HMS Aurora: A Charles Mullins Novel (Sea Command Book 3) (5 page)

Mullins looked at Dooley with interest. “Killing the First Consul sounds like a big order to me. Just how would you set about it?”

Dooley replied, “That is where you come in Captain. It seems you have developed a reputation in the Royal Navy as a specialist in destroying enemy gun batteries along their coasts. Intelligence has learned that General Bonaparte will be visiting a series of coastal batteries within the next month with a view to make the positions more defensible. You probably know he is a trained artillery officer.”

“I have a schedule of his anticipated appearances. Hopefully, you will find one of the nearby batteries susceptible to attack, before the general’s appearance of course, and attack it in your usual manner.”

“Perhaps matters can be arranged so the plan goes awry and fails. I will be a dis-affected Irishman, pressed into the service and compelled to take part in the attack. Somehow, I will escape from the landing party and surrender to the local forces. It is hoped that Bonaparte will become interested in the matter and decide to speak with me himself. If he does and I have a chance, I will shoot him dead.”

Mullins frowned. “That does not seem to be a recipe for a long life, Mister Dooley. I would expect General Bonaparte to be well protected on his visit, especially to a site that has just undergone an enemy assault.”

“Captain Mullins, I regard this enemy general to be one of their very best military minds. He has accomplished much in the reduction of the Italian peninsula. Should he put his mind to a similar assault on Ireland, I shudder to think of the consequences. If he was even moderately successful there, that would invite a huge response from the British army, which could leave Ireland devastated for the next century. I have lived a full life. If I should fall in the execution of my duty, I will feel a sense of accomplishment.”

Mullins though this whole plan was absolute folly, but was unable to think of anything that might dissuade the zealot.

Grasping for words that might convince this Irish patriot to amend his plan someway, he idly asked what weapon he planned to use on his target. Dooley had obviously not given the matter much thought.

“I was hoping you might be able to give me something, Captain. Perhaps a pair of Navy Sea Service pistols.”

Mullins was dismissive of that idea. “The French would disarm you immediately. Besides, these issue pistols are not the most reliable of weapons. Let me show you something else. I was instructed to give you these pistols.”

He pulled out the box of pistols from the bottom of his desk and laid them out. Although the guns had no expensive ornamentation, their bare, unadorned exteriors fairly proclaimed their deadly nature.

After Mullins explained how the weapons were loaded, Mullins became interested. “I think you have hit on the solution Captain. These are gentlemen’s pistols, not something from a ship’s arms chest.”

“Perhaps, we might say one of your officers was carrying these weapons, and I killed or disabled that officer while deserting from the landing party. A dramatic scene could be made of a party of the landing force carrying the body of an officer back into the boat.”

Mullins wondered just how this plan would dissuade the French from disarming Dooley when he was first captured.

“Sir, some of the French still have a sense of chivalry. I think the thing to do here, is to knock out the priming powder from the pistols’ pans, thus making them seem harmless. I could have a few paper cartridges in my pocket, from which I could replenish the priming when it was needed.”

“I believe a commander of their guard might well view the weapons as captured trophies and not view them as potential assassin’s weapons.”

Mullins and Dooley took the pistols to the quarterdeck where they potted away with the pistols. The weapons had a vicious recoil, being fired with an over-sized ball in a smaller bore, but with their sights, were the most accurate short guns Mullins had ever fired.

In the end, HMS Aurora’s captain elected to go along with Dooley’s plan, having no good ideas himself. Mullins still believed Dooley’s mission was folly, but perhaps some good might come from it by accident.

They cruised along the Brittany coast, eventually locating a small cove, protected by a four-gun battery. This site was on the schedule the French First Consul was to visit within the next few days. Mullins doubted this would actually happen. Schedules were made to be broken, but he would do his part. Besides, this could be profitable. A fat brig lay in the tiny harbor, protected by the guns. Even if they missed their target, the brig could bring in a pretty penny at the prize auction.

Without evincing any interest in the prize or its protective battery, Aurora continued on down the coast, eventually veering out to sea. That evening, she doubled back, coming up offshore in a black night, moon and stars hidden by a low overcast. The landing party loaded into the boats, which made for a beach a mile to the east. The party, after disembarking, formed up on the coast road and marched toward the battery.

As the force closed on the gun position, there was some flurry in the landing party which alerted the defenders. There was a crackle of musketry, and the landing force gave up the attack and made their way back to the boats, carrying a bundle, which might be a body, with them.

