath her. “Now Mr Laing, I’ll have all plain sail please. Mr Cuthbert, be so good as to have the log line made ready. We’ll see what she can do.”

  Chapter 4 : Trouble arises with Dorrington

  That evening, on passage to Wexford, came the first intimation that there would be trouble with the Honourable Arthur Dorrington.

  Merriman had invited his officers to dinner. This time, unlike the occasion when he had taken command of the Aphrodite he had ample supplies of food and wine aboard for his own use. He had bought some chickens that would provide fresh eggs for him before they drowned in rough weather and were eaten, and he had a share with the officers in a couple of piglets which had caused consternation when hoisted aboard in a couple of sacks, squealing like a couple of, well, pigs.

  Once free of the sacks they had escaped and provided a few minutes of amusement as the seamen delegated to catch them chased them all over the main deck before they were cornered and put in the pen made for them by the ship’s carpenter. Mr
Laing was cursing fit to burst as in their panic and fear the piglets left a trail of liquid manure behind them on his well-scrubbed deck.

  Merriman’s new cabin was so much bigger than his last one that there was comfortable room for all, except the officer of the watch Mr Weston and the two midshipmen Hungerford and Small who had not been invited.

  Merriman knew them all so well from their years together. Except for Mr Shrigley who had matured from a mere boy into a young man with a surprisingly deep voice, they seemed not to have changed since he first met them, The ship’s surgeon Alan McBride had lost his craving for alcohol years ago and perhaps old Elijah Cuthbert the Sailing Master had a few more lines on his face, but Merriman knew each man’s strengths and few weaknesses.

  He knew he was fortunate to have them. Appointed to a new ship a Captain rarely got to take any of his past ship’s complement with him and he had them all. “Not Mr Jeavons” he reminded himself. Jeavons, his First Lieutenant in Aphrodite had never recovered properly from the head wound received when they had fought the Frenchman Moreau and his ship La Sirene in the Irish sea. The poor man had suffered more and more frequent bouts of dementia and Merriman had been forced to leave him ashore in the Stonehouse naval hospital in Plymouth. A sad end to a brave officer.

  Merriman roused himself, aware that the conversation had died and his officers were watching him. “I’m sorry Gentlemen, I was thinking about other things. Mr St James, have you tried that impressive cheese yet. It is so strong you’ll think it has bitten your tongue, I’ll warrant. Mr Cuthbert, I know you to be a lover of cheese, perhaps Mr St James will cut you a piece. And you Alfred, your plate is empty. If I didn’t know better I’d swear you must be full.

  That brought a laugh for they all recognised Shrigley’s appetite. Surprisingly, even the usually quiet Grahame was moved to comment that Mr Shrigley deserved a mention in despatches for his skill at making food disappear.

  “I might manage a little more Sir, thank you.”

  “But not fish I think” commented Merriman dryly, his remark occasioning a roar of laughter from the others. “You had enough of that when you fell into the hold of a fishing boat.”

  “I was pushed, as you all well know” said Shrigley resignedly. He was the butt of a standing joke amongst the officers who remembered the incident of four years ago, but he took it all in good humour and was popular with the others.

  After the meal, when Peters assisted by Tomkins had cleared the table and they had all been supplied with full wine glasses, Merriman and Grahame told the others all that was known about the threat of a French expedition to Ireland and what part Lord Stevenage had to play.

  Laing was the first to comment. “Sir, surely the Admiralty can’t expect one frigate to stop the French who will have a fleet of warships to protect the troop transports.”

  “First of all Mr Laing, we are relying on the blockade by the Channel Fleet to keep the French bottled up in Brest. Secondly, there is a squadron under the command of Commodore Sir Edward Pellew, which is also covering the channel and the area south of Ireland, but well off shore. Our task, as I have said, is to help Mr Grahame contact his people ashore and to try and intercept any small craft which may be carrying messages between the French and Irish.”

  “But we will fight if we find a Frenchman won’t we Sir.” exclaimed Shrigley.

  “Of course we will Mr Shrigley, no opportunity will be missed I assure you.”

  There were pleased smiles round the table. A successful action could bring promotion, not to mention prize money. Typically, no one thought about the possibility of death or mutilation which was also very likely.

  “Fighting is all very well,” remarked Grahame, “but sometimes more can be done to defeat an enemy by stealth and the skilful use of intelligence By putting together little pieces of seemingly unconnected bits of information, one can often discover the enemy’s intentions. That’s how we know so much about this latest threat to Ireland, but it’s a slow and often boring business. An agent can spend weeks and months, living in constant danger of discovery, before he learns something worth reporting.”

  “Those agents you speak of must have nerves of steel to be able to do what they do Sir. They must be remarkable people,” said Captain St James, the marine.

