The Mauritius Command

by Patrick O'Brian

  'Boadicea signalling: Permission to anchor, sir,' said a voice in his ear.

  'Affirmative,' said Jack, and he turned to the waiting carpenter.

  'Five foot of water in the well, sir,' reported Mr Gill, land we sprung a butt end, with them old guns.'

  'Mr Woods, haul your wind,' said Jack, never moving his eye from the Boadicea. 'Ship the pumps.' He saw her small bower splash down, followed by her streamanchor: there she lay, her sails clewed up, right athwart the Caroline, within pistol-shot of the shore. And now her crew's long training showed itself: in a furious eruption of fire and smoke she played with both broadsides on the frigate, the Indiamen, and the remaining battery. The Sirius, the Otter, and from some distance, the Néréide supported her: the Raisonable, lying to, said nothing apart from a few symbolic shots from her stern-chaser. But Jack's spirit was entirely aboard the Boadicea, in the true heart of the battle, approving her every stroke; and when, in less than half a glass, the Caroline's colours came down, followed by those of all the other ships and of the last battery, his heart leapt as though she had struck to him. They came down, and a universal cheer went up from the entire squadron, echoed by a roaring from the land.

  'My barge, Mr Warburton,' said Jack to the first lieutenant. 'And my compliments to Dr Maturin: we are going ashore.'

  The town had suffered very little, and the square in which they met Colonel Keating, with a group of officers and civilians, might have been living in deep peace—windows open, stalls of bright fruit and vegetables displayed, the fountain played—but for the dead silence, all the heavier for the recent warlike thunder, and the total absence of inhabitants. 'Give you joy, Colonel,' said Jack in an unnaturally loud voice as they shook hands. 'You have done wonders, sir: I believe the place is ours.'

  'For the moment we may say so, sir,' said Keating with a beaming smile, 'but they are rallying on the hills above, and Desbrusleys' column from Saint-Denis is likely to be here by nightfall. We must go to work at the double.' He laughed very cheerfully, and catching sight of Stephen he said, 'There you are, Doctor: a glorious good morning to you, sir. You politicoes will be pleased with us—we have behaved like lambs, sir, like Sunday-going lambs—not a maiden has been put to the blush, so far, and my men are all well in hand.'

  'Might I beg for an officer and a few soldiers, Colonel?' said Stephen. 'I must find the mayor and the chief of police.'

  'Certainly you may, sir. Captain Wilson will be delighted to accompany you. But please to remember, that we are likely to be bundled out in less than twelve hours' time; a couple of regiments, with their artillery playing on us from the heights, would make the place untenable.' He laughed again, and from some odd contagion the whole group laughed too: cautious faces peered at the mirth from behind window-curtains; a number of small black boys crept closer under the market stalls. 'Oh, Commodore,' he went on, 'where are my wits? Here are the captains of the Indiamen.'

  'I am happy to see you, gentlemen,' said Jack, 'and beg you will go aboard your ships at once. We knocked them about a little, I fear, but I trust they will be ready for sea before . . .' His words were cut off by an earth-shaking explosion, the upward flight of dark lumps of masonry, their corresponding downward crash, as the Lambousière battery disintegrated.

  'That will be your friend Lord Clonfert,' remarked the Colonel, chuckling. 'A very active officer. Now, Commodore, shall we attend to the public property?'

