Chapter 13: Uriah the Hittite

In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab and sent it with Uriah. In it he wrote, “Put Uriah in the front line where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so he will be struck down and die.”

2nd Book of Samuel, 11

San Augustin lay peacefully in the winter sun as the squadron approached. There was a small fort south of the inlet, and they drew fire from there, but the distance was over one nautical mile, too far for the French or Spanish gunners to do any serious harm.

The landing was more tricky here in San Augustin than at Porto Covo, because the beach chosen for landing was strewn with large rocks. It looked forbidden, and indeed the Portuguese had saved themselves the expense of protecting it with gun emplacements.

Once they drew closer, Tony could see the Spanish Red and Gold flying over the harbour battery, and his hand touched the hilt of his sword. It was not the first time that the Toledo blade would be drawn against Spanish soldiers and crews.

As in Porto Covo, Tony had been placed in command of the landing force. Major Applethorn still resented that, but had obviously noticed that Tony had not vied for the command. He had been more forthcoming during the last planning session.

The squadron could not come closer to the beach than a mile off, and after a last handshake with Dougherty, Tony climbed over the side and into the waiting launch. The gig would be of little use this time. Tony had the squadron’s boats fan out to present as fickly a target for field pieces as possible, and indeed, once they came closer, gun smoke blew up and some smaller round shot buzzed past the boats. Six-pounder pieces, Tony assumed. The Spanish gunners could not harm any of the boats, and when the first launch made the beach and the Marines swarmed out, the Spanish up and ran for the town. A few skirmishers tried to harass them, but Applethorn quickly sent out vanguards who chased them off.

Whilst the Marines formed file on the beach, the boats returned. Tony had left orders to replace the boat crews after each run, and the second wave came over just as quickly. Now they had over five-hundred Marines landed, and it was time to advance on San Augustin. The small town had only remnants of its medieval fortifications; the ancient ring wall had probably collapsed in the earthquake 50 years ago. Under Applethorn’s able direction, the Marines formed three columns and attacked the town from three sides, leaving only the waterfront with the fort open. This was where the Spanish retreated.

After conferring with Applethorn, Tony had a signalling station set up on top of a church tower, and he sent the pre-arranged signal to the squadron. Whilst the Spanish in the small fort were busy to move the eight or nine bronze pieces to landward, to fight off the Marines, Warspite detached from the squadron and made for the inlet. It was check and mate, and thankfully, the Spanish commander realised in time that he could not fight off a ship of the line and a batallion of Marines at the same time.

Tony allowed Applethorn to negotiate the surrender. In exchange for leaving behind their weapons and provisions, the Spanish were allowed to retreat. Whilst those negotiations were under way, Tony already arranged for the defence of the town against forces coming from inland. The Portuguese population was allowed to leave the town, sparing them the dangers of pillaging once the Franco-Spanish forces took the place back. The less civilians remained, the less to worry about. A few brave souls volunteered to join the British, and those were placed as lookouts in the next town inland, to warn them of approaching enemies.

Once the town was evacuated, Tony and Major Applethorn planned the defence properly. The guns from the fort were dismounted. The lighter pieces, together with the left-behind Spanish field guns, were grouped in two batteries, facing up the small river that had formed the valley and the small harbour. Work parties from the ships joined in the effort to build strong emplacements that were shielded by earth walls. Applethorn knew something about sieges, and the emplacements were built with a regular entrenchment and with subdivisions.

For the next four days, the work parties who came from the ships returned dog tired every evening. Fresh spring water to drink and fresh food lifted their spirits enough though, to keep the work going. Five days after the landing, San Augustin was prepared for any attacks from inland. Provisions were plentiful, too. In fact, a local warehouse filled with wines and spirits was evacuated and the contents shipped out to the squadron. Still, the men received watered wine in place of their rum allotment, they ate fresh produce for a change, and they were in excellent spirits.

Six days after the landing, Keller came ashore to inspect the place, and Tony received him with proper decorum. They also delivered their reports. Tony had allowed Applethorn to write the report about taking the town and the fort, adding it to his own report as attachment. That would mean that the Gazette might print it over Applethorn’s name, and the major was grateful. Keller complimented both of them for their conduct, but then he announced that he would take the squadron out to sea.

