She spoke defensively; long convinced she would carry the stain and the stigma of felony for the rest of her days. She spoke of Sir Henry Vizzard’s prolonged correspondence and personal visits; his preparation of an appeal from the judgment of the trial judge, and how, after some years, had been able to secure a Royal Pardon from the King. Others listened, wide-eyed, as she recounted some of her experiences on the voyage to New South Wales. She told of the women on the transports, and of the poor conduct of several of the officers, and most of the men.
The conversation moved to other topics of more general, more local interest, although Mary sensed, quietly and surreptitiously, a pair of eyes was studying her. As she looked around the room, she could see nothing but innocent interested faces, but still had a sense of being observed.
She found it greatly unnerving.
Chapter 3
As Jack Vizzard rose from the lunch table, an orderly approached and spoke softly towards his right ear. ‘Mister Vizzard, sir. Major Squires’ compliments, sir and he requests your attendance in the Adjutant’s office as soon as may be convenient, please sir.’
‘Very well, Hicks. I shall report immediately. Thank you.’
He walked briskly around the drill-ground, mildly curious as to the reason for the summons, suspicious some mundane chore might be assigned to him, running over in his mind the tasks recently completed before knocking on the Adjutant’s door, and entering smartly at the Major’s command.
‘Ah, Vizzard. Do please take a seat. There has been a development since we spoke this morning.’
He sat in a small leather chair, positioned directly in front of the large table serving as the duty officer’s desk. Behind it, Major Squires sat with Captain the Honourable Alexander Wemyss, the divisional Field Adjutant. The Captain was a confident officer, who, unlike Squires, had seen no sea-service, nor indeed any action, but was nonetheless regarded as efficient and conscientious. His pale features contrasted with the dark hair, worn short. A slim-built man, he appeared to Jack to be some thirty years of age. He had recently transferred to the Portsmouth Division from Chatham.
‘The Adjutant received an urgent despatch during luncheon. As it concerns your forthcoming expedition, I thought you should be aware of it. The Admiralty received a messenger last evening; from Paris. The agent they require us to assist has information “of the gravest import to England.” Our man is in Normandy, making for the port of Fecamp. He will likely reach there tomorrow evening or the following day.’
Jack let out a low whistle. ‘Then we have to go, and go quickly.’
‘Indeed. Vizzard I must order you to prepare at once. I do not know what this important information is, but it is our clear duty to see to it this man… and whatever he knows, is delivered to their Lordships as quickly as we can manage it.’
Captain Wemyss spoke for the first time. ‘My wager, Vizzard, is this man has knowledge of plans by the French to raise insurrection in the United Provinces. The damned Frenchies want the trade and the wealth of the region and the Dutchmen will have no stomach to resist them. The Dutch will look to England for help for once.’
Wemyss slapped his hand onto the table. ‘Vizzard, personally I hold the opinion – not shared by all – they will not stop there! They are already in Belgium, and where next eh? The government must act soon, but for now, we hold our neutrality, so go to France, find this man, and bring him back.’ Wemyss stood up, the chair scraping on the worn timber floor.
‘Report to me at, shall we agree five o’ clock?’ I am away now to see Powlett about your transport. I suggest you select your men and equipment. We shall have written orders for you later in the day, and we can talk more later of plans.’
Jack stood, returned his hat to his head, gave a formal salute which neither of the others acknowledged, and left the room. Standing outside he looked at a squad of marines under training on the drill-ground. They were recruits from Worcester and Gloucester, brought in by Lieutenant Tom Archbold. They had been examined by a surgeon, attested before a magistrate and now were receiving their first taste of drill and manoeuvres. He smiled and made for the sergeants’ mess, where he expected to find his troop sergeant, Joseph Packer.
He found him in an adjacent office, discussing with a corporal the content of the morning’s Divisional Orders. He straightened at Jack’s entrance and offered a salute.
‘Many congratulations, Mister Vizzard, sir.’ Packer was beaming, a broad grin across his face. At Jack’s puzzled expression he went on. ‘Orders, sir, just posted. Your promotion has been announced.’
