by Ron Pearse
"I'll do no such thing." shouted the indignant Mack at Hill who retorted, grimly: "If you don't I'll have you court-martialed. Better still, I shall order one of your men to take my place. Now give over, man. Do it!"
Mack never a deep thinker muttered under his breath and nodded to the corporal then shouted to a soldier, "Phipps! Tie your bandanna round the general's eyes." As Phipps did so Mack told Hill: "We don't want the tobacco to get in you eyes, general, who allowed himself to be blindfolded tetchily muttering: "Now get on with it."
The corporal spoke the three words as usual, the final 'fire' producing the familiar flash, smoke and thunder. Hill, ripping the bandana away, shouted:
"Look what you've done to my pipe, serjeant." He held a stem and Mack guffawed with the comment: "I'll have that as a souvenir. I'll tell my grandchildren how I shot the pipe from the mouth of the general."
The general spoke to the men: "You have just seen some good shooting. Every man of you can do the same. If not, you shall get the same deserts, I got. The best shot to fire the pipe at the worst. Serjeant, carry on!"
As he walked away he winked at Mack saying: "We need some targets for practise."
Hill walked over to a column of troopers marching up and down and watched them drilling for a while. The corporal in charge noticed the general and bringing his men to a halt marched smartly towards Hill and saluted. Behind him he heard a voice carrying over from the firing range and cheered up for the shout was: "Heaven be praised, it is a hit."
"Who are you?" demanded Hill of the soldier who yelled staccato:
"Corporal Smith of the Somerset Light Dragoons, sir."
The general envied him his smart uniform of long red tunic with gold buttons down the centre, two rectangular pockets each with gold buttons. A fur cap on his head and short leather boots completed the ensemble. He had watched the Dragoons earlier at their drill and took a fancy to their double-cock pistols. He smiled again as he heard 'hit' behind him coming from the musketeers firing range. The corporal thought the smile was for him and smiled too being taken aback by his curt 'carry on, corporal'.
The general walked towards the parade ground rostrum and reaching it he gestured to the unknown serjeant who occupied it. He could not believe his eyes. His expectation was a snotty ensign or if the men were lucky they might see a lieutenant. Yet here in front of him was a full general who clearly wanted to speak to him and was yet more astounded by his opening remark:
"I want to use your rostrum, if I may, serjeant." Clearly by his speech the general was no toff so he ventured a joke:
"My father called me an ant hill, general, but to you it's plain Hill."
The general grinned at the serjeant and retorted: "My ma thought I came from a dung hill. Since then I've sweetened up a bit. The name’s Hill. Give me your hand, serjeant."
Having done so, the general pulled the serjeant out of the rostrum with the words: "You can do that when you're a general, serjeant. I just want a word with the men."
"You'll need my voice, sir. If, you don't mind." And without more ado climbed back on cupping his hands and shouting to all corporals to stop the drill and gather the men around the rostrum. His words had carried over to the musketeers who also could be seen running towards them and when most of the men were within hearing distance, he shouted:
"Men!" He paused as the word was heard by his audience some still walking towards the gathering. He went on:
"When King Louis' spies brought him reports on the Battle of Blenheim, he commanded his new marshal - remember we captured t'other - that in future conflicts he must station three times as many men against the English."
The men cheered, clapped and he heard unprintable catcalls which brought a smile to his lips and then held up his both arms to continue:
"Our forefathers were the longbow men of Crecy and Agincourt and from my viewpoint, we are still breeding the finest fighting men of Europe. But as in days of yore, the longbow men practised at the butts to hone their art of making war and we must do the same. Tomorrow I have arranged that many of you will march to Mutley Plain just beyond the city outskirts for combat drill. Excepting Sundays we shall work up an appetite for you. What say you to Cornish Pasties and beer, and plenty of both."
Prolonged cheering greeted this announcement and the general felt emboldened to call for any questions and a hand shot up from the crowd and Hill noticed the two long stripes sewn onto the uniform of a pikeman and he acknowledged him by shouting: "Corporal!"
"Where be this expedition headed, general?"
