“Orders, Sir?”
“Yes, orders. Give me the orders he has writ you. You had better have them!”
Both Lt.-Captains quickly reached into their coat pockets for Governor Inchiquin’s papers and held them out to be taken. Captain Radford reached out, snatched them rudely, and handed them to Wright.
Wright opened Verley’s copy first. His face became red as he read it, and he pushed it aside slowly, giving Verley an offensive glare as he pushed the paper away from himself. He picked up Neville’s copy and began reading. His complexion became even redder. He tugged at his neck cloth as he lifted his head to look at them again.
A disturbance in the water caused the ship to roll slightly, the mainmast making a small creaking sound behind Burton and Verley. Glasses clinked in the cabinet as though they themselves were nervous.
Verley was looking anxious indeed. Neville’s mind was now horribly divided. Knowing the contents of the orders, one part of him wanted to laugh out loud at the look on Wright’s face, and another part was becoming fearful that Wright would ignore the governor’s commands entirely and hang him on the spot.
Commodore Wright stared at the two young men for a full minute, during which his color did not drain at all. Captain Radford backed a step away from him and stood quiet, except that his hands fidgeted at his sides.
Neville decided to speak; possibly not a wise decision: “We have been sent to assist, Sir. We carry together almost three hundred marines and Jamaican militia…”
“Zounds! I…. can…. read,” Wright interrupted, saying each individual word very slowly and clearly. “Now get off!” He said ominously. Then he yelled a repetition, “Get off my ship! Get off!”
The two stood, grabbed their orders off Wright’s desk, and walked quickly toward the cabin door. As they were walking, Wright fumed, though they could not tell whether it was meant for them or for himself or for Captain Radford, “Sent to assist? Come to assist, indeed. Zounds. They shall expect to lead the attack with the Spanish. Orders will be forthcoming.”
Burton and Verley wasted no time walking to the sally port. A large number of the ship’s company had undoubtedly heard the commodore’s outburst; many turned to watch them moving thence, having the commodore’s rage but not his consequence. The two neither expected nor waited for any semblance of piping the side or even courtesy from the officer who had met them and who had called their gigs as soon as he had heard the shouting. Upon reaching the sally port, Neville decided to make as proper a departure as he could muster. He turned to salute the colours and said in a low voice to Verley, “Vincent, come directly to Experiment, if you please. We shall have a glass and discuss this development.”
The two slid quickly down the ladder, and within the half hour were sitting in Neville’s cabin aboard Experiment having a glass of Jamaican rum to calm their jangled nerves.
13 - “Cap Francois”
Mary, Experiment, Comtesse du Provence, Wasp, Beagle and Lord Aaron were not the only ships in the harbor. Wright himself, whose orders were to ‘support the Spanish in their attack on the French’ had brought only the frigates Antelope and Jersey, expecting the attack itself to be conducted entirely by the Spaniards, and that he might assist with cannon fire from his ships. If the Jamaicans wanted to help, that was fine by him. No less than twelve vessels lay at anchor in the bay, and none of them pirate or French. Four Spanish galleons carried soldiers that had been assembled at the other end of the island to attack the French. This large force, they could see through their telescopes, was having a great affect ashore. The French appeared to be amassing troops to resist the expected invasion.
“We were saved by the governor for sure,” began Vincent. “Did you read our orders beforehand?”
“No, the letters to Captain Wright were sealed, but the Governor assured me that he would insist upon our returning with our ships. He does not trust the Commodore to provide any ship at all to defend Jamaica. He believes it is Wright’s intention to seek his own importance by having as large a fleet as he can gather, even if he does nothing with it.”
“Oh, look here. A boat is coming from the Mary. He wasted little time writing our orders.”
A package was passed up onto Experiment by Mary’s jolly boat, which then turned about and returned to Mary.
“We are personally ordered,” Neville read from the enclosed letter, “that you and I are to lead the charge into the center of the battle, with the Spanish on either flank. First, however, we are to attend the Spanish meeting at three bells of the afternoon watch for coordination. Furthermore, he is very specific that a Spanish officer, one General Gonzalez, is to be the commander of all land forces and we are to obey him once we are ashore.”