‘Ah,’Jack grunted. ‘I thought the order might be displayed tomorrow. Thank you, sergeant.’
The corporal attempted a smile, but his reserve in the presence of an officer caused it to appear as a smirk.
‘Joe, a word with you, please.’ Jack glared at the corporal, who slowly registered understanding, and left the room.
He closed the door behind the man, and sat on the corner of the desk.
Sergeant Packer pulled a chair and sat astride it, the seatback between his legs.
‘This looks inauspicious, if you ask me. Your face gives you away, sir.’ Packer had been with Lieutenant Vizzard since the day Jack first walked through the archway into the barracks seven years before. A seasoned marine, Joe Packer had experienced much in his twenty years’ service with the Corps. Ramrod straight, head shaved to a close crop and skin stained from years in India. Broad shoulders and as strong as a bull Packer had little time for officers; until Mister Vizzard entered his life and earned both his trust and respect. Vizzard led men, he never asked a man to do something he would not do himself. He fought without apparent fear and he was the best shot in the division.
‘Perhaps we know each other too well, Joe; but you are correct. We have an excursion to make, and, it is one with some hazard, for we are to sail… to France.’
Joe Packer grunted. ‘No wonder you look so bloody serious. Who thought this one up, sir?’
‘We are to assist a government agent, return him safely to London and make damned sure he is in one piece. It is of the “utmost importance, the gravest importance to England,” I am told Joe; and we leave tomorrow, assuming a fair wind.’
‘Which is just Jack-a-Dandy, sir. An outing to France with the whole bloody country in uproar, revolutionaries running all over the place, butchering and chopping folks’ heads off, and you and me wandering around like toy soldiers. Should be an easy jaunt!’
Jack laughed. His sergeant always had a joke or two ready in bad times. They had fought together, and – against orders – had drunk together. Jack had tremendous respect for his sergeant, a man who had endured much in the service of His Majesty, and who had taught Jack a number of skills.
‘How many men do you want to take, sir? It’s only one man to catch, so no more than a dozen, I’m thinking.’
‘I thought so too, Joe. I will know more later, but you may wish to take a corporal, and shall we say ten men.’
‘If this man is as important as you say, perhaps it would be better to have near platoon strength, say twenty men. It’s not as though we want a battle there, but a few extra hands might come in useful.’
Packer understood men could become lost or injured, even killed, when they were most needed. If he was going to wander around France, he wanted some good men and plenty of them.
‘Then you had better start selecting them, Joe. I want this kept quiet. Nobody is to talk about this, right? We will probably sail tomorrow, but I will tell more, when I know more. Make certain they are all reliable, steady men, with some experience. This is not a job for those new recruits outside!’
Joe Packer thought for a moment. ‘I know about a dozen straight and true men when they be sober, and will think on it for the others.’ Jack stood and looked through the window at the recruits, still seeking mastery of a simple march in step with each other. At this rate of progress Jack thought, it would be another week before they learn to wheel in line. ‘I must s
ee the quartermaster and assess our stores and equipment. I favour short muskets ashore, but I am uncertain we have enough.’
Sergeant Packer nodded assent, his mind already turning to the challenge of selecting suitable men for the task. They need to be calm, experienced men, able to think independently. Not enough of them, he reckoned.
‘Joe, I have another idea which I must ask you to think on. If we are to be ashore in France, perhaps we should dispense with our red coats and white cross-belts. We would stand out like the cross of St George in the enemy’s country. Some dark overcoat or jacket perhaps. A disguise, if you like, in the event of meeting with French patrols. Think on it will you, I know the Corps would not approve, so I shall not seek the Colonel’s consent.’
Packer shook his head. Vizzard is a rum bird, he thought. Always doing something different. The bugger looks excited about this – found garrison duty heavy going he has and no mistake.
