Merriman and the French Invasion (The Merriman Chronicles Book 2) Page 6

  “Mon Dieu,” roared General Grouchy, Hoche’s second in command, “You have half our soldiers helping your damned sailors and still you complain! I can see now why our own navy skulks in port while the English flaunt their flags outside in our own waters. French sailors have no stomach for a fight.”

  “How dare you General, I will not sit here and listen to this abuse a moment longer. You will apologise or my seconds will wait on you later ------”

  “There will be no duels fought over this Messieurs, I forbid it. Sit down Admiral, and as for you General Grouchy, I expect my generals to have more to think about than insulting our navy.”

  Both officers subsided, glaring at each other and grumbling under the rebuke. Hoche continued, “General Humbert, are you and General Hardy satisfied that your men are in good heart and ready.”

  “Oui Mon General, there are the last few companies still to arrive but they are soldiers of France and are ready for anything.”

  Grouchy growled his approval of the sentiment expressed. “The army is always ready, unlike the navy,” he said.

  “Enough, Gentlemen, enough.” Hoche turned to two men sitting side by side neither of whom had said anything so far. “Monsieur Moreau, have we any more news from your spies in Ireland? And you Monsieur Tone, are you certain that the Irish people are ready to rise against the English as soon as we land?”

  The assembled officers turned to look at the man named Tone. So this was the famous Irish revolutionary Wolfe Tone. They had all heard of him but not met him until now. So much depended on his assurances of the support of the Irish people. Wearing the uniform of, and given the honorary rank in the French army of Chef de Brigade, Tone made an arresting figure.

  “The Irish are ready General. In every town we have a nucleus of armed men ready to strike as soon as word reaches them that we have landed. Their first successes will encourage all Ireland to rise and overwhelm the English garrisons.” He warmed to his theme, “And then we can break the connection with England, that accursed country which is the source of all our troubles and political evils, and we can assert the independence of my country.”

  “M’sieur Tone is right General, although the shortage of arms among them may make a rising longer to succeed than he believes,” said the man named Moreau. “I have not heard from my people in Ireland for over three weeks now but from the content of the last despatch I had, there is nothing more to be done but for them to wait for us to arrive.”

  This man, Charles Henri Moreau was one of the revolution’s most trusted agents. He favoured powdered hair and black clothing and carried an exceptionally long sword. A deep scar on his left cheek acquired when he fought alongside Lafeyette and the French volunteers in the American War of Independence made him instantly recognisable. It was not generally known that he was an aristocrat, the erstwhile Count de Treville and Beaupreau and that his entire family, parents and sister had perished under the guillotine. He had only survived because he had left France after a furious row with his father and not returned for several years.

  He continued, “It is remarkable to me that it has taken so long for us to reach the situation in which we now find ourselves. Four years ago I had hopes of making the Irish our allies when I attempted, with some Irish rebels, to capture the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and force the English to give Ireland her freedom. The plan was only foiled at the last minute by the presence of an English warship under the command of a devilishly lucky man. Had that plan succeeded we would have had French ships in Irish ports long ago.”

  General Hoche smiled. “A pity you did not succeed M’sieur, nevertheless Gentlemen, we have a fleet of some forty three ships and an army of nearly fifteen thousand men and with good fortune this time we will succeed.” He quelled the rising shouts of approval with an upraised hand.

  “There is one final matter Gentlemen.” He faced the Admiral. “I have now to tell you formally, that you, Admiral Villaret de Joyeuse have been replaced as senior naval officer at my request. I have for some time considered that you had insufficient enthusiasm for this expedition and your reply to my question earlier has confirmed it. I am informed that the Directory has appointed Admiral Morard de Galles to replace you, and you are to leave for Paris immediately.”

  The assembled officers watched silently as the white faced man, without a word, rose and walked out of the door. They all knew that he would be fortunate to keep his head on his shoulders.

  “Admiral de Galles should arrive tomorrow, we shall see if he can make the fleet ready in time. I want, no, I demand that this expedition departs for Ireland not later than the middle of December, let us say four weeks from now. That is all Gentlemen.

