Spies and Subterfuge

by Christopher Hoare

  Captain Bell had asked Lieutenant Farley to command the prize until they reached the rest of the squadron, and had provided Medusa’s Master’s mate, Mr. Dashwood, to assist him. Among the eight other crew members from Medusa being sent aboard she could see Willis, the midshipman, armed with a cutlass almost as tall as he was.

  Captain Bell joined her at the rail as the longboat began crossing the heaving sea between the two vessels. “I do not mean to commandeer Lord Bond’s lieutenant any longer than I must, Miss Stephenson. As soon as we reach the other ships off Flushing I will send a new commander aboard to take the prize to England.”

  “How long will that take, Captain? I expect Lord Bond or a messenger to come to sea looking for us any day now. The planned contact must happen before the end of this week.”

  “I hope we can accommodate that, Miss Stephenson, but I daresay you are quite aware that dates and times mean little once you are in a sailing ship at sea. If that nor-easter had not blown so strongly all day we might still be a hundred miles from here.”

  “And where are we, Captain? How far from the entrance to the Schelde?”

  “We are off the mouth of the Rhine by my reckoning. Some thirty nautical miles from shore. We can be on station with the Schelde blockade by morning, but I should really go back north to meet the Commodore first.”

  “But that would take another day.”

  “Quite easily.”

  “Is there some way I might prevail upon you to sail directly to your station off the Schelde? The contact with Lord Bond is very important. Perhaps you could send a small vessel from the blockade to take our orders to the Commodore.”

  “Not impossible. Do you believe Lord Bond would endorse my decision to do as you suggest? The Admiralty has advised me to act to fulfil his needs.”

  “I am quite sure, Captain,” Roberta urged, but then she thought of something else and smiled. “Until we have reported to the Commodore, Medusa is technically your private command.”

  Captain Bell returned her smile. “Quite so.”

  “And any prize money from the captured American Schooner would be Medusa’s alone—with no necessity to award a large share to a senior officer such as the Commodore.”

  “Quite so. If I were to send the prize in to England in the morning, before I find an officer senior to me aboard one of the other vessels of the blockade, it has never been in the squadron.”

  On a rainy Saturday evening, Lord Bond arrived on a lathered horse at the farmhouse outside Neuzen where Nicholas van Aa was staying, having ridden non-stop from Antwerp. The farmer’s son came out to take the animal’s bridle and lead it to the barn while van Aa led Bond inside.

  “We must not linger in view of the road,” van Aa cautioned. “There are soldiers stationed just down the road toward Ghent.”

  “I saw many as I rode today,” Bond answered. “The French must be moving more divisions to the coast in readiness for the invasion.” He called to the farmer’s son. “I will pay you five francs to look after the animal until I need him again.”

  The lad nodded and waved agreement without speaking.

  “I do not expect van Ee and the Nederlander in Neuzen before tomorrow,” van Aa said. “He went toward Breskens yesterday to count finished barges.”

  “That will not be of concern if I can set sail tomorrow night. I must have you look for the post from the Frieherren in Antwerp before I go to sea. Several matters await resolution that she must must inform me about.” He did not know if his ruse to abduct the real Gideon Paine had worked. Until he knew the American was safely spirited away to Amsterdam it was not safe to use the American passport—but he had nothing else to replace it.

  A week before, he had switched van Ee to the Nederlander, since Bloggins and the English crew spoke no Dutch, and the cabin boys, who did, could hardly pretend to be in command over the older men. While he and the others had spied in Antwerp he had instructed van Ee to sail into every mooring where the new invasion barges and gunboats were kept in order to get a new estimate of the date when the French would be ready to embark.

  He sat up talking to van Aa until late into the evening, getting an assessment of the French bivouacs and the volume of barge traffic going to Ghent up the new canal. It seemed that supplies for the troops stationed farther inland were going that way. He had been unable to locate Holmes before leaving Antwerp. Holmes had mentioned the possibility that he might take a barge from Ghent to Neuzen. However, there had been no certain word that he had switched barges. When in the town in the morning he should certainly look for Holmes in the event he had done so.