“I think he hopes we are killed,” suggested Vincent, “and then he can put his lieutenants aboard our ships and claim necessity.”
“I have no doubt of that. We will need to take care.”
The two British officers were properly piped aboard the La Conception, although the tune was not familiar. They had Colonel Coggins, the Jamaican ground force commander, with them. As commanders of the Jamaican forces, they were welcomed aboard and shown to the captain’s cabin, where the lesser commanders of the Spanish ground forces were already assembled.
Burton and Verley both felt some embarrassment at the welcome they received, particularly after the treatment by their own commodore. Every officer in the room stood when they entered.
“Buenos tardes, Senores Capitans (Good afternoon, Captains),” said the officer who appeared to be the commander, and he continued in Spanish: “I am Captain Juarez of this ship, and this is General Gonzalez who will be in command ashore.” The Spaniards bowed deeply in a fashion unfamiliar to their English visitors, and Burton and Verley made their rough attempts to duplicate the movements. General Gonzalez wasted no time getting into his instructions, but the meeting was held entirely in Spanish. There was no attempt made to involve the English; it was simply expected that they understood. We would do the same, thought Neville, and it is probably what Captain Wright is counting on. If I understand this correctly, they have no wish for us to be in the middle.
The short meeting concluded with the time for embarkation set for dawn the next morning.
Neville caught the eye of General Gonzalez. “Please excuse me, General,” he began in his most polite Spanish, “May I ask a few questions to better understand what you want of us? My Commodore has ordered me to take the center field between your armies. If I do not misunderstand, that is not your intention.”
“Pffft,” said the General, “I wish no offense to your commodore, but he is not an army man. I will not have untrained sailors in the middle of my battle. We will all attack at the same time, but you will gather on our right flank. You will see there is a hill there beyond the field. You will take your three hundred around the hill, and, if we have not won the battle by the time you round it, attack from their rear. But be wary. They may try to do the same to us. That path may be dangerous, and they may even have artillery on the hill.”
As first light grew in the morning all the small boats of every ship were busy ferrying soldiers ashore. The morning calm made the rowing easy, and the slight offshore breeze carried the scents of campfire smoke and cattle. The smell of dead fish on the beaches greeted them as they jumped from the boats into knee-deep water and splashed ashore holding their muskets over their heads. In proper invasion procedure, the Spaniards established a large perimeter defense in the center of the beach fronting the town, and the Jamaicans did the same to their right. The French defenders apparently had no expectations of stopping their invaders at the shore, and by the time the sun was a few degrees above the horizon, the French and hundreds of pirates, known as ‘filibusters’ by the French, were withdrawn to a battlefield beyond. The Spanish commanders efficiently formed their soldiers up in divisions and began their march to engage.
The British forces, commanded for all appearances by Captains Burton and Verley, but for pr
actical purposes by Colonel Coggins, also formed into their divisions, the Marines and militia displaying remarkably presentable formations. Only two score seamen were sent in to participate, and they had already done much of the work of rowing the British soldiers to the beach. The rest were left aboard to insure operability of the ships and an ability to defend them from any sneak attack by pirates. The sailors gathered behind the soldiers in more of a mob than an ordered division, and the march inland began.
Watching from his flagship through a long glass, Commodore Wright was complaining loudly to his flag captain and lieutenants. “What are they doing? I gave them orders to take center field. They are off on right flank. They can’t possibly have had new orders from that General Gonzalez fellow! I’ve done my best to communicate with him, but it’s useless. He can’t speak English at all. Look there, Captain Radford, your lieutenant is leading them off to the right. They’re not even going to the battle. I’ll see him hanged for disobeying orders!”