  Chapter 6: Grahame has news of French activities in the South West

  Captain Merriman climbed on deck and regarded the Cove of Cork harbour with something less than enthusiasm. The rain was coming down as if poured from a bucket, and aboard the various trading vessels around the harbour all work had ceased and there was no life to be seen ashore. The distant hills were veiled in curtains of rain falling from the lowering dark grey clouds. Haulbowline, a big island was being prepared to become the new and better placed Naval dockyard instead of Kinsale, and numerous fortifications were under construction on Spike Island and the surrounding cliffs but the work still had a long way to go. It would afford a far bigger and better harbour from which the Navy could guard the approaches to the English Channel

  Aboard Lord Stevenage all the hands of the duty watch forced to remain on deck were trying to shelter in the lee of the bulwarks. “They tell me that it is always raining in Ireland Sir,” said the officer of the watch Mr Andrews, gloomily, bending forward so that a stream of rainwater flowed out of his hat brim. “I need hardly say that I prefer the Caribbean at this time of year.”

  “The Caribbean has a lot in it’s favour, I’ll grant you that,” replied Merriman, “But after four years out there I would have expected you to be pleased to be back in home waters.”

  “Oh I am Sir, really, but we have been here in harbour for nearly three days now and the damned rain hasn’t stopped once. Indeed Sir, I think it has been raining ever since we sighted the coast of Ireland nearly two weeks ago. It rained when we waited in Wexford harbour, it rained in Waterford harbour and it’s raining here. I swear we shall all be growing webbed feet if it doesn’t stop soon.”

  “Well,” laughed Merriman, “it can’t go on forever, and I’ve heard tell that the sun does shine sometimes, even in Ireland. We must put up with it. Maybe when we get further west there will be a change.”

  He changed the subject and gestured forr’ard to where his three surviving chickens were standing in their coop. A more miserable, dispirited and bedraggled group of birds it was hard to imagine. “I don’t think those birds will survive much longer David, it’s too cold and wet for them. Besides, they have stopped laying. I think I shall dine on chicken tonight. Some of you will be able to join me.”

  “Yes Sir, thank you.”

  Nevertheless, Merriman was worried. Grahame had been put ashore in the dark to find his way into Cork which was some distance upriver from the harbour. That was two nights ago and there was still no sign of the man. He had gone ashore at both Wexford and Waterford, hoping to find one of his agents or news from them, but at both places he had returned empty handed.

  It was well known to the authorities that there was much seditious activity in the city and district by the United Irishmen group with secret recruiting going on. It was a dangerous game Grahame was playing and on a previous occasion ashore in Ireland, he had been fortunate to escape with his life when rebels discovered him to be spying. He had pistols with him but if discovered again his only real hope would lie in flight. Merriman returned to his cabin still pondering what to do. Grahame had asked that a boat wait for him near the jetty in the harbour but he had not expected to be so long, neither had Merriman any idea where to start looking for him.

  Finally he resolved to go ashore at first lig
ht and visit the army garrison to see if they had heard anything. Meanwhile a wet and miserable boat’s crew must keep on waiting. Merriman had ordered the shivering men to be relieved regularly and given a tot of rum when they climbed back on board. Merriman smiled at the memory of a wet and bedraggled Midshipman Dorrington coughing and spluttering when the rum went down the wrong way. No sign then of his usual haughtiness.

  Mr Grahame turned up in the early hours of the morning, cold, exhausted and dishevelled, but the bearer of news. In Merriman’s cabin, with a hot toddy in one hand and a piece of meat in the other, he said, “Captain, I think we have something fairly definite at last. There are more reports of agitators going around trying to stir up the peasantry with news of a French army coming to liberate them. You can imagine the kind of thing James, ---- all men should take up arms and rally to support the cause of freedom. Nonsense of course, the first thing the French would do is to conscript the men into their army and ship them off to fight elsewhere.”

