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

by Roger Burnage

  But there was another alternative, wasn’t there. But no, it was unthinkable, not to be considered for a moment, totally out of the question, ---- wasn’t it? He knew that there were many French aristocrats living in England hoping for a restoration of the monarchy; he was an aristocrat and by blood he was closer to them than to the France of the revolution. Maybe he could contrive to join them? What he knew would surely be of value to anyone hoping to overthrow the revolutionary government. Doubtless there were many who would say he was a traitor, but surely he was more a traitor to his own kind by working for that government. No, it seemed that his only reasonable hope of life would be to leave his present companions and strike out on his own. Giving his parole to the English officer he might save his life.

  His mind working feverishly on the problem, he felt the need to escape the foulness of the air in the small room and breathe fresh air to clear his brain. Carefully stepping over the sprawled bodies he lifted the piece of greasy cowhide that formed the only door and quietly eased himself outside into the darkness of the night. Deep in thought, his steps led him without conscious volition to the two horses tied in the meagre shelter of a rough lean-to together with two scrawny donkeys. Fond of horses, he was absentmindedly stroking the muzzle of one of them when the animals raised their heads sharply and pricked their ears. Moreau immediately melted into the deeper shadow between them and stood silently listening.

  “I found them Sir.” repeated Jackson as the others gathered round. “It was my ‘orse that told me, he started pulling to the side. They’d changed direction an’ he must‘ve smelled them an’ tried to follow. I let ‘im go Sir and after a while I saw a light. Only a quick flash it were but I left the ‘orse and went on foot and found one of them rough buildings that pass for ‘ouses. There was voices inside and some ‘orses tied in a sort of lean-to Sir.”

  “Good, anything else?”

  “Yessir, I think there are more men there than the two we was following, and there’s another two smaller ‘ouses not far away with people inside. I didn’t go too close Sir, thought I should report what I found.”

  “You’ve done well Jackson; I don’t know how you can see anything it’s so dark. Gentlemen, we must decide what we must do next.”

  “Well, if they are inside the buildings Sir, we have them trapped,” said Captain St James, “We can surround the huts and order them out one at a time.”

  “And if they won’t surrender?” asked Grahame.

  “Burn them out Sir. The roofs are thatched I presume, Jackson?”

  “They are Sir, an’ the doorway’s only narrow, so they can’t rush us Sir.”

  Merriman was tugging at his ear as he listened. “Jackson, did you see anyone posted as a guard, or any dogs.”

  “No Sir, but I didn’t go right round the huts.”

  “Right then. There are three huts and only ten of us, so I think we should proceed with caution as we do not know how many we face. How are the huts placed with regard to each other, can we see all three doorways at once?”

  “Two of ‘em Sir, the other, the one with the ‘orses by it, is apart from the others and faces the other way.”

  “Very well, this is what I propose Gentlemen. We must assume that Moreau and the Irishman who escaped with him are in the hut with the horses outside. They would not want to be too far from them in case they needed them in a hurry. That is the one we must concentrate on. The other huts may contain rebels or they may not. I consider it more likely that there are just ordinary country people inside who will offer no opposition. Nevertheless we cannot ignore them.”

  “Jackson will lead us to a point where we can leave the horses. Then we must investigate further to see if there are any guards posted that he did not see. Jackson, you go round behind the two smaller huts and I will look round the bigger one.”

  “Can I go with you Sir?” asked Dorrington, “I can move quietly.”

  “Very well Mr Dorrington.”

  “Me too Sir, what about me Sir?” asked Owen, “I must stay with you.”

  “Not this time Owen, You are too big to move quietly, you must stay with the others until we get back. Then we can devise a plan to capture the men we want. Right Jackson, Mr Dorrington, are you ready? Good, then let us proceed, quietly, on your lives.”

  The two men and the youth disappeared into the darkness, leaving Owen cursing softly to himself. In all the years since being made his captain’s bos’n he had always been close to him to guard his back. Owen looked round at the others, as far as he could see in the darkness, nobody was looking in his direction. He slipped quietly away in the direction taken by Merriman.

