Chapter 4: Of Eggs and Omelettes (July 1815)

Over the next days, Clyde kept her station off Rochefort. Admiral Hotham had confirmed the orders by Captain Maitland, putting Thomas in charge of keeping watch over Rochefort. Obviously, the Navy was charged with preventing the escape of Bonapartists, although Thomas could not fathom what harm they could do with their emperor a captive.

Nothing much happened, however, and Clyde‘s crew was kept busy with exercises and even some competitions. Thomas kept his ship out of range from the Ile d’Aix, but close enough to watch the Charente estuary, and for the most part kept himself occupied by writing letters to Mirabel, to Angela, Harriet-Anne and Mr. Egerton.

On the morning of July 28, whilst Clyde was heading north after clearing the Ile de Ré, their lookout spotted a sail coming out from Les Sables d’Olonne. That was suspicious in itself since the small port was known for its allegiance to the imperial side. The vessel, a brigantine, was heading west in the prevailing north-western winds. Thomas decided to investigate the strange sail and soon, Clyde was lying a little over under the press of full sails in the prevailing six-knots breeze.

They gained at least two miles on their chase before its captain obviously noticed them. The masthead reported more sails being set and the small vessel going closer to the wind. Yet, with Clyde‘s large sail plan, her deep keel and her seasoned crew, the distance still melted away over the course of the afternoon, and by mid-afternoon, their quarry was hull-up on their starboard bow. With over six hours of light still ahead, the chase was over but for the shot over the bows, even if the breeze was weakening.

Over the next three hours, the crew received food and water, but no grog, before they readied the ship for action. The captain of the brigantine made one last, doomed attempt to escape by tacking and heading due north, likely hoping to reach the Breton port of Lorient, but even that manoeuvre helped Clyde, who with her large crew went about much faster. By two bells on the second dogwatch, Clyde‘s bow chasers fired over the hapless ship’s bows.

Just then, as they watched for the strange captain’s reaction, Thomas saw through his glass how a struggling person was manhandled over the taffrail of the brigantine and dropped into the sea. Thomas caught a short glimpse of the person before she splashed into the wake. It was a woman.

In a moment, he saw through the ruse. The men on board the brigantine wanted Clyde to heave-to for the rescue of the woman and thus gain a little lead on her to make it to the safety of Lorient. Realisation of the intent was quickly followed by action.

“Boatswain, a coil of Nº2 line, and be quick about it! Mr. Harvey, kindly sail the ship as closely as possible past that woman! Have ten men ready to heave in the line once I’ve secured her!”

He was already stripping off his uniform coat, sea boots, stockings and his shirt when the boatswain came back with a large coil of Nº2 line. Thomas quickly fashioned a noose around his upper body, under his arms, and stood ready on the port side bulwark whilst Harvey carefully steered Clyde to pass the struggling woman as closely as possible. When Clyde‘s forecastle was abreast of the woman, Thomas jumped.

He landed perhaps ten feet away from the woman who seemed able to stay afloat and who looked at him with big eyes. Three powerful strokes brought him close to her.

“Hold on to me!” he cried, closing his arms around her from behind. “Tenez bon!“ he coughed, having swallowed some seawater.

Only a second or two later, he felt the line around his chest tighten, and then the hands heaved in the line. Thomas managed to turn onto his back, holding the woman under her arms and locking his hands over her chest as they were dragged after the frigate at four knots and more. It was a struggle to keep his head over the water at first, but once they came closer to the ship and the line was pointing upwards, he managed to keep his nose and mouth free to breathe. Now they were abreast the quarterdeck and coming close to the port.

Some brave man was standing on the lowered Jacob’s ladder, keeping the line away from the hull whilst they were dragged closer. There were men in an open gunport now, pulling the line closer with a boat hook. Soon, Thomas was pulled up, desperately holding on to the woman. Strong hands grabbed him by his upper arms whilst others took hold of the woman, and a second later he lay panting on his back between two 24-pounders, the woman still on top of him.

There was the doctor and his mates, lifting the woman up and then helping Thomas to his feet. He looked around into the grinning faces of his sailors.

“Thank you!” he coughed and wheezed.

“‘T weren’t nothing, Sir,” one of the men mumbled self-consciously. “You’re the bloody hero, Sir!”

Thomas felt nothing like a hero, exhausted as he was from the wild ride through the waves, but he remembered now that there was still a task to perform.

“Now, let’s get those bastards who tried to drown a woman!” he rasped, shaking off the exhaustion. “Mr. Culloden, kindly see our guest to the quarterdeck starb’d cabin and tend to her needs,” he ordered the doctor, heading for the companionway and for the quarterdeck.

There, he looked around. The brigantine was only a cable length ahead of them now, the treacherous deed having availed them nothing. Thomas found Mr. Harvey staring at him with awe.

“Sir?”

“Kindly have the bow chasers open fire, Mr. Harvey. Have them aim for the rigging.”