  “This next report will interest you. One of my people in the west of Ireland, in Galway to be exact, sent word that a stranger in the area has been seen talking with known rebels. This was five or six weeks ago, but I am sure that the description of this man will be familiar to you. He is described as a gentleman, tall, dressed in black, affects powdered hair and has a scarred left cheek ………”

  “Moreau, by God,” exclaimed Merriman, “that damned French spy, it can be no other.”

  “Exactly, and there are reports of this man being seen in several other locations over the last few months, but he has not been seen more recently than two or three weeks ago. I infer from this that he was confirming with the rebels that their preparations are ready for the French to arrive and that he returned to France when you came across him in the channel. It is interesting to note that most reports of his presence originate in the south and west of the country which I feel confirms the theory that the south west is where the French will attempt a landing.”

  Merriman reached for his drink, saying, “I doubt not that you are right Sir, so what do you propose we should do now?”

  Grahame sat quietly for a few moments, stroking his chin as he pondered. “I think we should cruise off the coast, westwards, in the hope that we may gather more information from one or two of my people who have not yet reported. I am hoping that they are still living. May we have another look at your chart?”

  “Indeed Sir, I have it here.” said Merriman unrolling the chart and placing a few objects on it to hold it down. “I’ve been giving some thought to the question of where the French will try to land and I’m convinced that they must choose one of these big bays here, here and here.” Merriman indicated Dunmanus Bay, Bantry Bay and Kenmare River.

  “And what leads you to that conclusion James?”

  “Several points Sir. To begin with, they will need deep water as close inshore and as sheltered as possible to enable them to disembark troops by boat. Secondly, they will need time; time to bring all their equipment ashore and time to get the soldiers, possibly men weakened by seasickness, organised properly as a fighting force. This I believe cuts out the part of the coast eastwards from Cork as it is too well populated and the garrisons of Cork and other towns would have plenty of warning in time to prepare a force to resist.”

  “Excellent James, I agree with your reasoning so far. Pray continue.”

  “Thank you Sir. Now the coast westwards from Cork is too open for some sixty or seventy miles to allow safe anchorage for a fleet of warships and transports. There are bays to be sure, but in most of them the water is too shallow and as I say, they are too open to the weather. There is nothing before Dunmanus Bay and that I would rule out as being smaller than either Bantry or Kenmare River.”

  “Of course, if we go further there is Dingle Bay but that one is so wide and completely open to westerly winds that I think it most unlikely that any sensible commander would risk it. Further north there is the estuary of the River Shannon and then Galway Bay, but why would the French go any further than they need? No Sir, if I had to choose, it would be either Bantry Bay or Kenmare River and my preference is for Bantry.”

  “Why Bantry, James?”

  “Simply because it has a little more shelter from westerly gales, has deeper water closer inshore and it is far enough away from Cork or any town of size to give the French ample time to establish themselves before any local force could be raised to stop them. Apart from local militia that is, part time soldiers, and from what we know of the French army they would cut through the militia like a knife through butter.”

  “I cannot fault your reasoning James, I must say that I think you may be correct. None the less, I don’t think we can put all our eggs into one basket and we must continue to patrol from Cape Clear at least as far as Great Blasket Island off Dingle Bay. And speaking of Dingle bay, that is where I would like the ship to go now. There are two men living near to the village of Dingle on the north side of the bay. One is a cattle and produce dealer who travels a lot in the way of business all over the south west area and sometimes collect bits of information which are of use to me. The other is a barman at the tavern in Dingle. They do it for money of course and I don’t trust either of them entirely, but there is nobody else.”

  “Very good Sir, Fortunately the wind is fair for us and we can put to sea immediately.”