Tony protested, since this would separate him from his ship, a breach of Navy regulations, but Keller maintained that this move would lure the French to a counter-attack on San Augustin. The transport, Gwendoline, would stay in the harbour, and once the French approached, she could sail and meet the squadron at a rendezvous point, fifty miles off the shore. Then, the squadron would return in force and evacuate the landing force.

Tony protested again, reminding Keller of the imponderability of wind and sea, causing Keller to respond with a scathing remark.

“Captain, I am surprised. You seem to be altogether too concerned about your safety, it would seem.”

Tony turned as white as a sheet. Applethorn looked shocked, too.

“Sir, if this is your opinion, then I must ask for a court-martial to clear my name.”

Keller stared at Tony for a moment, probably realising the graveness of his accusations which would be refuted by any court martial, given the tactical situation and given Tony’s record as a captain and his reputation. He cleared his throat laboriously.

“Captain, I spoke in haste and I apologise for my ill-advised remark. I have only the highest opinion of your bravery and my words merely conveyed my surprise at finding you so over-cautious.”

“Sir, we cannot hold this place with five-hundred marines if the French make any serious effort at recapture,” Applethorn added his opinion. “Once they appear in force, we have to evacuate quickly.”

“Oh please, gentlemen! You just spent almost a week to build your defensive positions. You can hold off any force for a week.”

“That would largely depend on the force we shall face, Sir Winston. We are close to the French base of operations. Junot may just send a full division.”

“Why would he do that against our five-hundred marines?” Keller snorted.

“For one thing, Junot may not know we have only five-hundred men here. God knows what the Spanish major has told him to absolve himself of any accusations,” Tony argued.

“Captain, I must ask you to refrain from naming Our Lord’s name in vain! Any repetition will meet with my strong disapproval.”

“Very well, Sir Winston. Nevertheless, we...”

“I wasn’t finished. To imply that an officer and gentleman, even a Spanish one, would lie to a superior officer is quite farfetched in my experience.”

The caustic reply asking Keller just how many Spanish gentlemen he had encountered whilst commanding receiving ships in Plymouth was on Tony’s tongue, but he bit it back.

“In the French Army, Sir Winston, there is no tolerance for failure. The Spanish major may find himself cashiered or worse if it comes out that his over two-hundred men, in a fortified position, surrendered almost without a shot fired.”

“Enough, Captain. My decision is made. I cannot expose the ships to the dangers of a lee coast just because some Spanish major may have lied to his superiors. You have a strong, fortified position yourself, and I expect you to hold it. Once the pressure grows too strong, send out the Gwendoline and we shall come to your aid.”

“May I ask for this order in writing, Sir Winston?” Tony asked through his clenched teeth. “Since your orders run counter to my duties as Asia’s captain, I need a written order should something untoward happen to you.”

“You are being impertinent, Captain!”

“It is my right, Sir Winston,” Tony remained steadfast.

He had no plans to be the scapegoat if this operation ended badly. The eyes of the two men met for almost a minute before Keller gave in.

“Very well, Captain, I’ll send those orders once I am back.”

“Sir Winston, your secretary is here, and I have writing materials,” Tony answered mercilessly.

Keller gave him a look of pure murder, but then he turned and barked an order for his secretary. The young chaplain sat down and took the dictation, whilst Tony and Major Applethorn watched and listened. When the secretary was finished, Keller threw his signature on the paper and thrust it into Tony’s hands.

“Can I expect you to follow my orders now, Captain?”

“Of course, Sir Winston,” Tony answered with as much equanimity as possible. “I shall send for my dunnage now.”

With an angry snort, Keller turned and left the customs building that housed Tony’s land quarters. Tony shrugged and sat down to write a short letter to Harriet, advising her of his new orders. He entrusted the letter and the written orders to John Little and sent him out to Asia to have some cabin stores, more clothes, and a few personal items sent over. Tony also wrote an order to Mister Dougherty, specifying the orders under which he stayed ashore and empowering his First Lieutenant to act on his captain’s behalf. That done, Tony continued to supervise the defensive preparations.

He slept in a comfortable bed that night, in the customs inspector’s chamber, after enjoying a supper prepared from the inspector’s provisions. When he woke, at dawn, he stood on the balcony and saw the squadron already gone. Keller had not wasted any time. Only the Gwendoline was still lying at anchor in the small harbour. Shrugging, Tony ordered breakfast to which he invited Applethorn. The major was watching Tony intently.

