HMS Falcon: A Charles Mullins novel, Sea Command 7

by Richard Testrake

  Dooley answered, “I have them with me, but did not want to produce them unless I was certain you were happy.”

  Mullins learned it would be some days before the arrangements could be made to land his cargo onto the French coast. Dooley could not supply Mullins with a list of the items to be delivered, but did assure him everything could be carried in two launches. He said that Admiralty had thought of just sailing two boats across the narrow Channel but were concerned an enemy coastal patrol might discover the operation.

  Should this happen with Falcon delivering the goods, the post-ship would have a good chance of defeating any force that might intervene.

  Mullins invited Dooley to stay on the ship until time to sail, but his guest begged off, saying he had innumerable duties to perform before sailing. Asking Ron to stop by his home before the sailing date, they said farewell, with Dooley leaving the Admiralty orders behind.

  Days later, he received a communication from Admiral Montague in Portsmouth, releasing him from that command and assigning him to Admiralty headquarters. reminding him to ask for assistance if such was required. Matters began moving rapidly after that. Covered drays began pulling up on the quay, laden with mysterious contents. Crates of muskets were delivered to Falcon as were quantities of other military kit, much of it of French origin. Mullins, as of yet, was not aware of what his mission to the mainland was to accomplish, other than delivering Dooley as well as this equipment. Believing action with the enemy was always likely whenever this agent was near, Mullins went over his ship’s readiness with his own officers.

  Believing his ship would soon sail, Mullins began spending every moment possible in preparation, often omitting to return home in the evening. After several days passed without retuning to the house, one evening Brooks drove the chaise down to the quay and begged a ride out to the ship.

  Brazenly approaching Mullins on the forbidden quarterdeck, he asked his captain not to forget him when it came time to sail.

  Surprised, his captain asked him if he was tired of looking out for his mother.

  “Sir”, he shamefacedly admitted. “My mother is busy now with new friends. I just drove her to a rout. She has an admirer who would happily escort her to where she needs to go.”

  “Well, Brooks, I do not want to disturb your mother, but will be glad to have you on the ship. I do not know when we will sail, but expect it will be soon. Please tell your mother of your plans. I would not want her to bring the watch to search the ship looking for you.”

  Dooley returned that night, bringing with him some dangerous looking men he said would be sailing with them. All of them were natives of the far shore, involved in whatever desperate adventure Dooley was associated with. Dooley and his party spent much of the night taking inventory of the kit that had been brought aboard in recent days.

  Upon being notified his party was ready to sail the following morning, the mail was taken ashore and the ‘Blue Peter’ signal was hoisted to notify any hands adrift that the vessel was soon to set sail. An embarrassed midshipman scrambled through the entry port as the lines were being taken in. He had been on a forbidden visit ashore to see his inamorata. Mister Reynolds assured him it would be a very long time before he would go ashore again on anything but ship’s business.”

  A Thames pilot and his helper saw them down the Thames to the Nore. Once clear of land, the pair got into their boat to return and Falcon made her way out to sea. This mission had been planned to be a quick crossing of the Channel and return, but Mullins had as usual, decided to proceed slowly, using the time at sea to work his crew into perfect readiness. Once far enough at sea to avoid alarming near-shore traffic, empty casks were thrown over the side to be used for targets. Cruising along the line of bobbing kegs, every gun in both batteries was able to fire its load at an empty barrel. Several sails in the distance were seen to scatter when they heard the guns fire. Spending that afternoon and evening at sea, they raised the French shore the next morning. That day they cruised along the shore. looking for any enemy ship that might interrupt their trip.

  With all clear, Mister Evans was given a scrap of paper giving the position of their proposed landing. Well familiar with this stretch of coastline, Evans assured Dooley that Falcon could be off the target beach before first light. When Mister Reynolds stated they were, to the best of his knowledge, directly opposite the desired location, a dark lantern was exposed, its opening directed to the landing site.

