Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11)

by Andrew Wareham

  Frederick called for the charts, and a map, if such a thing existed aboard ship.

  Captain Fastun was able to sketch a rough outline of the coast and its immediate hinterland in place of such a map.

  “Can you tell me anything of the anchorage below the battery, Captain Fastun? One must presume that the battery is set to protect some sort of harbour.”

  The captain knew nothing of matters nautical.

  “We must make the attempt, sir. The potential gains are vast. How many guns do you propose we should land when once the battery is ours? Exactly how far is the battery distant from the shore, and from a wharf?”

  Again, these questions were far too technical for the captain.

  “Mr Vereker to join us, immediately Sir Iain. Captain Fastun – you must speak Spanish, I must imagine. Do you speak the local, vulgar tongue? Could you be taken for a fisherman?”

  He spoke only the purest Castilian, he feared.

  “Mr Vereker, you will chase the three gunboats, unsuccessfully, into the anchorage below the battery and you will then be driven off by its guns.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Rejoin the squadron with such information as you may have picked up, Mr Vereker. You will time the affair so that the gunboats drop anchor with the last of the light and they cannot be expected to report ashore until dawn.”

  That was not too difficult a task, Vereker suspected. He waited while the three midshipmen from the barca-longas were summoned to the presence.

  “You will be chased, gentlemen, and will seek the shelter of the battery. Once there, you will discover the depth of water and the presence, or otherwise, of harbour facilities. You will determine just which ships of the squadron will be able to land there. You will observe the garrison and the local population. You will discover just how many men can be put ashore and in what time. You will report upon the nature of the defences to the sea, the distance from the landing point to the battery and the difficulties to be surmounted in making the attack.”

  Three voices chorused their ‘aye-ayes’ and three faces attempted to look confident in their orders.

  “Confer with Captain Vereker, who will give you sailing orders.”

  They trotted off, smiling their delight at being given such a task; they would wait until they were out of sight and hearing to call him a bloody old tyrant who made impossible demands on his juniors. Frederick grinned, certain that they would discover all he needed to know.

  Captain Vereker reported that evening, a few minutes before lights-out.

  “It is not a mere battery as such, sir. It is more of a fortification with guns facing inland as well as out to sea. My masthead was certain there were four at least of batteries and suggested there were heavy long guns on the seaward face but twelve-pounders covering the inland approaches. Army guns, sir, recently added, is my opinion. I could not tell the size or nature of the garrison, but there were smokes that suggested cooking fires, sir, bearing in mind the time of day, and I would have said meals by the hundred rather than the score.”

  “No simple task, you would say, Captain Vereker?”

  “A sudden night assault, sir, or a protracted siege. Not an easy nut to crack.”

  Frederick sat back to think, signalled Sir Iain to take over.

  “What of the harbour, Captain Vereker?”

  “Typical of a large fishing harbour; suitable for a pair of two hundred ton storeships at a time, Sir Iain. Stone quay, no sheds or warehouses, the battery perhaps a hundred yards distant; offload into wagons, probably hand-pushed, and put the stores away in sheds or cellars behind the walls. There is a gate with a stone-paved track leading up on a curve, not too steep – perhaps a rise of thirty feet in three hundred. The walls are thick, by the looks of them, but not too high – ten to twelve feet, an artillery platform rather than a defensive rampart. I could not get a view of the guns themselves. Only one fired at Perlen, and made very poor practice. It is not impossible, Sir Iain, that the Spanish might have spiked their guns when the French took them over.”

  It was an interesting possibility. The gunboats might have more to say in the morning. They were to sail at first light, hopefully before the French could start asking questions of them.

  The gunboats came back some three hours after dawn, having sailed out to the north as if continuing an interrupted voyage and then making a circle out to sea and back to the squadron. Sykes reported for the three, having decided that being in command of Number One made him senior.

  “We dropped the lead over the stern, sir, out of sight, and found two fathom water in a channel leading to the quay. We could not be certain of the width of the channel, sir. The fishing village is very small, sir. We counted eight little cottages, sir, and there were six boats drawn up on the shingle, port and starboard of the quay. Nets drying on racks along the quay, sir. Easy to get in the way of men running ashore, sir. The gate, sir, has two broad flaps, sir; one of them was left open and the men from the village were going in and out till late, sir. I saw buckets of water brought out, sir, so I suspect the only fresh-water is in the battery; a well a bit inland, sir. No sentries on the ramparts, but there is a bit of a tower back on the cliff edge - they might be there, sir. No way up to the tower from the shore, sir, not without going in through the gate. Couldn’t see any other landing place close to, sir. Not like that place where we took the silver and mercury, sir.”

  “How sure are you that there were lookouts in this tower, Mr Sykes?”

  “There was lights in the bottom windows, sir. There was people there, so they might have been on top, sir.”

  “Good evidence and well spotted.”

  They called Captain Fastun from the wardroom where he was enjoying a civilised glass – not the first of the day. He had washed and been lent clothing more or less right for his size. He was considerably more fragrant.