  Moreau, still in hiding in the stable, saw two shadowy figures move cautiously round the side of the house. All of a sudden the smaller of the two stuck a violent blow to the back of the head of the leading figure who collapsed. Before Moreau could move, a third, larger figure lunged from the darkness and charged at the smaller man who raised a pistol and shot him. Dorrington, for it was he who had struck Merriman on the head, stood dazed for a few moments, looking down at Owen’s body, long enough for Moreau to slip behind him and fell him with a blow to the back of the neck.

  The shot had woken the men in the hut who came piling out of the doorway with weapons raised. Moreau quickly told what had happened and ordered a lantern to be brought. He immediately recognised the unconscious bodies of Merriman and Dorrington. Seeing the hated uniforms some of the Irishmen wanted to kill the prisoners at once. Moreau argued against doing so and managed to save Merriman coming to further harm but he could not stop them kicking and beating Dorrington rather badly. Finally he prevailed upon them to tie the prisoners up. Owen was left for dead.

  “M’sieur O’Rourke, we must leave here at once, the rest of our pursuers cannot be far away. We will take these two with us, they may be bargaining counters to buy our freedom at a later time.”

  The Irishman grinned evilly, “We can kill them later then, painfully I hope.”

  The two unconscious bodies were thrown over the backs of the two donkeys and with Moreau and O’Rourke riding the horses and the remaining Irishmen trotting behind, the party disappeared into the darkness.

  Jackson moved down to the house carefully. He had not seen Dorrington shoot Owen, but he had managed to work his way close enough to recognise Owen’s body in the light of the lantern and he watched helplessly as the prisoners were taken away. Feeling his way, Jackson found Owen lying where he had been shot. He was relieved to find that the man was still breathing but his questing fingers soon discovered that Owen was bleeding from a head wound and did not respond to a vigorous shaking.

  Jackson squatted beside Owen, trying to gather his thoughts together. Obviously things had gone wrong. Should he go and fetch help for the badly wounded man or should he follow the Captain and see where he was taken? Maybe he could then go back to report to Mr Grahame or Mr St. James. Making the decision, sadly he patted Owen on the shoulder and left him, not expecting to see him alive again.

  Moreau and his party could only move slowly in the darkness and it was not long before Jackson, who had eyes like a cat, caught up with them and staying well back he followed them for no more than a mile before they arrived at a farmhouse. Creeping closer he was able to see a little of the interior through a dirty window and he saw Merriman and Dorrington carried into a side room, and the door locked. It seemed evident that Moreau and the others were settling down for the rest of the night so he withdrew slowly and then set off at a run to find his comrades.

  Chapter 16: Merriman’s party attack

  Consciousness was black, a blackness that bore down on Merriman like a smothering blanket. It was so black that his eyes ached with the strain of trying to see and his head throbbed with pain. There was no sound. He discovered that he couldn’t move, he was tied hand and foot and half frozen. As his confused mind struggled to comprehend his situation, his over-riding emotion was fear that he was blind. He rolled his head to one side and immediately a
ray of light struck his left eye like a needle. Tentatively opening his eyes again he realised that the blinding light was in reality a glimmer through a keyhole. He stared at it with the desperation of a drowning man clutching at a floating plank of wood. It indicated a place of warmth, of people, of ------? Something passed in front of the light. His brain instantly analysed that it was between himself and the keyhole, but there was no sound. Oh God! What was in there with him?

  In spite of the cold, Merriman found himself sweating freely but he couldn’t move a finger to help himself. Something touched his shoulder and he almost screamed aloud. His fears were instantly forgotten as a voice whispered “Captain, Sir, are you awake.” Jackson, it was Jackson, thank God. He felt the cold steel of a knife against his wrists as Jackson cut the rope and then cut the rope round his ankles but he had been tied so tightly that his limbs refused to answer the commands his brain sent out.

  “Jackson, where are we? Where are the others? How did you find me?”

  “Sir, please be quiet, we’re in a small room in a farmhouse, and that Frenchman and ‘is men are asleep on the other side of that door” whispered Jackson, “I got in through the roof Sir, it’s only rotten thatch. I saw them bring you in here.”

