by Dudley Pope
'I can see you are wondering why this man Louis should be hunting another man, a former priest and teacher of rhetoric, with a knife, with the intention of murdering him. Don't protest, m'sieur' Louis said grimly, 'it is a reasonable question for a man whose country is not torn by revolution, who has never seen pork butchers set down their knives and become ministers of state overnight and use the guillotine to butcher their fellow men, and bakers and grocers made judges who listen only to the charges against the man, never the evidence for his defence, before sending him to death.
'You will leam what happens when I tell you of Le Bon. After the Revolution this man left the Church and entered politics, becoming the Mayor of Arras. He showed judgment; he was even moderate. Then, since he had also been given responsibility for the whole Department of the Pas de Calais, he was told to destroy any anti-revolutionary movement in Calais and the neighbouring towns.
'Again, he was moderate, even indulgent - so much so that one of his enemies denounced him to the Committee of Public Safety as a protector of aristocrats and a persecutor of patriots. He was recalled to Paris, escaped being put on trial for his life only because Citizen Robespierre liked him and accepted his promise to redeem himself.
'Redeem himself! He was sent back to Calais - a badly frightened man, with unlimited powers to crush the anti-revolutionaries. The problem was that Le Bon could not find any, so in fear of his own life he simply accused scores and scores of innocent people and sent them to the guillotine. Within weeks hundreds met their death in Calais alone. He then went to other towns - Abbeville, Amiens, Arras, Boulogne ...
'Two young ladies in Abbeville who taught the pianoforte, for example, were playing Ça Ira on the day a defeat by the Austrians was announced. Le Bon heard them and accused them of having an evil disposition towards the Revolution. They said quite truthfully they had heard nothing of defeat, and in any case Ça Ira was a patriotic tune. Le Bon disagreed - playing Ça Ira in those circumstances, he said meant that they wished the Austrians to advance and capture other French fortresses. If they were true patriots, he told them at the tribunal, they should have played Le Rével du Peuple...
'So he condemned them to death, and at the scaffold next morning, while the young ladies were in the tumbril at the scaffold, he delayed the public execution for a quarter of an hour, until some women of the town, in all their finery, had arranged themselves comfortably on a balcony overlooking the guillotine. You find the story hard to believe, I see ...’
Ramage nodded and was about to add that that did not mean he thought it was untrue when Louis turned to look him straight in the eye, the strained look back on his face. ‘Those two young ladies were sisters, m'sieur. The elder was my wife who was staying in her mother's house while I was away at sea. Some might say it was punishment on me for being a smuggler,' he said bitterly. 'Anyway, when you get to Abbeville, ask about Joseph Le Bon, and they will tell you that story.'
'But you said he was executed -'
'I came back a few days after Le Bon had finished his bloody business and gone on to Paris. I followed him - was arrested almost immediately, because my passport was for travelling only from Boulogne to Abbeville and back. They knew who I was but the gendarmes at Breteuil, where I was imprisoned, were sympathetic because of my loss. They never guessed I was following Le Bon; they assumed I was going to Paris to protest to the authorities. So they kept me in prison for a year, and during that time the mayors of several towns had protested to the Ministry of Police at Le Bon’s wholesale murders. He was accused of public assassination and oppressing citizens of the Republic, found guilty of "an unlimited abuse of the guillotine" and sentenced to death. Yet he was a craven man; I think he was always frightened for his life, and when they sent him back to Calais the second time he became so obsessed that he saw enemies of the Republic all round him. People told me that when the time came to dress him in the red garment which is reserved for murderers as they make their last journey in the tumbril to the scaffold, Le Bon said, "It is not I who should wear this garment, but those whose orders I obeyed." Ironic,' he added, 'that Fouché, the present Minister of Police, is also a former priest: a sea captain's son who was an abbé and a professor at Nantes university ...
