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

by Roger Burnage

  “The authorities will be lucky to catch him now,” mused Merriman. “But maybe Moreau will appear again and we can catch him at least.”

  The other letter, which he read over and over again, was from his fiancée Helen. She missed him terribly, she couldn’t wait to see him again, the wedding was all arranged, only the date to be set, but that could be done at short notice. She closed the letter with endearments Merriman would not have wanted anyone else to read. She still loved him, even after four years away she still wanted him.

  Merriman was still basking in the glow of that knowledge and lost in memories and thoughts of the future over an hour later. The ship had Scariff Island just in sight ahead on the port bow, when the boom of a cannon and a hail from aloft startled him out of his dreams and sent him back on deck alert to the possibility of action.

  The cannon fire was from Tiny to draw attention to her flag signals.

  “Up you go Mr Shrigley, see what you can make of it.”

  Merriman would have been reluctant to send the signals midshipman Gideon Small up the wildly gyrating mast, even if he had been fit. The boy would have had his work cut out to hold on, never mind identify a flag hoist. Shrigley however was like a monkey aloft and he was back on deck in no time.

  “Can’t see the signal clearly Sir, it’s blowing almost directly towards us, but I think it is “Enemy in sight”. Tiny wouldn’t fire a gun if it wasn’t important, and she’s shortened sail and hove to Sir.”

  “Thank you Mr Shrigley, I think you are right.”

  “Gentlemen, you know what is expected of us, so pass the word to the men and clear for action but don’t run out the guns just yet. Mr Laing, if we have time, see that the men get some hot food inside them before the galley fire is doused. Jack always fights better on a full stomach. You can release each division in turn.”

  There was instant rush and bustle as the ship was made ready to fight. The decks were sanded to provide more grip for the men’s bare feet, partitions were knocked down and cabin furniture taken below. Chain slings were fitted to the yards in case the halliards were shot away, nets rigged to prevent falling blocks and tackle striking down men on deck and Merriman was pleased to see gun captains carefully selecting the truest ball for the first carefully aimed broadside.

  The Master, beside the men at the big double wheel, started to swear quietly. “The devil and all his minions must be sending us this bad weather.” He raised his clenched fist to the skies, “I want some sunshine damn it.”

  The helmsmen looked at the old man in amazement, as if in response to the Master’s shout, and although there was no direct sunshine, the rain ceased and visibility suddenly improved, but there was no sign of any other vessels. It was not until Lord Stevenage cleared Scariff Island and Kenmare River began to open that there was a hail from a lookout, “Deck there, four ships inshore beyond Tiny.”

  “Up you go again Mr Shrigley.”

  Only a few moments later Shrigley was back. “Looks like a corvette with three other vessels Sir, can’t be certain but it looks like the corvette we fought in the Irish Sea four years ago. What’s her name? the Siren or something like it.”

  “La Sirene, the Mermaid.”

  “Yes Sir, that’s it. She has an odd shaped patch on her main tops’l, but they are definitely Frenchies and they are sailing close hauled on the starboard tack, well up into the Kenmare River.”

  “That’s it then Gentlemen. The French are here, but there will be more than four of them somewhere. This must be only a small part of their fleet, perhaps separated from the rest in a storm.”

  “Yes Sir, what do you intend to do?” asked the First Lieutenant.

  Merriman took a few steps up and down the quarter deck, thinking furiously and tugging at his ear as he usually did when faced with a problem.. The rest of the French force must be nearby, probably in Bantry Bay if his earlier deductions had been correct. Even now the transports could be unloading, screened by the warships. He could go and look for them but it was no part of a frigate’s role to try conclusions with a squadron of French three deckers. Lord Stevenage would be blown to kindling long before she got anywhere near the transports.

  No, he must rely on Lieutenant Heatherington in his fast handy little cutter avoiding the French and reaching Cork to sound the alarm. Merriman’s own task must be to destroy the four ships in Kenmare River. His mind made up he turned to the officers waiting for his decision.

