“Sixty muskets behind cover will give them pause for thought, I do not doubt, sir.”
“You will have Midshipman Iliffe as a runner, sir. Keep me informed of interesting events, sir.”
The Major assured him that he would.
“Your subordinates on the other three brigs, Major Campbell, will land at the cove shown here on the sketch. Boats to the beach in the hours before dawn. There is a track leading over the headland which I believe to be traversed by deckhands carrying lobsters and crabs into market; it should not be too severe for your Marines. They will take the battery, shown here, and the barracks room behind it, and the powder magazine, of course. If possible, by silent escalade so as not to raise an alarm. The men to be kept under the most rigorous discipline, sir – there is to be no sack, no noise, no arson at this stage. Guns to be manned and if possible turned inland to cover the road; if not, then a watch to sea. Ready the magazine, of course. You will wish to allocate tasks to your subordinates yourself, Major Campbell.”
The battery was on a platform raised some feet above the level of the rest of the town, whether on masonry or a low, natural cliff was unclear.
Rather a lot of the plan was unclear, on mature thought, but they would have to make it up as they went – one could not have everything in this life.
Campbell gave his orders – one company to hold the cove where they landed and protect the boats; a second to assault the battery, under his senior captain; the third to wait on the track as a reserve, either to be called to the battery or to make its way towards the road and form a holding position for the major to fall back on.
Book Seven: The Duty and Destiny Series
Chapter Four
Frederick sat through the night hours, resting though he found it impossible to sleep. He had committed his professional reputation to this unimportant assault on an unheard-of place; he knew that any captain was as good as his last success, as bad as his last failure. This adventure was probably necessary to prove that he was active in his command, but he doubted it would contribute more than a very little to the prosecution of the war. It was hardly worth the risk, but he must take it, and the people under his command must survive it as best they might.
He counted up all the things that could go astray, and the number of his subordinates who could through incompetence, cowardice or stupidity, make them go wrong; he added to the list the errors that could result from unexpected efficiency, boldness and clever thought and found almost as many again.
The obvious weak links, Captain Burford and Lieutenant Horrocks, were to remain under his own eye; he should be able to control them, to gee-up the sluggishness of one and whip-up the suspected timidity of the other.
He knew nothing of the Marine captains, and the lobsters threw up more than their fair share of congenital idiots among their officers; apart from a very few families with the tradition, a Marine commission was very much a second-best and was commonly resorted to only by those obviously too stupid to pass their Board as a naval lieutenant. Three of those officers were to have semi-independent commands in the hours of darkness – and that was not a reassuring thought.
Major Campbell was one of the exceptions, a Marine who could think, and Frederick trusted him to do all that was wanted.
Luscombe would be reliable, of a certainty. Andrews would try but would lose control of his hands as a strong probability; God help any young women in the vicinity of Andrews’ landing party.
Ross could be expected to do his job quickly and well, but might discover more to do off his own initiative.
What of Webb in Señora? Who could tell? He was an ambitious young man in a first command. Would he have the sense to obey orders and call off the landing if a French ship happened along, or would he go in headlong to attempt to take or destroy her before the alarm was raised? Dench in his schooner – given the choice between raising an immediate alarm and venturing further to discover the nature of a sail, what decision might he come to?
Life was easier when he only had to allow for his own mistakes.
He could not be seen on deck worrying, pacing the night away – every man in the ship would know the case was desperate if he did – but he permitted himself to leave the cabin for the quarterdeck three hours before dawn as the brigs headed inshore with their landing parties. There was barely sufficient moonlight to see the tiny shape of Bluenose leading the line, the slightly larger silhouette of Señora at the rear, three shadows in between.
“They are away, sir, precisely to time.”
“They are indeed, Mr Gentry. Is this your watch on deck, sir?”
“No, sir, but there was no prospect of sleep tonight, sir.”
Frederick laughed, able to reveal his own unease in response.
“Nor for me, I fear. I do not like sending other men off to fight while I stay behind.”
They waited, minutes dragging by, the bell ringing the progress of the watch far too loudly in Frederick’s ears – he told himself that he should have ordered the clapper muffled – surely the ringing might be heard on shore.
No guns, not the least indication of an alarm; no lights to give the news of a shipwreck, of one of the brigs too close to the rocky shore or of a boat overturning at the beach.
“One hour to first light, Mr Gentry?”
“Sixty-two minutes, I make it, sir.”
Frederick counted off the seconds until Gentry gave the order to Hirst to make sail.
“Single-reef courses, Mr Hirst?”
“That was my thought, sir. The lantern, Mr Airey!”
They watched the squeaker as he ran to perform his duty, blowing on a lit slowmatch rather than rely on flint and steel. Frederick approved, the boy was being shown the right way.
“Sensible – an extra tot to his sea-daddy, I think.”
The three peered over the stern, nodded in unison as Pride of Lyme conformed and took her place.
Three miles to the quay from where they had been lying-to; four knots would place them at the quayside in the last of the darkness.
“Robin is crowding Pride, sir. Less than fifty yards off her stern, sir, pushing her hard.”
