“Marines, present, take aim,” a brief pause, then ---- “Fire.” The crash of the volley rang out and men fell, either shrieking with pain or dead before they hit the ground.
“En avante,” roared Marmont, “En avante, at them before they reload.”
But even as the French rallied and began to move forward another volley of musketry flailed at them from either side of the marines and more men fell. Undaunted, the French came on like the brave men they were, clambering over the bodies of the living and dead piled in front of them.
The light was improving and Marmont could now see the ranks of marines and seamen before him. “On, on,” he shouted, waving his sword aloft, “They are breaking before us.” Indeed it seemed to be true, the marines in front were falling back, but too late Marmont recognised the trap the English had laid. Aghast he saw the cannon revealed and the last thing he ever saw was the flash from it’s mouth before he and at least thirty men round him were smashed by a hail of musket balls. Merriman had ordered the cannon double shotted with canister and the execution it wrought was terrible.
Before the French could recover another blast of musketry tore into the men still standing. Flesh and blood could stand only so much and the French began to give ground.. The men at the front, the real soldiers, did so reluctantly, facing the English lines with their bayonets at the ready, but the men at the rear turned and fled back to the farm and the illusion of safety it gave them, only to recoil in horror from the sight which awaited them.
The militia had advanced and occupied the farm and the wall was lined with muskets presented ready to fire. It was too much and the demoralised French flung up their arms in surrender.
Merriman was amazed that the French had not fired a shot, and reluctant to order more slaughter he shouted to his force to hold their fire. The order was repeated out to the wings where the seamen were.
“By God Gentlemen, I believe we have them. Mr Dorrington, where is our white flag?”
“Here Sir,” replied the midshipman, “my kerchief Sir, I lost the other one.”
“No matter, this will do.” He raised the rag over his head and stepped forward and called out in French. “I would speak with Major Marmont or Monsieur Moreau.”
“The Major has fallen Sir,” replied a voice, “I am Lieutenant Gautier. Monsieur Moreau is not with us.”
“Very well Lieutenant, I ask that you surrender. Your position is untenable and as you see my men and the cannon are ready to fire again.” He gestured to where the lieutenant could see Mr Salmon the gunner with a smouldering slow match held ready to plunge onto the touch-hole.
In the growing light the lieutenant looked round at the remains of his little army and sighed.
“Will you assure me that my men will be treated according to the usages of war Sir.”
“I so assure you Lieutenant, if you lay down all your arms you will be treated as honourable prisoners of war.”
The Lieutenant took his sword in both hands and in a theatrical gesture snapped the blade across his knee and threw the pieces to the ground. He then gestured to his soldiers to relinquish the rest of their weapons which they began to do, slowly and reluctantly.
“Mr Andrews, have a working party of seamen collect those weapons and stack them securely well away from the French. Mr McBride, please attend to the French wounded if you will. Mr St James, keep your men alert for any treachery although I doubt we need to worry on that score, and have Lieutenant Gautier brought here to me. But there are more French than we have here. Where are they?”
“I think they slipped past us in the confusion and darkness Sir. There are two of our men dead over there and some odd bits and pieces the French must have dropped.”
“Can you see which way they went?”
“Along the shore Sir, maybe they are hoping to regain their ship.”
“Yes, that would be likely, there is nowhere else they can go.”
He looked round at the cannon. “Mr Salmon, you will please me by staying by the gun until the French are completely disarmed.”
“Aye – aye Sir,” replied the grinning gunner.
“Congratulations James,” said a voice behind him. “Your plan succeeded brilliantly. Not a man of ours so much as scratched apart from those two unfortunates. But I don’t understand why they didn’t fire a shot.”
Merriman realised that Mr Grahame had joined him.
“Because Major Marmont ordered the men not to load their muskets Sir, said the French lieutenant bitterly in surprisingly good English. “He thought to take you by surprise and he was afraid a clumsy soldier would discharge his piece and warn you we were coming.”
“Lieutenant, can you tell me where Monsieur Moreau and the rest of your men are?” asked Grahame
“No Sir, I cannot. He disappeared during the night together with his tame Irishman. As for my countrymen,” he gestured vaguely around. “They have gone.”
Damn and blast the man,” cried Grahame, “I thought we had him. He’s as slippery as an eel, but he can’t have gone far. We must find him James, before he goes to ground somewhere with his rebel friends.”
“Well Sir, we must have horses if we are to catch him. Mr St James, You will oblige me by keeping a watch to our rear for the missing French.”
“ Now Mr Grahame, perhaps Mr White can help in the matter of horses. Here he is now.”
Mr White arrived, smiling all over his face and flung himself off his horse, seized Merriman’s hand and shook it vigorously.
“Congratulations Captain, a wonderful outcome to your plan. You have won a famous victory and my militia were part of it. There will be some tall tales flying about soon, telling of this day’s work, I’ll warrant. You and your officers must join me at my house for some refreshment when the prisoners are secure.”
“Gladly Mr White, but there is a more urgent matter to be resolved before we can avail ourselves of your hospitality.”