‘Can’t see any of the field officers thanking you for ideas of such ilk, sir.’ He spoke aloud. ‘Mind you, I can see `ow it might be an `elp though.’
‘Go and find the best men for me, Joe. I will see you in the adjutant’s office later.’ Vizzard left the sergeant wondering.
* * * * *
The Quartermaster, an elderly lieutenant by the name of John Bartleman, was a lugubrious, portly man of perhaps fifty years. An untidy mass of curls framed the weary, veined, florid face; evidence not of years spent at sea, but of too many hours spent in taverns and dining rooms, was dominated by a grog-blossom nose. Fortunately though, he was able to satisfy Jack’s needs for the shorter land-musket, and, amidst much puffing and panting, arranged for the weapons to be put aside. He reserved for Jack a sufficient supply of powder and ball, but he looked askance at Jack’s request for dark-coloured overcoats or jackets. ‘Why on earth would you ask for such, Mister Vizzard? I have no clothing of such kind in my stores.’
‘Perhaps some canvas jackets or coats, such as the Navy use at sea?’ He asked hopefully.
‘If you wish non-uniform clothing, Mister Vizzard, you will have to seek it elsewhere, for I cannot supply it.’
Jack Vizzard pleaded with him, begged him to find some suitable covering, enough for some two dozen men. He cajoled him to the point where Bartleman agreed to try, with ‘no assurances of course’, but he would endeavour to meet Vizzard’s needs.
Satisfied he could do no more he next left his sword with the armourer, in the adjacent building, requiring a fresh keen edge honed on the blade. He spent an hour in the adjutant’s office, poring over an Admiralty chart of the Cherbourg Peninsula and Normandy, making notes of coastal villages, and such features as rivers. The clock on the wall chimed five o’ clock and within three minutes, Major Squires walked in.
‘You now have a vessel to take you across the Channel, Vizzard. She is the Nimble, a cutter of fourteen guns, I am told. Captain Powlett has detailed a Lieutenant Lapenotière to accompany you. Know nothing of the man; Powlett believes him fit for the command – he has some experience of small boats and of the coasts of Brittany and Normandy.’ Squires halted his discourse, and sat at the table. ‘Sounds too much like a damned Frenchie to me!’ He exhaled a sigh.
‘That is not all, Vizzard. Powlett has instructions from the Admiralty to provide all possible assistance to our mission. However, the First Lord was awoken during the night, received a visitor it seems. Our man has a most gallant servant, a Frenchie but a Royalist who sought refuge in England some months past. He has just arrived having ridden all night and all day. I have just arranged for him to eat and sleep, for he was most desperately tired.’ Noting Jack’s expression of surprise, he continued. ‘Yes, the man is here and reports his master is proceeding not to Fecamp, as we first thought. His mission, I mean his attempt to return to England, has been discovered he believes, and he travels now to Dieppe. Evidently he is most anxious to leave France.’
Jack looked at the chart he had studied, and pushed it away.
‘Dieppe. Hell and damnation! I have just spent an hour or more poring over the chart of Cherbourg.’
Squires gave him a wry smile. ‘Sorry, Vizzard it’s to be Dieppe, and tomorrow night. If our man fails to show, Lapenotière has orders to lay offshore, and return the following night. You of course, will be ashore. A suggestion has been made for a rendezvous; it is a church in the centre of town. You are to watch for a young man, shabbily dressed. He will wear a white lily in his hat!’ Squires laughed, and Jack looked wide-eyed.
‘All rather strange to me, Vizzard, I don’t mind telling you. Cloaks and daggers and a white lily!’
‘I am expected to sail to France, make my way to the centre of Dieppe, and watch for a young man wearing a lily? More than a little strange I would say, sir. Bloody dangerous would be more appropriate. I hope the information he has is worth it.’
Jack thought over the prospect for a moment. He had learned a little of the French language when at King’s School, but not enough. He was right to think of covering his Marine uniform, though we cannot simply march into a French port, dressed as toy soldiers. We will have to masquerade as civilians, he decided.
