Troubled Waters

fetched the new First Consul, Napoleon Bonaparte, was poured from a matching china pot. The sugar was from Spanish Louisiana, off a neutral Danish merchantman. The spoons, though, were humble brass, the same sort Bonaparte was reputed to use, and both Major Loudenne and Lieutenant Brasseur approved of their plebeian, Republican presence.

Brasseur admired the cup and saucer in his hands. In the old Royal French Navy, he had risen no higher than quartier-maitre en second, and would never be promoted beyond Quartermaster. The Revolution had changed all that; he enjoyed becoming an officer, and the genteel life that came with it, as comfortable and clean as a minor 'aristo' in the old days. If his recent covert work was not as pleasing as he wished, promises had been made that he could return to his native Marseilles, and serve at sea, haunting the sea lanes of the Mediterranean. 'You have had your breakfast, Lieutenant?' Loudenne enquired. 'A hurried one, M'sieur Major,' he replied.

'Please, allow me to offer a second, more substantial one, As you said, we will set up a table here on the battlements, alfresco, as you also said, and enjoy this fine, clear morning.'

'I would be…,' Lt. Brasseur began to say, but stopped, turning to look west, and cocking his ears. Major Loudenne frowned, and turned his head that way, too. He scanned the sky, looking for a hint that he was mistaking the sound he heard with a storm on the far horizon, but… 'It begins,' the Major softly said.

'Heavy gunfire, oui,' Lt. Brasseur agreed, for in his time, he had heard the faint thunder of far-off fleets duelling broadside to broadside. 'Look there, m'sieur… ,' he eagerly pointed out, raising his telescope once more. 'The colour of the haze above the Pointe de la Coubre, oui? It must have begun minutes ago, and the sound is just reaching us.'

'More, and heavier, artillery than we possess behind the beaches of the Cote Sauvage, hein? Those are British guns,' Major Loudenne gruffly commented. 'There is little we may do about it now. Let us have our second breakfast, oui, Lieutenant? Alphonse, set the table.'

The Major thought it would stiffen his anxious-looking gunners' nerves to see him and the naval officer enjoying themselves, as phlegmatic as artillerymen were supposed to be.

Before they could sip their second cups of coffee, and before a fresh tablecloth could be spread on the collapsible campaign table, a gunner on the western face alerted them to the galloper spurring down the coast road from Royan. 'He will kill that horse… poor beast,' Loudenne said with a sniff.

Within minutes, the galloper, a young officer of General Fournier's staff, rounded the end of the western third of the fort and came into the grassy courtyard between the ramparts, and the buried magazine and forge, reining in dramatically and leaping down to let his exhausted mount stumble on as a gunner took its reins.

The aide dashed up the long ramp to the central wall where the Tricolour flag flew from a tall pole, a white leather despatch case on a matching baldric over one shoulder spanking his hip. He was immaculate in fore-and-aft bicorne hat, natty blue uniform coat with a heavy gilt epaulet; he even wore white gloves! But the young aide's trousers were soaked in horse sweat, and reeked of ammonia. With a youthful sense of importance, though panting in his haste, the aide opened the despatch case with a flourish, and tossed off a salute. 'General de Division Fournier sends word, M'sieur Major… eight British ships of the line came in sight, between the Pertuis de Maumusson, and Pointe de la Coubre… two groups of four.'

'When was this, Lieutenant?' Loudenne gruffly asked.

'Over three hours ago, M'sieur Major,' the aide breathlessly related, his chest still heaving. 'I was sent with a message immediately, but… it is twenty kilometres, so…'

'Bon,' Loudenne grumbled, reading the despatch quickly. 'Four at the north end of the Cote Sauvage, it would seem, another four near the base of the Pointe de la Coubre peninsula, the general says.'

'Pardon, Major,' the young officer interjected, 'but the group to the north took our entrenchments and batteries under fire, just as I was sent away.' 'Did they anchor?' Lt. Brasseur demanded.