Burton, Verley, and Coggins’ little army had trudged for an hour now, slowly through the sand of the beach, across some marshy ground, and thence into a rock-strewn scrubby pasture opposite the battle field. They could not yet see the battle forming, but it would be visible as soon as they rounded the last of the hill, now only a cable away. Nervous conversation with Vincent had yielded to the simple act of tramping forward with their swords bumping against their legs, and Neville had plenty of time to think: I have been in the navy for almost seven years now and had considerable experience in sea battles, but I’ve never even seen a battle on land. I’ve seen some ghastly results in naval battles – on the Sans Pareil for example - but somehow that seemed less than certain death. The attack on St. Christopher does not seem the same category as this, either. It looks to me as if the French and Spanish are going to line up facing each other and begin firing, with the chance of being hit by a musket ball very likely.
The sound of musket fire began on the other side of the hill. Neville estimated that they were still half a league from the action. Musket fire increased for a minute or two and then died down into sporadic firing, followed by another round of continuous rattling; the latter firing was interspersed with the banging of field artillery. It was not practical to climb the steep side of the hill to see down onto the field, but as they reached the edge of the towering rocks, the firing of muskets and screams of injured men could be plainly heard.
Their scout came running back the path ahead of them waving his arms for them to stop. With panting breath he described the scene ahead, “You can see ‘em all on the field down there shooting, but there’s another hundred or so ‘round this rock ‘eer. They’ve got ‘round the right flank of the Spaniards by comin’ up t’other side of this hill and will charge them soon, I’m sure of it. They’re placing a gun now behind some big rocks, and they don’t know we’re here!”
“General Gonzalez knows his business, I’d say. Are they French soldiers or filibusters?”
“Not a uniform in sight; must be filibusters.”
“Pass word back to keep the noise down. All right, Colonel Coggins. We can’t expect to fight a proper formation. It’ll be more like the deck of a warship, won’t it? That will suit our sailors and marines… And your militia?”
“We’ve never gone up against a formation. It’s always been pirates or the Indians. We’ll do quite well, thank you, but we need to get the men from this long line all up here so we can all go ‘round the corner as close together as we can. We want them to see a lot of us at once… maybe scare some away before they can turn that cannon on us.”
Fifteen minutes went by while the last of their marching column was gathered forward. They were ready. Coggins, Burton and Verley would lead. Coggins had sergeants at the rear to insure there were no deserters. This is not like waiting for the grapples to be thrown and the ships to come together, thought Neville. It will be entirely a surprise. He nodded at the other two, drew his sword, and began walking forward. This is awkward. I feel naked. He reached the spot where he could see the last man on the enemy’s flank, not seventy yards away, and paused to look behind and confirm his men were all with him; they were. He wondered how they had managed to get so close without being seen, dismissed it as an idle thought, and raised his sword to signal a change to quick-march.
He could see the situation better as he neared the filibuster group. They were largely concealed from the main battle by hiding in a boulder field at the bottom of a rocky cliff. There were numerous gaps between boulders where they could advance to the field, and they were bunching together at these gaps with their weapons in hand as he watched. They were at the brink of making their attack on the Spaniards’ flank.
“Go!” he yelled, swinging his sword in a great arc forward. The motion was repeated by Coggins and Verley, and every man in the forward ranks began to jog toward the boulder field. Their motion was not immediately detected by the filibusters, who were concentrating on the battle and their own charge; thinking their own thoughts of fear and excitement, running and stabbing and staying alive. Even the clatter that arose from the British and Jamaicans’ weapons and gear was not enough to be heard over the clash on the field. Sixty yards. Fifty. We’re well within musket range, and nobody has seen us. I can scarcely believe our luck. A man is turning! He sees us! He’s raising his musket!
Bang! The first shot rang out, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Verley go down! They could not stop for him; only pray he would not be trampled by their own. Neville felt his blood go hot and his pulse quicken and with a sudden fury for the probable loss of his friend, he screamed, “At ‘em lads! Give them hell!”
Shots were ringing out from ahead and behind, now, and the shouting rose to a fever pitch. Some of the filibusters were charging out onto the field to attack the Spaniards, unaware that the shooting was not their own signal to attack. A musket ball ricocheted off a rock to Neville’s left and he felt a hiss as it passed his cheek. Another thumped into the dirt by his foot as he reached the first shooter. The man was trying to reload when Neville slashed him across the neck. Coggins was into them now as well, firing at one point blank and striking the next with the butt of his musket. Confusion was rampant amongst the filibusters. Some that had run onto the field were now running back to help defend their mates, but were being mowed down by Jamaican forces now sheltering in the boulder field. Those who did not run back were being fired upon by the Spaniards. A group of Neville’s sailors set upon the gun crew, mauling them severely with their cutlasses and dismounting the gun. The boulder field became a hand-to-hand melee and then a slaughter as three hundred British routed the hundred filibusters from their boulders. These filibusters – these pirates – were exactly the men that the Jamaicans hated. They were the hand of the French that marauded their coast, captured their merchantmen at sea, plundered their plantations and endangered their families. They gave no quarter.
In half an hour the sounds of battle in the boulder field were almost over, save the screams of the wounded. A dozen filibusters lay sprawled on the field halfway to the battle, and the battle itself was drawing to a close. The French and remaining filibusters were in disorganized retreat. Those who were able were at a run, and there was only sporadic fire from the Spaniards, who were beginning the process of removing their dead and wounded from the field or running for plunder.
We’ve really lost control now, thought Neville as he watched the majority of the Jamaicans and hoards of the Spanish running for the town of Cap Francois on the far side of the battlefield. They will ransack and plunder, and probably burn it to the ground, and I doubt Coggins will try to stop them at all. I surely doubt the Spanish officers will. Where is Vincent? He turned to see a bloody group of his seamen by the dismounted gun, and waved for them to come help him find Vincent. Some sailors had run off with the Jamaicans, but these fellows apparently hadn’t the stomach for it; they didn’t share the Jamaicans’ hatred of filibusters, at any rate.
“Come along, men,” N
eville shouted. “We’ve got to find Captain Verley. He went down with the first bullet.” He began running back the dirt path by which they had come. “Pick that fellow up and set him in the shade,” he ordered the first pair behind him, referring to a Jamaican sitting in the road with blood running down his arm. Another one hit by one of the first few bullets, I suppose, thought Neville. Vincent should be nearby.
“There!” he shouted, “That bloody leg sticking out atop that rock might be him.” Five steps, and he was there looking down at his friend, who lay in a gravely patch behind a two-foot rock. Blood was still seeping from a rag tied round his lower leg, and his face was smeared with dirt. His hands, which held a cocked musket, were covered with blood; presumably his own. His left eye was swollen and his upper lip split. His hat was crushed and he was using it for a pillow, and when he heard Neville and the others shouting and felt the shade of their bodies upon him, he opened his good eye and smiled weakly.
“Do you supposed there’s another girl at Fuller’s looks at all as good as the one you found?” he asked mischievously. He coughed a couple wheezy coughs and added, “I am pleased it’s you. I wasn’t looking forward to a filibuster’s bullet. I’ve got my foot up to keep the blood in my head. I hurt all over, though, thanks to those marines’ bloody boots.” With the anxiety about being murdered at any moment now gone, he passed out.
Captains Burton and Verley stood on the quarterdeck of the Comtesse du Provence as the late afternoon set over Hispaniola. Or rather, Neville stood and Vincent reclined, the ship’s carpenter having created a sort of chaise lounge / deck chair structure for him. Thick smoke was still rising from the land where the town had been, and there was no tall building unburned. The Spaniards had collected their troops and most of the British and Jamaicans were aboard their respective ships as well, but the ships’ boats were still ferrying the last of them from shore. A message had come to the Comtesse asking the status of Lt. Verley, indicating that Captain Wright had heard of the injury and was probably hoping to replace him and appropriate the ship for his fleet. Neville had insisted that Vincent stay aboard the Comtesse for exactly that reason, assuming that if Wright discovered the ship to be captained by Acting Lt. Dinman he would have sent one of his senior lieutenants to take charge immediately. The message was answered that Captain Verley was still in command.
A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2) Page 22