"A pikeman, eh." called Hill playing for time as he was not willing to disclose their destination and half appealed to his mates: "Wherever it be, corp., you'll be facing Frenchies. Your pike will do the rest."
To the general's relief a voice yelled:
"Knowing the corp. he never needed Frenchies on which to practise his pike." At this a loud guffaw of ribaldry went up as Hill echoed the theme:
"All our pikes will be feeling the heat. I can vouch for it."
More laughter and vulgar comments even as Hill held up his hands again and as the noise lessened, he shouted:
"Mind you, we have quite a way to go before we can march the pikes of Gog and Magog." He pointed to the ground and the men standing there upon the medieval monument moved away to reveal the two giants holding enormous clubs aloft. The corporal shouted:
"Are they pikes? They look more like clubs."
"Whatever they are, corp., they are bigger than yours." Once again a huge wave of laughter engulfed the crowd even from the back who could not see the white figures carved into the turf. Hill tried to speak again, shouting:
"I shall see you all down at the Barbican. We shall paint the town red, in more ways than one, before we sail on our way. Good luck, comrades!"
A tremendous cheer went up at this announcement and this time Hill did not bother to quell the hubbub but stepped down from the rostrum whereupon the cheers changed to three hurrahs for the general as he made his way over to Serjeant Mack, turning round with a wave to acknowledge the men's cheers. He was soon surrounded by musketeers each begging him to walk back to the range so they could demonstrate their marksmanship.
It seems the pep talk earlier on had reaped dividends. He watched the firing drill as soldier after soldier took his place at the firing mark, loaded and at the commands of 'ready', 'aim' and 'fire' achieved more hits than hitherto. He praised their efforts and as a final incentive asked Serjeant Mack to hand him one of the flintlocks which he demonstrated to the men. The flint arrangement was a definite improvement over the match as the flint striking the fixed piece of iron pyrites producing a spark was more reliable.
The general held up the flintlock for all to see, explaining there were two, one of which was Serjeant Mack's but the second, belonging to him, he was offering as a prize to the best marksman.
"Spread the news around lads. We shall hold a marksmanship competition at the end of training, and" He held the musket up again, "the new owner of this weapon shall be the best marksman."
With that he promised to see them all at the Fisherman tavern on the Barbican later that evening and walking back to his gig felt the perspiration make his clothes stick to him but he felt good and when he spotted the boy patiently holding the reins of his nag, he felt in his pocket for a half-sovereign.
Chapter 22
While secret preparations went on in Plymouth for a combined naval and military expedition to attack and capture Quebec, two men secretly boarded a fast yacht from the jetty at Walmer Castle, near Deal, in Kent, their destination, Calais. Near the port, the Marquis de Torcy's special agent, Nicolas Mesnager was waiting for them and his arrangements to allow the English yacht to enter and negotiate French territorial waters were decidedly more organised than like arrangements on the English side, perhaps because the stakes were higher for the French but probably because, France being an absolute monarchy, could determine its chain of command much more easily than parliamentary England. As t
he skipper of this yacht, the Sprite, sighted the castle, Fort Mahon, recently constructed by Vauban, Louis XIVths renowned military engineer, he checked the time and instructed his mate to make the signals and being convinced that the answering signals were in order, he ordered his mate, Robert. to adjust the sails preparatory to following a course parallel to the coast gradually reducing his distance to the shore by sightings with his telescope to verify his position and having ascertained the precise location of the rendezvous, he again ordered Robert to heave-to while he drew in the dinghy.
Robert boarded first and keeping the hull of the yacht and gunwale of the dinghy as close as possible in the calm sea while the skipper undid the painter, the young seaman helped Mathew Prior into the boat which was relatively straight-forward unlike the efforts to get the more portly Abbe Gaultier safely aboard without undue rocking. Their two valises followed. Having managed to get both passengers safely aboard and seated, Robert manhandled the two oars into the rowlocks and shouted 'cast away' to his skipper who threw the painter into the bow of the dinghy, and with the help of Prior who pushed the hull, they were swirling into the current whereupon Robert by dint of a few energetic sculls pushed the bow towards the shore less than a hundred yards distant.
