Britannia’s Rule: The Dawlish Chronicles September 1886 – April 1888 by Antoine Vanner

Author:Antoine Vanner [Vanner, Antoine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Old Salt Press
Published: 2022-12-09T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Even condensed into telegraphese before enciphering, Dawlish’s report to Topcliffe filled two foolscap pages. Falconet, hastily repaired, would carry Blackwell to Antigua to despatch it. A second, shorter version, would be sent separately to the Colonial Office, mentioning only detection of successful gunrunning and nothing of the short action at sea or of the name Desmarais. Topcliffe would prefer it that way. Dawlish expected answers and Blackwell would have to wait for them in Antigua. Taking account of likely Colonial Office delays, it was unlikely that he would return in less than five days.

Clemenger had placed watches at each of the few tracks leading across the mountains into Guimbi. Three returning Roscallan muleteers, less their animals, blundered into one of them, and there was hope of catching others. The prisoners detained so far had broken quickly under questioning. Still shocked by the ambush they had not expected, and by the death in it of four of their fellows, all had the same story to tell. Much of it was known already – high prices offered by some unknown person for one or two nights’ work. They knew now – and swore that they hadn’t in advance – that the loads brought ashore were rifles and ammunition, but they could tell little about the men who had landed with them. Only that they were not Roscallans, that they were soldiers, real soldiers, that they spoke French, had driven them like slaves, had answered no questions.

There was nothing more to be got from the prisoners, Clemenger advised. With the threat of prosecution hanging over them, and warned not to speak about their experiences, they could prove useful informants if released. Dawlish consented.

He had called an emergency meeting of the Advisory Council after returning to Escource. He was an old sea dog, he said, and enjoyed joining Falconet’s patrols on occasion. It was fortuitous that he had been on board when she had encountered what appeared to be a smuggler. It had exchanged shots when challenged and had disappeared into the night. It was the sort of incident that crew members would inflate in the telling and exaggerated rumours would no doubt circulate. The same would apply to the Rural Guard’s clash with smugglers ashore. And yes, in answer to a question posed by Councillor Marsac, the lawyer, it might well have been a case of gunrunning into Guimbi. Useful lessons had been learned for handling such matters in the future.

Dawlish doubted that any of the councillors were entirely convinced but he sensed that they realised that they’d get no more from him at present. d’Erlanger was the only one he trusted. Shared danger on the ridge above Saint Gérons, while Mont Colbert vomited above them, had forged that trust. Business interests, no less than personal repute, meant that d’Erlanger had contacts along the entire northern coast. He could be a good source of intelligence, but first he would have to know the full story, gunvessel and all. Dawlish would inform him separately in his study the next day.

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