'I had a long time to think about the past while I was in prison. I despaired and grew fat - can you imagine that? I, who did not want to live, became ugly and gross; my teeth fell out, I began to grow bald . . . But in that time I came to understand what Le Bon meant. I would agree with him if he had said, "It is not I alone...'"'
Louis stood up and walked over to the window, glanced out into the darkness, and then sat down beside Ramage, who knew the movement was not curiosity about what was outside but rather closing a door on his past which he rarely dared to open.
'I have been thinking about your journey to Amiens. It will be dangerous. In Boulogne people accept you as foreign carpenters because there are many of them working in the shipyards. The road to Amiens from Boulogne is different. Four Frenchmen might be suspected of being deserters. Four foreigners - well, I can only guess at what protection the possession of passports and travel documents would give you against suspicion.'
'Is the danger because there are four of us, or the fact we are young and not in the Army?' Ramage asked.
‘The number. If you travelled in pairs it would be safer, but there is the language problem if you split up. You and the American, for instance; that would be all right because you can do the talking and if you met with difficulties would understand what was happening. But the Italian - his French is not sufficient, and if they found a translator to question him in Italian, I doubt if he could tell a convincing enough story of travelling up from Genoa.'
Louis was only echoing the doubts that had beset Ramage since he first heard the Corporal's proud boasts: he had too many men. He needed Stafford in Amiens, but he dare not leave Rossi and Jackson behind here at the Chapeau Rouge in Boulogne: if they were questioned they would give themselves away. Unless they hid on board the Marie, ready to sail to England with his reports! He was angry with himself for not -
'You need the man who is the picklock,' Louis said. 'If you could leave the other two behind, Dyson can hide them on board the Marie: they can be his crew if he has to go to the rendezvous. If you need a third man in case of trouble, I know the road well enough ..."
Ramage stared at the Frenchman. 'But the risk for you would be enormous! I can't -'
'No greater than the risk you are taking,' Louis interrupted, 'One can be guillotined only once. I -'
'Once is enough,' Ramage said sharply.
Louis shook his head. 'I am content to share the risks that you take. We agree that our interests are similar - the smugglers' and the British Admiralty's - and I've just told you of Ça Ira. So listen to an idea which I'm sure will work and which is based on just you, the man Stafford and myself going to Amiens. You are an Italian who owns a large shipyard in Genoa. At the request of the French authorities there you came to Boulogne with your foreman to make arrangements to bring up all your carpenters and shipwrights - a score of them - and their tools.
'Very well, you arrived in Boulogne, made your inspection, and decided you and your men can help build the barges and gunboats - even improve and speed up the methods being used. But you are not satisfied with the wages or conditions you have been offered, so you want to return to Paris - you came by that route - to visit the Ministry of Marine and negotiate better terms.
'Now, we have to account for my presence. I am -' Louis's mouth curved down in a wry smile, 'I am a representative of the Committee for Public Safety, making sure you do not get up to mischief! Of course you do not know I am your guardian; you think I am a representative of the Ministry of Marine. Yes, that story would go down well with the gendarmes; I wink at them confidentially and show my papers and whisper a few words about Italians so they think they are helping the Committee. Well, how do you like my little plot?'
'Well enough,' Ramage said slowly, 'e
xcept that it will not stand up to a moment's investigation in Boulogne or Paris. If the gendarmes checked with the shipyard -'
‘No arrangement we can make will stand such checking,' Louis said emphatically. The best we can do is to have such a good story that they accept it the moment we tell it, and accept our papers. There is no problem about papers, and our whole purpose is to have a story that is slightly unusual yet completely probable: something only just outside the limits of their experience, yet well within their comprehension. There is not a man between here and Paris who wouldn't understand and believe the story I am suggesting.'
'Supposing we met someone who knew you?' Ramage said doubtfully.
'What if we did! That is the advantage of choosing the Committee of Public Safety for me: they work secretly and use the most unlikely people - Joseph Le Bon was once a priest! And we have the papers' - he pointed to the packet he had put on the beds - 'with the correct heading and stamps.'