'No, sir,' the aide replied, 'nor did the second group of four ships near the peninsula, which I saw for myself as I rode along the coast road. They were bombarding the entrenchments there, as well, and that was over two hours ago, by now, m 'sieurl'

'And which way were they sailing, Lieutenant?' Brasseur asked. 'Uhm… oh! The northern group was pointing South, and their southern group was sailing North, sir,' the aide told him.

'To meet off the beaches where all eight may open fire upon the defences near the creek and the spring, which the 'Bloodies' have already scouted, aha!' Brasseur concluded with a triumphal smile. 'They fall into your general's trap, Major Loudenne!'

'Uhm, where did those come from, may I ask, m'sieurs?' the aide asked. 'And what are they doing?' he added, pulling his own telescope from his over-shoulder case.

'Eight ships of the line, eight hundred Marines,' Lt. Brasseur told Loudenne, 'and four hundred sailors, against General Fournier and his six thousand? Hah! It will be a slaughter!'

'Sang-froid, jenne homme.' Loudenne was chiding the aide to be cool-blooded and cool-headed. 'Toujours le sang-froid. Such excitement on your part un-nerves others. Always keep your demeanour calm, no matter how urgent the situation.' ' Oui, M'sieur Major,' the aide-de-camp replied, though thinking that artillerymen were perhaps too phlegmatic, like turtles.

'And did you meet any troops coming this way, on your ride?' Major Loudenne queried. 'I had requested re- enforcements, as soon as those Anglais ships turned up.'

'Indeed, Major,' the aide reported. 'The Fifty-seventh of the Line, all six companies. I met them about five kilometres north of Saint Palais sur Mer, but, I also had orders for them from mon general… to turn about and march back to the Cote Sauvage. They might have made it back to La Palmyre by now, M'sieur Major.' 'Damn!' Loudenne spat, warily eying the anchored warships. 'You return to your general, young fellow?' Brasseur enquired.

'Oui, M'sieur Lieutenant! I hope I am not too late to see the battle,' the aide told him with a broad, eager grin.

'As little as I am used to horses, I will ride with you, oui!' Brasseur instantly decided. 'What a grand sight, to see these Anglais salauds bayonetted into the surf, and slaughtered by their boats!'

'I will ride fast, I warn you, m'sieur,' the aide cautioned. 'If you are not a strong horseman… but, we will need fresh mounts.'

'There are many in Royan,' Brasseur told him with a shrug. 'What are they doing here, though?' Loudenne still fretted, concerned about his lack of re-enforcements. 'What are they doing?' he snapped, raising his telescope and resting it atop the parapet.

All three officers turned their glasses seaward; all three saw hundred of enemy sailors clambering up the rigging, standing atop the stout oak bulwarks and lining gangways of the anchored warships. Some were lowering…

''''Mon Dieuf' the aide primly gasped. 'They show their arses to us? Les Anglais… the 'Bloodies' are an uncouth people! Swine!'

'They mock us,' Brasseur said with a snarl. Even though what the British were shouting could not carry that far, he could imagine what came from those widely opened mouths. 'They think they have deluded us, and played their part in the charade. Oui, let us get fast horses, Lieutenant. We must get to your general, vite, vitel These ships hold nearly seven hundred potential fighters, and I think I know what they plan. That regiment you encountered must be alerted.' 'M'sieur?' the aide asked with a raised brow; Loudenne was not the only one who thought a sailor spouting land tactics presumptuous.

'Their main landing is on the barren coast, oui?' Brasseur impatiently snapped, jutting one arm to the nor'west. 'But, if the enemy lands behind your general's main line, up the coast from here…!'

'There is a road from La Palmyre to Arvert, on the northern side of the Cote Sauvage,' Major Loudenne all but gasped, and sang-froid bedamned. 'From there to La Tremblade it is less than four kilometres.'

'Your general masses to contain them, let half get ashore before his riposte,