  And so began a long period of frustration while Lord Stevenage cruised off the coast, from Cork past Kinsale and Galley Head, past Cape Clear keeping well to seaward of the notorious Fastnet rocks, then closer inshore to look into Roaringwater Bay and round Mizen Head to Dunmanus Bay, and all the while it rained and the ship had to fight against rough seas and almost gale force winds

  From what could be seen the land seemed to consist of wild, windswept mountains, poorly wooded but with lush green valleys, but overall a most uninviting prospect with only occasional scattered villages and farms. The buildings for the most part appeared to be almost derelict with only the odd one or two chimneys showing a little smoke which was immediately dispersed by the wind. And all the while it rained and continued to rain solidly with no hint of a break.

  Merriman was in his cabin going over his log entry when he became aware of voices raised in argument on the quarterdeck above his head. As the skylight was closed it was hard to distinguish the words but the deep, calm voice could only be that of Shrigley and the higher pitched one, almost shouting, must be one of the midshipmen.

  “I want him flogged, he pushed me and stood on my foot, damn him!” That was clear enough and it sounded like Dorrington’s voice. Another man answered too quietly for his words to be heard, then Shrigley’s voice again, followed by another outburst from Dorrington. “I don’t care Lieutenant, he insulted an officer and I promised him a flogging for it.”

  Merriman sighed and called to the marine sentry outside the door to pass the word for Mr Shrigley and Mr Dorrington to come to his cabin at once.

  “Now then Mr Dorrington, what are you making such a noise about?”

  “One of the men Sir, he pushed me and stood on my foot. When I called him a clumsy oaf he tried to make excuses. I told him to shut his mouth or I’d have him flogged, but he still tried to say it was my fault. Damned impudence. No respect for an officer.”

  “I see. Mr Shrigley, who is the man involved?”

  “Matthews Sir.”

  “I know Matthews, one of my old Aphrodites isn’t he? A good hand. What did he have to say for himself?”

  “Hardly know Sir, Mr Dorrington wouldn’t give him a chance to speak, but he’s waiting outside.”

  “Right, bring him in.”

  “You’re not going to listen to a common seaman are you when I’ve already told you what happened,” shouted Dorrington.

  “It is customary to say Sir when you address a superior officer and I will not tolerate rudeness or shouting from you or anybody else. You will hold your tongue or you’ll find yourself up at the top of the mast again,” said Mer
riman, icily calm and desperately trying to keep his own temper in check.

  “Ah Matthews, what have you to say? Mr Dorrington tells me that you trod on his foot and pushed him.”

  “No Sir, that I didn’t. Well, I did tread on his foot but it were an accident Sir. I were flaking down a rope and when I’d done I stepped back like. I didn’t know ‘e were behind me Sir. I didn’t push him Sir, honest, and when I tried to apologise and told ‘im I didn’t know he were there, ‘e said e’d ‘ave me flogged for not showing respect. I does me duty Sir, I don’t go looking for trouble Sir.”

  Merriman studied the man in silence for a moment, taking in the sturdy frame, the weather-beaten face and wide open honest blue eyes. With not a blemish on his record, Matthews had been one of his crew for the past four years, a first rate man and always amongst the first to volunteer for a boarding party or any difficult operation. Merriman wondered why he had not found the opportunity to promote the man.

  “Very good Matthews, you may go, you will hear no more about this.”

  As a very relieved Matthews left the cabin, Merriman turned to the midshipman.

  “Now listen to me boy and listen well. You have been in the Navy for only a few short weeks but long enough to learn that you know nothing, absolutely nothing of discipline and men. Matthews is a first class seaman and worth far more to this ship than you are. If it were necessary for the good of the ship to throw one of you over the side, it would be you doing the swimming. You have the temerity to speak of his lack of respect for your uniform. Let me tell you that respect must be earned from men by the way you behave and lead them. It is not something you should expect as a right.”

  “Sir, I don’t ----“.

  “Hold your tongue, and don’t interrupt. I tell you that I believe that man’s version of events and he will not be punished. I think you have been stupidly trying to make trouble where none exists, all because of your mistaken sense of your own importance. Make no mistake, I’ll have you off this ship at the first opportunity, with a report sent to the Admiral if you don’t pull yourself together. Now, off you go to your duties.”