'You certainly have a variety of stationery.'
‘We need it. Although the French government does not harass us when we smuggle French goods to England - they are only too glad to get English currency - they do not approve of us smuggling English goods into France. They demand a heavy Customs duty. So we pay enough to keep people quiet, but for the rest we need documents so we can deliver our goods without difficulties. A mason with a cartload of stone, a charcoal burner with logs, a farmer selling a load of hay - they all need documents, and if they are going to another town they need passports so that the cases of whisky and bales of wool underneath will not be discovered. Liberty, Fraternity, Bureaucracy - they were the watchwords of the Revolution. The pen is mightier than the sword,' he said sarcastically.
He picked up the quill pen and tapped his teeth with it. 'Now, how does my plan sound to you?'
'It sounds excellent,' Ramage said, 'but you're taking an enormous risk!'
'If anything goes wrong,' Louis said cheerfully, 'we'll all ride in the same tumbril, and can cheer each other up.'
Ramage thought for a moment. 'We'll be away several days. The Marie from Folkestone will be going to the rendezvous each night ... I'd better send a report to England. I've found out how many vessels there are in Boulogne, and what eachtype can carry. It's little enough, but I'd better -'
'You'd better pass over every important scrap of information as you get it,' Louis interrupted grimly. 'It'll give Dyson and your two men something to do with the Marie. But be careful of giving too many details of our proposed journey, just in case...’
'I’ll just mention that I have to leave Boulogne for a few days. Look, I'll write it now, and you tell Dyson that Jackson and Rossi will be down to join him in the morning, and they are to sail for the rendezvous tomorrow night.'
Louis nodded. 'Who actually delivers the report in England?'
'Jackson. He can transfer to the Folkestone Marie, deliver it, sail in her the following night and be back here in Dyson's boat the next morning.'
'Very well,' Louis said, 'it was fortunate I brought a pen! Now, let's get these passports and other documents completed, then I'll leave you to write your report,'
CHAPTER TEN
The two-wheeled postchaise normally carried only two people, with plenty of room for their luggage. There were grubby but comfortable cushions should they wish to sleep, and many pockets in the faded green leather upholstery in which could be stowed flasks, warm clothing, books for those hardy enough to read, and the cautious traveller's pistol, still the most reliable insurance against highwaymen and footpads. Louis had slipped all their travel documents into one such pocket, explaining later that French people were so accustomed to having a lot of papers that they became blasé.
Although the carriage, a cabriolet, was open in the front so that the passengers had a good view of the road and countryside, it smelled stuffy, a mixture of mildew and boiled cabbage. Louis sat on one side and Ramage on the other, with Stafford in the middle, so that no matter which side an inquiring gendarme opened the door, Stafford would not be expected to speak. Having told the coachman all about the two Italian passengers - with suitable winks and hints - Louis ensured that he would be able to describe various things of interest along the road without arousing suspicion,
The number of shops and houses that had been damaged or destroyed in the town of Boulogne had not been obvious in Ramage's walk round the port area. He assumed at first that it was the result of bombardment by British ships; then he saw that much of the damage could not have been caused by gunfire from seaward because other buildings or hills were in the way.
As the carriage rattled along the narrow cobbled streets and out through the town gates, Louis explained that it had happened in the early days of the Revolution: houses and shops owned by people accused of being anti-Revolutionary or pro-British were looted and then destroyed. Both Boulogne and Calais had suffered for their age-old association with the British, Louis said in a low voice, careful that the coachman could not hear. Even the shouted accusation of a jealous rival was enough to start the mob burning a shop or warehouse. And churches, convents, charitable institutions - all were wrecked in the first few weeks of Revolutionary enthusiasm.