“I thought that would be the case, Mr Hirst. Captain Ross has his own opinion of what is right conduct.”
“Tide is turning, sir. I do not know what the ebb may be hereabouts, sir. I shall call for the reef to be taken out, sir, with your permission.”
“Make it so, Mr Hirst. Hail Pride of Lyme, Mr Gentry, and order Mr Horrocks to conform, ensuring that he repeats the order to you. The master’s mate on duty to be at your side.”
“Mr Doolan, sir. He will know why he is there, sir.”
“A pity, but a witness is a very useful thing in times of trial, Mr Gentry.”
The First Lieutenant said no more, having already concluded that the Commodore had little use for Mr Horrocks and would be very pleased to see him stood before a court.
“On deck, sir!”
The lookout at the bows, still on deck himself in night routine, used the call familiar to him, sensibly enough, Frederick thought.
“Lights at the shore battery, sir.”
Frederick called an acknowledgement, turned to Gentry.
“Is that Kavanagh’s voice?”
“I put him there by intention, sir” Gentry answered, “he can think and quite often will.”
“On deck - lantern, sir, displayed and covered three times – three distinct flashes, sir.”
That was the signal that the Marines had taken the battery.
“More sail, Mr Hirst, get us to the quay as quickly as you may.”
“We should have a leadsman in the chains, sir.”
“I saw no indication of shallows, Mr Hirst. The river debouches into the sea in a straight enough line and we have no suggestion of a bar on our charts, such as they are. I must formally order you, Mr Hirst, to make all speed.”
The lead could only be used effectively at slow pace. By giving the formal order to make all haste Fr
ederick absolved the Master of responsibility in case of a grounding; a court must clear him because of those words, and then place all of the blame on Frederick.
“Thank you, sir.”
The water was deep, or deep enough at least, and they reached the quayside in a flurry of furled sail and imprecations, crunching loudly against the stonework, timbers complaining and causing the senior warrant officers to wince in unison as they envisaged the possibility of the old lady sinking at her mooring.
“Landing parties away!”
Pride of Lyme nuzzled very gently against the quay a minute later and Robin came up on her seaward side and tied up to her, sending her people across the Pride’s emptying decks. Burford came alongside Acheron, preferring not to use the innermost, and likely shallowest, part of the quay; it was a sensible, conservative decision, but slowed her landing party who had to climb up Acheron’s higher side.
There was a spatter of musketry from the town, a dozen or so of shots.
“Town Guard displaying more courage than sense, Mr Gentry?”
“It would seem so, sir.”
“I am for the shore, Mr Gentry. I will not leave the quayside without sending a runner to you. Mr Airey! To me!”
As well to keep the little boy out of mischief; he might also see sights that would upset him if he joined one of the landing parties.
Dawn broke a few minutes later and showed heavy cloud building up to the west; there was a promise of a storm, Frederick thought, possibly no more than three or four hours off. The quay was no more than twenty feet wide, stone flagged and flanked by fisherman’s cottages, themselves stone built but low and small, along the whole of the northern side. The town street reached the sea in an open space of fifty or so yards of bare earth, big enough for wagons to turn in, and then the commercial premises stretched along the rest of the curve to the river.
Smoke began to rise from the shipyard, separate plumes growing, strengthening and joining together to form a low pall above the town; Luscombe was wasting no time at all.
There was the sound of more musket fire on the inland side of the little port, a few desultory shots that turned suddenly into controlled volley fire. There was a military presence in or close to the town; time to change plans.
“Mr Airey, you will run to Captain Burford, then to Captain Ross and then to Mr Andrews, in that order. Repeat to me.”
“Captain Burford, Captain Ross, Mr Andrews, sir.”
“Good. You will tell them that there is fighting inland and that they must set their places alight and immediately fall back on the quayside. Repeat.”
“Fighting inland; burn everything; fall back; immediately, sir.”
“Well done. Go now.”
Luscombe was well on the way to completing his job, and was close enough to see what was happening; he needed no further order.
Airey ran, scuttling at top speed; his sea-daddy, far too old and slow to keep up, stayed at Frederick’s side.
“Beg pardon, sir, but ‘e ain’t never goin’ to be no good to us, sir. Better be a parson than a seaman, that one, sir. Bright enough, sir, but ‘e ain’t got no push in ‘im.”
“Too late now, Abbott, his parents have joined him and have paid out to equip him. He must be given the chance. Look after him.”
“He ain’t got the strength, sir, not in ‘im or in ‘is mind, sir. Like unto my sister’s boy what died about when ‘e was twelve, sir; come to adversity and ‘e will not fight, for lack of the mind for it.”
“Lay-preacher, Abbott?”
“I am so honoured, sir, when on land.”
“Thought so. You have the sound. Do what you can for him.”
Ablett called across from where he was looking up the empty main street of the little town, the brick and fieldstone two storey houses all appearing deserted, the population probably disappeared into their cellars, doors locked and barricades building.
“Runner coming, sir. Mr Iliffe, sir.”
The midshipman he had lent to Major Campbell, and in a hurry, arms pumping.