  Moments after a coded signal had been sent, an answering gleam showed, blinking off and on again over a few minutes. The boats had been loaded during the night and were being towed behind. They only needed to be pulled up for their crews to embark. There was a certain amount of clatter, but the ship was far enough offshore to make it unlikely that anyone unfriendly might notice. The boats cast off, and Mullins waved farewell at Dooley’s boat.

  The plan had been for the ship to head out to sea after the boats left, but Mullins feared for the safety of the people going ashore. According to the plan, he was expected to return the next night to pick up his boats and crew, but now decided to just remain where he was, in case he might need to deliver support to the landing party. He felt safe in doing so. After all, it was almost normal for British boats and ships to cruise right up to the enemy shore these days.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The lookouts had just climbed to the mastheads at first light. When the alarming report was called out, “Ship on the port beam!”, the crew immediately went into frenzied action.

  The call was quickly amended. “Ship is a big frigate!” By now, the ship could be seen from deck and she was one of the new French frigates of forty guns. Difficult to see, she was about two cables length distant. The enemy ship saw the Falcon at about the same time and drums began sounding the alarm on her decks.

  Falcon was just coming to quarters, as she did every day at dawn and Mullins hoped to beat the Frenchman at this drill. Falcon’s guns were already loaded and ready to run out. The watch below was already boiling out of the hatches.

  Falcon was in a difficult position. Armed with mostly shorter range carronades, she would find it difficult to effectively engage a larger ship armed almost entirely with long guns, at a range of over four hundred yards. Difficult, but not impossible. Victory or defeat would depend upon the skill of the individual gunners.

  Falcon was to leeward of the stranger, sailing along the coast directly toward a narrow island close ahead. With little room to maneuver and the onshore wind on her port beam, she was in a difficult position.

  The enemy was apparently armed with eighteen-pounder long guns. Sometimes the French navy replaced some of the broadside guns with lighter twelve and eight-pounders, to reduce stress on the fabric of the ship. This was a new ship though, with all of her eighteen-pounder long guns. Falcon was armed with eighteen-pound carronades, which fired their projectiles at a much-reduced velocity, making it difficult to strike a target at any great distance.

  If the opponent’s crew was poorly trained, they might have as much trouble hitting the distant post ship as Falcon would have impacting the frigate with her carronades. The first broadsides told the story, though. Six of the first French balls fired by the frigate struck Falcon’s beam, causing enormous damage. In return, only one of Falcon’s carronades struck home, and the ball, at reduced velocity, did little harm.

  Mullins first priority was to reduce the distance between the ships to give his gun crews a chance. His lighter guns could be served faster than the ponderous long guns of the enemy. At a closer range, their increased rate of fire could help negate the larger number of guns the French ship had on her broadside. This was not to be, however. The French captain, with his advantage of the wind, elected to engage at a distance, which hampered HMS Falcons’ carronades.

  Unable to effectively respond to the long guns of her powerfull opponent, the post ship began to receive damaging hits. Every shot smashing into the ship brought its share of casualties.

  The guns con
tinued thundering and the ship began to come apart under their feet. Every enemy broadside left fewer men on their feet on Falcon’s deck. It was soon evident that something be done very soon.

  Unable to escape to seaward past the enemy frigate. Mullins tried to take her shoreward past the long narrow island lying parallel to the shore. He thought if he could just get through the shallow strait between the island and the coast, he might have a chance for escape.

  Enemy fire was impacting their rigging and the main tops’l yard had been shot through. A few men were trying to haul up a replacement under enemy fire, when the ship, her helm now smashed, veered off course, and struck a rock on the bottom. With Falcon now immobile, the enemy hove to off the entrance to the strait and continued her fire. With no chance to return fire, Mullins took a last chance and set every bit of canvas left to him to try to pull the ship off the rock.

  For a moment, as the ship pulled herself from the underwater obstruction, he thought he had succeeded, until the carpenter came up from below and reported the ship to be flooding badly. An instant later, she struck again and this time there would be no escape.