Harvey nodded grimly and relayed the orders. A few seconds later, both long nines on the forecastle barked. The distance was short for the long nines, and at least one shot hit the upper works of the brigantine, damaging her foretop, and moments later, the press of the sails completed the destruction, with her top hamper tumbling down onto her deck. With the loss of the foremast’s leverage, the brigantine turned into the wind and within a mere minute, Clyde hove to at her side with her guns run out and ready to fire. Somebody on the brigantine hastily raised and lowered the tricolour flag.

“Mr. Harvey, kindly take the cutter and twenty men and seize the prize,” Thomas commanded. “Dear Lord, I must change into something dry!”

The woman was young, barely over twenty, with curly dark hair and a petite body that could not fill out even the smallest size of clothes from the slop chest. At least, she was dry and warm, Thomas reasoned.

“Sir Thomas Grey, Chevalier d’Ordre du Bath, Madame. Comment vous appelez-vous?“

The woman answered in fairly good English, with only a trace of a French accent.

“Jeanne Dumoulin, Sir. I am ... was an actress at the Ancienne Comédie in Poitiers.”

“You speak very good English, Miss or is it Missus?”

“It is Miss Dumoulin, Sir. I grew up in Martinique as an aspiring actress, and we often played for the British soldiers. When peace came, I took the first ship to France, to follow my dream of becoming a famous actress. The ship called at La Rochelle. I wanted to go to Paris, but I only had money enough to reach Poitiers. I found the Ancienne Comédie and asked for work. Charles — Charles Legrande — hired me, and I performed there, playing small roles and getting tutoring from the lead actress. I also became Charles’s paramour. He is a strong supporter of the Empereur Napoléon, and when he decided to flee, he planned to sail for Martinique and made me come along.”

“Who was it that threw you overboard, Miss Dumoulin?”

“It was Charles, Sir. I urged him to give up when you fired at us first, and he hit me in the face. Then he grabbed me and told me it was my duty to hold up the enemies of the emperor. I fought him, but he threw me over the railing.”

“What are your feelings about the man now, Miss Dumoulin?”

Her eyes widened a little. “Oh, I never had any feelings for Charles. I only wanted to have a start at the Comedie...”

“Would you give testimony of what happened and sign a written account?”

She nodded with determination. “Oh yes! I also know that he is planning to incite an uprising against the king in Martinique. He talked about it incessantly, and I shall gladly testify about it!”

“Thank you, Miss Dumoulin. You are being very brave. My men will try to retrieve your personal belongings from the brigantine, so you may have the use of your clothes again. May I expect your company at supper?”

Jeanne Dumoulin gave him a wry smile and curtseyed. “Of course, Sir Thomas.”

Thomas smiled back. “I assure you that your company at supper is all I aim for.” He pointed at Mirabel’s portrait on the bulkhead. “I am happily married.”

The girl gave him a real smile. “Thank you.”

Charles Legrande was a tall man, if slim, and his face was dominated by an aquiline nose and piercing grey eyes. He was clearly uneasy standing in front of Thomas, but that might’ve had to with the leg irons we was wearing.

“Monsieur Legrande?” Thomas asked him curtly.

“Charles Legrande, at your service, Captain. Why was I locked in irons, if I may ask?”

Thomas did not answer that question. “What is your rank, Monsieur Legrande?”

“My rank?”

“Your rank in the French Army or the Marine?”

“Oh, but I am not an officer. I am a mere theatre owner.”

“I see. You are a follower of the former emperor, however, aren’t you?”

“It is true, my sympathies are with the empire. I thought it better to wait for things to calm down somewhere far away from Poitiers where my convictions are well known. Again, why was I locked in irons?”

“I am afraid you’ll have to face a Royal Navy court martial, Monsieur. By throwing a defenceless woman into the sea, for her to drown, you committed murder. Such crimes when committed on the open sea and in times of war are tried before a court martial.”

“She’s just a little trollop, insignificant and of poor breeding. I was hoping to distract you long enough for us to make our escape.”

Thomas nodded to Owen Leeds who was dutifully committing the interrogation to paper.

“Spoken like a seigneur of the Ancien Regime, Monsieur, and hardly in keeping with Liberté, egalité, fraternité.”

Legrande shrugged. “To make an omelette, you have to break eggs.”

Thomas nodded. “A quote by your emperor, isn’t it? Yet, under the laws of the sea, you committed murder and you will stand trial for it. I’m afraid your accommodations will be Spartan for the next weeks.” Thomas nodded to the master-at-arms. “Lock him in the brig, Mr. Armstrong.”

The protesting man was led away, and Thomas leaned back. He had to inform Admiral Hotham of the capture. Let the man decide what to do with the prisoners and the captured brigantine.