“Sir Anthony, I beg your pardon, but are you not worried about making Admiral Keller your enemy?”

Tony allowed himself a smile.

“What can he do? Have me removed from my command? Fine, that will give me a chance to stay with my wife for some time. Accuse me of any wrongdoing? He’ll have to contend with the backlash then. My wife’s parents are not without influence, and he must know that. No, I’m not concerned.”

“He may still retaliate, Sir. What if he leaves us here? He can claim adverse weather or another engagement.”

“And leave five hundred marines behind? Sir Charles would have him beached for life. Do not worry too much, Major. Let us inspect our men and hear the reports.”

That afternoon, one of the Portuguese volunteers galloped into the town square, bringing the news of the French approaching. He had seen the vanguard some twenty miles up the river, and it was a batallion strong; in other words, it matched their own forces. The main body would be a full division, Applethorn estimated. Tony made it a point to appear calm, but he was worried. His worst case scenario was coming true.

Together with Applethorn, he planned the defence. Any troops had to pass through a small village, a mile and a half upriver, and this was where they would place their first line of defence. Tony had kegs with gunpowder brought there. A whole keg was emptied on the cobbled village road, with lines of powder leading into the houses that contained more gunpowder. The French would march into the village at night, and with the nailed soles of their boots ignite the powder.

Their field guns were readied, too, and the gun crews instructed. The brittle brick walls of the village houses would afford little protection for the French against the British guns, in particular after the first gunpowder charges were lighted. Come the nightfall, the marines went into readiness.

There was nothing to do but wait, but some time before midnight, the advance posts reported the sound of marching soldiers. Tony kept his glass trained on the village, but he could see nothing in the darkness ahead. That changed! He had just taken the glass off his eye when suddenly the darkness ahead exploded in light and smoke. Like a well planned fireworks, one powder charge after the other exploded, and Tony could imagine the havoc wreaked by the flying debris.

Survivors emerged from the dense smoke, blinded and coughing, stumbling forward in dazed stupor. Those were quickly taken captive as a company strength detachment of the Marines advanced on the village. Musket fire could be heard in the dark, and soon, the Marines returned and Captain Brent reported that the French were retreating upriver. This allowed Applethorn to allow his men some sleep whilst Tony had Mister Malloy of Gwendoline roused and report at headquarters.

They would need the squadron here as soon as possible. The ammunition they had would never be enough to hold off a division strength enemy. Also, Keller had not even left them a surgeon to deal with the wounded. It was time for the ships to return. Tony wrote his report in duplicate. He had Major Applethorn verify the copy before he sent Mister Malloy off with the Gwendoline to find Keller and the squadron. He was then able to find a few hours of sleep.

At daybreak, they sent scouts to the village, and they reported back that the trap had been successful. The narrow village street was littered with dead and wounded soldiers. Tony received that report with mixed emotions. This was a diversion only, yet it had already cost many lives on the French side. Also, the cries for help from the wounded could be heard even in San Augustin. He snapped his glass shut and sent for Captain Bell.

A few minutes later, Bell, accompanied by his ensign who waved a white flag of truce, slowly approached the village. Tony could see a French officer emerging from the rubble of the collapsed houses, meeting Bell. The discussion did not take long, and Bell returned.

“He will inform General Chambon of your offer, Sir. He’ll be back soon to give you their answer.”

Perhaps an hour later, another French officer emerged, under flag of truce and approached the British position. Tony stood and met the man, a Colonel, half ways. The man even spoke English.

“Colonel Chevalier de Chaunessy, at your service,” he said, bowing politely.

He had to be an Irish renegade, or rather descended from one. Tony recognised traces of a gaelic tongue even through the French accent. The reddish hair and sideburns were another indicator.

“Captain Sir Anthony Carter, Royal Navy, at your service, Sir,” Tony replied, equally bowing.

“General Chambon asked me to thank you for your offer, Sir. We agree to your proposed truce, to recover our wounded and dead.”

Tony nodded.

“We shall hold fire until you notify us of being finished.”

“That is very kind of you. Many of our men are buried under collapsed walls, and it will take time to recover them.”

“Take all the time you need, Colonel,” Tony replied with a straight face.

This was all about buying time until the squadron could return. De Chaunessy gave him a grim smile.