  The enemy frigate was larger than Falcon, with a deeper draft and her captain dared not come into the strait and close with its foe. Instead, she remained hove-to and delivered her raking fire at Falcon. At long range now, few of the shot hit, but enough did to slaughter more men every few minutes. With men falling constantly and no chance to refloat the ship, Mullins decided to take his people ashore. Before leaving the ship, he went below to ascertain the true condition of Falcon. The last grounding had put a boulder through the bottom of the hull. Water was pouring in at an alarming rate. HMS Falcon was finished. Seeing no hope for the ship, he went up to oversee the evacuation of his men.

  Counting heads, he found his two officers were gone. Mister Reynolds had taken a shot to his torso and Rainier had lost a leg. He had bled out before the surgeon could get to him. Fortunately, the ships’ boats had been towing behind at the time of the attack and were still afloat. Normally, the entire crew could not have been loaded in these boats. All three, launch, cutter and jolly boat were filled to above rated capacity, but with the heavy casualties the ship had sustained, all men alive were able to be taken off.

  A rain squall had blown in, obscuring the ship from the enemy fire and it was the weather that likely saved them. The enemy, unable to see, stopped its fire, and the boats pulled through the gusting showers toward land. They came ashore near a tiny fishing hamlet and a score of locals came out to meet them.

  These people were not really trying to harm them, but knew whenever a ship was driven ashore in a storm, riches were apt to be found on the beach next morning. Some closed on the refugee seamen, perhaps with plans to relieve them of their valuables. A few hands had taken muskets ashore, but Mullins knew there was unlikely to be a dry cartridge in the party. Many of the men had cutlasses though, and more had their sailor’s knives. After a brief struggle, when a villager who tried to pull away a sailor’s bag ended on the sand with a slashed gut, the others backed away.

  Some of the hands ranged through the village and returned with a team of horses and a manure wagon. The wagon was filled with hay from a nearby byre, the wounded loaded and off they went.

  Exposed to the rain, the casualties were in desperate straits, but there was no option. It was most important to get moving, perhaps shelter could be found. Hours later, Mullins knew he had made a grave mistake. He should have hauled down his flag when they first went aground. That way, many of his crew could have been saved. Now, he saw no fate other than suffering and death for any of them.

  Later that afternoon, the rain stopped and an old barn was found. The accompanying house had burned years ago, and the barn was in little better condition. However, a corner, with a bit of roof was still erect and some of the more badly injured could be given some semblance of shelter.

  Robert Brooks was still on his feet and had carried one of the hands for the last few miles. Despite his exhaustion, he immediately volunteered when Mullins revealed he was going out to scout for any better shelter to be found.

  Trading his useless Manton pistols for a cutlass, Mullins went out onto the road, followed by Brooks, who had found a rusty axe. Travelling only a few rods, they found themselves surrounded by a band of men dressed in French army blue.

  Deciding the time had come to haul down his flag, Mullins dropped the cutlass and Brooks did the same with the axe. Surrounded by their captors, both men stood quietly while the strangers discussed the problem in the French language. The now irascible Mullins was preparing to verbally assault these men. He wanted to get his people to a warm place.

  Instead, he was surprised to hear a familiar voice. “Well, what have we here? A more bedraggled pair of men I have not seen for many a day.”

  It was Ron Dooley, alive and apparently free. He asked, “How many of your people do you have?”

  Mullins had to strain his tired brain. “Probably about seventy, although many are wounded or sick now. They are in that burned-out barn down the road.”

  Dooley sent a pair of his people back to get help while going forward himself to determine what he had to deal with. A good third of the people had been on their last legs upon arriving and Mullins knew it would be difficult or impossible to get many back on their feet.

