Merriman and the French Invasion (The Merriman Chronicles Book 2)

  The Merriman Chronicles Book 2

  Merriman & the French Invasion

  By Roger Burnage

  Copyright Information

  The Merriman Chronicles

  Book 2

  Merriman & the French Invasion

  First Edition

  Copyright © Roger Burnage

  All rights reserved

  With the exception of certain well known historical figures the characters in this book have no relation or resemblance to any person living or dead. This book is a work of fiction.

  Foreword – Author’s notes

  In the spring of 1998, workmen demolishing an old nursing home to the north-west of Chester, discovered bundles of old papers concealed behind a bricked up fireplace. One of the men with more perspicacity than his fellows gave them to his employer, a builder, who, being a friend of mine and knowing of my interest in such things passed them on to me. The discovered papers were mostly in a very bad state due to the effects of dampness, mildew and the depredations of vermin over the years and many of the oldest bundles were mostly illegible. Another problem was that the papers had been by different people and some of the handwriting was not of the best. Sorting the papers into chronological order took many months of part time effort, indeed I gave up on the job for weeks at a time, but as I progressed with the work, I realised that it was a history of the Merriman family from the late 18th century to early in the 20th century.

  The first clearly decipherable writings referred to a certain James Abel Merriman, a naval officer at the time of the Napoleonic wars, and revealed some startling facts about French activities in and around Ireland and the Irish Sea at that time. I quickly realised that I had in my hands the material for a novel or novels about a little known part of our history. Other papers and a family tree showed that beside those serving in the navy, later members of the family were connected with the 22nd Regiment of Foot, the Cheshire Regiment.

  Intriguingly, a family tree was among the papers in one of the later bundles. Armed with that and from research in local archives, church records etc. it appeared that the last male heir of the family, Albert George Merriman was killed in France in 1916 and the last descendant, his unmarried sister Amy Elizabeth, was also killed in France in 1917.

  I have written several novels about the Merriman family and in memory of a family whose members served their country and sometimes died for it, I have titled the whole lot ‘The Merriman Chronicles’ and this book ‘Merriman and the French Invasion’ follows the first book ‘A Certain threat’. Between those books there is a gap of some four years when Merriman is in the West Indies. Unfortunately the recovered documents for that period were in such a bad state as to be almost indecipherable but maybe I might sort them out in due time.

  Roger Burnage

  Chapte r 1: Homeward bound from West Indies

  September 1796.

  Master and Commander Lieutenant James Merriman was furious. Ordered home from the West Indian island of Mauritius, “with all despatch” as his orders said, the ship had already taken two weeks longer than might reasonably be expected to make the voyage back across the Atlantic to Portsmouth. There was no possible way that His Majesty’s sloop Aphrodite could make better time and Merriman’s anger was felt by all aboard, from the First Lieutenant down to the lowliest ship’s boy. Standing near the helmsmen, who studiously avoided looking at him in case it earned them a harsh rebuke for not attending to their duty, Merriman glowered at all about him and it did his humour no good at all to know that the damage aloft was his own fault for driving the ship too hard and all aboard knew it.

  The ship had been driven back repeatedly by foul winds and late yesterday the overstrained main yard had cracked when an exceptionally heavy gust hit the ship. The yard had to be sent down to be fished, a repair which necessitated another timber being lashed to it like a splint. The carpenter and bos’un with their assistants were sweating over it whilst the ship heaved and crashed over a quartering sea making their task no easier, and the sailmaker and his mates were busy with the torn main course. After inflicting the damage the gale had eased and veered southerly, as if satisfied to have made its mark on man’s puny vessel, although the skies were still covered by the dark racing clouds.

  He swore to himself and began to pace up and down. Of course his eagerness to make a fast passage was because he was desperately anxious to try and get home to see his fiancée Helen. The Aphrodite had been in the West Indies for almost four years, ever since the French declared war on England, moving around the islands in such an erratic way that correspondence from home had rarely caught up with them and when it did it was always months out of date. There had been two years of interesting and exciting secret missions to land and recover agents, quiet and secretive men and the occasional woman who were seeking to discover how far French plans had reached in their efforts to destabilise British influence in the colonies and raise the slaves in revolt. Merriman and the Aphrodite had been under the orders of a Mr Grahame who had been sent out by the government to co-ordinate the British espionage system. But Grahame had been recalled to England and Merriman and his ship had therefore fallen under the command of the Flag Officer in Antigua, the principal West Indies station. That officer, Admiral Sir William Howarth had never approved of the fact that Merriman with his ship Aphrodite operated virtually as a free agent in his command area and had seized upon his opportunity to bring the ship under his control.

  He had then shown his disfavour by giving Aphrodite all the worst tasks. Since then there had been over a year of monotonous duty escorting slow moving convoys and of being sent hither and thither at the Admiral’s whim until Merriman could have wept with frustration. It was now six months since he had received a letter from either Helen or his family and his ship had not seen English waters for years. Even the small messenger ketch which had found him and delivered his orders had no mail aboard.