‘This French manservant,’ Squires intruded on his thoughts, ‘he has volunteered to go with you, to act as a guide. Seems he is anxious to ensure his master reaches England safely. I have agreed to his request, and trust such is acceptable to you. Actually their Lordships request it, Vizzard.’
‘Today has been one of many surprises, sir. It may be useful to have a guide, certainly one with command of the language. With your leave, I should like to return to my wife, unless you have further need of me this evening?’ It was already dark outside and Jack was anxious to be home.
‘No, Vizzard. I will be returning to my house also, but first I have to speak to the Colonel. I need his advice on certain matters relating to this business. I will see you in the morning.’
Chapter 4
‘It was a most curious sensation, my dear. I truly felt as though I was being observed, in a secretive fashion.’ Mary had recounted her visit to the home of Helena Squires earlier in the day. ‘Yet, I am certain none of the ladies present were doing so. It truly made me feel most uncomfortable.’
Jack ate his evening meal without enthusiasm. He had not spoken much since returning home, pre-occupied as he was with his own thoughts and contemplating how best to tell Mary his news. He swallowed another mouthful of the baked fish pie Mary had made, and raised a pot of water to his mouth, pausing as he searched for the words.
‘I am sure there is nothing to it, my love. Do not fret over a simple feeling. I too have had an eventful day.’ He drank to refresh his mouth. ‘I had a meeting with Major Squires this morning at the dockyard, as you know. The Major was kind enough to confirm I am promoted to First Lieutenant.’ He thought it preferable to impart some welcome news first.
‘Oh Jack, what wonderful news,’ said Mary, a broad smile lighting her face. ‘Not before it is due, in my opinion. I felt you should have received your due shortly after our return from New South Wales. Oh excellent, Jack; your father will be so pleased – proud too, of course. I shall write to him this very evening.’ She cleared away his plate, taking it to the pail used for washing their crockery.
‘There is another matter, my love. Something less than wonderful I regret to say.’
He looked at her with affection, not wishing to cause her upset. Mary stopped, alerted by the tone of his voice, and gazed back at him, her hazel eyes full of anticipation.
‘I am to travel to France, on urgent government business. I cannot tell you what I am to do there, and it does… it may hold some small degree of hazard.’ He paused, his throat tightening a little. ‘I will have some good men with me, and I am sure it will turn into an adventure. Joe Packer will be with me, and I will be back in Portsmouth within a few days.’ He smiled, hoping she would be encouraged, knowing she would worry. ‘The Colonel has entrusted me with a most honourable employment and instructs me much depends on my “dilig
ence and skill”. He was kind enough to say he doubted not success would be assured in my hands.’
Mary sat on a chair, taken aback at the news. She had not expected this. France was in such turmoil at present, as all knew, because the broadsheets carried stories of horrors committed in Paris and elsewhere. Now they have murdered their own King surely they would not hesitate to kill an English soldier, if he were caught. She stared at him with wide, glistening eyes.
‘Oh no, Jack. I will not cry. I know you must go and will be brave, as I will be.’ She went over to him, and embraced him firmly. ‘Just come back to me. I could not bear to lose you.’
He caught hold of her, marvelling at her strength, her courage and her love for him.
The following day was her birthday. France declared war on England the day following. The news reached England a week later.
* * * * *
Colonel William Souter knew the French declaration of war had found Britain militarily weak and ill prepared for another armed conflict. Her allies, Prussia and Austria, had already deployed her armies following the declaration against Austria in April; and had they only been placed under a united command with a clear direction, they could well have destroyed the French revolutionary army within a week, he thought. The French National Convention needed a distraction, to divert the people’s attention from the failing economy, and the failure of the previous year’s harvest. Cynically, the Convention had reasoned a war would unite the people behind the revolution. In preparation for that, Souter knew, an accelerated plan of enforced conscription had been ordered in France.
THE GLORIOUS FIRST: The first fleet action of the French Revolutionary War (The Jack Vizzard Chronicles Book 2) Page 3