  “Can I meet with your contacts ashore, Captain Fastun? If they can deal with the sentries for us, then we can storm the battery from the sea. But the tower must be taken out of commission or we will be unable to make a landing.”

  “Three days, Sir Frederick, to travel inland, speak to them and return. Then it may be possible to arrange a meeting.”

  “Lieutenant Porteous will be at your disposal in Nellie, sir. We shall make our rendezvous off the Cape here.”

  “What does Mr Popper say for the wind, Sir Iain?”

  Consultation with the Master brought the opinion that no early change could be expected. The squadron could make an excursion north and expect to return to the rendezvous safely in time. They must patrol at least as far as the French border, to meet the demands of their orders.

  There was no evidence of French activity at sea. The blockade must have been tightly efficient for some months, Frederick supposed; if they were to do anything then it must be on land.

  “Pass the word, Sir Iain, that we must endeavour to recruit translators from the Spanish population. We must find the funds to pay men to speak for us. We could perhaps make the offer of a berth aboard to the right sort. Captain’s servant or midshipman, might be possible to the son of a merchant or suchlike; failing that, a merchant seaman of some standing in the trade might be made a boatswain’s or master’s mate.”

  “They could not return for many years, sir, until the war was won, if they signed on.”

  “It might make sense even so for a young and unmarried man.”

  “I shall tell the captains, sir.”

  They returned to the vicinity of Cape de Begur and made their rendezvous with Nellie and Captain Fastun.

  “The Spaniards assure me, sir, that the tower is unusable except on its ground floor. It fell into disrepair years ago, and has no military function. They say as well that the French do not set lookouts on the seaward side of the castle, being concerned solely to protect the road from Spanish incursions. The battery of coast defence guns is manned by a company of Spanish artillerists who remain loyal to the Spanish king, but who are not at all happy wi
th French rule. They fired but one gun at Perlen and took pains to miss as a result, sir. They would be blind to activity in the night, sir, apart from one young officer who believes that the French may destroy the influence of the Church in Spain and hence permit the modernisation that is so sadly lacking. They assure me that they will cut his throat should he attempt to raise the alarm.”

  “That is encouraging news, Captain Fastun. When could an assault be mounted?”

  “The colonel of the Regiment of Catalonia, Don Esteban Murphy, will be able to attack the castle four nights from now, sir, if I personally give him the word that you will land by moonrise.”

  “That can be done. That accounts for the battalion of infantry who will act as garrison; what of the others, sir?”

  “Four are leaders of bands of patriots, of varying sizes and military skills. The Students of Catalonia are perhaps the largest – two thousand and more of young men under the command of a general who calls himself the Professor. They have some firearms and a little of powder and ball. Once the castle was taken, they could be more fully equipped and would, quite possibly, become a useful fighting force. There are three bands of armed peasants whose villages have been destroyed by the French in the process of foraging. The French have raped and murdered ruthlessly, sir. The leaders of these bands, picturesquely named the Butcher, the Goatherd and the Priest, have sworn revenge, and will, I believe, never be content until they have achieved that end. They have managed already to close the roads to the French except in parties of at least a company – no despatch riders or lone wagons can pass any longer. Between them, they make a thousand of ferocious men, sir.”

  “Three thousand, Captain Fastun. Hardly sufficient to destroy a French Army!”

  “No, sir, but there is as well the Army of the Junta of Catalonia, which is quite possibly capable of playing a decisive role, sir. Twenty thousand men: eleven regiments of horse and sixteen of foot and an artillery train comprising eight batteries of field guns of various calibre and origin.”

  Frederick listened to the figures and was not unimpressed. An army of twenty thousand could carve a hole through a force committed to a siege. Then he fixed on the words ‘quite possibly’.

  “Why not ‘absolutely certainly’, Captain Fastun?”

  “General the Count of Banyuls, sir, is a man of wide ambitions, one of which might be to become the King of Catalonia. Was he to destroy the French invader, then he might so impress the Junta as to be given the crown. Equally, sir, was he to destroy the Junta, then Bonaparte might give him a crown and substantial financial and military support so as to keep it. He knows that Bonaparte would expect to be his master, but wonders whether he might eventually be able to turn against him, if the English start to win the war in Spain. I have almost persuaded him that the throne of Galicia would be added to his kingdom by the English, but he is not wholly certain that we can defeat Bonaparte. Should you take the castle, sir, and provide a naval force in its protection, then he would probably throw in with us. Unless, of course, the French appear with sacks of gold pieces first.”

  “Then it is to take the risk that he will not support us, Captain Fastun.”

  “Well, yes, sir – but if you do not take the castle, he will certainly turn to the French.”

  “While, if we do take the castle, he still may decide the French are a better bet. What of his subordinates?”

  Captain Fastun was surprised by the question, commented that they were the normal sort of Spanish officer, mostly of better birth than military competence.

  “Why, sir, do you ask?”

  “Could one be suborned to cut the Count’s throat?”

  “An appalling concept, sir! I cannot imagine that such a wickedness is possible and would have no part in it if it were!”

  “Then you are a very strange sort of agent of the British crown, sir! My previous experience of the breed suggests that a sharp knife is typically a part of their baggage!”