  “What happened to Mr Dorrington, he was with me?” asked Merriman as he tried to rub some life into his hands.

  “He’s here Sir, but he’s still unconscious. He’s been badly beaten and they shot Owen Sir. He was still alive when I found him but I don’t know if he’ll live. I had to leave him, I thought it my duty to follow you and then report back to Mr St James.”

  Merriman’s mind was working feverishly to absorb what Jackson was saying, but he knew that unless they could escape there would be no mercy shown to any of them if Jackson was found to have cut them free.

  “Have you reported to Mr St. James and where are they?” whispered Merriman.

  “Mr St. James and the others are outside waiting for me to signal that I’ve found you Sir.”

  “Good, is there a plan?”

  “Yessir, Mr St. James asked me and Brown to move their ‘orses from the stable to stop them escaping and we managed to do that without the alarm being raised. We knew that if we attacked they’d probably kill you before we could reach you, so Mr St. James suggested that I should try to get in here and release you first. We didn’t know if you or Mr Dorrington would be able to help so I’ve got four loaded pistols ‘ere Sir, all wrapped up in Mr Grahame’s coat and I’ve got my cutlass, so if they tried to come in after you when we attack I could hold ‘em off.”

  “You’ve been busy Jackson by God, well done. However, I don’t think I am in a fit state to climb out of here without making a noise and anyway we cannot leave Mr Dorrington behind.”

  “No Sir. Can you hold these two pistols Sir? If you are ready I’ll signal that they can start the attack.”

  “Right then, I’m up to firing a pistol if I can see a target, so let’s get on with it.”

  The seaman tied a piece of white rag to the end of a stick and thrust it up through the hole he had made to gain entry through the thatch. “Part of Mr St.James’ shirt Sir, it’s dark out there but they’ll see this alright,” he whispered.

  The two men stood side by side, waiting with their pistols cocked for whatever might happen next.

  There was silence for a few moments and then there came a thunderous knocking on the door of the house and a voice shouting “Open up in the name of the King. Come out without weapons and surrender at once or we shall put a torch to the roof.”

  It seemed that all hell broke loose as Moreau and the rest were so rudely awoken, men shouting at each other, picking up their weapons and looking wildly round for an escape route. One of the Irishmen pulled the rough leather covering off one of the windows and tried to climb out but a musket shot rang out and he fell back choking on the blood filling his throat. A final struggle and he was dead. As his friends looked on in horror, Moreau was the first to act.

  “O’Rourke, have the prisoners dragged in here, we can bargain our way out with them.”

  The door to Merriman’s prison slammed open and two men burst in. Two pistols exploded as one and both men were thrown back by the impact of the shot and were dead before slumping to the floor.

  Merriman and Jackson, with their second pistols ready peered cautiously round the doorframe. There were only two men left standing, Moreau and O’Rourke.

  “It’s over M’sieur, your men are dead and the house is surrounded. Surrender before there is any more killing” shouted Merriman. “We have your horses so there is no escape.”

  “I cannot do that Captain,” Moreau smiled sadly, “My life is forfeit anyway.”

  He turned to O’Rourke, “What do you say M’sieur O’Rourke?”

  “Surrender, to the damned bloody English? Never, I’ll die first.” He ran to the front door, flung it open and dashed out. Almost immediately musket balls slammed into his body. A man of immense animal strength he staggered back inside, bleeding profusely from his wounds, drew himself up and shouted “God save all Ireland,” before crashing to the floor - dead.

  “Mr St James,” bellowed Merriman, every syllable causing his head to throb painfully. “Don’t shoot, There’s only Moreau left now, you can come in.”

  The red coat of the marine officer appeared in the doorway. St James’ first thought was for his captain, “Are you alright Sir?”

  “Apart from a bad headache I am well enough Mr St. James. As you see, we have M’sieur Moreau here.”

  Moreau had retreated to a corner, the long sword held before him glittering in the lantern light. “You’ll have to take me, if you think you can.”