“Would you also like to parley, perhaps about a conditional surrender? I seems your ships left you alone. General Chambon commands a full division, and a siege train is on the way, too. It would save many lives if you gave up your misguided adventure, Captain.”

Tony managed to give the man a careless smile.

“I thank you for your consideration. I shall offer you the same courtesy, of course, once this — how did you call it, adventure? — has played out. Please give my respectful greetings to General Chambon.”

De Chaunessy nodded politely.

“I wish you a good day, Captain.”

He retreated to his own lines, and soon, French soldiers poured into the village, and for the rest of the day, they were busy extracting their fallen from the rubble. From the tower of the small church, Tony could see that the French were also busy building a camp, a mile upriver from the destroyed village. Applethorn watched them, too, and confirmed that they were preparing for a regular siege. Obviously, Chambon was a cautious commander and not prone to have his men charge against an unknown enemy position. Or perhaps, he was cunning, making them believe in prolonged preparations rather than an immediate charge. Tony and Applethorn argued this point and decided to keep a strong force in readiness. They had already allowed most of their men to sleep and rest for all day, knowing that the next nights would not see many chances for sleep.

Shortly before dusk, the French sent a messenger informing Tony that they had finished the recovery of their fallen. Included with it was a bottle of fine French brandy from the Cognac as token of General Chambon’s esteem. Tony chuckled inwardly. If Chambon thought he’d partake of this fine drink immediately, he would be disappointed.

A little after midnight, a runner woke Tony from his short sleep. There was movement in the ruins of the village. When he reached the gun emplacements, Applethorn was already there.

“I have ordered the guns to be loaded with canister, Sir,” he whispered to Tony.

“Very well,” Tony whispered back. “Are your men ready?”

“I have four hundred here, Sir. The rest must guard the flanks.”

“I see,” Tony mumbled, peering through his glass. “Here they come. By God, they are charging! Gunners, no salvoes! One after the other. Aim for the road ahead. Are those quoins in? All right, we’ll start with the leftmost gun. Gunners, count to five from the last shot before you fire. Reload immediately. All clear? First gun, fire!”

The nine-pounder barked, spouting flames and 12 pounds of musket balls along the road. In the muzzle flash, Tony could see the charging French soldiers, some two hundred yards away. The next gun bellowed, and they heard cries and curses from the charging enemy column. With each discharge, the French came nearer, but the guns took a toll on them.

Applethorn had his men in four files. When the last of their guns fired, the French were less than a hundred yards away, and Applethorn had the first file fire their muskets. One hundred musket balls smashed into the charging French, dropping the men in front and making those behind them stumble. The charge slowed, and then the second file fired their muskets, adding to the confusion among the French. A blue firework was lighted and hurled towards the French. In its eery light, they saw the French column in disarray, and Applethorn had his third file fire their muskets.

Now, the first reloaded gun fired, followed by the second. In the dying light of the firework, they saw the French turn and run whilst the fourth musket salvo smashed into their rears.

“Cease firing!” Tony ordered. “Down everybody!”

Just as expected, the French now opened fire with their guns from beyond the village. Applethorn had most of the marines retreat and left only fifty men in their front position, to reduce possible losses. However, with the British guns now silent, the French gunners had little to direct their fire in the darkness, and most of their shots never came near the British position. A few, though, landed among them, and they had the first casualties, both among the marines and among the gun crews. For the most part, however, the men were secure in the trenches and behind the breastworks. Tony knew this would change as soon as the French siege train with its heavy guns arrived, and he hoped for a speedy arrival of the squadron.

Come the morning, the French fire intensified. This time, they did not accept Tony’s offer to recover their fallen. Instead, they began to build trenches inside the destroyed village, obviously in preparation for another charge. Using two mortars, the British gunners started to rain shells on the French forward positions, scoring a number of direct hits and thus slowing down the French efforts. By evening, there was still no sign of the squadron on the offing, although the wind was fair for the purpose.

That night, the British expected another night attack but none materialised. Nevertheless, the French maintained a sporadic cannonade, effectively keeping anybody from sleeping.

In the morning, there was still no sign from the squadron. Tony could tell from the faces around him that the men were becoming worried. He could not help against an uneasy feeling either. A lot of things can happen out at sea that would prevent the squadron from responding, and Keller had already shown that anticipating the unexpected was not his strong suit.