While the defenders celebrated their victory, two other boats silently approached the anchored brig and their men swarmed aboard. The anchor watch was overwhelmed in seconds, and a minute later, her cable cut, the brig was under sail, out to Aurora. A few shots from the battery came aboard, causing some damage, but the prize made it out to Aurora handily enough.

When the hands were counted, one man was missing. Seaman Dooley had not returned with the party. Also missing was Mister Daley’s old coat. Somehow, this coat had been stained with sheep’s blood the afternoon before when an old ewe had been butchered for the wardroom. From all appearance, a man could have been murdered while wearing that coat.

On shore, Dooley waited hours for someone to collect him. When this did not happen, he boldly approached a party of horsemen that was surveying the countryside. With his pistols prominently visible in his sash, he held his arms high. A pair of cuirassiers trotted up to him, their sabers gleaming in the morning sun.

His pistols were confiscated, and he was led up to the guard commander. During the brief questioning, the French officer learned his captive spoke French fluently and freely admitted to be an Irish deserter from the British Navy.

A picket line was looped around his neck and one of the troopers pulled him back to the battery. While he was under guard, eventually a short, elaborately uniformed officer was escorted to him and addressed him politely. Dooley went over his story again, purporting to be an escaping Irish seaman from his British captors. It was obvious to him his questioner was none other than General Bonaparte himself, but there was little he could do about it at the time. His pistols had been confiscated, with even the powder-filled cartridges in his pockets that he had meant to renew the priming on his weapons missing.

One of the questions put to him was where a British seaman acquired a pair of expensive hand guns. He made up a story about assaulting a British officer and taking his weapons. A search of the site revealed a torn and bloody British naval officer’s uniform coat.

Bonaparte examined the weapons closely. After finding the weapons were not primed, he called for one of his aides, who supplied the needed powder. Bonaparte cocked a weapon and put the sights on a small boulder a few tens of yards away. Firing, his arm jerked upward from the vicious recoil, and the rock split. Intrigued, the general aimed the other pistol at one of the halves, and that piece was turned into so much gravel. Bonaparte returned the emptied guns to Dooley, pronounced his satisfaction with Dooley’s account and ordered his freedom.

Dooley stood there, embarrassed and astonished that he was still alive and not restrained in any way. He watched General Bonaparte and his staff trot off to look over the encampment. From his position, he could see this was a more than a mere coastal gun battery. Men were swarming like bees now behind the sea wall, clearing land from trees and brush. Several buildings were being erected, and this looked very like a permanent installation.

To the rear, some low-lying structures had been erected that he had seen before. Dug into the ground, with mortared stone foundations, these looked very like gunpowder magazines. Many were seemingly empty, with others still under construction. A cluster of six structures by themselves however, had a guard in front who looked as though he took himself seriously.

Dooley, realizing he was going to look foolish if he returned after all of his talk without having so much as laid a finger on Bonaparte. Perhaps, if these magazines were stocked with munitions, he could at least make a little noise.

Since the general had waved him off, no one had paid any attention to him. He felt that was sure to change in the near future. Guards and sentries abounded and details of infantry troops patrolled constantly throughout the encampment.

Approaching the nearest magazine, he noticed the sentry had entered the building. After waiting vainly for the sentry to emerge, he decided to see if he could bluff his way inside. The agent casually went to the entrance as though he had business and stepped down into the dark interior. The place was dimly lit by a single lantern set into a recess in the stone wall, behind a glass window.

The interior of the structure was packed with small, oaken barrels of gunpowder. The guard formerly stationed outside, was seated on one of the kegs, leaning back with his eyes closed, comfortably smoking his pipe. A freshly opened bottle of wine sat on a keg by the sentry. Amazed that any sane person would smoke and drink in the midst of these explosives, Dooley pondered his options.

A few pieces of discarded lumber littered the floor, some of them being used to keep the full kegs off the ground. As he watched the sentry take a pull from his wine bottle, he realized the soldat had no idea of his presence. Bending over slowly, he picked up a length of lumber. An oaken two by four, it felt heavy in his hand and he knew it would make a serious dent in the guard’s head.

When the guard’s pipe went out, he arose and lit a splinter of wood from the wall lantern to get the tobacco burning again. While on his feet, he stood against the wall, relieving himself against the stone. While he was so engaged, Dooley crept up from behind and smashed his head with the club.

Retrieving the guard’s fallen pipe, he extinguished the embers, not wanting to have a premature explosion. While engaged in that, a shadow darkened the interior as someone stepped through the entrance. Caught by surprise, Dooley snatched up the only weapon he could see, the guard’s Charleville Pattern musket.