The sun was just coming up over the horizon to reveal a cloudless sky as the 'chaise reached the open countryside and passed the hamlet of Samur. Ramage felt uncomfortable in his new clothes, although they were a passably good fit. The white kerseymere breeches would have benefited by an hour's attention from a good tailor, but the boots fitted and the worsted cotton stockings were comfortable enough. The coat was tight under the armpits and the skirt was (by London standards) unfashionably long, but the light grey was just the colour an Italian man of affairs would choose for a visit to France. It seemed strange to be wearing a round hat after so many years with a three-cornered one, but they were popular in France, according to Louis.
The damage to property was not confined to Boulogne: in even the smallest village there was usually at least one shop or cottage destroyed; in the larger villages and towns the churches had suffered too, and those left standing often had a sign in front, painted in Revolutionary colours, saying ‘This is a Temple of Reason and Truth.' Louis pointed out the English convent at Montreuil which had been destroyed and was now just a heap of ruins, with bushes and shrubs growing where once nuns walked and worked and prayed. Most of the ruined houses nearby belonged to British families who had formed a flourishing little colony under the ancien régime.
Soon the journey established its own rhythm: at each barrière the coachman would call the amount of the toll and Louis would pass it out to the attendant; at each post Louis alighted to inspect the new horses, usually complaining (on principle, apparently) at the condition of at least one of them. Most of the people they passed along the road were poorly dressed. Few men were less than middle-aged and most much older, which was to be expected in a country where conscription was strictly enforced, but it had another effect for which Ramage was not prepared: in the few fields that were cultivated, women were doing most of the work.
He saw an old woman leading a pair of donkeys while another, her skirts hitched up to her knees, guided the plough; a mile down the road two young girls led a horse pulling a cart laden with cordwood. He had also seen several boys, fifteen or sixteen years old, begging quite openly, and Louis had explained that most such youths refused to learn a trade, knowing they would be conscripted the moment they reached eighteen, and were already dreaming of the martial glory that Bonaparte promised them.
The whole countryside showed one effect of the Royal Navy's strict blockade: almost every forest, wood and copse had been chopped down; even isolated trees in the hedgerows had been felled and one had fallen across a cottage, where it had been left. Ragged stumps, like rotten teeth, showed Bonaparte's hunger for timber to build his invasion barges and repair his ships, although it was significant that there was no sign of the arch-shaped two-wheeled timber carriers, no train of horses hauling trunks along the roads, no trees
newly felled and lopped and waiting for transport. Whatever timber was now being cut into planks at the sawyers' pits at Boulogne and Calais must have been carried a long distance - by sea from the Biscay ports or Spain? It was unlikely that many ships would get through from the Baltic, Ramage thought; the blockade was too effective. But hauling trunks a couple of hundred miles along roads such as these would take weeks.
Shortage of wood was not just a lack of planking; far more critical would be the lack of compass timber, the wood that grew in natural crooks and curves and which was vital for constructing frames and rounded bows and tapered sterns. He realized that that alone would account for the box-shaped barges; that alone meant that no master shipwright could build a bow or stern that would allow a vessel to get to windward: apart from the bow having to butt through the water, like a goat trying to get through a hedge, every wave would try to push it aside ...
Even though the 'chaise's wheels were large and reasonably well sprung they could do little to disguise the big potholes which jarred each man's spine; soon Ramage was just staring numbly at the countryside until, at Montreuil, they rattled over a bridge across a river which Louis said was the Canche. The name was vaguely familiar and Louis tried to provide clues. It flowed through Hesdin to its source somewhere near St Pol, he said. Hesdin? And then Ramage remembered: Agincourt was ten miles or so to the north-east and Crécy the same distance to the south-west. Crécy-en-Ponthieu, to give it the full name. Had the great forest nearby —which they would soon pass - fallen to the axe to supply the boatyards along the coast? Bonaparte would have no reason to be sentimental about Crécy, where the English longbow-men defeated the French cavalry in 1346 ...