  “Mr Laing, we’ll go in after these four ships and try to sink or take them all. Alter course to follow them if you please.”

  Broad smiles broke out on their faces. Here was a definite promise of action and action could mean promotion and prize money. The French ships were trapped in the long narrow estuary and could not escape without meeting Lord Stevenage.

  Merriman had been aware of Mr Grahame standing quietly with the officers and as they dispersed about their duties he approached.

  “I’m pleased that’s your decision Captain. I didn’t want to influence you but if that French corvette is La Sirene, the one that we encountered all that time ago, then it is quite possible that fellow Moreau is aboard her. I’d dearly love to get my hands on him. If we can capture him, that alone would be a bigger blow to the French than sinking a few transports.”

  Captain St James, the marine, overheard Grahame’s remarks and joined in.

  “If he is there Sir, I hope our practice has improved our swordplay enough to be able to match him.”

  St James was a far superior swordsman than his captain and he was referring to the fact that for the last four years, when time and weather permitted, he had spent at least an hour a day practicing with and tutoring Merriman in the finer points of fencing and taught him a few unusual tricks as well.

  “A bit underhand and not considered to be a gentleman’s way by the so called fencing masters Sir, but after all, the whole purpose is to get your blade into your opponent before he gets his into you,” St James had said grimly when teaching Merriman a particular move. “I learned that one off a Spanish officer some years ago and it has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

  Merriman’s swordplay had improved remarkably but he was far from being as good as the marine captain, but remembering the Frenchman’s skill with his exceptionally long blade the last time they met, Merriman had his doubts about the outcome.

  “I hope so too Edward, but he is quick, damnably quick. However, we’ll worry about that if we catch him. Meanwhile, when the time comes I want your marines to concentrate their musket fire on the enemy officers and crew. With them out of action their ships and the soldiers in them will be helpless.”

  The frigate had drawn close to the Tiny and Merriman could see Lieutenant Heatherington watching, doubtless wishing he could join in the coming action. Merriman pointed vigorously to the eastward and Heatherington waved and turned to give his orders. The cutter rapidly got under way again and headed south by west to clear Dursey Island and the Bull rock before the run eastward to Cork.

  The frigate clawed her way slowly into Kenmare River, as close hauled as she could go under topsails and headsails, fighting against the wind which was still increasing and blowing almost directly out to sea. Violent squalls brought more rain to obscure visibility again. As the ship progressed in a series of tacks, Merriman and Mr Cuthbert anxiously watched the shoreline and listened to the leadsman in the fore chains shouting out the changing depth. Despite his protective leather apron the man was soaked to the skin as were most of the crew, from the rain and spray. It was a condition they were well used to after their years at sea.

  The estuary was perhaps twenty miles long and three to four miles across at the widest but the chart showed shoals and shallows on the larboard side past the halfway mark which abruptly narrowed the navigable water. Merriman desperately needed to know what the French corvette was doing. That the French would fight was expected and if it were indeed La Sirene she would fight hard. So much he knew from the action of four years ag
o which had ended inconclusively, but now he was commanding the bigger of the two ships and although the corvette was like a small frigate, he should have no great difficulty in defeating her.

  “Aloft again Mr Shrigley, see if you can see better from up there.” Shrigley was back almost at once, sliding down a backstay as the quickest means of regaining the deck. “I caught a glimpse of her Sir, about a mile away on the starboard tack and heading our way.”

  “Thank you Mr Shrigley. Mr Laing, I’ll have the guns run out now.”

  Merriman’s mind raced. Lord Stevenage was on the larboard tack struggling to make headway, but with the wind at her back the corvette would be on them in an instant. He had to at least cripple the corvette so that he could deal with the transport ships before they could put too many troops ashore.

  A shout from Laing near him on the quarterdeck, “I can see them Sir, the rain is easing again.” It was so, Merriman could see the French ship clearly, on the larboard bow and closing rapidly, still on the starboard tack and with all gun ports open and guns run out.