To the east he glimpsed the walls of Fort Mahon overlooking the Pas de Calais and he thought he might have seen figures black against the sky watching them perhaps with telescopes but soon enough the castle was out of sight as he rowed towards the beach of Wissant eventually grounding on the shingle whereupon he promptly shipped his oars and jumped out into the shallow water. Mathew Prior leapt out too on the other side splashing in slightly deeper water and together they manhandled the boat onto the sand.
Prior did not mind getting his shoes wet, or his feet, for that matter as he was impatient to make the rendezvous with Mesnager, besides he was a fit 46 who wanted for exercise and who relished the opportunity for action. In his spare time regular bouts of fencing kept him fit which he deemed essential to offset the many hours of the often time-consuming and occasionally tedious business of studying diplomatic papers couched in arcane but official language. He helped the stout Abbe from the boat trying to prevent him stepping other than onto dry sand which was successful and wishing Robert a hearty farewell and a final wave to the skipper far off, Prior trudged up the beach towards the dunes.
Frequent feet had made a sort of pathway through the dunes and they had scarcely gone far when they sighted a figure coming towards them who greeted them both in French and the password thereby confirming Prior's realisation that this gentleman was Monsieur Nicolas Mesnager, though the Abbe greeted him like a long lost friend so the password was perhaps superfluous on this occasion. It took but a few minutes to reach Mesnager's waiting carriage which looked luxurious compared to the starkly simple coachwork he was accustomed to in England. Their vernacular was French as although both Frenchmen spoke his language fluently, it was agreed that again for security reasons, the lingua franca of the country would be used.
He saw nobody else on the beach or the dunes so was surprised when Mesnager addressed somebody in a friendly tone and was further surprised it was the coachman whom Mesnager introduced to him. The coachman and Mesnager carried on in badinage which Prior was unaccustomed to in England. The coachman let down a flap at the rear which he covered with a white cloth and, where Prior thought his and the Abbe's luggage was stored, the coachman heaved out a hamper and proceeded to lay out its contents upon the makeshift table, to-wit the flap. Prior's appetite grew as he watched and smelt bread, cheese and stoneware jars of butter being laid out. Cutlery, plates and even glasses quickly followed.
The pieces de resistance were bottles of wine which Mesnager himself decanted and with a smile handed round to each and they all drank to the success of their enterprise. After this Mesnager broke off a hunk of bread, placed it on a plate, scooped out butter from a pot onto a plate, cut a portion of cheese handing it all to Prior with the salutation: "Bon appetit!"
As Prior tucked in Mesnager kept up a stream of talk explaining:
"It was my omission, monsieur, on the previous occasion, but we learn from mistakes." Prior could only smile with a full mouth at this confession recalling his predecessor, Edward Villiers, the earl of Jersey, who might well have given Mesnager a hard time removed from his creature comforts. Yet he had much to be thankful for in this excellent repast and deep into these thoughts Mesnager went on to relate how on the last progress, unfamiliar to Mesnager, they had gone many miles before the coachman thought to stop for the benefit of his own hunger.
Mesnager positively bubbled: "My dear chap, I really got to know Artois and Picardy on that journey but then we arrived at this very nice inn." He stopped to slice another wedge from the loaf of bread, scooped out butter and proceeded to enjoy the result. The coachman meanwhile recharged their glasses with wine and Mesnager after a sip turned his attention to the Abbe, crying out:
"You are not eating, mon ami. Have you no appetite?" The priest looked sternly at Mesnager before pronouncing his gloom about the whole political situation and his own position in it and seemed to chide Mesnager for his freedom while he, Gaultier, was here on sufferance, the sufferance of his English masters to whom he had given his word that, come what may, he would return to England. After all he was still a prisoner and found himself in this position on account of Marshal Tallard, who begged him to accompany him in his exile in England, having been taken prisoner at Blenheim.
To the coachman doing this and that, he cried cheerily: "Asseyez, monsieur, et mangez. Il y a suffisant pour tous." Maurice the coachman expressed his gratitude answering Mesnager's praise of the cheese that it was imported from neighbouring Normandy, adding that although the people were barbarians they did make a good cheese, their so-called Camembert.
