The printed letterhead identified the sender as ‘Jules Loeb, Fine Jewelry; Dealers in Gold and Silver’. The address was on Baker Street, easily found, since it was so close to his gunmaker. Knowing he could be in deep trouble with the port admiral if he left the ship. He went anyway.
Before leaving, he dropped one of his pistols in his coat pocket, and made sure the sword was free in its scabbard. Calling for his cox’n and gig, he was ready to be rowed ashore. Mister Drummond came over, meaning to ask him if another officer or some armed men might accompany him, but a look at the thunder cloud on his face dissuaded him.
On shore, once outside the gates of the naval establishment, Phillips began to wonder the same thing. It was now late afternoon, and plenty of drunks and prostitutes were now on the street. As he was trying to engage a cabriolet, and at the same time fend off a growing horde of undesirables, he was beginning to think about turning back to collect more men from the ship, a familiar face from the past appeared at his side.
“Afternoon, Cap’n Phillips.”
“By God, it’s John Peabody. Where did you spring from?”
This, of course, was an inappropriate way of addressing a former crewman, as Peabody certainly was. Peabody was a well built, extremely strong man Phillips had taken on before a previous commission. Peabody was no seaman, anything but. However, he was somehow able to stare at a group of misbehaving men, and compel them to come to reason again. He had been signed on a previous ship as ‘Captain’s servant’; however that was a very minimal idea of his actual duties.
“Sir, I just came out of that pub over there, and saw these people interfering with you. I thought I’d ask you if you needed any help. Should I maybe press some of these men for you?”
His words were perfectly audible to some of the closer men, and men began looking at them with alarm. “Not right now, Peabody. I need to go someplace first. On the way back though, I think that would be a wonderful idea. I believe we could collect a dozen men from this mob.”
With that, people began drifting away from the fun and games around the pair. Drunk as most of them were, everyone understood the word ‘Press’ and what it would mean to them. Peabody had somehow acquired a long length of oaken barrel stave, and had been walking with Phillips, slapping it against his free hand. With the mob gone, a hackney cab pulled up beside them, and the men climbed aboard. The driver knew of the jewelry shop, and had them there quickly. Once there, Phillips went inside, while Peabody stayed by the door, with his barrel stave.
A young man came over to see Phillips, and nodded when he saw the note. “Yes, her letter came in two days ago, and we sent it right out. We sent a copy to your Essex address, as well as the Admiralty. I presume you would like to send a reply to the lady?”
“Perhaps. First though, I would like to hear of the circumstances of your business coming to my wife’s notice.””
“Captain Phillips, you may wish to know that I have never met your wife. She apparently approached a cousin in Paris; like myself a dealer in gold and silver. There is a network of such around Europe, often related, and all have served an apprenticeship with another dealer.”
“As you have discovered, it is not easy to transfer funds among different parties in Europe, often separated from each other by warring states. Suppose however, a person in, let us say London, wishes to send gold or currency to another person in, let us say Paris. Our Londoner would appear before us with the necessary gold or currency, plus a small amount extra to pay us for our efforts. We would place the funds in our vault, and send a coded reply to our associate in Paris, indicating the funds have been deposited. As soon as our associate receives the coded instructions, gold or currency in the amount specified would be handed over to the person making the request.”
‘But, how do you transfer the actual metal from London to Paris?”
“Probably, we will not do so. You need to remember, there are probably those in Paris who wish to send money to London. Over time, these transfers have a way of evening out. If one station should become low on funds, others nearby would physically transfer the metal. During a time of peace, like the recently concluded Treaty of Amiens, a good deal of traffic will flow between the former warring nations, much of that traffic carrying funds to balance out the previous transactions.”
“Mister Loeb, I can understand how your funds transfer system operates, but how do you pass messages between two countries?”
“Fishing boats.” Loeb explained, “Every day fishing boats set out from Honfleur and Le Havre, meeting up with boats from our side of the Channel. Did I say that all instructions and correspondence are encrypted?”
Phillips was shown to a desk in a back room, where he wrote a short note to Sarah. He explained that he could not come to her right now, since then he would be a prisoner too, unable to help. However, he would work as hard as he could to free her. In the meantime, he was transferring gold to her so she would not have to exist in impoverished circumstances. Giving Loeb a note of hand for the requested amount from his banker, he took his departure.
Peabody was still outside, amusing some women food vendors with feats of strength. Collecting him, he engaged a cabriolet and they were off to the dockside. Once on the quay, Phillips got up on the seat and waved his hat at Reindeer. “Peabody, you do know you do not have to come aboard, don’t you? You are not on the ship’s books.”
“Oh, that’s all right, cap’n. I don’t mind working for this Royal Navy. ”
CHAPTER FIVE
Action Ashore
Once on board, Phillips explained to Drummond about Peabody; how the man was completely useless as a seaman, but valuable when pure strength and fighting ability were required. “At the moment, I don’t recall our having a Master at Arms on the books.”
“I had been meaning to wait until a man turned up so mean, the other man would just obey him without thinking. Sir, if we rate Peabody so, the other men will hate him. They will try to do what they can to him.”
