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

by Roger Burnage

  Moreau and the French officers, keenly watching the movements of the English, had been aware of the man galloping up on a lathered horse. They watched the huddle of men and saw a party of men starting the climb back up the hill to the pass through which they had all come, and then they saw two men approaching the farm.

  The light was fading but Moreau could see that one was definitely an officer and the other was carrying a stick to which a white cloth had been attached. The English wanted to talk.

  Merriman walked steadily towards the farm, Midshipman Dorrington one pace behind carrying the flag of truce. The rough gate was dragged aside and two men emerged to walk slowly towards them. Merriman instantly recognised Moreau, the other was a French officer. All three men and the youth bowed to each other.

  “Monsieur Moreau I believe. Four years since our last encounter is it not? I had not thought to meet you again, especially in such a dramatic setting,” said Merriman.

  He waved his arm to encompass their surroundings, The expanse of grey water flecked with white where the waves broke on the shore on the one hand and the gloomy green and brown hills frowning down on the other with hardly a tree to be seen, the entire scene illuminated by the weak sunlight struggling to shine through gaps in the scudding clouds.

  “That is so Captain. It appears that you and I are fated to meet in difficult times. May I compliment you on your seamanship Sir. However, you have the advantage of me. Regrettably I have not the honour of knowing to whom I am speaking.”

  “My apologies Sir, my name is James Merriman, captain of His Majesty’s frigate Lord Stevenage. This is Mr Dorrington, Midshipman.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Gentlemen. This is Chef de Battaillon Henri Marmont, the rank you would call Major.”

  All bowed again, and both principals regarded one another in silence for a few moments before Merriman began.

  “Monsieur Moreau, you must see the hopelessness of your position. I ask you to surrender so that there may be no unnecessary loss of life on either side.”

  “Surrender Sir? Hopeless position? You misjudge the situation entirely. You are in the weakest position. You have what, a hundred men? You see before you five hundred soldiers, well armed and in a good defensive position. What can you do against us?”

  He indicated with a gesture the line of grim, moustached faces watching from the farm.

  “All that is mostly true.” said Merriman mildly. “But you do not number five hundred. You have three hundred and fifty or four hundred at the most and only a few of your men are armed. You are feasting on roast beef now, but two scrawny cows will not feed so many men for long and I think you have little else but water. Beside which, even if we fought and you won, where can you go? Your fleet came here but has now gone. The weather is fair and if your ships were going to return we would have seen some of them by now. No Monsieur, you have been abandoned to your fate. There will be no invasion”

  “They will be back. Frenchmen do not abandon their own.”

  “Then consider this. There is a force of militia marching here, expected within the hour. The alarm has been raised and men of the British army also will be on the march. And cavalry will be here sooner than you think Monsieur.”

  “Militia? Poof!” sneered Moreau, “They will not stand up to soldiers of France. They will scatter just like that,” and he snapped his fingers to emphasise the point.

  “Nevertheless, I repeat, Where will you go? Your ships may have escaped from Brest if the blockading fleet was scattered by the weather, but you may be certain that the British ships have followed them and will bring them to action. I repeat again, there can be no invasion of Ireland.”

  Of course Merriman did not know where the British ships were, but it must be as obvious to the French as it was to Merriman that there would be no help coming for this isolated detachment. Up to that point the conversation had been conducted entirely in English but now an agitated Marmont broke into a torrent of French, addressing Moreau. Merriman had purposefully avoided letting the Frenchmen know that he spoke their language and he kept his face immobile whilst learning all he could.

  Marmont was repeating all that Merriman had said and emphasising that they were abandoned, with nowhere to go and confirming what Andrews had said earlier, that half the French were unarmed. It was clear that Marmont was pleading with Moreau to surrender. Moreau silenced the man with an abrupt motion of his hand and turned back to face Merriman.

  “We will consider what you have said Captain, you will have our answer in the morning.”

  Merriman looked directly into Moreau’s face, looking for any sign of treachery, “Very well Monsieur, until the morning.”

  The four separated to return to their own comrades. Merriman’s mind was awhirl with ideas to amend his earlier plan, and by the time his officers and Mr Grahame gathered about him his mind was made up.

  “Gentlemen, I believe that the French will fight. They are fully aware of their situation and Moreau, and it is indeed the French agent we have encountered before, said he would give me his answer to my surrender demand in the morning, but I think they may well attack us before then. Remember Gentlemen, ‘Bees that have honey in their mouths have a sting in their tails.”

  “In the early morning shortly before dawn is the most likely time. They will be expecting us to be unprepared, so we must be ready for them. They cannot go further inland so their only hope is to get past us and reach their ship. However, I have ideas for a few changes to my original plan so listen carefully.”

  “Mr White, your militia must be made to look like a thousand. This is what I wish you to do.”

  As he explained what he wanted their faces broke into broad smiles and Mr White was as enthusiastic as any of them.

  “Captain, my militia won’t let you down, it’s an excellent plan and I know we can carry it off.”

  “Is all that clear Gentlemen? Are there any questions?”