  Before their candle had burned down he found he could hardly keep his eyes from closing and climbed the ladder into the loft where they were quartered. “Wake me early in the morning,” he instructed the farmer’s wife. “I have a great deal to attend to before noon.”

  Roberta rose early and had a breakfast of ship’s biscuit, cheese, and ale in the wardroom with the officers. They had noticed her in conversation with their captain the previous day and had surmised that her words had been influential in holding on to the prize instead of sharing it with the rest of the squadron. Consequently, her stock had risen above that of unrighteous and unconventional intruder aboard.

  They even plied her with questions and advice for her rumoured intrusion on the coast with Lieutenant Farley, but she avoided telling them more than they already had learned or supposed.

  “You are expecting a vessel to come from ashore to speak with Medusa, Miss Stephenson?” Hawkins, the captain of Marines, asked.

  “I am expecting a captured Dutch hoogaar to bring dispatches for me. What will happen then depends upon what they contain.”

  The First Lieutenant set down his ale tankard. “All this secrecy is very unusual. It has always been the duty of the officers and crews aboard the ships of the blockading squadrons to venture into enemy harbours to gain intelligence about French intentions. Is it possible that something has transpired that takes this out of the Navy’s hands?”

  “Not entirely, Sir. These activities are all being carried out under the direction of the Admiralty.”

  “Something is being watched inland? Out of the reach of our ships?”

  Roberta didn’t answer the question but her shrug implied that the supposition was not far from the mark. However, it would not do to entertain further questioning, and so she sought some other topic that would interest them as much. “Is the American prize to leave us for England today? I must have Lieutenant Farley back aboard before that is done.”

  “Medusa’s carpenter reported that the vessel needed some deficiencies remedied before sailing for England. The Americans were lucky they did not have all their masts go overside as we chased them.”

  “And there are planks sprung below that need a patch and caulking,” another officer put in.

  “The work can be done at sea?”

  “We are accustomed to carry out such work at sea, but a dockyard would be preferred if we had one to hand. We will send another working party aboard this morning when we take off the schooner’s master and officers. They will wait in irons aboard Medusa until we are ready to return to England.”

  “Not the crew?”

  The First Lieutenant shrugged and smiled. “The common seamen will not cause trouble without their officers—they cannot handle the ship alone. By my experience most Americans are first-rate sailors and will work well to see their ship made more seaworthy.”

  When breakfast finished and everyone went to their duties, Roberta climbed the companionway with the Master and joined him at the lee rail as he ran a trained eye over their prize, keeping station as the two vessels sailed slowly to meet the rest of the blockading ships. On the horizon ahead were the sails of two ships the officers had identified as English, a gun brig and a sloop.

  After studying the American vessel for a minute he scratched at his stubble. “Aye . . . that topsail yard will have t’come down as well. ’Tis a wonder it didn’a go ove
rboard.”

  Roberta didn’t respond, she didn’t think he expected an answer. She watched the longboat being lowered overside and then the repair crew climb down into it. Both vessels reduced sail until they were barely making steerage way.

  She looked toward the distant sails. “Will those two blockade vessels think we are acting suspiciously? We have not identified ourselves to them, only heaved to, as far as they can see.”

  The Master smiled. “Aye. I ’spect they will run down on us to see. The schooner will stir they’s curiosity. I b’lieve you told Captain Bell that yure commander ashore would vouch fer Medusa actin’ as a private ship, an’ keepin’ the prize money to oursel’s.”

  “Perhaps I suggested it was a reasonable supposition.”

  He laughed. “I see ye has the makin’s of a Nelson Touch, Missy. ’Tis always best not to know what might do thee ill. Commodores o’ squadrons is allus’ keen to take their share o’ prize money.”

  She shrugged. “What was it like, being under the admiral’s direct command?”