  Merriman’s decision was instant. “Mr Laing, when I give the word I want the ship to go about like lightning, we’ll cross his bow and give him our starboard broadside as we pass and then we’ll tack again to cross his stern. Have all the guns at full elevation. Mr Hungerford, forr-ard with you, tell Mr Weston that we are going about and I want the big twenty five pounders to fire as soon as they bear, see if he can hit their bowsprit or foremast.”

  As the boy sped away, Merriman knew that from the heaving and pitching deck they would be lucky to hit anything with the two shots which were all that Weston would have time for as the ship turned, but it was worth the chance.

  “The transports have anchored on the north side of a large inlet and men are already ashore Sir,” reported Shrigley.

  Watching keenly, Merriman was juggling figures in his head, the relative speed of the two ships, the decreasing distance apart and the speed with which Lord Stevenage could tack. And the imponderable, would the French captain hold his course?

  The ships were approaching each other at an obtuse angle and there was every chance that the Frenchman would not want to wear ship if he could avoid it, especially with such a wind behind him. No, he would expect to veer to starboard a little so that the ships would pass larboard side to. Well, too late now to change his plan.

  The men at the sheets and braces were poised and ready, the men at the wheel looking expectantly at Merriman, all waiting for the moment.

  “Now,” he shouted. The wheel was hard over, the spokes flying through the men’s hands as the ship spun round. Forr-ard the men waited for their moment, leaving the headsails sheeted in as they were to allow the wind to reach the other side and push the ship’s head round before loosing the sheets and hauling madly on those on the other side, while equally frantically other men were hauling on the sheets and braces controlling the topsails.

  The two big bow chasers roared out one after the other as the ship’s head passed through the wind and pointed at the enemy but with no discernible effect apart from a cloud of splinters from her rail.

  “As you bear,” roared Merriman and the starboard guns erupted in a ragged broadside as each gun captain decided the moment to fire. The result was devastating as the hail of iron struck La Sirene on her bows, mostly on the starboard side. Merriman saw two gun ports beaten together into one and the guns behind smashed backwards and a cheer went up from the British seamen as the bowsprit dissolved into a mass of fragments, and the headsails, loosing their supporting stays, blew into a tangle of torn canvas and flailing ropes.

  Now it was the frigate’s turn to stand the French broadside. Merriman had just enough time to order the ship brought back on to her original course, to swing round the Frenchman’s stern, before the side of the corvette disappeared in the flame and smoke of her own broadside.

  “For what we are about to receive -------” intoned Laing before the air was filled with flying iron and splinters of wood. Merriman felt his coat twitch as something tore through the air past him and he saw the crew of one of the quarterdeck carronades fall in a confused welter of blood and smashed flesh. Miraculously neither the men at the wheel or anyone else on the quarterdeck was hit but down on the main deck men were dragging the dead to the base of the mainmast and carrying the wounded below.

  Amongst the carnage Lieutenant Andrews, in command of the starboard battery, was yelling like a fiend at his men to finish reloading. The dead and wounded had already been replaced by men from the larboard side battery which had not yet fired.

  “Mr Andrews,” bellowed Merriman, “Hold your fire till we pass her stern, then rake her as the guns bear.”

  Andrews waved to indicate that he had heard and then ran forr-ard to see that each gun was properly laid. Again the frigate’s cannon thundered out and the iron hail crashed into the corvette’s stern.

  “Caught ‘em Sir, two broadsides to their one, and only --- Oh look Sir, their fore topmast is going” shouted Laing excitedly.

  It was true, as La Sirene fell behind, the mast, deprived of the support of the forestays from the smashed bowsprit, and with some shrouds parted by cannon shot, was seen to lean over, slowly at first but increasingly quickly as the remaining shrouds and stays parted under the strain. Then it crashed over the side in a tangle of rope and canvas, the ship was immediately unmanageable and it disappeared behind them into the murk.