Merriman proceeded to tell him about Moreau and how important it was that he should be apprehended.
“What can I do to help, do you know where he might go?”
Grahame answered him. “He will try to find refuge with Irish rebels somewhere, possibly in Kenmare or Killarney or even Killorglin. We know that there are underground, rebellious groups in most of the towns and villages in Ireland. Any of them would hide him in an isolated farm somewhere until he can be smuggled out to France.”
“We need horses Sir, to be able to send out search parties in various directions. We have three, captured from the French, but they are used to pull the artillery and are not good saddle horses even if we had saddles for them, but if you and your militia friends can supply some --------?”
“Of course, I have ten or more in my stables and there are plenty more at the houses of my friends,” said White eagerly. Then his face fell. “But it will take time to gather them Captain. The nearest are those of mine at the house you see yonder at the end of the bay. We can send one of your men on this horse with instructions to my stable hands to saddle them and bring them here for you, if that is what you want.”
“Thank you Sir, please do so at once and then perhaps one of your people could ride out to see if he can find an army patrol.”
Merriman called Captain St James to him. “Edward, I think it would be easier to watch the prisoners if they were put back in the farmyard where the wounded will have some shelter. Lieutenant Goodwin can see to all that.”
After sending a man away for the horses, Richard White had returned to the group.
“Mr White, I trust we can leave your militia to guard the prisoners until the army arrives? Good, I must send most of my force back to the ship. If the French who escaped get back to their ship my own will be in danger.”
“Yes, of course,” replied White, “I quite understand, and if those French return I believe my militia are confident enough now to cope with them.”
“Well, I’ll leave Lieutenant Goodwin with half a dozen marines with you and I’ll al
so leave that cannon with you as a souvenir of this occasion Mr White, something more for your men to boast about.”
“Mr St James, when the horses arrive I’d like you to ride with me after Moreau, and we must find some of our men who can ride to go with us.”
“I can ride Sir,” called out Midshipman Dorrington, “and I can shoot.”
“Very well Mr Dorrington, if we have sufficient horses you may come.”
Owen was the next to put himself forward. “I can stay aboard a horse Sir, I’d keep up.”
“Be glad to have you Owen. With you, and with you Mr Grahame, that makes five of us. We need more.”
“You’ll need a guide Sir. I know all the roads and byways, I must go with you,” said Mr White.
“Thank you Sir, your help will be invaluable.”
In the end two marines were found who could ride and the party was made up to ten with Jackson, a seaman who had once been a poacher before choosing the navy in preference to a spell in prison and one other seaman by the name of Brown.
The officers fell to discussing the most likely route taken by Moreau and his companion.
“As I said before, I believe he would head for the nearest town where he might find rebels to help him and that would be almost certainly to the north and west,” said Grahame. He turned to Mr White, “What do you suggest Sir?”
“Well, the nearest place is Kenmare, though it’s not much more than a large village. Depending on how much start they have they might be nearly there by now.”
“There is something else to consider Gentlemen,” said Merriman quietly, tugging at his ear in concentration. “We understand one of them is an Irishman. He is likely to know the best and fastest way to go to find help. Besides, Moreau is very cunning and would probably not go to Kenmare, thinking that we might expect him to go there, being the nearest place.”
The others nodded in agreement and Grahame, pale with fury at the prospect of losing his quarry, almost shouted, “We must start somewhere and make an effort to catch them!”
Merriman continued as if there had been no interruption. “Moreau would not want to be afoot longer than necessary. I think it more probable that they would be looking for a house or farm not too far away where they might steal horses. With most of the local men gathered to form the militia, who could stop them?”
“James, you are likely right,” replied Grahame. Mr White, where do you suggest?”
White raised a small telescope to his eye.
“Well thank God, not my place, Bantry House, although that is nearest. I can see across the bay to where my man is leaving there with our horses. Apart from that the nearest are Dunmore House or Crusheen House.”
“Then let us head for there as soon as the horses get here Gentlemen,” said Merriman, “In the meanwhile, I suggest we all snatch a bite to eat and check our weapons.”
He called Lieutenant Andrews over. “David, I want you to take our seamen and marines back to the ship as quickly as you can. My compliments to Mr Laing and he is to endeavour to seize or destroy the enemy corvette. Mr McBride, you can stay here with the wounded until I return. I must go with Mr Grahame to try and apprehend this elusive Frenchman although I’ll be back as soon as I can. This cannon and the captured weapons can be left for the militia.”
“Aye-aye Sir.” Andrews began issuing orders to the men, who very quickly prepared themselves for the arduous journey back to the ship, but a journey made easier without the burden of the cannon and shot.
It was not an easy decision for Merriman to make. He was under Mr Grahame’s orders but still totally responsible for his ship. To leave his ship behind whilst he chased a spy round the Irish countryside would not be looked on with favour by his superiors at the Admiralty, especially if that ship were to be lost when he was not aboard.
The groom eventually arrived with ten horses. Sensibly the man had not galloped them and although it took longer, trotting meant that they were still fresh.