After each pronounced he had had enough, Maurice was left to clear away the 'repas en campagn' or picnic, in English while Gaultier busied himself removing the nosebags of the horses, then taking a bucket to fetch water from a nearby stream at which Mesnager commented to Prior:
"The Abbe is a wonderful man and as a monk, of course, he is accustomed to all this. There is not a thing he cannnot do. Failing Maurice, he could drive us. He can milk cows, plough the fields, sickle the harvest."
"And drink the beer!" called the priest with a chuckle overhearing Mesnager's somewhat sycophantic praise of him which silenced Mesnager though it was clear the banker turned envoy held the older man in awe.
Prior felt somewhat useless himself as he watched Maurice pack the things back into the hampers replacing them in the luggage compartment before raising the flap securing it and climbing up into his seat at the front to await Mesnager's instructions.
Having satisfied himself nothing betrayed their presence, Mesnager even sought to obliterate their footprints apart from those leading from the dunes and taking a last look round, entered the coach to join Gaultier and Prior. He called to Maurice and the carriage began to move. It proceeded parallel to the beach for some considerable distance before turning inland and not meeting another soul or other vehicle. The location was certainly well chosen and it said much for the person who had selected it for clandestine meetings with enemy agents. Evidently it seemed to Prior the French secret service knew their business.
The full repast with its share of excellent red wine brought a drowsiness to Prior that the gentle shaking of the carriage on the even coastal roads hastened and he was soon fast asleep as was the Abbe while Mesnager though had no difficulty in keeping his eyes open as such meals were common in his former position. He felt thrilled to be in charge of the project and busied himself with future plans.
Meanwhile Maurice the coachman blessed his foresight in ramming a felt hat on to his head before the journey. Perched as he was atop the carriage, he was exposed to the direct rays of the sun and blessed the occasional manifestation of clouds bringing him relief. Occasionally their road carried them through bocage, clumps of trees or infrequently avenue
s of Lombard poplars planted as windbreaks. Maurice peered ahead as, with a four horse team, he needed plenty of time to slow down before taking divergent roads. Under his breath he thanked the military engineers such as Vauban who not only concerned themselves with castles such as Mahon, Aire and Bethune but also the roads leading to them so the forts could be more easily provisioned.
Yet, they had neglected to build bridges leaving it to local farmers. His route was thought out to avoid rivers like, for instance, the Lys, whose source was the low foothills to the south east. Unknown to him beyond the Lys was the field of Agincourt where the longbowmen of England and Wales inflicted the sort of mayhem on the French knights which Marlborough's trained musketeers were inflicting on French Cuirassiers. There had been a widespread feeling that Louis and his marshals were restoring pride in La France until 'Le Malbrouk" appeared on the scene and in scarcely half a decade by his victories had all but destroyed French confidence in themselves.
It was fortunate for France that Le Malbrouk's masters in England were also concerned about his success so much so that they wished to bring his campaigns to an end. A tool towards this end was sitting in Maurice's carriage below and from that fact Maurice began to conceive the idea that this man's capacity, so highly prized by his countrymen, might be profitable to Maurice. He began to think of ways and means to bring about the happy outcome that would benefit himself and his family.
Meanwhile inside Maurice's carriage, Prior briefly opened his eyes to judge the elevation of the sun and estimate the time of day though it proved difficult as it disappeared behind scudding clouds. He wondered about his watch and whether he wanted to move from his comfortable position to get at it when the seemingly watchful Mesnager spotting a raised eyelid commented as if pleased to have someone with whom to chat:
"It is two hours after midday, monsieur." At which remark Prior shifted his pupils towards the speaker still not wanting to alter his position enjoying his drowsiness. Outside the countryside raced by recalling English downland and Prior vaguely recalled his Cambridge countryside idly speculating something about his geography concerning a gigantic sheet of ice that stretched from the Humber to the Seine before the great thaw and inundation which drowned the lowlying valley creating the English Channel. He wanted to be amenable to Mesnager and said:
