Rugen and Hans took to their ruse happily – Rugen, sitting on a stool at the bar as any traveler would to learn about the place and enjoy a beer after his travels, and the quieter Hans sat with Neville to have a bite of herring with his potatoes and enjoy the warmth of the room.
Not half an hour went by before Neville noticed a pretty girl sitting beside Rugen whom, he suddenly realized, would be considered a rather handsome, outgoing fellow. Evaluating him for this duty on such qualities had not been of consequence in the least, but now Neville had an inkling of concern. In another five minutes, their stools were empty and the serving-girl was at his table asking for payment for Rugen’s drinks. He was pleased when the French coins Fairfax had supplied were accepted without any hint of annoyance. She handed one back as overpayment.
“Hans, did you see the girl Rugen was with?”
“Yes, Sir. Quite a pretty lass, what?”
“Did you see them go?”
“No,” he said, looking round to where they were. “Do you suppose we’ll find them at the hostel?”
“No, I do not. We must hope that we see him again at all.”
“We can take our morning walks, Hans. I find it wonderful to stretch my legs, but we must be sure we are in the restaurant at mealtimes in the hope of overhearing anything said by the French. We must not speak much, though. We certainly mustn’t speak English, and your French is not good enough for a proper conversation if the French are listening. We must appear simply to be enjoying our drink together.”
After two days, the pub’s patrons took no notice of them at all.
“I have heard the French complain about this village, but not much more. Whatever happens, we have only tonight and tomorrow; then we must return to the ship. We will go early and sit right next to where they usually sit for supper, but I will wait to order until they arrive so we can listen to everything.”
The tactic seemed to work. The French conversation was slightly different today. They talked about ‘leaving this awful place,’ ‘plans abandoned,’ and ‘seeing home again and eating decent food.’ They did not talk quietly, either, obviously assuming there was nobody else there who understand French – or, that if they could, they would do nothing about it.
This being Saturday, the tables were filling with locals. The place was getting noisier than during the week. Rugen and his girl had not been seen since the first night. Neville scanned the faces in hope that he might be there. There by the dart board – a familiar face – but not Rugen. He recognized that face . . . from where? It was not recent. He could not guess the man’s height, as he was seated. His appearance was not that of a seaman, and the face was not … English? He was a curly-headed man with a clean-shaven square chin, wide-set brown eyes, and bushy eyebrows – a heavy fellow; not fat, but strong-looking. He sat alone. Recognition came, but it was in disbelief. The man – Georges – looked up in his direction and apparently had the same sensation of curiosity, followed by recognition. He looked down at the table again.
Neville studiously avoided staring at Georges while he pondered his course of action. In three minutes time, two glasses of red wine arrived at the table.
“Compliments of him over there,” said the serving-girl, indicating Georges.
“Our thanks,” said Hans.
“I shall go thank him,” said Neville to Hans. “I’ll be right back.”
Georges was still alone when Neville reached his table. “Thank you, Sir. May I sit?”
“Please do, friend.”
“Here, Georges? Really?”
“One must always be somewhere, my friend. Here’s to old acquaintances.” They lifted their glasses in show.
Georges leaned in toward Neville. “Mr. Burton, I must leave this place as fast as I can find transport. How do you come to be here? I assume you have a way to leave.”
“I have a mission, Georges, to determine the plans of the French and of the Dutch Navy here.”
“Just take me out with you, then. I can tell you all of that.”
“Meet us where the fishing boats beach, then, at the far end of the strand – in the dark of morning, when they go out.”
“Us?”
“I have two Dutch seamen with me. Or, rather, I had two. Now it’s one.”
In the morning before sunrise, Neville and Hans walked to the beach. “Yes, Hans, said Neville, “I know we have an agreement to meet the pinnace, but that’s two days away. I think it is important to leave now. We are taking a friend.”
“Rugen is back?”
“No, I haven’t seen him – someone else ….
“As long as the weather permits sailing a small boat, we can set our course straight offshore, and we will certainly cross some ship of the blockade. Even if they don’t see us, we’ll see them, and we can sail to them. At the very worst, we would reach England in a few hungry days. I have this bag of water. It really should take only two to cross the channel.”
“Here we are. Untie that sail package, there, please, Sir. We should have it ready. Nobody’s watching us. The fishermen are busy with their lines.”
Georges came strolling down the beach.
“Ah, Georges, you are just in time. We’ll need your help to move this boat to the water. The three of us can manage. Take off that gentlemen’s jacket. Let’s not be too conspicuous – use this coat here.
“And let’s hurry,” he added suddenly. “Here’s Rugen, that second seaman I mentioned. Keep your heads down. He has three guards with him. Into the water on three, if you please.”
The smack was afloat, and Neville and Hans were pulling hard for sea when the first musket ball bounced off the water a few feet to their starboard and whined past them.
“Keep pulling, Hans. They probably can scarce see us in this darkness. We’ll leave the sail down until we’re out of range. I don’t like to make myself a target.” A second ball split Hans’ oar blade at the tip, and a third thumped into the smack’s transom. A small, splintered hole began to leak.
“Lucky shots, those first three. I’d wager they can’t see us any more. I can’t see them. Those last two shots weren’t near us. Let’s get that sail up and leave this place behind before they decide to send out a boat. Now we know what happened to Rugen, anyway.”
They sailed nor’east while the sky changed from black to purple. The glow to the east increased until the golden orb itself crept slowly above a ridge of cloud.
“You sailors live in a beautiful world,” said Georges. “Just look at that sunrise. Magnifique!”
“Yes, but I’d say today that the fair breeze and the current of the ebb through the Marsdiep are more magnificent. We’ve got a steady push seaward,” Neville responded.
“Sail, ho,” said Neville, who was facing forward to tend the tiller.” He pointed northeast.
“Another there,” said Hans. “No, two. Take your pick, Sir.”
The sails changed from black squares above the horizon to white sails as the light increased. Hans raised a white flag on their stubby mast, and Neville steered an intercept course to the nearest of them which, at length, saw them and hove to.
The crew of the lugger HMS Black Joke pulled them roughly up the side and pushed them rudely aft to the captain’s cabin. They were sat with an armed marine behind each, while Commander Boarder, who was probably not three years Neville’s senior, began: “Tell me, gentlemen, why I should not hang you this morning as deserters, or possibly even as spies.”
“Meaning no offense whatever, Sir,” Neville began as diplomatically as he could manage, “I request that you take us to Admiral Duncan for your answer. I am Acting Lt. Neville Burton of Venerable, Sir, so I am known there. Hans here is an able seaman of the Russell. Georges, here, is an important liaison to Whitehall. My reason for being sent ashore and the identity of Georges are not facts that my orders allow me to divulge.”
“To the admiral?” he said with surprise, if not alarm. “Hmm. Acting lieutenant with no uniform… certainly impertinent. Therefore,
I must presume you are, indeed, spies. Our spies, though, hey? Well, off to Venerable you’ll go. If you are not who you say, then the admiral can just as well hang you himself.
“Take them out.”
“Sir?”
“Yes? What now?”
“I request you bring the fishing smack along, Sir. It belongs to two fishermen aboard Venerable. We promised to return it. Also, if you see Venerable’s pinnace as we go, please hail them. They will be looking for us.”
“Take them out.”
Black Joke hove to beside Venerable early in the afternoon watch with the fishing smack in tow. Commander Boarder was invited aboard for supper by Captain Fairfax, and crossed in his small gig with his prisoners. He was first up, receiving the honor of being piped aboard.
Neville followed. To Boarder’s surprise, Lt. Staren reached out for his hand as he came up saying, “Welcome back, Lieutenant Burton. How was the beer? And, who’s your friend?”
“Later, Lieutenant Staren, sorry. Admiral first. Will you be a good fellow and see that Georges here gets a bit of food while I tidy up? The beer was excellent, though,” he added with a grin.
“Just a minute, Lieutenant Burton,” said the captain behind him. “Step over here a minute, if you would, please ….
“Who is this fellow?” he asked, indicating Georges.
Almost in a whisper, Neville answered, “A friend of Whitehall, Sir. His name is Georges Cadoudal. I have known him for many years, but I did not expect to find him in there. Admiral Duncan will want to speak with him, I assure you.”
“The two of you join us for supper, then,” said Fairfax in a louder, more normal voice, “if you can tidy up. If naught else, I’d wager there’s a good story to be told.”
“Come with me, then, Georges. I think I can find you a clean shirt, at least.”
Just before supper, Admiral Duncan pulled Neville and Georges into his personal cabin for a private report on the shore party. He would deal with any offence this gave Captain Fairfax in his own way later. After receiving Neville’s oath that Georges could be trusted, he bade Georges give a brief explanation of his association with Whitehall.
“Forgive me, Neville,” said Georges at one point. “I will write something for the admiral in the way of explanation. It seems we have met often enough that what you don’t know might be in the better interest of your personal safety.”
“There is much I report to Whitehall, Admiral, that does not involve the Navy whatever,” Georges continued. “As to navy business, I cannot say what specific plans the Dutch Navy itself may have. I can say, however, that the plan to use the Dutch Navy to ferry the French Army across to attack Ireland, as I know was suspected, has been abandoned.”
“I concur, Sir,” added Neville. “The scraps of conversation I heard between French Army officers seemed all about them leaving Holland and going home to France. It would have been feeble information without Georges here.”
The supper that directly followed would have been remarkably enjoyable, but for the occasional curious, if not angry, look from his captain. Supper complete, Neville stepped topside with Georges in time to see their little fishing smack bouncing gaily across the waves toward the distant shore.
“Lieutenant Burton, it was – interesting – to meet you,” said Commander Boarder. He was piped over the side, and the Black Joke, with Georges aboard, soon sheeted sails home and stood in the direction of London.
20 - “To and Fro”
Dutch commodore Jan De Winter’s fleet remained in its anchorage at Texel. The blockade continued. Neville had no further interaction with Fairfax regarding his visit to Holland, making him wonder if Admiral Duncan had ordered it so.
Within two weeks, Spy visited again. In addition to his letters from home, an official canvas-wrapped letter was passed to him from the despatch pouch.
“Is that what you’ve been waiting for, Acting Lieutenant Burton?” asked Staren, pronouncing Neville’s present title with a very strong emphasis on the word ‘Acting.’
He wanted to tear it open, but did not dare, lest something within be damaged. “I expect so. Come down to the wardroom.”
Once there, he opened the wax-sealed packet very carefully and withdrew the hoped-for letter from the Navy Office. It read, on a parchment he imagined framed and hung on his mother’s wall next to his father’s,
By the Commissioners
for Executing the Office of
Lord High Admiral of Great Britain and Ireland
and All His Majesties Plantations, etc.
* * * * * *
To: Lieutenant Neville Burton
Hereby Appointed Lieutenant of
His Majesty’s Ship Venerable
By virtue of the Power and Authority given us, We do hereby constitute and appoint you Lieutenant of His Majesty’s Ship Venerable, in which you already serve, and charge you to Command all the Company and the Officers Subordinate to you to behave themselves and execute their duties and to act with all due Respect and Obedience to execute what Orders and Directions you receive from your Captain or any of your Superior Officers. Hereof, neither you nor any of you may fail, as you will answer to the contrary at your peril.
A fair copy hereof is hereby sent forthwith to: Captain, HMS Venerable.
Several seals and signatures were affixed below.
He and Lt. Staren both admired it. Staren congratulated him, and he continued to stare at it for a few minutes in partial disbelief before placing it carefully in his chest.
Captain Fairfax also seemed quite cheerful following the trip into his cabin with the despatches and, at first light in the morning, Mr. Exson was ordered to hoist a signal for all captains to ‘Repair to Flag’.
The fleet’s captains came and went, gig after gig, for a meeting that lasted only the turn on one short glass. Staren sidled up to Neville, who was watching them depart. He gave an excellent impression of the cat that ate the canary.
“Have you heard it yet, Lieutenant Burton?” he asked, this time stressing the word ‘Lieutenant’.
“I think so, but go ahead. What?”
“I can scarcely believe the rumor is going around already,” said Staren. “The bloody bulkheads have ears here. We will sail for Great Yarmouth this very day for provisioning and necessary refit. Lord knows there’s need of it all. Duncan’s angry, though. He thinks they’ll come out yet.”
“Because there will be no invasion,” Neville mumbled.
“Because what?”
“Nothing, sorry.”
“Here we sit. I can’t believe my eyes. After months of sailing back and forth along the Dutch coast in all weathers, usually out of sight of land even in good weather, it seems just short of impossible that we could be anchored by the English shore in less than two days’ time; but, here we are,” said Neville to Lt. Foster.
The ship’s company had cheered as the anchor cable roared out the hawse hole but, for a week, no shore leave was allowed. Fresh provisions began to come aboard. Beef and pork, peas and water, slops and rope; the purser and boatswain were as busy as the proverbial bees.
“It’s wonderful, yes. It’s a relief not to stand watch. I just hope we’ll be here awhile,” said Foster. “Did you hear, though, that Duncan cannot tolerate keeping all his ships in the harbor? He’s sending Adamant, Russell, Beaulieu, Martin, and Circe, as well as the lugger Black Joke, back to watch over the Texel as soon as they can put the very basics aboard.”
“Not us, though? We stay here?”
“For now, I hear.”
Within the week, a sail appeared on the horizon in the early morning. It could be plainly seen with the rising sun upon it, and it was carefully watched as it rose from the water.
The mainmast lookout cried, “She’s the Black Joke!”
Duncan heard it down in his cabin and immediately ran up on deck to join the others looking skyward. “Does she signal?” he bellowed upward.
A minute passed.
“Aye, Sir. She signals,
but ay c’nay read it.”
“Keep a close eye, man,” he hollered up. He caught a passing boatswain’s mate: “My compliments to your captain, and would he come up directly?”
“Signal is ‘Enemy’, Admiral. It shows plain now.”
Captain Fairfax arrived. Duncan yelled at him, “De Winter has come out! Black Joke’s on the way in with the signal ‘Enemy’ up. ‘Prepare to Sail’. We’ll have him!”
“Send those delivery boats back to shore,” said Captain Fairfax to Neville, who just happened to be passing, “and pass word for bo’sun to stow all we’ve got this morning.
“Lieutenant Spence, we have a fair wind for Holland and an ebb this afternoon. We’ll not miss it, or the admiral will have my head.”
Venerable’s anchor was hove short before Black Joke entered the harbor and was catted before she came alongside the wharf. The fleet was at full strength and waiting at the mouth of the Texel by evening of tenth October.
“Captain Trollope of HMS Russell reports that De Winter is already out and took his fleet south,” said Lt. Spence. “Duncan is convinced they will return to the Texel, so we will wait here for them.”
“Sort of a blockade in reverse, hey?” said Neville.
A southeast wind raised Dutch sails from the southern horizon the very next morning, seven miles offshore of the dunes by the small village of Kamp, just north of the coastal town of Egmond.
“Clear for action and beat to quarters, Lieutenant Spence,” Fairfax ordered. “Lieutenant Burton,” he added, “signal our fleet to do likewise.”
The sea was rough enough to send intermittent spray from the bows over the foredeck but, despite the sea and occasional rain squalls, all of the officers aboard Venerable who were not at some immediate duty were on the quarterdeck watching De Winter’s fleet form a long battle line to the south.
The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1) Page 31