  “I believe, Sir Frederick, that I am an officer and a gentleman!”

  “Pity! I have a substantial supply of those already and I was hoping for something more useful to our cause in Spain! I suggest you make further contact with the Count and endeavour to bring him to commit his army to our cause, Captain Fastun. I shall make the attack upon the castle in four nights and will hope to discover evidence of your success soon thereafter.”

  Planning for the attack on the castle could only be sketchy – essentially, land in the dark and run up to the castle very quietly and force a way through the gates and stab every available French back before shouting and making a more formal assault upon the garrison troops, which hopefully would bring the Regiment of Catalonia onto the scene.

  Major Wakely was to take all of the Marines of the squadron and use them as a single unit to be landed from Glommen. The barca-longas and brigs would load aboard every spare seaman who could be squeezed below decks and follow the Marines under Captain Warren’s command, it being his turn. Norge and the frigates would position themselves to assist in a hasty withdrawal or to bombard, if required, in support of success. Waldeman would act as lookout and protector against any intervention from seaward.

  “If it works, well and good, Sir Iain. If it don’t, we could end up having lost all of our Marines and half of the seamen. Not to put too fine an edge upon it – we could be well and truly buggered!”

  “If it does work, we could still be in trouble, sir. We must land some broadside guns to enable the fort to interdict the highway. It will have to be main deck thirty-twos to make any sense, sir. We could find ourselves with no Spanish Army and having to run, leaving perhaps a dozen long guns ashore.”

  A commodore who lost guns in such a fashion would have a great deal of explaining to do, quite probably to a deeply unsympathetic Board of Enquiry.

  Frederick paused in thought.

  “If we lose any guns, we shall lose that damned Fastun too. He will not board any ship while there are still guns ashore, Sir Iain.”

  “Can we do that, sir?”

  “Yes!”

  Captain Freeman made his way to the Port Admiral’s office, as he had every morning for three weeks since arriving in Portsmouth. He hoped, wearily, that the long-delayed orders and despatches would finally arrive and that he might at last return to the squadron.

  “Off the Night Mail, Captain Freeman, in the Admiralty pouch. You are to sail immediately – I trust you have kept wood and water up, and have not been so irresponsible as to allow your crew ashore?”

  “We can sail immediately, sir. None of my crew have deserted and stores are at full, sir.”

  Stores could only be full if Nid Elven had been eating shore food exclusively – which implied a substantial drain on her captain’s pocket.

  “My prize agent has made a very generous advance, sir.”

  Additionally, though Freemen made no mention of the fact, the purser had been able to ship thirty barrels of uncustomed Spanish wine, which had sold in Portsmouth at a very respectable price. Smuggling of this nature by the navy was a commonplace and the Revenue Men tended to be awake to the possibility, but the senior man in Portsmouth was married to the purser’s sister, which led to a natural leniency and blind eye, particularly as one of the smaller barrels was now sat in his own cellar. Half of the cash raised had gone to the ship, the remainder residing in the purser’s pocket.

  “Is there anything in the orders that I should be aware of, sir?”

  “No. No declarations of war or peace. Can you make a cabin available to a passenger, a confidential gentleman from London, or would he be better served to wait on a frigate? He is to join the squadron.”

  “I could arrange for him to take one of the wardroom hutches, sir. The doctor has a berth there but could move back to his own little space next to the sickbay. Send him along, sir. If he is for the squadron, then the sooner the better. Who is he, sir?”

  “One of the naval service, Mr Freeman. A Mr Otis, who is well known to Lord Turner – who y
ou will remember as Captain Murray. He is here at the moment.”

  Mr Otis was a large, convivial, jovial sort of fellow, bigger than Captain Warren was Freeman’s thought – not at all the type one might associate with the gathering of Intelligence. A second thought suggested that this might make him very valuable in the Trade. He shook Captain Freeman’s hand and prophesied that they would do very well together; he had but two bags with him, and a small portfolio, and could be aboard in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

  Rather an overpowering gentleman, Freeman decided.

  Nid Elven sailed within the hour and Captain Freeman devoted himself to making the fastest ever passage to Gibraltar. A little to his annoyance, Mr Otis had his sea-legs and stood on the quarterdeck for most of every day, taking an informed interest in the rig and the suit of sails and not above making the occasional suggestion of a jib as well.

  “Were you a naval officer before you entered your present occupation, Mr Otis?”

  “No, sir. I was born at Hamble in Southamptonshire, in sight of tidal water, and have sailed since I was a very little boy – not that I was ever that little, I would say!”

  “Ah, I see. I presume you have travelled to Spain before, sir.”

  “Repeatedly. I have an uncle in fact, in the wine trade, living in Barcelona. Hence my particular use in this instance.”

  Captain Freeman thought Mr Otis was very free with his information – Captain Murray had never said anything at all. That led, inevitably to the consideration of the honesty and accuracy of the facts he was given. He was forced to conclude that Mr Otis was either truthful or a masterly liar – which, in effect, was no conclusion at all. He decided to concentrate on sailing his little ship; he knew exactly where he was with that.