“Mister Drummond, Peabody has probably the mildest disposition and the most forgiving nature of anyone I know, as well as the strongest. I could really pity the man who tried to injure him, or someone he felt necessary to protect.”
“Very well Captain. I’ll enter him in the books as ‘Master at Arms’, and explain his duties to him.”
Phillips had just entered his quarters, when the Royal Marine sentry outside the door announced the midshipman of the watch. “Sir, we found this packet in the mail that just came aboard. Lieutenant Rogers said to bring it to you right away.”
“Thank you Mister Fletcher. I will be up on deck shortly.”
Slitting the canvas wrap with his pen knife, the contents were revealed as another sealed packet addressed to Admiral Cornwallis, as well as orders to himself. His orders requested and required him to get his ship to sea as soon as he had taken aboard stores, and proceed to the location of the Channel Fleet, probably off Le Havre. The dispatches for Admiral Cornwallis were to be delivered without delay.
Taking his own orders with him he went to the quarterdeck. The mids were finished with the mail, and as far as he could see, everything was normal. The master had a herd of newly minted midshipmen segregated, to whom he was trying to explain the mysteries of navigation. Mister Hornady, the second lieutenant and present officer of the watch, was standing at the lee rail with Lieutenant Drummond, the first lieutenant. Catching Drummond’s eye, he beckoned them over to him.
He handed the orders to Drummond, and asked him to share them with Hornady, when he had read them. “Gentlemen, as you see, we are to report to Admiral Cornwallis at the Channel Fleet and deliver some dispatches I have in my cabin. Since Sailing Master Anson, I see, is occupied with his midshipmen, perhaps you, Mister Hornady, under the guidance of Mister Drummond here, would take the ship to sea on a course for Le Havre.
Once off the French coast, a gun brig, escorting a victualer, gave them directions to the admiral. His flagship, Ville de Paris, was spotted b
y the lookout that evening. There was enough daylight yet to signal the liner, and Reindeer was instructed to fall in astern of the big first rate. Mid-morning next day, Mister Pennyworth, their signal midshipman reported ‘Captain to report to the Flag’.
The gig had been ready since before first light, as was the Captain’s best uniform. It only took a few minutes for him to appear on deck, and descend into his gig. There was only a moderate sea, and Phillips was transported to the first rate still in pristine condition. He was astonished to see Rear Admiral Cornwallis at the entry port. When he tried to express his gratitude for the courtesy, the admiral cleared his throat and grumbled the necessity of hurrying. “It will be time for noon sights soon, and I still have a full day’s work to do.”
In the admiral’s office, the servant served both men with claret, and left, Cornwallis said, “To get this out of the way, Captain Phillips, I would like to express my sorrow about your wife’s circumstances. Would you care to tell me how you found out about her difficulty?”
“Secretary Nepean of the Admiralty first gave me the inkling that there might be a problem. He told me French authorities were taking British citizens into custody. Then after my ship’s workup, I received a note from my wife. She had sent it from Paris, via the good services of a local goldsmith. A copy ended up in the hands of a London goldsmith, who contacted me.”
“And what did your good wife expect from you?”
“If she has funds, she can live a respectable life style while waiting exchange. She has money for now, but will soon need to have her purse replenished. This can be done through the good offices of the goldsmiths.”
“Yes Captain, I am aware of the activities of these goldsmiths. Of course, you are aware it is illegal to send funds to France at the moment, but I think we can overlook that. We will not however involve the Royal Navy in any harebrained rescue attempt. Are we understood, Captain?”
‘Yes Sir.”
“I will want you to sail up and down the coast on either side of Le Havre, looking for enemy boat and ship concentrations. We are especially interested in concentrations of the small craft that might be used in landing French troops on our shores. Should you come across any of Bonaparte’s transports bringing materiel to any of his endeavors, you should feel free to interfere with that traffic in any degree that you might be able to.”
A week later, Reindeer was far from the Channel Fleet, close up against the French coast. The midshipman of the watch was intercepted at his door by the Royal Marine sentry. Before the commotion had cleared, Phillips told the boy to enter. He learned that French troops had been observed marching along the coast. This was the type of news Phillips needed. Any disruption of these troops could only be to the benefit of Britain. The questions were, how?
Shallows and reefs extended out from the shore in inconvenient places. Charts of this location showed these difficulties. A clumsy drawing on the chart drew his attention, but Phillips was unable to decipher it. The master, when called over, readily translated. “That is a battery, Captain. Four guns, if I don’t miss my guess. Josh Harking, on the ‘Whippet’ stuck his nose in this bay during the Peace. He’s not the best draughtsman though, so it’s hard to interpret his drawings sometimes. Nobody can figure why Brother Jack would want to put a battery here, though. Tiny harbor, shallow bottom; it looks like it will only take small craft. Reindeer could never get in there. Maybe they were transporting the guns by coast road to somewhere else. They may have had some trouble, and decided to just drop the guns by that harbor, along with a few men. As an excuse to their higher authority, they could say they want to stop our raiding parties from interfering with fishing and small cargo vessels who seek refuge in the bay.”
