Distant Gunfire Read online

  Distant Gunfire

  by

  David O’Neil

  Distant Gunfire © All rights reserved by David O’Neil.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  W & B Publishers

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  Colfax, NC 27235

  Book Cover designed by Dubya

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  In the stern-sheets of the dinghy, Lieutenant Robert Graham, RN, sat crouched forward, a club firmly gripped in his hand. As they neared the captured cutter, the tension mounted. He transferred the club to his other hand and wiped his sweaty palm on his jacket. He was worried, what if it was a trap and the French were waiting for them? Should they have tried to get away, perhaps stolen another boat and crossed to Dover. He could have let someone senior make the decisions.

  He shrugged, it was too late now. The boat came alongside the cutter anchored in the inner basin. At the masthead the French Tricolour hung above the union flag, and the badly stowed sails added to the dejected appearance of the ship.

  Reaching up to the transom rail, he peered along the full length of the cutter’s deck. There was a man sprawled on a coil of rope, drinking from a bottle. A second man lay on the deck beside him. The semi-nude woman draped across him was actively involving the full attention of both men.

  Robert rose silently to his feet and climbed onto the projecting edge of the deck and leaned forward. He reached out and took the bottle from the Watchman’s hand and swung his club. Twice more the club rose and fell, leaving the three recumbent figures silent on the deck. Robert leaned over the transom and signalled the other two men in the boat to come aboard.

  Now the action was under way Robert relaxed, followed by the others he went forward, at the hatch he started to go below. A movement caused him to hesitate, a voice spoke in French “Qui va la?”

  In a quiet voice he answered “C’est Moi?”

  There was the rustle of clothing and a man came into view, appearing at the foot of the stairs. He was below Robert. As he looked up he saw Robert’s uniform. For a moment he just stood there, then he swore and started to turn back. Robert’s backhand swipe with the club caught the man across the face and he fell back with a ruined nose, blood spilling down his shirt. Robert descended the rest of the way and swung through the door of the main cabin.

  Inside a man was tied to the mast, it was the Captain. His back was torn from the lashed, and his wrists were bloody from his efforts to release himself. He was alive but unconscious. Robert left him to be attended by his companions and turned to the door leading to the crew accommodation forward.

  The men imprisoned there began to murmur as he approached

  “Silence!” Robert snapped in English, the tension of the moment and the shock at the sight of his Captain’s condition combining to put him on edge once more. The murmuring stopped at the sound of a familiar voice. With the club Robert broke the hasp of the lock, allowing the door to open.

  First out was Hansen, masters mate, the big Swedish volunteer from the cutter’s crew. “Thanks Sir, I wass crowded in there.” He was flustered and his English slipped a little in the circumstances.

  “Bring the men on deck quietly,” Robert ordered.

  As Hansen opened his mouth to say something Robert put his fingers to his lips and whispered, “Later”.

  The men streamed out of the cabin and took their places on deck. Robert pointed to the swivel gun on the transom and the other mounted on the rail forward. The gunner’s mate nodded, seeing the signal, and immediately went to the first gun and went to work on it.

  To Hansen, Robert indicated the anchor. Midshipman John Williams, who had accompanied Robert in the boat, was already organising the men preparing to raise the mainsail. Three men grasped the chain and raised the anchor by sheer muscle power. There were guards on shore who wouldn’t miss the sound of the pawl clicking on the windlass.

  The jib was hoisted. With the anchor clear of the sea bed, the sail filled, the cutter started to move. As the mainsail rose up the mast the breeze caught and the cutter leaned and raced toward the open sea while the anchor was still being brought inboard.

  Robert relaxed as they passed through the jaws of the inner basin, soon they would be clear of Calais and free to sail for home. A shout in French came from the harbour wall—followed by a musket shot—meant their escape had been discovered.

  After a tense ten minutes, the cutter passed the outer marker into the open sea with no sign of pursuit. Robert relaxed once more and, having set a rough course for Dover with the lights of Calais a glow in the background, Robert was able to attend to his captain. Leaving Williams in charge on deck he hurried below to find Jones, the captain’s servant, was bathing the savagely-wounded back with a mix of vinegar and water, before bandaging the lacerated flesh. Robert winced at the imagined pain; mercifully the Captain was still unconscious.

  Leaving Jones with the injured man, Robert took the charts into his own cabin, he set the chair on its legs and cleared the small table with a sweep of his arm. From the mess they had made, it seemed they must have been looking for valuables. He grinned wryly at the thought

  Seated in the cabin he paused for a moment to gather himself; so far so good, but he shuddered to think what might have happened if they had been caught. If the French prize crew had been still aboard, it would have been a different story. He had seen them go ashore, but suppose they had come back after dark? He straightened up and using the light of the hooded lamp within the cabin he studied the chart and worked out the direct course for Dover.

  Back on deck, he gave the heading to the helmsman and for the first time began to relax.

  “Mr. Williams, get the cook to find something to eat, I’m starving.”