  “On the contrary Mr St James, they are mostly quite ordinary people, women as well as men, who are so ordinary that they can pass completely un-noticed in a crowd, or by the use of disguise they can blend in with whatever activity is going on.”

  “How do you find these people Mr Grahame,” asked the Master.

  “Our agents are always on the lookout for suitable people they can recruit. In France we have several who are prepared to help because they have reason to hate the Revolution. Usually because they are either Royalists or have had their family denounced and executed after a mockery of a trial.”

  At this point, Midshipman Dorrington who had been listening to the discussion with a sardonic look on his face, interrupted Mr Grahame with the sneering comment, “Something damned underhand about the whole business. Not what a gentleman should be involved with though, is it?”

  There was a sudden silence, and all eyes turned to Grahame whose face had turned white.

  “Am I to understand that you do not consider me to be a gentleman Sir. That a whipper-snapper like you, with no experience ……..”

  He broke off as Merriman laid a hand on his arm.

  “Mr Grahame, you’ll oblige me by allowing me to deal with this matter before it goes any further.”

  “Mr Dorrington, for that remark Mr Grahame would be within his rights to call you out, although I’m sure that he would feel that no honour would be gained by so doing. You are an impertinent boy Sir, and will be punished as such. You will go on deck and report to Lieutenant Weston. You will give him my compliments and tell him that you are to go to the main topmast crosstrees and stay there until I allow you to descend.”

  The red faced Dorrington rose to his feet, “By God Sir you have no right, my father was a peer of the realm and if he was still alive you wouldn’t dare ….”

  “I have every right and it would make no difference if your father was here at this very moment. You must learn that titles are of no value to you aboard this ship.”

  “Sir, I must pro----------.”

  “Silence, if you dare to open your mouth again I will ask the Bos’n to play a tattoo on your rump with his cane. Do you understand? Now get out.”

  Merriman was seething, never had his officers seen their usually imperturbable Captain quite so angry.

  “I’m sorry Gentlemen, that our evening has been interrupted. Mr Grahame, I hope you will consider the matter closed.”

  “Indeed James, let us say no more about it and if there is some more of that excellent wine ------?”

  Peters and Tomkins hastened to refill the glasses, “--------I would like to propose a toast. Gentlemen, to a successful conclusion to our commission.”

  As the officers prepared to leave, Merriman called Shrigley back.

  “Alfred, we’ll need to keep a very, very sharp eye on our Mr Dorrington. He obviously has too high an opinion of himself. I’m sure you know, and I remember from my own experiences that a character like that can cause no end of trouble for the younger midshipmen if he thinks he can get away with it. Remember the old saying – It only takes one rotten apple to spoil them all.”

  It was not until eight bells was struck at the end of the morning watch that Merriman allowed a miserable and half frozen but still defiant Dorrington to come down from aloft.

  Chapter 5: Brest, France. French army and a Fleet prepare to invade

  The harbour at Brest in North West France in the area known as Finisterre was alive with activity. Men swarmed over the warships and transport ships swinging at anchor. Due to the blockade by the British Navy, the French vessels had not been at sea for months and with most of the aristocratic officers of the old navy having fled abroad or been executed, both
discipline and maintenance had suffered. Now there was an air of purposefulness in the way boats and barges moved between the ships and the dockside to replenish stores and equipment.

  Inland a vast encampment of tents sheltered the soldiers being assembled for the invasion of Ireland, and from all directions the roads were filled by marching men and strings of wagons bearing more and more provisions for the enterprise.

  In a field close to the river, detachments of both cavalry and infantry were exercising and drilling and long lines of cavalry horses were waiting patiently while their masters fetched water and forage for them. It was a scene which the casual observer would have thought to be total confusion, but one in which every man knew what he was there for. The French army had not won its battles without good order and discipline and most of the men were hardened veterans.

  In a large chateau overlooking the harbour, chosen and commandeered because there was insufficient room in the naval headquarters for the army of staff and clerks needed to control all the activity, General Lazarre Hoche, the General-in-Chief and his senior officers assembled. Hoche was demanding that the senior naval commander Admiral Villaret de Joyeuse give him a firm time when the fleet would be ready to set sail.

  “For the last time Admiral, when will your ships be ready? We cannot delay this enterprise much longer.”

  “General, my people are moving as fast as possible but there remains so much still to be done. Many of the ships require fresh rigging if they are to be seaworthy enough to withstand the gales which are common this late in the year and as you know, more than a quarter of the comestibles which arrive are unfit to eat and have to be sorted out and destroyed. Then replacements have to be ordered which all takes time and of course everything we need has to come by land as the English blockade prevents anything coming by sea. Indeed Sir, there are so many difficulties that I doubt that the expedition can leave before the new year and with that blockade I fear that it may take a miracle for us to get to sea at all.”