As the newcomer called for the guard, Dooley cocked the weapon, not knowing whether it was loaded or even primed. From the dim light, Dooley could see this was a junior officer, probably not old enough to shave yet. While he had no serious compunctions about killing any enemy soldier, he realized he would prefer not to seriously injure a lad as young as this one. This officer carried no weapon save for a straight sword on his side.

Holding his finger in front of his lips, he gestured for the man to keep his silence. Addressing the officer in French, he asked him to identify himself. The man replied in a guttural language with which Dooley had no experience. After more abortive attempts, the officer said in perfect English, “Sir, can we speak English? I regret my French is so poor and you do not seem to understand my Dutch.”

Dooley replied, “Just who are you then?”

“I am Luitenant Strake of the Second Batavian Guards in the service of the French Republic. When you return to England, will you take me with you? I have much to say your government may like to hear.”

Surprised by this officer’s offer, Dooley asked him what this encampment was to be used for. Strake replied this would be an advanced base for the proposed invasion of Ireland. The lieutenant was not certain when the invasion would take place, but an army was at this moment being transported by sea. After brushing the blockading fleet aside, the plan was to take aboard the supplies and equipment here and make the crossing.

Dooley had to think about the situation a bit. This officer could be trying to confuse him, perhaps hoping to escape. However, it would seem worthwhile to deliver him to England, if that was possible.

Assuring the officer he would blow him in half should he make a wrong move, he explained they were about to fire this magazine. Strake seemed agreeable and showed him some crates in the corner filled with both slow and quick match.

Smashing in the head of a powder keg with the butt of the musket, he buried one end of a length of quick match into the loose powder inside. Unable to threaten his prisoner with the musket, he drew one of his discharged pistols from his sash to convince Strake he should follow his orders.

Leading the match outside, no immediate threats were apparent. Plenty of people were busily engaged in their duties in this camp, but no one paid any attention to them. The quick match was concealed in a stand of rank grass and cut off when they reached a small copse. In a depression not likely to be noticed, Dooley cut off the quick match and tied on a foot of slow match.

He had neglected to bring a light with him and was reluctant to go back inside to get the lantern. Examining the guard’s musket, he earned that it was indeed charged, with priming in the frizzen. Searching around on the ground, he found a twig of appropriate size and jammed that into the musket’s touch hole. Holding the end of the slow match in his left hand, he held the match by the weapon’s pan, and pulled its cocked trigger. There was a delay in ignition since the flint was dull and only a few sparks issued. However, that was all that was needed and when the priming flared, Dooley inserted the match into the blazing powder and got it lit. Fortunately, the flame did not pass through the blocked touch hole and the main charge did not fire.

Having done all he could, he directed Strake down the sea wall onto the beach. There, he took off his slop shirt and hung it on a bush. Before leaving the ship, Captain Mullins had insisted they have a signal for an emergency pickup, should that be needed. He had not expected to be still alive at this point, but could see no point in expiring just yet. Maybe they could make it back to the ship.

A squadron of cavalry was patrolling the beach, so the pair dug shallow holes in the sand and covered themselves with beach debris to escape detection.

Aboard HMS Aurora offshore, the captain and his first officer remained engaged in a discussion about Dooley’s fate. Mullins expected he was likely dead, or at least efficiently secured. He felt it unlikely he would ever be speaking to the man again. However, before the operation, he had insisted upon a rescue plan.

With no other means of signals likely to be effective, they had settled on using Dooley’s distinctive slop shirt as a signal. The ship’s purser had purchased a quantity of the distinctive striped shirts, and it was thought this shirt, displayed on the seaward facing side of a rock on the beach, might serve as a signal to notify the ship that Dooley needed to be picked up.

This morning, as soon as the sun lit up the beach area, one of Aurora’s slop shirts was seen displayed on the sea wall.

The launch and cutter were deployed, both full of armed men, the launch having mounted its twelve-pounder boat carronade. As the boats were pulled to the shore, a detachment of French Army cuirassiers, attracted by the naval activities, trotted out to the beach and began searching. As they rounded the seawall, the ship’s guns opened on the horsemen. The cuirassiers were magnificent troops, big men mounted on big horses, but their breastplates offered no protection against the hurtling balls from Auroras ‘guns.

