Nizams Daughters

me to—’

‘With only these men here all we can do is watch the gendarmerie: we can’t assault it,’ he replied, shaking his head to emphasize their powerlessness.

‘Would it not be better to recall the garrison? What about the town major?’

‘If we don’t act swiftly then we run the risk of every Bonapartiste in Le Havre throwing in his hand with them. The whole town might be taken!’

Peto thought it unlikely, but recognized the possibility — and therefore the necessity. ‘Very well, Captain Hervey,’ he replied grimly, ‘you shall have my marines,’ and he turned to make his way back to the quayside.

But he had no need, for his gig’s midshipman had come up. ‘I heard the firing, sir, and feared there might be trouble.’

Hervey smiled to himself. Right place, right time — he’ll do!

Peto, his hat removed in the heat of the afternoon (though he had kept it square during the action), simply raised his eyebrows, and even managed to look irritated by the blood on his white breeches. ‘Yes, yes, Mr Ranson, it is nothing. Be so good as to signal to Nisus and request Mr Locke to bring his men ashore — sharply if you please.’ The midshipman doubled away with the greatest enthusiasm, and Peto turned to Hervey, raising his eyebrows again. ‘His first time within earshot of French fire,’ he drawled; ‘it’s as well to behave with as much indifference as possible.’

Hervey was minded of Edward Lankester, though nothing of that patrician’s manner was at all studied. Even the way Lankester had ridden the length of the Sixth’s line in the closing hour at Waterloo, risking every tirailleur’s parting shot, was — he was sure — born of the most natural impulse. However, Peto’s bearing, studied or not, was as cool as ever he had seen. Did its impulse really matter?

But now he saw an even greater service that Nisus might render, for as he lay prone, snatching the odd glance up and down the street (and grateful he was too that he wore his second coat, for the cobbles had sharp edges), he tumbled at last to it — the apt line of fire. ‘Captain Peto, do you see your ship yonder?’ he called excitedly.

Peto, without thinking, looked back towards the roads where Nisus lay at anchor, and then quickly back at Hervey again, irritated. ‘Of course I see her, Captain Hervey; to what do your powers of observation lead?’

‘The gendarmerie is at the end of the street. It stands in direct line from her.’

Peto looked astonished. ‘You surely do not wish me to undertake a shore bombardment?’ he gasped.

‘Not a bombardment — a shot across their bow. Except it must needs be a shot into their bow.’

Peto looked even more astonished.

Hervey failed to understand.

‘Captain Hervey, how far is the gendarmerie from us?’

‘Sixty or seventy yards I should say,’ he replied.

‘And a further hundred or so to the quay. And by my reckoning Nisus stands three cables out — a total of seven hundred and fifty yards. Eight hundred perhaps.’

Hervey was yet more puzzled. ‘That is not an extreme range, sir?’

Peto raised his eyebrows a third time in as many minutes. ‘It is not an extreme range, sir, but the parabola is such that—’

‘Oh yes, Captain, I know the intricacy well,’ he interrupted, but somehow managing not to contrive offence. ‘If you aimed low, however, the ricochet could be to our advantage.’

Peto said nothing. Indeed, he looked aghast. And then he appeared to be contemplating the proposition. Slowly he warmed to it. ‘There is no guarantee of line, mind you. The shot is not tight in the barrel as with a rifle. It might fly wide.’

Hervey was silent. It was not his place to give a lesson in gunnery to a frigate captain, though he knew that, at a thousand yards, the shot could not be too far out of line if the gun were laid dead-centre on its target.

‘Very well, Captain Hervey, though heaven knows what shall be our fate if this is misdirected. I dare say a court martial awaits us both.’

‘Quite so, sir,’ smiled Hervey, taking another look round the corner.

Peto said he would go back to Nisus himself. ‘I suppose you are capable of the business ashore — mounted or dismounted. But I need to see that gun is laid truly.’

Hervey asked if he would leave his midshipman. ‘I shall need an officer with the cordon around the gendarmerie.’

Peto approved. ‘And shall we agree to fire on the place at a given time?’ he asked absently, brushing brick- dust from his seacoat.

‘I should prefer a signal,’ replied Hervey. ‘Something always seems to make a given time too early or too late as it approaches. Shall we say three powder flashes from this corner?’

‘Very well,’ said Peto, ‘three powder flashes it is. I shall make “Affirmative” when ready.’

‘And if the first shot is insufficient,’ added Hervey, ‘we shall await another; then you will see us rush the building.’

A quarter of an hour later Lieutenant Locke and thirty marines (even Peto would not leave his ship entirely without marines) came doubling along the side street to where Hervey and the midshipman were observing — the one with his telescope trained on Nisus for the ready signal, the other still prone and peering round the corner at the gendarmerie. The marines looked eager, bayonets already fixed, sweat running down their faces. There was no time for introductions or other pleasantries. Hervey quickly explained his intention, the lieutenant lying prone beside him to peer round the corner at their objective. ‘There’s no place for skirmishing. When the ball makes a breach we must rush it at once!’

Ranson’s telescope awaited the red flag with white cross that would signal his ship’s readiness. Suddenly he started. ‘Nisus makes “Affirmative”, sir!’ he called excitedly. ‘She is ready!’

‘Very well, then, Mr Ranson, please take charge of the watch I have sent to the rear of the gendarmerie. There are a dozen private men there, but I fear their serjeant is unsteady.’

The midshipman looked disappointed. He wanted to draw his sword and join the storming party. But a sharp look from Hervey sped him away to join the dozen infantrymen who were all that stood between the gendarmerie and its reinforcement. Hervey had retained the Cork man, however. His job was to make four powder flashes — three for the signal and one as reserve, for powder was never as reliable as supposed, even on a hot day, with not a drop of moisture in the air. However, before he signalled the frigate there was one more thing Hervey felt obliged to do. Taking a white silk square from the pocket of his coat, he tied it to the soldier’s bayonet. ‘Are you ready, Corporal McCarthy?’ he asked, not needing to explain for what.

‘Yes, sor,’ said the man resolutely. ‘I shall get an NCO’s funeral, then?’

‘I shall see to it myself,’ smiled Hervey, cheered not for the first time by an Irishman’s black humour. ‘Come then,’ and he marched boldly to the middle of the street with McCarthy by his side.

Musket at the high port so that the trucial white would be plain to all, the erstwhile corporal laughed as they advanced on the gendarmerie building. ‘Jasus, sor, but I hope them French is still willing to go by the rules!’

‘Officers of the Garde?’ replied Hervey reassuringly. ‘I should think honour is everything to them. We need have no fear.’

At that very moment a musket exploded not a dozen yards to their front, the ball flying a foot or so above their heads.

‘You was saying, sor?’

Before he could make reply a voice from within the gendarmerie commanded them to halt and state their business. Hervey looked about until one of the shutters opened further to reveal the moustaches of a colonel of the chasseurs a pied, a man with so great an air of indifference that he began wondering what they might know which he did not. In his best French, and with proper deference for rank, he explained that there could be no escape. ‘You have fought with great honour on the field of battle. I myself saw the gallant conduct of the Garde at the late battle in Belgium. And today you have fought with determination. But further resistance will be to no avail: the guns of one of His Majesty’s ships are at this very moment laid on you. I call upon you to lay down your arms.’

The shutter opened full, and the colonel called out one word. ‘Merde!’

‘What’s that he says, sor?’ asked McCarthy, who had stood patiently but uncomprehendingly throughout