  “Well then, she won’t bother us for a while, although we have only scotched the snake not killed it” remarked Merriman calmly to hide his inner turmoil. He knew that if the Frenchman had decided on a similar move the boot might have been on the other foot and his own ship in a similar state.

  The frigate had lost almost all steerage way due to the sudden turn to starboard before sufficient momentum had been achieved after her turn under the bows of the corvette and it took a few minutes to get her moving again, heading further up the estuary to where the transport ships were anchored

  The three of them were anchored in line in the lee of the headland which also protected a miserable huddle of cottages. Boats were transferring soldiers ashore to join a substantial number already there.

  “The French have made good use of their time Sir, they have a good many ashore already,” commented the Master, Mr Cuthbert.

  “Indeed they have. There must be a very energetic officer in command there, but it’s time for us to put a stop to their activities Mr Cuthbert. We have no reliable chart of these waters so we’ll keep the man in the chains with his line if you please”.

  “Mr Laing, when we are in range I want a broadside of canister concentrated on the French soldiers already ashore and only afterwards aim at the transports.”

  Cannister shot was musket or pistol balls tightly packed into a tin cylinder which split apart when fired, releasing the balls and causing fearsome damage to flesh and blood.

  As Lord Stevenage drew nearer and nearer the shore, the soldiers there, perhaps not realising the destruction a ship of war could create, stared curiously at the English frigate. When the smoke of the broadside cleared Merriman could see the carnage that the hail of musket balls had created. Scattered blue-coated bodies were lying on the beach while the survivors were running wildly about looking for cover.

  Aboard the French ships, men could be seen looking nervously over their shoulder at the menacing appearance of the approaching frigate. Two of the captains lost their nerve and cut their anchor ropes and tried to make a run for it but before their ships could be brought under control the wind drove them ashore where they immediately began to break up. The third ship, the captain obviously deciding that resistance or flight was useless, promptly hauled down the flag and a white cloth was waved on the stern.

  “Three of them and not another shot fired” exclaimed Laing delightedly.”

  Merriman was watching the doomed men on the two shattered ships clinging to the rigging or the more courageous of them jumping into the sea in an attempt
to swim ashore as some of their fellows had already done.

  “And a lot of men drowning Mr Laing, the poor devils have little chance in that sea.”

  A worried looking Mr Cuthbert stepped in front of Merriman. “The water is shallowing Sir and the gale is worsening, I really must urge you to make for the open sea immediately.”

  “You’re right, it is worsening Mr Cuthbert.” Merriman looked at the skies and the nearby land for a moment. “We must anchor, there where the other two transports were anchored. We must keep our eye on the French. Mr Laing, I am determined to anchor, two anchors if you please, the larboard one well offshore in case the wind backs more to the north.”

  This meant a difficult sequence of operations had to be carried out. First the ship had to be manoeuvred into position to drop the larboard anchor and then sailed crabwise across the wind to drop the second one. It took time in the teeth of what was by then a howling gale with more lashing rain but with arduous work for the men and brilliant seamanship the ship was finally anchored. Meanwhile the work of repairing the damage carried on.

  Laing and Cuthbert anxiously compared their bearings before announcing to Merriman that the ship was making no leeway and the anchors were holding firm.

  “Very good Gentlemen, there is nothing more we can do about the French before the gale blows itself out. I’d like a prize crew aboard that that ship as soon as the weather abates enough, but I won’t risk men’s lives in a boat in these conditions. This ship will remain at action stations as the French will be a desperate lot and we don’t know what they may attempt in the night, however, have the men fed and rested by turns. Such repairs that are still to be made must wait for daylight, but I am confident that the ship is ready for action at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile I am going below to see the wounded.”

  Below on the orlop deck was a nightmare scene. In the middle, the surgeon Mr McBride was busy fastening a bandage round a man’s head and his assistants, the loblolly boys, were moving the bodies of those who had died. Merriman was surprised to see a pale faced midshipman Small going round the men with water.