  They attended to it, and to a great deal besides. Theirs was an enormously busy day, for not only had the more dangerous fortifications to be destroyed, a large number of English prisoners to be released, still more French prisoners to be secured, the wounded seamen from the Caroline—half the crew, headed by their captain—to be carried to the hospital, and committees of anxious citizens, clergy and merchants to be reassured, but the wind had fulfilled its earlier threat. It now lay somewhat to the west of south, and the surf was increasing every hour. The Caroline, the Indiamen, the Grappler brig, and several other vessels having cut their cables at the last moment, had to be heaved off; the Raisonable was obliged to be laid in a mud berth at the ebb for the angry Mr Gill to come at her sprung butt-end; while every officer, every bosun and carpenter that could possibly be spared from a thousand other urgent tasks was furiously busy in the French naval yard, an undreamed-of Tom Tiddler's ground strewn with cordage, sailcloth, and spars of every dimension. Stephen had an equally strenuous time with the mayor, the vicar-general, and the chief of police; while at the same time he made a large number of private contacts. His was a less physically active day than most, but at sunset, when the senior officers gathered at Keating's headquarters, a carefully-chosen cabaret by the port, and sat there refreshing themselves with white wine and an admirable local fish, he was as tired as any of them. The weariness was apparent in their drawn faces, the frequent yawns, the relaxed posture, but not in their expressions, and their spirits: they were still a band of grigs. Colonel Keating was as merry as ever when he passed Jack his little spy-glass and pointed out the French soldiers gathering on the heights above the town. 'They tell me the main column is to be led by General Desbrusleys himself,' he said, speaking loud to be heard above the surf. 'Yet I wonder a man of such spirit has not placed his artillery before this; there are some capital places up there, you know, for a plunging cross-fire. But no doubt he means to come by another route.'

  A frantic Company's supercargo darted by, in search of hands to reload his precious silk. He plunged through the gathering maidens lining the port and vanished with a low, frustrated howl. The maidens resumed their vigil, clasping one another and giggling: none had yet been caused to blush, even by this late hour; but hope was not altogether dead, though the last boats were putting off.

  'Make the good woman understand we mean to pay, would you, Stephen? She does not seem to understand French very well,' said Jack privately; and aloud, 'I do not wish to hurry you, gentlemen, but I believe it would be as well to go aboard. Weather permitting, we shall come ashore tomorrow and finish our task. The hands will be rested, and'—nodding at Stephen—'in daylight they will be out of temptation.'

  The weather did not permit. The wind settled into the west, blowing right on the land, and although the squadron, together with its captures and recaptures, rode easily far beyond the breakers, with a fine holding-ground and two cables veered out on end, and although the swell did not prevent a numerous gathering for breakfast in the Raisonable, it seemed evident that the thunderous surf, a quarter of a mile deep along the shore as far as eye could reach, must prevent any communication with the town. It was an uncommonly cheerful breakfast, with yesterday's action on shore fought over point by point, with kind words from the soldiers about the Navy's versatility, discipline and enterprise, and it was a breakfast that made surprising inroads on Jack's mutton hams from the Cape and his soft tack from St Paul's; yet there was not an officer aboard who did not know that they had left a great deal undone in the town, partly from want of time and partly from want of an authoritative list of government as opposed to private property: Stephen had obtained the list a little before dark, but until that time he had strongly insisted that nothing but the most obvious military stores and equipment should be touched. Then again, all the sailors and most of the soldiers knew that if the wind kept in the west the squadron would be in a most uncomfortable position. Desbrusleys would bring his artillery from Saint-Denis under the cover of darkness and lob mortar-shells on to them from behind the nearest hill while they lay like sitting ducks, unable to beat out to sea: for the moment, however, the French seemed disinclined to move. Their forces could be seen on the mountain-ridge above St Paul's; but there they stayed, and their immobility contributed not a little to the gaiety of the meal.

  It was not until well after dinner that a column was reported to be advancing over the causeway from Saint-Denis. A remarkably large column, too, with artillery. 'He will never get his guns across the marsh without fascines, however,' observed Colonel Keating, 'because we destroyed
the bridge; and it will take him the best part of the day to cut them. The most tedious, wearing task I know, getting guns across a marsh.'

  'The surf is growing less,' said Captain Corbett. 'In my opinion we shall be able to land tomorrow—look at the westward sky. Soon come, soon go: that's my experience.'

  'Earlier than that, I trust,' said Jack. 'I should never rest easy again, was we not to blow up at least the first three buildings in Dr Maturin's list.'

  'And from the political point of view,' said Stephen, 'I should rejoice to see the archives go up in flames: such an invaluable confusion.'