  Williams ran below returning with a piece of bread and a bottle of wine, courtesy of their captors.

  “Hot food will take an hour sir, the galley fire was out. Meanwhile?” he proffered the bread and wine. Robert took them both gratefully; he had not eaten since the previous day.

  The bread was fresh and the wine drinkable, and the Excelsior was sailing comfortably on a course for Dover and safety. Masters-mate Hansen reported the anchor secured and the guns ready for action.

  “Very good, Sven. Mr. Williams, sort the men into their watches and get the watch below clearing up. The Captain’s cabin is a mess but so is the Captain, so keep the men quiet.”

  Midshipman Williams nodded and turned and addressed the men giving them their duties.

  The sea was calm and as Robert leaned against the stern rail he thought to himself of the journey that had brought him, Robert Graham, only son of a Devon squire, to his present position of Lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He was not old for a Lieutenant, but not young either. He recalled the pride he had felt when he first donned the uniform as a midshipman at the age of thirteen. He had strutted through the village letting all the people he had grown up with see that he was a man now, well almost. He remembered the looks he had received from some of the girls. Looking back he now had some idea of the meaning of those looks, though at the time it seemed just innocent excitement among friends. He recalled the comments made by his father, the local squire.

  ‘Stand tall, Robert, you’ve chosen a man’s career, see you remember all I’ve told you about being responsible, from now on it’s others you’ll have to think of first, that’s what being an officer means!’

  He could hear his father’s voice in his head now. He turned with a
start to realise he was being spoken-to by Midshipman Mathews, “Sir, we are in sight of the Dover harbour; signal from the flag, Captain to report on landing!”

  The arrival in Dover was an anticlimax. Robert had not realised how the tension of the recovery and escape from Calais the night before had affected him. He watched the broken body of the Captain—Lieutenant Lionel Watts—be taken ashore to the hospital for treatment. The surgeon was not too hopeful; it seemed the unfortunate man had been tortured as well as flogged.

  As Robert prepared to report to the Port Admiral; he stood before the mirror in his room at the inn dressed in his best uniform. The reflection in the mirror was presentable, even to his own critical gaze. At six feet three inches, he was forced to stoop to arrange his fair hair; it was at last more or less in place. The face in the mirror was pleasant; the grey eyes were steady, clear and wide set; it seemed a face that would rather smile than frown.

  He touched the scar that ran from his hairline to his ear remembering he had been just sixteen; it was the first time he had taken part in boarding an enemy ship. The French officer facing him on the deck of the prize was laughing at him as he fought for his life with his heavy cutlass, frantically parrying the expert fencing of the Frenchman. His opponent’s sword was a proper blade flicking from side to side. When he tapped the clumsy blade to one side Robert felt the touch on the side of his head and stumbled, falling on his back. He remembered the blood running and the Frenchman laughing, drawing back for the final thrust to end it all, and the look of surprise on his face as the pike plunged into his chest. The towering figure of Sven Hansen wrenched the pike from the fallen officer and hauled Robert to his feet. He remembered glancing at the body sprawled on the deck, then wiping the blood from his face he plunged back into the fight.

  The Frenchman’s sword hung behind the door now, his prize from the action. He could still hear the voice of the Captain as he handed the sword over, “This is a good sword and it nearly cost you your life. Learn to use it well and it may save you next time!”

  He smiled at his thoughts and hooked the sword to his belt, touching the polished scabbard as he turned to leave picking up his cocked hat on the way. Having been temporarily in command of the cutter Excelsior, he now was summoned to discuss his report on the incident and receive his orders for the future.

  The room in the Admiral’s Headquarters was warmed by the fire blazing in the elegant white marble fireplace. There were two men seated at the table with the Admiral, and they all three listened to his verbal report of the incident that led to the capture and recapture of the cutter Excelsior. He told them everything in order as it happened.

  “When I was told to assess the defences and acquire as much information about Calais as I could, it was obvious I would need to go ashore. I was accordingly dropped off in a dinghy with a seaman Will Eckerd, a Dutchman, and Midshipman Williams. We left the dinghy on the beach or ‘plage’ as it is called in the area, placing the boat among the many small boats always to be found there. Mr. Williams and I then took a look around the harbour, and the inner and outer basins.”

  “Was it not a risk, just openly walking round the harbour?” The civilian asked.

  “The seaman was a French-speaking Dutchman, many of whom can be found in Calais. Je had money and was sent to wander about and pick up whatever he could while we were there. I thought that on his own he would have a better chance than we. I speak French fluently though Mr. Williams does not, and we walked around the harbour and basins checking on the facilities and the defences, only stopping for the lunch period in the middle of the day when too many idle men would be about. Otherwise the fact that we were openly walking about in uniform was never questioned. We carried our hats in a bag with jackets undone. The difference between French and British Naval uniforms consists mainly of the Tricolour which we each had wrapped round our waists.