  He stared down at the waves a moment. “Not as lucky as yer’d expect. England were same as today: threatened by a French invasion, but Lord Nelson met nought but setbacks in the Channel.”

  “Really? You do surprise me.”

  “Seems he’d set his heart on savagin’ the Frenchies in Boulogne, but it were not to be. Fust, he bombarded harbour wi’ bomb vessels, but did little damage. Two weeks later he tried agin by sendin’ in four attack divisions in small boats.” He sighed.

  “They did not succeed?”

  “The divisions was separated in the dark as they went in. The French was able to fight them one at a time. I were only Master’s mate then, and I were in Cap’n Parker’s division. We tried to board a brig but the boardin’ nets stopped us. Another division captured a brig lyin’ close to pier, but they couldna cut the chain across the harbour to take ’n out. We lost a hundred an’ seventy officers an’ men wi’ naught to show fer’t. I s’pose even the best admiral don’t win all the time.”

  Roberta shook her head; sleeping in Nelson’s cot seemed suddenly less magical. She hoped it was not an omen about her own experiences off this enemy coast.

  Chapter Six

  Rendezvous at Sea

  Lord Bond looked up when Bloggins shook him awake. He yawned as he heaved himself from the bunk to go up on deck. “How far from Neuzen are we?”

  “’Bout fifteen nautical miles, M’Lord. Flushing be jus’ abaft the beam.”

  “The ship you have sighted did not come out of Flushing?”

  “Not as us knows, M’Lord. Us see’d the sails offshore when it grew light.”

  They climbed out of the narrow hatch to stand on the small deck where the seaman on watch manned the wheel. Bond moved to the weather rail where he had a view of the open sea and the long, low shoreline of Walcheren Island stretching away to the north.

  He took the telescope Bloggins offered and used it to scan the sea horizon. Just off the starboard bow he could pick out the shapes of two masts with reefed topsails—a brig holding on station, most likely. “Hoist today’s recognition signal flags and keep watching for him to raise more sail. If he shows us a naval ensign when he sees us, we will reply with a Union Jack. I’ll lay odds this is a gun brig on the inshore station.”

  “So we thought, M’Lord, but us wanted you to give the word.”

  A sound from the hatch made them turn; Cornelius van Ee emerged with his shirt tails a’flapping. “What is it?”

  “I believe we see our English blockade, but I would be grateful if you take charge if it turns out to be a French vessel. If it is, we should make for land and shelter in the shallow bay where we took refuge on our voyage from England. Best to keep as far as possible from having a party sent to investigate our business.”

  “Very well, My Lord. I have the cargo of casks for the French invasion barges in the hold, we must hope that they will settle any suspicion.”

  Bond returned to the cramped quarters of the hoogaar’s single cabin. The cabin boys had already started boiling water to cook a breakfast gruel. He sat on his bunk and lit a lantern to examine the letter from Elise once more. van Aa had handed it to him as Nederlander prepared to leave the Oostkade at Neuzen the previous night. Perhaps he had been tired and missed something on his last perusal.

  She had written nothing about their ruse to abduct Gideon Paine, so he still did not know if his false identity was secure. She mentioned that she planned to lay low, but did not inform him whether Fouché had been seen yet in Antwerp. What she did write had been troubling enough. Mr. Holmes had returned to Antwerp, but neither he nor McNab had been seen for two days. The safe quarters the Royalists had provided for them were empty. In fact, a workman was engaged in bricking up the opening to the secret room when she went to look for them. All she found was a note from Holmes saying that he had mailed a letter with all his findings about the French iron to Poste Restante—addressed to Mr. Paine! Bond dropped the letter on the bunk. If there were more to go wrong, he had the greatest difficulty imagining what it could be.

  Roberta remained on deck from the moment the inshore brig signalled a sail in sight. They crept slowly westwards as the work on the prize’s masts and standing rigging were carried out; the distant brig held a course that would intercept them by mid-afternoon.