“Beg pardon, sir. Major’s respects, sir, and the church was in use as a barracks, sir. A squadron of cavalry, sir, hussars, the major said, sir. Most of them has gone down, sir, because they tried to get out to their horses rather than fight back on foot, but some of them rode away. The major has set up his barricade across the road, but he says that infantry can cross the fields and come in through the alleys at the side of the town, sir. He has sent the reserve company to hold in the houses at the top of the main street, sir, looking out over the fish market, sir, just over the top of the slope, sir, out of sight from here.”
Their stay in town was to be much curtailed, it would seem.
“Return to Major Campbell and instruct him to abandon his barricade and fall back to the quay. As soon as he has passed their position his reserve company is to follow him.”
The message must be passed to the party at the cove – they were no longer serving any useful purpose.
Iliffe ran back up the street, more slowly than he had come down; shipboard life made for strong men, but not for runners. As he reached the top of the street, presumably where it opened up into the fish market, a small group of redcoats appeared, some of them hobbling slowly, others carrying stretchers.
Frederick turned to the ship.
“Mr Gentry, inform the doctor we have injured men coming in. Send a master’s mate and a dozen men to assist them.”
He heard the rumbling of wheels, saw a pair of wagons being pushed out of the nearest warehouse, loaded high. Men were running from the ships’ chandlers as well, burdened with their spoils. Smoke rose behind them.
“Up at the battery, isn’t it, sir.”
Frederick followed Bosomtwi’s pointing arm, saw that the four cannon had been turned, were pointing inland. It was too soon; there had not been time to change the breeching ropes from one set of ring bolts to another. There was movement at the side, squads of Marines trotting out, pushing prisoners in front of them, heading down to the quay. They could see inland; if they had been ordered out then they must have spotted troops in the valley.
“Kavanagh! Here, to me!”
The seaman came trotting from the ship, quickly obedient to command. He was worth a risk, could become a useful man.
“You will run as fast as possible to the track across the hillside over there. You see it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The track leads to the cove where the Marines landed. You will order them to embark in the boats and return to the brigs. You will join them. Once aboard you will instruct the masters of the brigs to beat round to the river mouth, either to come to the quay or to pick up their Marines by boat, as further orders will detail. Have you that clearly in your head?”
“Yes, sir. Marines to retreat, sir. Brigs to pick up their people either by boat at the river mouth or at the quay, sir.”
“Good. Do you wish to carry a musket?”
“No, sir. The weight would be a burden, sir. Best thing I can do is run, sir.”
“Good. Do that.”
The Marines from the battery had formed up and were marching down to the quay, obviously not intending to halt at any earlier point. Frederick wanted to run up to them, to ask what was happening, but he was the Commodore, he had to restrain himself, to wait.
Ten minutes; Iliffe should have reached Major Campbell and he should be making his retreat soon. Half an hour at most to make his way back to the top of the street.
Bosomtwi was watching the hillside.
“That Kavanagh is on the track, sir, going up, isn’t it.”
Frederick had wondered if perhaps the man would have chosen to desert, if he might never see him again. So far so good.
The Marines from the battery clattered onto the stone flags of the quayside, their nailed boots beating a loud cadence. They were led by a thirty year old lieutenant, probably close to his promotion to captain, Marines going up the ladder exclusively by seniority.
“
MacDonald, sir. Captain Irvine is remaining with a squad to fire the guns and to blow the magazine, sir. Guns are pointed across the valley, sir, where the road takes a turn. Twenty-four pounders, sir, loaded ball. There is a battalion at least on the road, sir. Regular infantry from their blue coats, sir. No breechings to the guns, sir, and captain hopes they will run backwards and over the edge, sir. They should be buried then, when the magazine blows, sir.”
Airey came panting back to Frederick, said that he had delivered his messages and the parties were all to return to the ships.
“Well done, Mr Airey. Go aboard Acheron now.”
The parties came back to the quay, the seamen wandering in a bunch of mates together. It was impossible to get them to march. As Andrews came up to report there was a sudden fusillade from the nearest fishermen’s cottages. A dozen men fell, killed or wounded.
“Men in they windows, sir, isn’t it. They ain’t wearing no uniforms!”
The seamen began to return fire, to drive the attackers into cover.
Frederick swore – bloody civilians! Bandits with no rights of war. He turned to the ship and roared.
“Mr Gentry, use the broadside!”
Less than a minute and the gun barrels could be seen to move as they were handspiked onto line; another ten seconds and they disappeared in clouds of powder smoke. Frederick had never seen a broadside from so close to, nor heard one, not from in front of the guns. He rubbed at his ears as he inspected the collapsed ruins of the stone cottages; there must have been cooking fires alight inside as smoke was rising from the wreckage. The two carronades, quickest to reload, fired again and a few people who were running off were swept away by grape.
“Cease fire!”
Frederick was not at all sure that the fleeing group had all been men; some of them had been suspiciously small.
“Ablett been hit, sir, got one in the leg, sir.”
“Get him to the doctor, Bosomtwi. Quickly.”
He looked around for Andrews who had been about to report; he was down, unmoving.
Harman, the younger master’s mate, was kneeling at his side.
The Odd-Job Man (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 7) Page 10