Wearing her own clothes — young Owen Leeds had retrieved her belongings from the brigantine — and having had time to repair her appearance, Jeanne Dumoulin was a pretty young woman by all accounts. Sitting across from Thomas at the large table, she let her eyes take in the cabin whilst partaking of a supper of rich chicken soup — one of Thomas’s chickens had broken a leg getting underfoot and was sacrificed. She was not spoiled and ate with unfeigned appetite. The thin ale, apparently, was also to her liking. Once her soup bowl was empty, she leaned back and gave a satisfied sigh.

“You live quite well, Sir Thomas,” she remarked.

“I try to enjoy what comfort I may have. Of course, having a charming young lady for company, is an added boon.”

“Would this be Lady Grey?” she inquired next, pointing at Mirabel’s Portrait that was hanging from the bulkhead.

Thomas nodded. “Yes, indeed; this is my dear wife Mirabel.”

“She looks as if — forgive me if I am too nosy — as if she is of créole ancestry. I mean no insult, please. I am from Martinique myself and from a créole family.”

“My wife’s mother hailed from Barbados, and you are correct in your assumption, Mademoiselle Dumoulin,” Thomas answered easily. “Personally, I do not think about her that way. To me, she is simply my beloved wife.”

“She is quite beautiful.” She giggled softly. “I believe I shall be safe with you.”

Thomas sent his reports to Admiral Hotham on the next morning when the courier sloop paid her call at the Bay d’Oleron. Clyde had taken up her customary position in the mouth of the bay again, with the captured brigantine shadowing her. Lt. Jackson was in command of the small ship, giving him a small consolation for the disappointment of not being the 1st lieutenant, even with his vast seniority. It also allowed Thomas to appoint Mr. Midshipman Siddell as acting lieutenant, which in turn created an opening in the gunroom for Owen Leeds. The young man had certainly earned the advancement to warrant officer.

Three days later, the masthead sighted a ship heading their way from the north, which turned out to be the fifth-rate frigate HMS Active, 38, under Captain William King, according to the list. Thomas did not know Active, but he knew King to be four positions under himself on the Captains’ List. Accordingly, it was King who reported to Clyde. He was received with all the proper ceremonial, before Thomas led him aft where an improvised noon meal was ready.

As expected, King had an envelope with orders for Thomas, and whilst his guest sampled the food with good appetite, Thomas quickly perused Hotham’s orders. In short, Clyde was to sail for London immediately, to deliver the prisoners to the authorities. He was also to make sure that Miss Dumoulin would be available for questioning by Admiralty staff, being a potential witness of importance.

Hotham had also included an extra sheet of paper onto which he had scribbled a note to Thomas.

My dear Sir Thomas,

you have likely made an important catch, and I do not refer to the young lady you pulled from the cruel sea. That Legrande character, if your description of him is any indication, is likely an important man in Boney’s secret police, an underling of the notorious Fouché. Make certain that the man remains alive for questioning.

Hotham

An hour later, Clyde went anchor up, and Thomas set a course very close to the fresh west-northwesterly breeze. They had to tack upon approaching Quiberon Bay and once again to make Ouessant, but from there on out, Clyde and her prize flew over the choppy waves of the English Channel.

Heeding his admiral’s warning, Thomas had Legrande secured in such a way that he could not lay hand on himself. He was also moved to a spare cabin on the upper deck where three selected petty officers took turns watching over the man.

They had a fast crossing until they reached the River Thames estuary, but sailing the ship upriver against a strong westerly breeze took them almost three days. Thus, they cast anchor in the Pool of London on August 12, a Saturday, and five months after they had sailed for Quiberon Bay.

Thomas knew from Mirabel’s letters that she and Angela, with their protégé Daisy Leeds, were still staying in Surrey, whilst Melissa Curry had returned to London to wait for her fiancé Owen Leeds. The Admiralty would be closed to visitors on Sunday. Therefore, there was no need for him to go ashore before Monday. After performing the most urgent tasks on deck and below, Thomas declared a “rope yarn Sunday”, in effect giving the men a free afternoon to mend their clothes, play cards, make music and to enjoy their grog ration in leisure.

Thomas himself took the opportunity to write letters to Mirabel, but also to his various friends and benefactors, advising them of his safe return to England, but also of his unresolved immediate future. He also mentioned Jeanne Dumoulin to Mirabel, asking her whether either Lady Anson or her famous friend, Anita Heywood, might have use for a displaced French actress.

Monday morning saw him at the Admiralty, with his reports and clades. The Royal Navy had not undergone a large-scale reactivation during Napoleon’s brief usurpation, and there were only a moderate number of captains and commissioned officers waiting in the anterooms. Being in actual command of a frigate, Thomas waited only briefly before being admitted to the office of a Mr. Warren. Handing over his reports, Thomas waited patiently for Mr. Warren to peruse the documents. This took over a half hour after which Mr. Warren excused himself. A servant entered, offering Thomas tea, which he accepted, settling for a longer wait.