  “No? Good. Mr White, I look to you to organise your people right away.” White mounted his horse and sped away while the sailors and marines made a show of preparing to spend the night in the open. Fires were lighted and provisions distributed.

  As darkness fell, Merriman remarked to the officers, “I see that Mr White and his militia are already carrying out their part of the plan.”

  Indeed, from their position on the hill they could see beyond the French position, to where the militia were lighting camp fires. As more militiamen arrived the number of fires increased, spreading round in an arc beyond the farm. It was Merriman’s hope to convince the French that a large force was encamped there, far more than the four hundred militiamen. As each group arrived they lit campfires and then slipped away to light more, with a few men left behind to move about and show themselves in the firelight. So far Mr White and his men were doing well. The French would see the fires but now that night had fallen they could not know how many men there were.

  “Now Gentlemen, see to your men and remember, as little noise as possible. We don’t want the enemy to become aware of what we are up to.”

  It was now completely dark with not even the odd twinkle of starlight to relieve the blackness. Merriman shivered and pulled his cloak closer about him. His mind wandered to his recently acquired book of Shakespeare’s plays – “ ‘Tis now the very witching hour of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world.”

  “That quotation is from Hamlet I believe James.” said a voice behind him.

  Merriman jumped with surprise. “Mr Grahame, I didn’t know you were there, was I speaking aloud? And yes, the quotation is from Hamlet, You are familiar with Shakespeare’s works?”

  “Not all of them, but I have a passing knowledge of Hamlet, Henry Fifth, Macbeth and Julius Caesar. I didn’t realise you were interested James. Since when have you been reading Hamlet?”

  “Only a short while Sir. I also have Henry the Fifth which I obtained the last time we were in Antigua. I bought them from
an army officer, he strongly recommended them. And in my cabin aboard ship I found copies of Macbeth and the Merchant of Venice. The previous captain must have left them.”

  “You must find them interesting then.”

  “Yes I do. I haven’t had time to read them all yet and I’m trying to remember quotable lines from some of the more notable speeches but it isn’t easy.”

  “No it isn’t, perhaps I might borrow The Merchant of Venice from you when I have time to read it.”

  “Of course Sir my pleasure.”

  “Thank you, but now I’ll go and try to get some sleep although that won’t be easy either with this cold and miserable dampness. Goodnight James, oh by the way, have you remembered that it’s Christmas Day tomorrow?”

  “Haven’t given it a thought for days, there’s been with so much else to think about. I don’t think I shall sleep too well either. Goodnight Sir.”

  Chapter 13: Attacked in the dark

  In the miserable conditions of the small, dirty, earth floored farmhouse, Moreau and Major Marmont stared gloomily into the poor fire of peat smouldering sullenly in the hearth which did little to warm them.

  “The Englishman was right Monsieur Moreau, where can we go? The longer we stay here the more force will be raised against us and with barely half our men armed we cannot resist for long.”

  For a while Moreau did not answer. His fertile mind was looking for a way out for himself regardless of what happened to the rest of them.

  “Whatever we do Major, I must not be captured. The English already know I am an agent of the Assembly and I know too many secrets the English would dearly love to beat out of me. However I have an idea. If you will call in your lieutenants and the other officers I will explain.”

  When they were settled as best they could in the cramped conditions Moreau looked round the dispirited, cold and shivering men.

  “As you all know, our situation is desperate. It seems unlikely that we can expect help from our own fleet simply because they do not even know we are here. Apart from the fact that our four ships arrived in the wrong place, they would assume that we are still somewhere at sea after we were separated in the fog.”

  “I apportion no blame for the wrong landfall,” he added hastily as one of the naval officers began to argue, “The weather was foul and we were fortunate to be able to anchor. The real misfortune began when we were seen by the English ships. Had they not done so we would all have anchored safely and a scouting party would have discovered the absence of our fleet and we could have put to sea again when the gale abated. Then La Sirene was dismasted by the frigate and could not continue to fight.”

  He held up his hand as another of the officers tried to interrupt. “What has happened is past Messieurs, what we must do is plan what we are going to do from now. I will tell you what I suggest, you will listen and comment afterward.”

  Moreau spoke in clear terms, trying to convince his listeners that there was one good chance of success and only one. “We expect no help; to move deeper inland would be folly, merely putting us further into the arms of whatever force may even now be marching to oppose us and to stay here will only prolong the inevitable.”

  A storm of protest arose from the officers. Moreau sat silently until the clamour died down.

  “No, Messieurs, there is only one way we can go ------- back to sea. I know all the difficulties, but the inescapable fact remains that the English have the advantage and we are too few in number to continue with the original plan. If we are to see France again we must try to reach La Sirene, which as you know is but a few miles away with the crew making repairs. Do you not agree with me so far Major?”

  “Oui Monsieur, I must agree with you so far, but how can we manage to reach the ship? We are surrounded and outnumbered. And perhaps you have not considered that the English frigate may have attacked our ship since we left her.” said Major Marmont.

  Murmurings from the others showed that most of them agreed.