  The newcomers built a few fires in the depths of the barn, out of sight of the road. Before the refugees could get warm, some relief had arrived. Two dozen healthy-looking people had arrived. Mostly men, but a few sturdy-looking women as well. A few kettles were placed over fires and soon a country soup was brewing. Mullins did not dare to guess at some of the ingredients, but the smell soon reminded him that he was hungry. The sound of horses and iron-rimmed wagon wheels sounded and soon wagons loaded with French army tents had arrived.

  The more badly injured men were placed under shelter, while the others were given blankets to wrap themselves in. When all had been given a little soup, Dooley led Mullins to a lean-to and they sat down on the bare earth, each holding a steaming cup of soup.

  Mullins tried his best to express his appreciation for the care his men were receiving, but Dooley shrugged it off. “It’s myself that needs to do some explaining. Remember those recruit depots we were destroying in Britany earlier?”

  “We had much the same objective here. A depot of raw conscripts and loads of French military kit to equip them. Back in London, there was a thought that a strong attack might bring out a large number of the local populace to drive the Imperial troops out of their district.”

  “Actually, while the people here do not care for Bonaparte, neither to they wish to suffer to see him gone. We did get some men together, armed with the muskets landed from your ship, but after some initial success, they soon began to drift away. We took the depot with what we had and captured stocks of weapons and equipment, but the men kept leaving. When the word arrived that a strong army would be arriving next week, most left behind the weapons they had captured and went back to their homes.”

  “At the time I heard of Falcon’s destruction, the news of the new army also arrived. If you still had a ship, I would have asked you to take us home. As it is, I do not know how it might be done.”

  Mullins spoke, “Have you any recommendations? I hate to surrender.”

  “Mullins, we may have to. You have many sick and wounded and our combined force cannot hope to oppose formed troops who will likely be here by tomorrow night.”

  Mullins continued. “Well, we need to get away from here, that is certain. If we cannot travel by land, there is only the sea. Is there any shipping close to hand that we might take?”

  Dooley answered, “The port of Calais is no great distance away, but there is no way to reach it by land. French troops control the roads and we could not reach the port without a fight.”

  “What about boats. We came ashore in ours, and they may still be on the beach where we left them.”

  Dooley said, “Don’t b
e too sure about that. These locals will have hidden them in some creek mouth if they have discovered them.”

  Leaving a party to watch over the casualties, Mullins led Dooley and some men to the beach where they had come ashore. The jolly boat had been cast up on the beach by the surf, but the others were now adrift in the distance well offshore, being driven down the coast. Mullins took some seamen and floated the smaller boat. A seam had been opened, but could be temporarily caulked by strips torn from a shirt.

  Some effort with the oars took them out to the other boats and their painters were taken aboard the jolly boat. Both cutter and launch were near swamped but the boats were still afloat. Towed with much effort to land, they were emptied out and readied for the voyage to the port of Calais.

  Most of the oars were missing, but the masts and sails were still present. While Mullins and his men were preparing the boats, Dooley returned to the barn and collected all the able-bodied men present. Armed with the French muskets Dooley had taken ashore, they marched at double time to the boat landing.

  Watched over by curious villagers, the men loaded aboard. All boats were nearly gunnel-deep from the excess load, but still afloat, they cast off. The two larger boat sailed, while the jolly boat was towed by the launch. The thought crossed Mullins mind that in this mild weather, it might be possible to sail right across to Dover. This, of course, would mean the abandonment of the sick and wounded back at the barn.

  They were nearing the port, when the wind and sea began picking up. Mullins had concerns about their entry into the port. Perhaps they could pass as fishing boats returning to port, but knew they were unlikely to fool any knowledgeable person ashore. They looked to be exactly what they were; two ship’s boats towing a third. Surely, someone ashore would call for an explanation.

  The seas were now beginning to trouble the seamen. Overloaded as they were, there was ample opportunity for one or both to swamp. They made entrance into the harbor as the worst of the weather struck. A blinding downpour shut off most visibility, but within the harbor, they were protected from the seas.