  “It was during the early evening that we noticed the Excelsior being brought into the inner basin as a prize. We watched and we could see the crew were still aboard, apparently held below; and concluded they were being kept overnight. It was then that we decided that there was a good chance we could take the ship back so we made plans accordingly.

  “After collecting Eckerd, we took one of the many dinghies tied up in the inner basin; our own was still lying on the plage. We waited for darkness and saw a boat from the cutter rowed over to the quay.

  “We followed the man to the shop on the quay where he bought wine and bread. He then went up to the Place d’Armes and had a short discussion with a woman who was apparently a prostitute known to him. He struck a deal with her, and she accompanied him back to the anchored cutter.

  “We gave them time to settle down and then rowed out to the cutter where we boarded and we managed to release the crew. I questioned the Frenchmen on board; apparently Captain Watts had been interrogated by the captain of the corvette, the ship that had taken the Excelsior; a man named Guilleme Artois. Captain Watts had been badly beaten and tortured by this Artois, who had a reputation among his own men for brutality. The French prisoners taken on the Excelsior asked to be brought with us rather than be left to face their captain’s wrath. We sailed unchallenged out of the harbour. The rest you know.”

  He paused, and then added, “From the few words Captain Watts was able to tell us, Artois was trying to find out why the Excelsior was there and who were we trying to contact in Calais.”

  The Admiral and the two men sat quietly in thought before the Captain, who had not introduced himself spoke, “We know of this man Artois, captain of the corvette, Revenant, he is a former privateer, hated in France as well as here for his cruelty. If ever the chance arises you have my full permission to kill him if you can.”

  The civilian who had finally named himself as Mr. Smith coughed at these comments, Robert had the impression that this was one of those people who preferred death to be at arm’s length, something to be read about in reports rather than faced. Personally having seen the method of questioning used by Artois he had no hesitation in agreeing with the still anonymous captain.

  The Admiral rose to his feet, “Gentlemen I will leave you at this point. Mr. Graham, orders placing you in command of the Excelsior will be waiting you when you leave here; these gentlemen will be issuing you orders for your next task. I will confirm them before you leave.”

  When he had left the room the two visitors conferred, while Robert sat and absorbed the fact that he had been given his first command. He couldn’t help feeling the thrill however briefly, as the two men who had been talking in undertones turned back to Robert.

  It was Mr. Smith who mentioned the next task they had for the Excelsior, “We wish to have an agent placed on the French coast in the vicinity of Dieppe. I have Le Treport in mind.” He looked at Robert inquiringly.

  Robert’s reply took both men aback. “Sir, with respect, I will of course be happy to accept your orders but, with your agreement, I shall discuss the location of the landing with the agent. It will make it completely discreet and there will be less chance of betrayal.”

  “Are you suggesting we cannot be trusted?” The captain was quite indignant.

  Uncomfortably Robert replied. “I am not, sir! I am suggesting that were you in my position you would expect to use your expertise in a matter such as this, not rely on the possibility of being caused to risk the life of the agent and imperil the ship by using a landing site that may have been selected by a clerk with a pin.”

  The captain looked at Robert in amazement, astonished at this outspoken statement from a mere lieutenant; then he smiled and broke into a laugh.

  “You’re damn right, young man; and by the way, congratulations on your first command. We tend to forget that it can be critical to make your decisions based on experience and local knowledge and, on occasion, even on the spot. Things change, and as you say picking a place on a map may be convenient for communication and for other reasons but completely wrong for safety.”

  The civilian g
entleman coughed and uncomfortably spoke, “Of course, advance arrangements can be betrayed. The agent will identify himself to you when he presents himself on HMS Excelsior tomorrow. You can decide your movements then.”

  The Captain rose and held out his hand to Robert, “Can you confirm that your ship is ready to depart promptly tomorrow evening?”

  Robert shook the hand extended to him. “The ship is ready now, sir. Thank you and with your permission unless there is some other matter to detain us, I will take my leave and study my charts for the area.”

  ***

  The light at Phore de Ailly could be seen to port as the cutter silently approached the beach at St Aubin du Mer; on board, Robert arranged for himself and the agent he now knew as Rene to be rowed ashore.

  The beach was deserted and quiet, so they left the boat with the seaman and set off up the road to the darkened village. It was only a short distance and the agent quickly sought out the inn that was also dark though it was only 9 o’clock.

  Rene knocked at the door, and when the door opened carefully and a face appeared the agent said in French “Vive le Roi”—Long live the King.

  The door was flung open wide, “Ah, Rene, mon brave. It has been too long.”

  Robert followed the two men into the Inn where a fire was still burning in the hearth. Wine was poured and the three men seated themselves; a conversation in French commenced between Rene and Albert the innkeeper.

  Robert drank his wine then rose to his feet and said in English. “I will leave you two to reminisce and get back to the ship; good luck, Rene.”

  As he stood the innkeeper protested that he stay and enjoy more wine. Robert however was uneasy and he politely refused, pleading the dangers of being off a strange shore. He opened the door carefully and made sure there was no one about and then set off down the track to the beach.