  Moreau smiled with more confidence than he felt. “As to being outnumbered, I don’t believe we are. The militia are only part time soldiers and won’t stand, although they appear to have more men than we thought. Apart from them there is only one English ship and that would have a crew of no more than two hundred or so men. Add to that the marines we have seen, then I calculate a force of what? At most two hundred and fifty. Some will have been killed or injured already and there are no more than a hundred and twenty or so in front of us. How many will have been left behind to guard the ships and those of our men who have been captured?”

  The men began to mutter between themselves as Moreau’s words sparked their interest.

  He continued. “I’ll tell you. A hundred at most and probably a lot less. Not enough to adequately sail the ship and man the guns. And of course, La Sirene still has a full crew. Finally, we are more than three times the number in front of us. I do not count the militia.”

  A knock on the door and a sergeant appeared.

  “Yes, what is it Sergeant, why the interruption?” asked Marmont testily.

  “Thought you should know Sir, we have lost our water supply. The English must have dammed the stream or diverted it.”

  “Thank you Sergeant,” said Moreau dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “There you are Messieurs, that is another reason why we cannot stay here. We must make a move as soon as we are ready. Obviously the first thing we must do is to move out of here as fast as we can at the first glimmerings of daylight or even before. The English will be expecting my reply to their demand for surrender and may not be prepared for an assault so soon. A surprise attack in the dark may give us the advantage and if we can get round the English and through the hills the way the Major and I and the marines came, then we would have an excellent chance of reaching the ship.”

  During Moreau’s discourse the officers had brightened up considerably and they all started chattering at once, with ideas as to the best way to outwit the English and planning their route to the ship, as though their escape from the farm was a fait accompli.

  Moreau watched them with ill-concealed contempt. He knew, and he was certain that Marmont knew, that the English would not be so easily defeated.

  “Major, that is the only plan I have. If our soldiers who still have their muskets and bayonets make a surprise frontal attack while the unarmed men and marines move as quietly as possible round the enemy, most of us could get away. In the confusion and darkness many of the soldiers could also escape. The marines could then provide a disciplined rear-guard if the English rally quickly enough to follow. It could work and I leave the organising and execution of it to you and your officers.”

  “I think you have a good plan M’sieur. As you say, it could work. I myself will lead the attack.” Speaking quietly so that only Marmont could hear, Moreau said, “I wish you success Major. I regret that I cannot be with you. As you know I cannot risk capture and must make my own arrangements.”

  He slipped out into the darkness which was relieved only by the flickering light of the campfires made from some poor sticks of furniture and the timbers of the byre lately inhabited by the unfortunate cattle. Most of the men were sitting or lying on the wet ground round the fires. Pacing round the farmyard wall, past the sentries spaced at intervals, he studied the positions of the enemy camp fires. Movement could be seen as vague figures passed in front of the fires, so it was certain that the English had their own sentries on watch. Moreau thought for a few moments, then, making up his mind he approached a man asleep in a corner and roughly prodded him into wakefulness.

  “Come M’sieur O’Rourke my friend, we have things to do.

  Chapter 14: Moreau and some Irish found

  Merriman wakened with a start at the touch on his shoulder. He hadn’t really been asleep, had he? He remembered wrapping his boat cloak about him and sitting down for a few minutes to rest his back against a rock while he went over his plans for the umpteenth time. Damn it all, he must have gone to sleep. What would
they all think of him? Then he smiled to himself in self-satisfaction, perhaps it had done his reputation as captain some good after all. He imagined the word spreading round the men. “Fast asleep he was, sleeping like a baby, had to be woken by his cox’n. If he can sleep like that I reckon we don’t have much to worry about.”

  He became aware of the bos’n’s mates rousing the men. One in particular making his presence heard in loud whispers. “Up you lazy buggers, d’you want to sleep all day. Greene you idle bastard, you’ll feel a rope’s end round yer arse if you don’t move yerself smartish like.”

  He looked up at the bulk of his man Owen.

  “Sorry to wake you Sir, but the French are moving. All’s ready as you ordered and the men are in position Sir.”

  “Very good Owen, thank you. Where are Mr Andrews and Mr St James?”

  “Here Sir.” Both men appeared as dark shapes in the dark. St James reported.

  “Sir, we sent a couple of men out beyond our sentries and they just now came back and reported that the French are forming up outside the farm. One of them was Larkin, he can see in the dark like a cat Sir, so I’m sure he’s right.”

  “I don’t doubt it. So, they hope to take us unawares do they, we’ll see what they make of our little subterfuge. Fall back to our places Gentlemen.”

  The first tentative paling of the eastern sky appeared before they could hear the sound of the French troops advancing.

  Grahame murmured in Merriman’s ear, “But look, the morn in russet mantle clad, walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill. More Hamlet Captain.”

  As the French advanced in typical formation, with bayonets fixed, Major Marmont allowed himself the luxury of hope. Still no sign of movement from the English and he could just see the forms of the sleeping men huddled in their blankets round the remains of their campfires. His voice rang out and the sole bugler sounded the charge. With a cheer the men rushed forward to plunge their bayonets into the sleeping men. But what was this? The soldiers stopped, irresolute; there were no men beneath the blankets, only stones and brushwood. And then Marmont realised how they had been fooled as the unmistakeable shouts of command rang out.