  Sword in hand St.James moved further into the building, his two marines with fixed bayonets following him. Then Mr White appeared behind him with Mr Grahame peering over his shoulder.

  “I believe I can manage that” said the marine, advancing on Moreau. “I’ve learned a bit since we last crossed swords.”

  There was a brief and rapid clash of blades and Moreau clutched his arm and stepped back.

  “My compliments M’sieur, you have improved since our last meeting.” He remembered his thoughts earlier that night. He was caught and there was no other course open to him unless he was prepared to die there and then. He looked across at Merriman. Captain Merriman, will you accept my parole if I surrender to you?”

  “Indeed I shall be happy to Sir.”

  Moreau bowed and handed his sword, hilt first, to Merriman.

  “I look to you Sir, as an officer, to safeguard my interests as a prisoner of war. I have much information which may be of use to you but please understand that I will do nothing against my country, only those who presently govern it.”

  Merriman accepted the weapon. “It’s a fine sword Sir, should we be fortunate enough to survive this war I shall return it to you.”

  “Thank you Captain, it was my father’s and I should not like to lose it.”

  “Captain Merriman, I must protest.” The angry voice was Mr Grahame’s. “This man is a spy and is involved with these damned Irish rebels. He is a prisoner and deserves to face a noose.”

  “I am aware of that Sir, but he has surrendered to me and given his parole, which I have accepted. That makes him my responsibility. In all honour I cannot surrender him to you.”

  “Damn it Captain, you know what he’s done, he was involved in that devilish plot to seize the Viceroy of Ireland four years ago not to mention other things we know little of. I insist, I must be allowed to question him.” The normally calm and unflappable Grahame was beside himself with rage.

  “I don’t know what Lord Stevenage will have to say about this when I report this to him. He won’t be pleased I can tell you. You’ll find yourself without a command I expect. This man is an enemy of our country Mr Merriman and you are allying yourself with him.”

  “Sir, Lord Stevenage is a gentleman as I know you are. When you have time to think about this and discuss it
in a calm and reasonable manner I am sure that you will see that I have taken the best course. This man would have fought to the death if I had not accepted his parole, A live Moreau is of more use to us than a corpse and a corpse he most certainly would be. Am I not right M’sieur?”

  “Yes Captain, you are, I would have fought,” replied Moreau sadly.

  Merriman staggered over to a rough chair and sat down and gingerly felt the back of his head. There was a matt of congealed blood and hair and as he touched it he tried to remember what had happened before he received the blow to his head. Dorrington had been following him behind the farmhouse, surely Dorrington hadn’t hit him? No, he wouldn’t dare, it couldn’t be. No, Dorrington himself had been struck down. They must have been seen approaching the farmhouse and an ambush prepared.

  Whilst Merriman was thus busy with his thoughts, activity continued round him. The dead bodies were moved outside and in a corner Grahame was in earnest conversation with Moreau. One of the marines with fixed bayonet stood guard over the prisoner.

  Jackson re-appeared with a wet rag which with Merriman’s permission he gently wiped some of the blood off his head and neck.

  “Ah-h-h, that’s better, Thank you.”

  “Sir, if you’ll allow I’ve got the piece of Mr St. James shirt I used for the signal, it’ll make a bandage Sir.”

  “Very good, carry on Jackson. Mr St James, where are you?”

  The marine officer presented himself. “Here Sir, I was just checking our situation. Apart from yourself and Mr Dorrington, none of our party has been hurt. We have two horses apart from our own, I mean Mr White’s horses Sir, which one of the men has gone to collect, and we’ve found a rough cart or tumbrel that we can carry Mr Dorrington and yourself in.”

  Merriman noticed that Moreau winced at mention of the word tumbrel, “A word with unhappy memories for you perhaps M’sieur?”

  “Yes, all my family went to the guillotine in those accursed carts, I cannot forget that.”

  “Nonsense man, I’m able to ride,” Merriman replied to the marine, “but we must see if Owen is still alive and pick him up and take him to the doctor. I see that dawn is near so we should start as soon as all is ready. What about the people in the other houses?”