A devastating broadside left a half-dozen men and horses thrashing on the beach, then the launch deployed its carronade, loaded with grape, doubling the casualties. The dismembered body of the troop’s officer was left on the beach, while its surviving sergeant led the survivors away

It was then the charge in the magazine exploded. Even from the ship, it was a deafening noise, on shore, it must have been terrible. The remnants of the cavalry patrol were all down, but Dooley and Strake had survived in their holes, also protected by the seawall.

With the tormentors gone, Dooley and Strake emerged from their holes dug in the sand and made their way to the cutter, which had run up to the beach. An hour later found them on board Aurora. His primary mission had failed, through no fault of his own, but the crewmen on the sloop-of-war were happy with the prize taken during the action. The brig had been loaded with tanned hides and harness and would bring a good price at auction. In addition, the damage to the encampment as well as the information brought back should be enough to keep Whitehall happy.

Later in the afternoon watch, Mullins ordered Dooley be brought to him. The intelligence agent entered the cabin in good order, with little evidence of his recent activities visible.

“Now then, Mister Dooley, what am I to do with you? It seems your plans for the First Consul must be suspended for a bit.”

Dooley replied, “Sir, if you could arrange I be dropped off anywhere on the British coast, I will make my way to London and report. I expect they will have other missions to the French mainland for me to consider.”

“Mister Dooley, do you have some sort of death wish? You have already survived a most deadly mission. Why would you consider returning to the continent?”

“Captain, I regard it my duty. I realize many of my countrymen may consider my recent actions treasonous. However, I look upon myself as an Irish patriot who is attempting to bring to Ireland the best possible solution to the recent troubles.”

“I know Ireland can never receive complete independence, at least in my own life. There are forces, especially in the British Army, who would visit my country with untold carnage. But, there are also reasonable Englishmen who would grant us the same rights as others. Many of my superiors in the intelligence service feel the same. As long as there is a chance for a peaceful resolution for Ireland’s problem, I will do what I can.

“Mister Dooley, my orders only extend to delivering you to the enemy coast. This I have done, so my next course of action will be to proceed to Portsmouth and report to the port admiral there. You may accompany me, and begin your journey to Whitehall from there.”

HMS Aurora swung at anchor at Portsmouth for a matter of weeks. Dooley and his charge left the ship, and, using funds donated by Captain Mullins, bought coach seats to London. It was necessary to exchange Luitenant Strake’s uniform for civilian attire. Dooley slop clothing would suffice for the trip, but Mullins gave the two men a letter explaining they were on official Royal Navy business. Hopefully, this would protect them from the clutches of the Press.

Unusually, there was some uncertainty as to the ship’s next mission, and week-by-week, carefully trained men were drafted away to be sent to other warships on more immediate missions. Neither Dooley and Strake had been heard from since their departure, and Mullin’s report had long since been sent to the Admiralty Mullins was becoming exasperated just swinging around the anchor, seeing his crew evaporating every day.

At length though, just as he was considering giving up the command, Aurora’s fortunes reversed. One day, a lighter, bringing provisions, also delivered a dozen hands. Granted, these men were nothing to brag about, with only one real seaman among them, but it was certainly an improvement over the past weeks.

Supplies suddenly began coming aboard faster than they could be consumed, then the orders arrived. It was to be the Med for them, and to make matters better, they would be on Admiralty orders. Any prizes taken would not be shared with a local admiral commanding. A brief interview with the flag captain revealed Bonaparte, having failed with his attempts on Ireland, was insistent upon the invasion of Britain, itself.

To that end, small craft were being constructed in every French port and delivered to the main embarkation port of Boulogne. Mullins was informed Admiral Nelson had been placed in command of the naval forces defending against this attack. Upon sailing, he was to find that commander and deliver what information Whitehall had been able to gather. While in contact with Admiral Nelson, HMS Aurora was to be placed under Nelson’s command until no longer needed, then she would proceed, first to Gibraltar, then into the Mediterranean.

There was some question what the French Army troops left behind in Egypt by Napoleon were actually up to. Their mission in the inland sea would be to investigate thoroughly the French actions and report anything extraordinary to London.

Their status in Portsmouth Harbor was utterly different than it had been, with men coming aboard, sometimes before they were even requested. Finally, their sailing orders came, brought aboard by a harried lieutenant from the flag. Mister Midshipman Adolphus was aboard, after a hiatus with his Royal relatives, and he resumed his position as signal officer.

On Mullin’s order, the young man directed his signalman to run up the hoist indicating their readiness to sail. Upon receiving the affirmative from the flag, it was time to leave.