  'If I may speak, sir,' said Lord Clonfert, 'I believe it could be attempted now, or at least before the evening. I brought away a couple of surf-boats, and there are more alongside the Sirius, if I am not mistaken. My men are used to handling them, and I will undertake to put a party of Marines and seamen ashore.'

  'Perhaps in two or three hours,' said Jack, staring at the sea. How much was this Clonfert's desire to outdo Corbett? Even after yesterday's joint action their relationship was obviously still as bad as ever: even worse, maybe. Yet there was the importance of the objective; and these surf-boats, well managed, could do surprising things. But was Clonfert merely showing away? What kind of capers would be cut on shore? On the other hand, he had certainly done well yesterday . . . Jack felt that Clonfert's mental processes were foreign to him: there was something about the man that he could not make out, either at this point or after some hours of reflection, when he came to his pragmatic decision, gave the order, and stood on the Raisonable's poop, watching the surf-boats pull away. They were on the edge of the whiteness, waiting for the huge roller: it came, sweeping the sea, rose again black against the white water, and again they shot forward: again and again, and the last wave pitched them high on the beach.

  Now they were busy. A tower to the left of the town gave a great jerk, its parapet flying bodily into the air: smoke and dust surrounded it, the whole building settled into a low shapeless heap, and the vast boom reached the ship. A long pause, and then smoke appeared behind the administrative buildings. 'Those are my tax-gatherer's records,' said Stephen, beside him. 'If that does not render us beloved, the Bourbonnais are hard to please. General Desbrusleys seems sadly bogged down,' he added, shifting his glass to the far-distant stationary column in the marsh.

  They watched: they watched. At one time Jack remarked that the surf was certainly diminishing; and at another he said, 'You know, Stephen, I am growing almost used to being a spectator: yesterday I thought I should hang myself from mere misery . . . I suppose it is what you pay for command. Look at the smoke, over beyond the arsenal. What now, Mr Grant?'

  'I beg pardon, sir, but Mr Dale of the Streatham Indiaman is in a great taking. He says they are burning his silk—begs you to see him.'

  'Let him up, Mr Grant.'

  'Sir, sir,' cried Mr Dale. 'They are burning our silk! Pray sir, signal them to stop. Our silk—our chief cargo—half a million pounds' worth of silk—the French stored it in that warehouse. Oh, pray, sir, signal them to . . . oh Lord, Lord'—clasping his hands—'It is too late.' The smoke gave way to flame, to a great sheet of flame; and all the signals in the world would not put it out.

  'Pray, Clonfert,' said Jack, when the captain came to report, 'why did you burn the store behind the arsenal?'

  'Behind the arsenal, sir? I was assured it was government property. A most respectable man, a priest, assured me it was government property. Have I done wrong?'

  'I am sure you acted with the best intentions, but it seems that the Indiamen's silk was there, to the tune of half a million.' Clonfert's face fell, he looked utterly wretched, and suddenly quite old. 'Never mind it,' said Jack. 'I dare say they exaggerate; and anyhow we have saved them three millions, as they themselves acknowledge. You have done nobly, nobly—how I envied you on shore! It was no doubt a necessary stroke, for if we are drove off, pretty foolish we should look, leaving all that in enemy hands. But come, you are soaking wet: should not you like to shift your clothes? I have plenty in my sleeping-cabin.'

  It was no use. Clonfert retired, sad, cast down, his glory quite put out. Nor did he revive the next day, when, the sea almost calm again, the south-east wind re-established, and all the squadron's forces ready in the boats to oppose Desbrusleys, one of Stephen's new acquaintances put off from the shore with the news that the Saint-Denis column was retreating, and that Captain Saint-Michiel, the commandant of St Paul's, was willing to treat for a suspension of arms.