The party mounted and set off with Mr White in the lead and the seamen and marines last. Merriman was pleased to see that all appeared to be fairly competent riders although Owen’s style left a lot to be desired. Nevertheless, he hung onto his horse with grim determination and managed to keep up.
The ground was sodden from all the rain and the horses hooves sank deep into the mud and turf, making it hard going and slowing them down.
There was nobody at the first house, but at Dunmore House they found the lady of the house, an overweight, middle aged person with a large wart on her chin and the thin sprouting of a moustache with two flustered female servants gathered round a man lying on the ground near the stables. Mr White dismounted and approached them.
“Richard White Ma’am, from Bantry. We are after two felons who may be after stealing horses.”
“They must have been here Sir, my stableman has been attacked and the carriage horses are gone. It must have been some hours ago.”
“Did anyone see which way they went Ma’am?” asked Merriman.
“No Sir. Patrick here may have done, but as you see the poor man has not yet regained his senses.”
“Sir, Sir!” An excited shout from Jackson caused them all to turn to face him.
“Sir, two ‘orses went this way, you can see fresh tracks in the mud ‘ere. They’re headed towards the hills yonder.” He kicked his horse in the ribs and led off to show the way.
“Good man, well spotted,” cried Grahame and they splashed off after him. St James paused briefly to raise his hat to the lady. “Good day Ma’am. Captain St. James at your service. I hope your man will recover and that we can catch and return your horses.”
The lady smiled up at the handsome marine. “Thank you Sir, I am Mrs Charnock. I hope we may meet again.” St James kicked his horse and chased off after the others.
Two hours later and the light was fading as fast as were their hopes of catching the fugitives. The rain had started again, not the heavy rain that had fallen for the past days but a fine drizzle which veiled their view and soaked into their clothing. None of them had oilskins or cloaks with them and soon they were chilled and half frozen.
The horses were almost finished, and the pursuers had strung out into a long line with the better riders to the fore and the others, the two marines and Owen far to the rear, his huge frame being too much for his poor horse which was near to foundering. Jackson, who had proved to be a surprisingly good rider was still well ahead of the rest of them and had disappeared into the gloom.
“It’s no good Sir!” shouted Merriman to Mr Grahame, “We must rest the horses or we shall be on foot before we have gone much further.”
“Damn and blast it Captain, the man’s getting away as we dawdle here.”
“He can’t go far Sir, his horses must be in no better condition than ours.”
Slowly the group closed up again with Owen the last to arrive and they set off again leading their horses. Scarcely twenty minutes had passed before a figure materialised out of the darkness.
“Stop there and identify yourself,” shouted St James.
“Jackson Sir, I’ve found them.”
Chapter 15: Moreau plans anew
Charles Henri Moreau, looked about him at the filthy hut and the three scruffy men who had arrived to share it with him and O’Rourke, the disgust he felt plainly written on his face, his thoughts chaotic, “To think that I, once living in luxury as the son of an aristocratic family should be reduced to this, a fugitive being chased around this God forsaken country and sharing this appalling food with peasants.”
He turned to O’Rourke, the man who had crept away with him in the middle of the night hours before the desperate sally from the farm by the French soldiers. “M’sieur O’Rourke, have any of these fellows seen anything of our pursuers since darkness fell?”
“No, and I don’t believe they will. The last time we saw the English from the last hill we crossed they were far behind, and don’t forget we changed direction in the dark.”
“That is so, but they will not give up easily and the outcome of a fight must be in doubt even though we are nearly equal in number.”
“That also is true. These are good stout lads but how well they’ll fight I don’t know.” O’Rourke paused. “You know M’sieur Moreau, neither of us will survive capture. I’m too well known to the English and all I can expect is a rope round my neck if I’m caught and as for you, you are a Frenchman and a spy, what better fate awaits you?”
Moreau roused himself from the despair he felt at his companion’s words. It was true, he would be lucky not to face a firing party. Briefly he considered the situation. If they could slip away from their pursuers then maybe O’Rourke could find a boat to take them to France. And then what? It was not his fault that the French fleet had not carried out the planned invasion, but the Directory in France would want to find a scapegoat. Even though he had only been involved in organising the Irish rebels, Moreau had the uneasy feeling that the scapegoat might be him especially as he had been in disfavour in some quarters since his failure in the affair with the Viceroy four years earlier.
No, he dare not risk a fight and possible capture, nor did he dare return to France without some kind of success to speak for him. What then could he do?
In the poor light afforded by the rush candle he stared at the men in the hovel with him. Even O’Rourke had fallen asleep with the rest of them and there was nothing but their snores to keep him company. In spite of his tiredness Moreau could not sleep and his thoughts overwhelmed him again. What alternative was there for him instead of returning to France? Vague and useless ideas drifted through his head, only to be instantly rejected as ridiculous. He had almost fallen asleep when another thought struck him with such forcefulness that he was instantly wide awake.
Merriman and the French Invasion (The Merriman Chronicles Book 2) Page 13