Seeing Drummond hovering just out of earshot, Phillips beckoned him over. He said, “Mister Anson, our good sailing master here has just wondered why the French built a battery at the head of the little bay marked on this chart. Let us proceed there immediately and investigate”.
Anson, standing beside the helm, took over the command of the frigate. The ship was nearly thirty miles from the bay, and, with the wind as it was, all officers hoped the ship to reach the bay in sometime in the afternoon. Phillips asked Drummond to join him in his cabin. “Mister Drummond, I am of a mind to send some of our men to take this battery. Do you think this practicable?”
Drummond looked grave. “I’m sorry Sir. I expect the battery could take out our boats as soon as they got into range, unless you choose to go in by night.”
“Well Mister Drummond, I think it would be better if we waited to see how the bay and the fort are situated. There is not much point in making plans for a circumstance that may not exist.”
The first officer examined the chart, and said. “Sir, we could land our men behind the western point that serves as one of the sides of the bay.”
“Yes, Mister Drummond that may well be a plan. I’d like to drop our people off before the fort realizes we are here. If we can catch the garrison by surprise, perhaps we can take the battery with a minimal amount of noise and damage. We saw those troops earlier marching toward this position up the coast road. I expect they will want to refresh themselves at the battery. Perhaps we can invite them to the festivities.”
It was approaching dusk when Reindeer passed a few miles offshore. Drummond had tried to convince him to pass farther out. He felt there was too much chance of being seen. Phillips thought any troops present would likely be newly conscripted, with little knowledge of the sea. Had any of the French soldats (soldiers) noticed their sails, they would have difficulty differentiating them from those fishing and trading vessels they would have been looking at all day, besides; it would be easier for the boats to reach their target if they need not row so far.
Leaving Mr. Drummond in charge of the ship, most of the rest of the crew piled into the boats. Phillips had taken some pains to instruct the men where they should go. Lieutenant Andrews, commanding the Royal Marine detachment aboard ship went into the launch, its landing point would be on the western side of the point delineating the bay. He also took command of the seamen in that party. Phillips himself commanded the party pulling for the beach behind the eastern point. It was expected after meeting up in the rear of the battery, they would, under direction of Lieutenant Andrews, decide upon a proper strategy, and take the gun position. A red light at night would signal a serious problem. Blue would signify success.
In the very early morning, Phillip’s longboat grounded on the beach, and the forward boatmen jumped out and pulled the boat onto shore. His party could see nor hear any sign of Andrew’s party, but with the intervening land, that was as expected. The only sign of life was that of normal sea side sounds. It was only in the very late part of the night, when their sentry heard the passing of a party of men to their south. Phillips, who had been on watch himself, woke a bosun’s mate and told him to wake everyone quietly. He was startled when a Marine corporal materialized in front of him without attracting the attention of their sentry. The corporal reported the rest of the attack party was in an ideal attack position to the rear of the battery. As they picked up their belongings, the Captain noticed the night sky to the east was distinctly lighter. Dawn was coming.
In the dim light, the party was able to discern the rear entrance of the little fort. Some of the fortifications there consisted of piles of some kind of thorn brush stacked across the rear. There was a flimsy looking gate which a sentry slowly opened as a shabby civilian leading a goat brought her to that gate.
“Ah, someone here wants milk in his coffee”, Phillips thought. Touching the corporal’s sleeve, he said, “Corporal, I’d like somebody to take the sentry at the gate, as well as the man with the goat into custody, quietly. If either makes a noise, silence him.”
The enemy was being aroused by the commotion in their rear, and so without waiting for Captain Phillips, Mister Andrews gave the order to attack. In two minutes, it was over. A few men of the raiding party had received minor cuts, scrapes a
nd bruises.
A half dozen of the enemy were stretched out on the sand, dead or severely wounded. Midshipman Everett, carrying the blue light, came up and asked if he should light it. Given permission, he dumped the powder charge from a musket cartridge into the wood bowl containing the chemicals. A smoldering bit of slow match was thrust into this, the powder flared and then the blue light chemicals ignited with their harsh blue glare.
Sentries were posted on the road, to warn of the approach of any intruders, while Phillips and Andrews searched through the camp, looking for anything that might interest Intelligence people back home. Andrews, a fluent French speaker, discovered a packet of loose pages in a small building, which he said was the current French naval signal book. Apparently, the building was the quarters for the batter commander. Phillips impressed on Andrews the necessity of keeping any reports of the book’s capture from leaking out.
When the bosun came up to report, Phillips informed him of the problem. “Leave it to me, sir. Is there anything else you need in that building we found the French officer in? ”
Phillips gave permission for the bosun to do what he wished and returned to examining materiel captured a few minutes before. Another boat from Reindeer was approaching the beach, bringing in the surgeon’s mate to treat the wounded. Phillips had just ordered a midshipman to take a party over to meet the boat. He saw then, out of the corner of his eye a flicker of fire, followed by the violent imprecations of his outraged bosun. In view of the entire body of prisoners, the former quarters of the French lieutenant commanding the gunners had burst into flame, fueled by a puncheon of olive oil which had apparently been kicked over by the raiding party.
Trafalgar and Beyond: A John Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 3) Page 3