  The news was visibly true: the column could be seen withdrawing. All hands turned to their ships, and presently the commandant's emissaries appeared. General Desbrusleys, it seemed, had blown out his brains; but whether this was the outcome of the unhappy gentleman's military or marital reverses, or of the two combined, did not appear. At all events, for the moment the French army command was in a state of hopeless confusion, and Saint-Michiel made no difficulty about signing an agreement that gave the British squadron a long, peaceful week in St Paul's. Peaceful, but active: they were able to destroy or take away a hundred and twenty-one guns and an immense quantity of powder and shot, to blow up the remaining fortifications, to reduce the naval yard to a mere desolation with not so much as a paint-pot in it, and to do wonders for that fine frigate the Caroline: while the Commodore and the Colonel had time to write their despatches, a most arduous and delicate undertaking. When Jack's were finished at last, stripped of all humanity and copied fair in Mr Peter's hands, together with the very moderate casualty-list, an exact amount of the captured ships and vessels, a somewhat less exact account of the government stores and provisions taken, and many other documents, he came to his difficult decision.

  He sent for Corbett and Clonfert, receiving them in some state with his secretary beside him. To the first he said, 'Captain Corbett, since we already have a Caroline in the service, I have provisionally renamed her the Bourbonnaise; but there is nothing provisional in my offering you the command of her, and at the same time desiring you to proceed forthwith to the Cape with my despatches. I have no doubt the Admiral will send you straight home with them, so I will burden you, if I may, with my own personal letters. I have manned her with something near her complement, barring Marines of course, from the merchant-seamen released at St Paul's, so I must ask you to be very moderate in the article of followers. Here is your order, and this is my private packet.'

  Corbett's habitually angry face was ill-suited for the expression of pleasure, but even so it cracked and expanded with delight. The man who carried these despatches—the news of the neatest, completest little victory in his experience—would be much caressed at the Admiralty: would be certain of the next plum going.

  'I shall be moderation incarnate, sir,' he said. 'And may I say, sir, that nothing could increase my sense of this command more than the obliging manner in which it has been given?'

  To the second he said, 'Lord Clonfert, it gives me great pleasure to appoint you to the Néréide, vice Captain Corbett. Tomkinson, your first lieutenant, may have the Otter.' Clonfert too flushed bright at the news, the entirely unexpected news, of this decisive step in his career, the vital change from a sloop to a post-ship; he too made his acknowledgments, and more gracefully by far than Corbett; and for a while the full shining glory of the first day on La Réunion returned, indeed a greater glory. Yet it seemed to have some slight bitter aftertaste, for as he was taking his leave he said, with a smile not wholly of unmixed happiness, 'I never thought, sir, when we were lieutenants together, that it would be you that made me Post.'

  'He is an odd fish, Clonfert,' said Jack to Stephen, between two peaceful duets. 'You might almost think I had done him an injury, giving him his step.'

  'You did so advisedly, not from any sudden whim? It is the real expression of your sense of his deserts, and not an alms? He should in fact be made a post-captain?'

  'Why,' said Jack, 'it is rather a case of faute de mieux, as you would say. I should not like to have to rely upon him
at all times; but one of them had to go, and he is a better captain than Corbett. His men will follow him anywhere. Perhaps he may lay out popularity more than I think right, but whether or no, your foremast Jack dearly loves a lord; and I must take advantage of that just as I should take advantage of a tide or a shift in the wind; I shall let him take most of his Otters into the Néréide, and scatter the Néréide about the squadron. That was a damned unhealthy ship.' He shook his head, looking grave, and played a series of deep notes: they changed however, promising a happy development; but before he reached it his dry bow refused its duty, and he reached out for the rosin.

  'When you have done with my rosin, Jack—my rosin, I say—would you be prepared to reveal our immediate destination?'

  'It will please you, I believe. We must take Keating back to Rodriguez first, and you shall have a romp with your tortoises and your vampires; then, while the rest of the squadron is blockading Mauritius, down to the Cape to leave Eliot and the poor old Raisonable; then back in the Boadicea, which is taking the Indiamen south. Back to these waters, to see what can be done about the remaining frigates, unless you and Farquhar have further designs on La Réunion. I will not say I am sanguine, Stephen, because that might not be very clever; but I remember when you asked me how I should set the odds some weeks ago, I said three to five against us. Now I should say they are evens, or slightly in our favour.'