  Did Helen still love him, or had the long separation caused her to wonder what life would be like married to a man who could be home only rarely? Perhaps she was regretting the betrothal hastily made when Aphrodite was ordered to the West Indies. Merriman sneered at himself. It was no good taking his bad temper out on the ship’s company; he had always tried to make them believe that he was above the petty moods that characterised so many officers. Where was the patience that he had learned during his years at sea? With a determined effort he threw off the black mood which possessed him and strode forr-ard to where the main yard was being repaired. The carpenter stood as Merriman approached.

  “Nearly done Sir, on the last bit of serving now and then there’s just a lick of tar needed before we sway it aloft. The men are working as fast as they can Sir.” Merriman could see that the man was nervous, probably expecting to be rebuked for not completing the job earlier. “I know that Mr Green, I’m pleased with your progress. Carry on.” Merriman returned to the quarterdeck rubbing his hands together, and forcing a smile to his face he addressed his officers who had been at pains to avoid his attention.

  “We shall be able to get the main yard aloft again soon Gentlemen. Mr Green and his mates have done well. I expect to be able to make better progress before nightfall.” It was as though the sun had suddenly broken through the heavy cloud the way the officers brightened up at their captain’s change of mood.

  “Indeed Sir, and we have the wind in our favour at last instead of the incessant northerly gales we have had for so long,” responded Colin Laing, the First Lieutenant. Even the normally taciturn sailing master, Elijah Cuthbert was disposed to venture an opinion
. “If the weather holds we could be off Ushant in another day or two Sir.”

  “Not before time Mr Cuthbert, not before time. Mr Laing, I’ll trouble you to keep the lookouts awake. We might find the odd French privateer in these waters. T’would be fine to arrive in port with a prize under our lee.”

  “Indeed it would Sir,” replied Laing, “But we did so well in the taking of prizes during the first two years since we left England that there must be plenty to our account in the prize fund already.”

  “That’s very true, but another one wouldn’t hurt. However, I’ll be below, call me when the repairs are completed.”

  Below, in his spartan cabin, Merriman’s mind turned once again to thoughts of home. He unlocked the drawer in which he kept his most personal things and took out the few letters which had reached him. The first one from his father, himself a retired frigate Captain, which was now over three years old, apart from giving such news as there was from home, told him that the 22nd Regiment of Foot, the Cheshire Regiment in which his friend Robert Saville served as a captain, was to be despatched to the West Indies in the Autumn of 1793. The next letter, dated some six months later, told him that although the light companies and the grenadiers had departed in September, the battalion had not gone until December of that year. Apparently Robert had declared his intentions and asked for Merriman’s sister Emily’s hand in marriage before going, but there had been no time for the wedding.

  Merriman smiled sadly. Just as had happened to himself and Helen, so it had happened to his sister and his friend. Betrothals but no weddings. Merriman assumed there must have been other letters from his family which had never reached him, as the next letter was dated October 1795, in which his father broke the news that of the seven thousand men in the army who went to the West Indies barely two thousand survived. Most of the deaths were attributed to disease and the drinking of rum to excess, especially ‘moonshine’ rum distilled by the natives of the islands. Only a few men had died as a result of enemy action. The remains of the 22nd regiment had returned to Colchester but Robert was not amongst them and Emily was distraught with worry.

  Merriman had managed to meet Robert on two or three occasions in Antigua and was well aware of the terrible toll disease and alcohol took of the men in the garrisons. Fortunately the Spartan life aboard a ship at sea had kept his crew healthy and clear of such problems, that and the ship’s doctor Mr McBride, who insisted that Merriman had the water barrels refilled with fresh water at every opportunity and who applied himself diligently to overseeing that the men had as much fresh fruit and vegetables as they could get. That task was made easier by the Admiralty order the previous year that directed that every man should have a daily issue of lemon juice to counteract the effects of scurvy which caused a man’s gums to rot and his teeth fall out.

  His mind went back to the day four years ago when Helen’s father Doctor Simpson, had given McBride, a reformed alcoholic, a sheaf of notes of medical information gleaned from twenty years in India. McBride had considered the notes to be his bible and had studied them assiduously. He was now a very competent doctor and surgeon and the only alcohol he touched was the occasional glass of wine.

  For a while his mind wandered back to home, his parent’s country house and small estate near Burton, to the north of Chester. He pictured the hall and large reception rooms where guests would be lavishly entertained, with his mother’s housekeeper and companion Annie producing culinary wonders from the kitchen so that nobody left the house hungry.

  He wondered if his parents had had their portraits painted as they had promised. If so they would be hung on the grand staircase with other family portraits including Merriman’s uncle Nathaniel Merriman who had died at the head of his regiment in the war with America, and Merriman’s grandfather, old Elias Merriman who had been the first of the family to enter the navy and who retired as an Admiral. It was his grandfather’s tales that made Merriman long to be a naval officer and there had always been something of a mystery about him. It was known that he had married a woman from a noble family who had objected to her marrying an almost penniless young officer and who refused to acknowledge the marriage. His grandmother never saw her family again.

  Infrequently Merriman had received letters from Helen, the last over six months ago, in which she gave him news of herself and her father and expressed her love for him and prayed for his safe return. Merriman was trying to visualise her face, her dark hair and shining eyes, tugging at his ear which was his habit when concentrating, when a knock on the cabin door brought him back to the present. It was Midshipman Oakley.

  “Mr Laing’s compliments Sir, and the repairs are completed.”

  “Very good Mr Oakley, you may tell Mr Laing that I shall be up directly.”

  Fully canvassed again Aphrodite made good time, but regardless of their hopes no French vessel was sighted nor even an English one until the ship approached the waters of the English Channel, with Ushant to the south-east when they passed and saluted a stately ship of the line and a frigate with a convoy of supply ships heading out to join the blockading squadrons off the French ports.

  Soon afterwards when Merriman had only just arrived on deck, the foretop lookout yelled out “Deck there, ships ahead, one sinking and another hull down to starboard. There’s a small boat Sir, off the larboard bow.”

  “Alter course two points to larboard please Mr Andrews, we’ll see what it is.”

  Lieutenant Andrews issued the necessary orders and it was not long before the Aphrodite was close enough to see that it appeared to be a small brig, well down forr’ard, which even as they approached it lurched forward and down with the foredeck down to the water level. Another lurch forward and the doomed ship lifted her stern in the air and slipped beneath the waves with only a belch of air and bubbles as the last bulkhead gave way to show where she had been.

  The boat which the lookout had reported could now be seen with the occupants waving wildly to attract attention.

  “Heave to Mr Andrews and give them our lee.”

  There were five wet and shivering men in the boat which was cast adrift when they were all safely aboard Aphrodite. One of them, a short man with a long neck and a beaked nose which gave him the look of a bird of prey stamped over to where Merriman, obviously the captain, was standing.

  “Thank Heaven you came Captain, I thought we were finished. I’m captain and owner of the Lucy, a merchant brig contracted to the Navy’s Victualing and Stores Department, damn it, I was, until that blasted Privateer caught us. I thought we were lost until we saw your topsails. They put us in the boat and we’ve been adrift for hours, watching the bloody French plunder my ship and then they blew a hole in the bottom……..”

  Merriman held up his hand, “Enough for the moment Captain. Mr Andrews, have these men provided with warmth and food right away. Captain…..?”

  “Griffin Sir, George Griffin.”

  “Captain Griffin will be in my cabin Lieutenant, follow me Captain.”

  Below, Peters, Merriman’s servant appeared and was ordered to bring a hot toddy.

  “Now then Captain, tell me what happened.”

  “Well Sir, we were on our way to take supplies to the fleet off Brest when this God-damned privateer came out of the dark at dawn yesterday morning and we were boarded. We tried to fight but we weren’t prepared and they killed two of my crew. Bloody French, they took what they wanted then set us adrift and sank my ship. Damn them all to hell.”

  “I’m very sorry Captain, what were you carrying?”

  “Oh, barrels of salt pork, water, cordage, spare blocks, all the usual stuff. The ship was mine and now my family’s livelihood is threatened ‘cos it’ll take the navy months to pay compensation for the loss.” The man was nearly in tears.

  “What can you tell me about the privateer Sir? You’re certain she is French I take it?” asked Merriman.

  “All black she was, painted black and with the sails dark grey we never saw her until too late. Scho
oner rigged and very fast too if I’m any judge. French? Oh yes, no doubt of that, I know enough of the lingo to know what they were jabbering about.”

  “And what would that be Mr Griffin?”

  “That they were going from Ireland to France Sir. One of them said that our stores would bring a pretty penny in France if they got through our blockade. I think the captain and them were all for slitting our throats and throwing us overboard, but a man who seemed to be in charge stopped them.”

  “The man in charge? Not the captain then?”

  “No, a man in black and with a long scar on his cheek, He persuaded them to set us adrift in our little boat with some food and water. Seemed to be a cut above the rest of them, a gentleman I think, very courteous he was” Griffin drained the last of his toddy with relish. “Ah, that’s better, frozen we were.”

  “Well Mr Griffin, I can do nothing about your ship, and the privateer is well away, possibly even in some French port by now if she avoided the blockade. I can at least provide you with another hot toddy. Peters, see to it please.”

  Merriman continued, “We’re bound for Portsmouth so you can report there.. I suppose that your men all have certificates of exemption Captain?”

  “Aye, that they have, so you can’t press ‘em and one of them’s my son.” At that time, men working in necessary jobs around the dockyards and in small ships contracted to the navy were supposedly exempt from being taken by the press gangs sent ashore by captains desperate to find men for their ships. In practice, with the expansion of the navy, if a captain thought he could get away with it he would take any man he could.

  “Have no fear Mr Griffin, I have a full crew, though what may happen to them once ashore I cannot say. And now Sir,….Peters. Peters, my compliments to the First Lieutenant and will he find accommodation for Mr Griffin and his men until we reach Portsmouth.”