  Being the strongest vessel now on the Flushing station, a thirty-eight gun frigate as against two twenty gun sloops, two gun brigs and a cutter, they had become flagship by virtue of being under the command of the only post-captain present. Everyone wore smiles as they noted that the largest share of the value of the prize remained theirs.

  Roberta stood by the mizzen mast as the Third Lieutenant climbed the topmast to train his telescope on the small vessel trailing in the wake of the brig. “A Dutch inshore trader,” he called down. “Two masts, fore and aft rig, and flying today’s fleet recognition signal.”

  She turned to Captain Bell, standing beside her. “I do believe the vessel can be none other than Lord Bond’s hoogaar,” she said. “Meeting this vessel is the reason I am embarked upon Medusa, Sir. If we are fortunate, Lord Bond will be aboard and he will be able to approve all we have done.”

  Bell nodded. “If I understand the intention of the orders I am given, there will be—as a consequence—no need for Lieutenant Farley to go ashore, and no reason for you to go with him. I will no longer need to risk sending the cutter into the Westerschelde to convey you. This timely arrival also eases another of my quandaries as I will not be obliged to send our prize to England with a midshipman to command her—I should be able to leave Lieutenant Farley in that position.”

  “We will be able to discuss that if His Lordship does come aboard today, Captain. Will you send the cutter to take our orders to the Commodore instead?”

  Captain Bell shrugged. “Possibly. There is no urgency now we have both reinforced the ships on this station as well as carried out our Admiralty orders. Commander Wilkes of the sloop Braveheart will be dining in my cabin this evening, so we should have quite a dinner party.”

  Roberta smiled and turned to look on Medusa’s other beam where a sloop of war—basically a frigate too small to rate as a post captain’s command—kept station with them. As long as this small force remained on station, patrolling the entrance to the Westerschelde, no enemy ship could leave or enter without risking combat with them. If a more powerful force of French vessels should exit the river to go to sea, then they would shadow the enemy while sending the sloops to alert the rest of the blockade squadrons.

  Roberta’s smile faded. That age-old strategy would hold until next year, when a French ironclad and a swarm of pyroscaphes could take the blockading ships by surprise and sail out to rule the English Channel. Only her efforts and those of Lord Bond’s spies had any hope of countering that peril.

  Roberta returned to the weather deck when the Nederlander and escort arrived in the squadron. She stood on the quarterdeck with Captain Bell and th
e First Lieutenant as Medusa’s mooring party caught the lines from the hoogaar and pulled them taut to hold the craft against one of the midship gunports—its lid raised and its cannon invisible from above while run clear of the opening. Lord Bond stood with his crew and Cornelius van Ee looking up at them. It seemed strange that she and Lord Bond had looked at one another that way once before, when they had first met.

  Lord Bond removed his headgear and bowed toward her. Captain Bell glanced at her.

  “Yes, Captain. That is Lord Bond.”

  She stood with her heart beating quickly as she waited for His Lordship to make his way to the quarterdeck. She felt a great anxiety to learn what had transpired ashore.

  His Lordship went straight toward the Captain, who saluted and held out a hand. “I am Captain Bell of the Medusa, My Lord. Welcome aboard.”

  “I am more than pleased to join you, Captain. By your mere presence you have solved a great problem that had beset me. That is the American schooner Reaper, if I am not mistaken. Your prize?”

  “Indeed, My Lord. We are in the process of repairing some weather damage before sending her in to the Downs.”

  “We must speak more of that in private, Captain. I have important information about that vessel.”

  Lord Bond then turned toward Roberta and, before she could move, embraced her warmly with both arms and kissed her chastely on both cheeks. “My dear Miss Roberta, you cannot know how pleased I am to see you here. We have a great deal to discuss.”

  Roberta managed to extricate herself without losing too much dignity. “I am very pleased to see you, My Lord. How are all our friends ashore?” She noticed how the men on the quarterdeck regarded her at Lord Bond’s show of familiarity. Should she be flattered or angered at his presumption?